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<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52018 ***</div>
<div class="transnote">
<p><strong>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</strong></p>
<p>Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.</p>
<p>More detail can be found at the <a href="#TN">end of the book.</a></p>
</div>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="600" alt="" />
</div>
<hr class="chap pg-brk" />
<p class="p6" />
<h1>'TILDA JANE</h1>
<p class="p6" />
<hr class="chap pg-brk" />
<p class="p6" />
<div class="bbox">
<p class="pfs90">Works of</p>
<p class="pfs120">Marshall Saunders</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/sep1.jpg" width="20" alt="" />
</div>
<p>Rose à Charlitte</p>
<p>Her Sailor</p>
<p>Deficient Saints</p>
<p class="negin1x">For His Country and Grandmother and <br />
the Crow</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 20px;">
<img src="images/sep1.jpg" width="20" height="22" alt="" />
</div>
<p class="pfs90">L. C. PAGE & COMPANY,</p>
<p class="pfs90">Publishers</p>
<p class="pfs90">200 Summer Street, Boston, Mass.</p>
</div>
<div class="figcenter pg-brk">
<a name="FP" id="FP"></a>
<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="500" alt="" />
<div class="caption">"SHE SPELLED OUT THE INFORMATION, 'I AM AN ORPHAN.'"
<p class="right padr6">(<em>See <a href="#Page_80">page 80</a></em>)</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="p4" />
<div class="tpage">
<p class="xxl lsp">'TILDA JANE</p>
<p class="large">AN ORPHAN IN SEARCH OF A HOME</p>
<br />
<p class="medium"><em>A Story for Boys and Girls</em></p>
<br />
<p>
<span class="xs">BY</span><br />
<span class="large lsp">MARSHALL SAUNDERS</span><br />
<span class="xs wsp">AUTHOR OF "BEAUTIFUL JOE," "FOR HIS COUNTRY,"<br />
"ROSE À CHARLITTE," "HER SAILOR,"<br />
"DEFICIENT SAINTS," ETC.</span></p>
<br />
<p class="antiqua">Illustrated by</p>
<p>CLIFFORD CARLETON</p>
<p class="small"><em>By courtesy of The Youth's Companion</em></p>
<br />
<p><span class="small">"My brother, when thou seest a poor man,<br />
behold in him a mirror of the Lord."<br />
<span class="pad6 smcap">—St. Francis of Assisi.</span></span></p>
<br />
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/colophon.jpg" width="100" alt="" />
</div>
<br />
<p>BOSTON</p>
<p class="medium wsp">L. C. PAGE & COMPANY</p>
<p class="medium">1901</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="p6"></div>
<div class="tpage">
<p>
<em>Copyright, 1901</em><br />
<span class="smcap">By Perry Mason Company</span><br />
<br />
<em>Copyright, 1901</em><br />
<span class="smcap">By L. C. Page & Company</span><br />
(Incorporated)<br />
<br />
<em>All rights reserved</em><br />
</p>
<div class="p6"></div>
<p class="antiqua">Colonial Press</p>
<p class="fs80">Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.<br />
Boston, Mass., U. S. A.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="p6"></div>
<div class="tpage wsp">
<p>
<span class="xs">I DEDICATE THIS STORY TO</span><br />
<span class="small">EMILE HUGUENIN, JEAN BRUN,<br />
GERALD MUIR, SANFORD ROTHENBURG,<br />
HARRY KRUGER, MAUGHS BROWN,</span><br />
<span class="xs">AND</span><br />
<span class="small">ROBBIE MACLEAN,</span><br />
<span class="xs">BOYS OF BELMONT SCHOOL WHO USED TO GATHER ROUND ME<br />
ON SUNDAY AFTERNOONS AND BEG FOR A MANUSCRIPT<br />
READING OF THE TRIALS OF MY ORPHAN<br />
IN SEARCH OF A HOME.</span>
</p>
</div>
<p class="p6" />
<hr class="chap pg-brk" />
<p class="p6" />
<div class="blockquot fs90">
<p><em>Owing to the exigencies of serial publication, the story of
"'Tilda Jane," as it appeared in The Youth's Companion, was
somewhat condensed. In the present version the omitted portions
have been restored, and the story published in its original
form.</em></p></div>
<p class="p6" />
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="p6" />
<h2 class="xl"><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS.</a></h2>
<hr class="r10" />
<div class="center smcap">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="90%" summary="Table of Contents">
<tr><td class="tdr xs">CHAPTER</td><td></td><td class="tdr xs">PAGE</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td><td class="tdl">A Creamery Shark</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td><td class="tdl">Even Sharks Have Tender Hearts</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td><td class="tdl">The Story of Her Life</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td><td class="tdl">Unstable as Water</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td><td class="tdl">Another Adventure</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td><td class="tdl">Deaf and Dumb</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td><td class="tdl">Clearing up a Mistake</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td class="tdl">A Third Running Away</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td><td class="tdl">Lost in the Woods</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td><td class="tdl">Among Friends</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td><td class="tdl">A Sudden Resolution</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td><td class="tdl">Farewell to the Poachers</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td class="tdl">An Attempted Trick</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td class="tdl">Home, Sweet Home</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td><td class="tdl">The French Family</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td><td class="tdl">The Tiger in His Lair</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td><td class="tdl">The Tiger Makes a Spring</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td><td class="tdl">In Search of a Perfect Man</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td><td class="tdl">Sweet and Soft Repentance</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td><td class="tdl">Waiting</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td><td class="tdl">The Tiger Becomes a Lamb</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td><td class="tdl">A Troubled Mind</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_257">257</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td><td class="tdl">An Unexpected Appearance</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">XXIV.</td><td class="tdl">A Friend in Need</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td></tr>
</table></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="p6" />
<h2 class="xl"><a name="LOI" id="LOI">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</a></h2>
<hr class="r10" />
<div class="center smcap">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="90%" summary="List of Illustrations">
<tr><td class="tdl"></td><td class="tdr xs">PAGE</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">"She spelled out the information, 'I am an orphan'" (<em><span class="fvnormal">See <a href="#Page_80">page 80</a></span></em>)</td><td class="tdr"><em><span class="fvnormal"><a href="#FP">Frontispiece</a></span></em></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">"'Well, I vum!'"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#p015">15</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">"'Tilda Jane sat like a statue"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#p045">45</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">"'I'm goin' to repent some day'"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#p092">92</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">"He lay down beside her"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#p116">116</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">"'Stop thar—stop! Stop!'"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#p168">168</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">"'You are young for that, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mademoiselle</i>, yet—'"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#p190">190</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">"He lifted up his voice and roared at her"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#p215">215</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">"'I've led another dog astray, an' now he's dead'"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#p235">235</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">"'They was glad to get rid of me'"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#p258">258</a></td></tr>
</table></div>
<hr class="chap pg-brk" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p>
<p class="pfs240">'TILDA JANE.</p>
<hr class="r10" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER I.</a><br />
<span class="small">A CREAMERY SHARK.</span></h2>
<p>The crows had come back. With the fashionables
of Maine they had gone south for the winter,
but now on the third day of March the advance
guard of the solemn, black army soared in sight.</p>
<p>They were cawing over the green pine woods of
North Marsden, they were cawing over the black
spruces of South Marsden, and in Middle Marsden,
where the sun had melted the snow on a few
exposed knolls, they were having a serious and
chattering jubilation over their return to their summer
haunts.</p>
<p>"Land! ain't they sweet!" muttered a little girl,
who was herself almost as elfish and impish as a
crow. She stood with clasped hands in the midst
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
of a spruce thicket. Her face was upturned to the
hot sun set in the hard blue of the sky. The sun
burned her, the wind chilled her, but she remained
motionless, except when the sound of sleigh-bells was
heard. Then she peered eagerly out into the road.</p>
<p>Time after time she returned to her hiding-place
with a muttered, "No good!" She allowed a priest
to go by, two gossiping women on their way from
the village to spend a day in the country, a minister
hurrying to the sick-bed of a parishioner, and
several loaded wood-sleds, but finally a hilarious
jingle drew her hopefully from her retreat.</p>
<p>Her small black eyes screwed themselves into two
glittering points as she examined the newcomer.</p>
<p>"He'll do!" she ejaculated; then, with a half-caressing,
half-threatening, "You'll get murdered if
there's a word out o' you," addressed to an apparent
roll of cloth tucked among spruce branches a few
feet from the ground, she stepped out by the
snake fence.</p>
<p>"Hello, mister!"</p>
<p>The fat young man bobbing over the "thank-you-ma'ams"
of the snowy road, pulled himself up with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
a jerk in his small sleigh drawn by a long-legged
mare.</p>
<p>"Coronation! Where did that noise come from?
Hello, wood-lark," as he observed the little girl peeping
at him through the fence, "is there a hawk in
your nest?"</p>
<p>"Who be you?" she asked.</p>
<p>"I've got an awful pretty name," he replied, flicking
his whip over the snow-bank beside him, "too
pretty to tell."</p>
<p>"Who be you?" she asked, pertinaciously.</p>
<p>"Ever hear tell of a creamery shark?"</p>
<p>"I didn't know as sharks favoured cream," she
said, soberly.</p>
<p>"They dote on it."</p>
<p>"Be you a creamery shark?"</p>
<p>"No—course not. I'm chasing one. I'm a
farmer."</p>
<p>The small, keen-eyed girl looked him all over.
He was the creamery shark himself, and he certainly
had an oily, greasy appearance befitting his
fondness for cream. However, she did not care
what he was if he served her purpose.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p>
<p>"Will you gimme a lift?" she asked.</p>
<p>"A lift—where?"</p>
<p>"Anywhere out o' this," and she pointed back to
the smart, white village up the river.</p>
<p>"Now what be you?" he said, cunningly.</p>
<p>"I be a runaway."</p>
<p>"What you running from?"</p>
<p>"I'm a-runnin' from an orphan 'sylum."</p>
<p>"Good for you—where you going?"</p>
<p>"I'm goin' to Orstralia."</p>
<p>"Better for you—what you going there
for?"</p>
<p>"'Cause," she said, firmly, "they know how
to treat orphans there. They don't shut 'em
up together like a lot o' sick pigs. They scatter
'em in families. The gover'ment pays their
keep till they get old enough to fend for themselves.
Then they gets a sum o' money an' they
works—I heard a lady-board readin' it in a newspaper."</p>
<p>"A lady-board?"</p>
<p>"Yes—lady-boards has to run 'sylums."</p>
<p>"Course they do. Well, skip in, little un."</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<a name="p015" id="p015"></a>
<img src="images/p015.jpg" width="475" alt="" />
<div class="caption">"'WELL, I VUM!'"</div>
<p class="rt"><a href="#LOI">[Back to LOI]</a></p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p>
<p>"There's another passenger," she said, firmly;
"an' them as takes me takes him."</p>
<p>"Have you got your granddaddy along?"</p>
<p>"No, siree, but I've got somethin' mos' as good
as a granddaddy, an' I'd thank you to keep a straight
tongue when you speak of him."</p>
<p>The young man put the offending tongue in his
cheek, and chuckled enjoyably as the small, elfish
figure disappeared in the wood. Presently she
returned with a good-sized bundle in her arms, that
she thrust through the fence.</p>
<p>"Give it a name," said the young man; "why,
see how it's wiggling—must be some kind of an
animal. Cat, weasel, rabbit, hen, dog—"</p>
<p>"Stop there," she ejaculated; "let it be dog.
His name's Gippie."</p>
<p>"Well, I vum!" the young man said, good-naturedly,
as she approached the sleigh and deposited
her beshawled dog on his knees.</p>
<p>"I guess this sleigh warn't built for two," she
said, as she crawled in beside him.</p>
<p>"Right you are; but you don't want to be carted
far."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>
<p>"Gimme that dog," she said, taking the bundle,
"an' start off. Prob'ly they're just hitchin' up to
be after me."</p>
<p>He clicked his tongue to the long-legged mare,
and speedily fences and trees began to fly by
them.</p>
<p>"What did you twig me for?" asked the fat
young man. "Ain't you had no other chance?"</p>
<p>"Lots," she said, briefly.</p>
<p>"There was an ole boy ahead o' me with a two-seated
rig, an' a youngster on the back seat. Why
didn't you freeze on to him?"</p>
<p>She turned her little dark face toward him, a little
face overspread by sudden passion. "D'ye know
what that ole shell-back would 'a' done?"</p>
<p>"He'd 'a' took ye in."</p>
<p>"He'd 'a' druv me back to that 'sylum. He looked
too good, that one. You looked like a baddie."</p>
<p>"Much obliged," he said, dryly.</p>
<p>"I guess you've done bad things," she said, inexorably.
"You've stole pies, an' tole lies, an' fed
dogs an' cats on the sly. I guess you've been found
out."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
<p>The fat young man fell into a sudden reverie,
and they passed several white fields in silence.</p>
<p>"They'll never ketch me," she said at last, gleefully;
"we're goin' like the wind."</p>
<p>The young man looked down at her. She had
the appearance of a diminutive witch as she sat with
one hand clasping her faded hat, the other holding
firmly to the bundle on her lap. Her countenance
was so much older and shrewder in some phases than
in others that the young man was puzzled to guess
her age.</p>
<p>"Why, you ain't got any cloak," he said.
"That's nothing but a dress you've got on, ain't
it? Take the shawl off that dog."</p>
<p>"No, sir," she said, decidedly, "I don't do that."</p>
<p>"Hold on; I've got a horse blanket here," and he
dived under the seat. "There!" and he wrapped it
around her shoulders.</p>
<p>"Thanks," she said, briefly, and again her bird-like
eyes scanned the road ahead.</p>
<p>"Hot cakes an' syrup!" she exclaimed, in a voice
of resigned distress, "there's the North Marsden
lady-board comin'. They must have 'phoned her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
Say, mister, lemme sneak under here. If she holes
you up, you'll have to tell a lie."</p>
<p>The young man grinned delightedly as the little
girl slipped through the blanket and disappeared
under the lap-robe. Then he again went skimming
over the snow.</p>
<p>There was a very grand sleigh approaching him,
with a befurred coachman on the seat driving a pair
of roan horses, and behind him a gray-haired lady
smothered in handsome robes.</p>
<p>"Please stop!" she called pathetically, to the
approaching young man.</p>
<p>The creamery shark pulled up his mare, and
blinked thoughtfully at her.</p>
<p>"Oh, have you seen a little girl?" she said excitedly;
"a poor little girl, very thin and miserable,
and with a lame, brown dog limping after her?
She's wandering somewhere—the unfortunate,
misguided child. We have had such trouble with
her at the Middle Marsden Asylum—the orphan
asylum, you know. We have fed her and clothed
her, and now she's run away."</p>
<p>The fat young man became preternaturally solemn,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
the more so as he heard a low growl somewhere in
the region of his feet.</p>
<p>"Did she have black hair as lanky as an Injun's?"
he asked.</p>
<p>"Yes, yes."</p>
<p>"And a kind o' sickly green dress?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, and a dark complexion."</p>
<p>"And a sort of steely air as if she'd dare the
world?"</p>
<p>"That's it; oh, yes, she wasn't afraid of any one."</p>
<p>"Then I've sighted your game," he said, gravely,
very gravely, considering that the "game" was
pinching one of his legs.</p>
<p>"I'll give you the scent," he went on. "Just
follow this road till you come to the three pine-trees
at the cross. Then turn toward Spruceville."</p>
<p>"Oh, thank you, thank you. I'm ever so much
obliged. But was she on foot or driving?"</p>
<p>"Driving like sixty, sitting up on the seat beside
a smooth old farmer with a red wig on, and a face as
long as a church."</p>
<p>"A red wig!" exclaimed the lady. "Why, that's
Mr. Dabley—he's one of our advisory committee."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>
<p>"Dabley or Grabley, he's driving with one of your
orphans. I see her as plain as day sitting beside
him—brown face, faded black hat, sickly green
frock, bundle on her lap."</p>
<p>"Farmer Dabley—incredible! How one can be
deceived. Drive on, Matthew. We must try to
overtake them. Had he one horse or two?"</p>
<p>"A pair, ma'am—a light-legged team—a bay
and a cream. He's a regular old sport."</p>
<p>"He's a Mephistopheles if he's helping that child
to escape," said the lady, warmly. "I'll give him a
piece of my mind."</p>
<p>Her coachman started his horses, and the little
girl under the robe was beginning to breathe freely
when a shout from the young man brought her heart
to her mouth.</p>
<p>"Say, ma'am, was that a striped or a plain shawl
she had her dog wrapped in?"</p>
<p>"Striped—she had the impudence to steal it
from the matron, and leave a note saying she did it
because her jacket was locked up, and she was afraid
her dog would freeze—I'm under a great obligation
to you, sir."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
<p>"No obligation," he said, lifting his hat. "I'm
proud to set you on the chase after such a bad young
one. That's your girl, ma'am. Her shawl was
striped. I didn't tell you she had the nerve to ask
me to take her in."</p>
<p>"Not really—did she?" the lady called back;
then she added, wonderingly, "but I thought you
met her driving with Farmer Dabley?"</p>
<p>They had both turned around, and were talking
over their shoulders.</p>
<p>There was a terrible commotion under the lap-robe,
and the young man felt that he must be brief.</p>
<p>"If you bark I'll break your neck," he heard the
refugee say in a menacing whisper, and, to cover a
series of protesting growls, he shouted, lustily, "Yes,
ma'am, but first I passed her on foot. Then I
turned back, and she was with the farmer. That
young one has got the face of a government mule,
but I'm used to mules, and when she asked me I
said, ''Pears to me, little girl, you favour a runaway,
and I ain't got no room for runaways in this narrow
rig, 'specially as I'm taking a bundle of clothing to
my dear old father'—likewise a young pig," he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
added, as there was a decided squeal from between
his feet.</p>
<p>"Thank you, thank you," came faintly after him
as he started off at a spanking gait, and, "You're
badder than I thought you was," came reproachfully
from the tumbled head peeping above the lap-robe.</p>
<p>"You're grateful!" he said, ironically.</p>
<p>"I'm bad, but I only asked the Lord to forgive
the lies I'd got to tell," said the little girl as she
once more established herself on the seat. "You
should 'a' said, 'No, ma'am, I didn't see the little
girl'—an' druv on."</p>
<p>"I guess you're kind of mixed in your opinions,"
he remarked.</p>
<p>"I ain't mixed in my mind. I see things as
straight as that air road," she replied. "I said,
'This is a bad business, for I've got to run away,
but I'll be as square as I can.'"</p>
<p>She paused suddenly, and her companion asked,
"What's up with you?"</p>
<p>"Nothin'," she said, faintly, "only I feel as if
there was a rat inside o' me. You ain't got any
crackers round, have you?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p>
<p>"No, but I've got something better," and he drew
a flask from the pocket of his big ulster and put it
to her mouth.</p>
<p>Her nostrils dilated. "I'm a Loyal Legion girl."</p>
<p>"Loyal Legion—what's that?"</p>
<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry">
<p class="verseq">"Beware of bottles, beware of cups,</p>
<p class="verse">Evil to him who evil sups."</p>
</div></div>
<p>"Oh! a temperance crank," and he laughed.
"Well, here's a hunk of cake I put in my pocket
last night."</p>
<p>The little girl ate with avidity the section of a
rich fruit loaf he handed her.</p>
<p>"How about your dog?" asked the young
man.</p>
<p>"Oh, I guess he ain't hungry," she said, putting
a morsel against the brown muzzle thrust from the
shawl. "Everythin' was locked up last night, an'
there warn't enough lunch for him an' me—see, he
ain't for it. He knows when hunger stops an' greed
begins. That's poetry they taught us."</p>
<p>"Tell us about that place you've been raised.
No, stop—you're kind of peaked-looking. Settle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
down an' rest yourself till we pull up for dinner. I'll
gabble on a bit if you'll give me a starter."</p>
<p>"I guess you favour birds an' things, don't you?"
she observed, shrewdly.</p>
<p>"Yaw—do you?"</p>
<p>"Sometimes I think I'm a bird," she said, vehemently,
"or a worm or somethin'. If I could 'a'
caught one o' them crows this mornin' I'd 'a' hugged
it an' kissed it. Ain't they lovely?"</p>
<p>"Well, I don' know about lovely," said the young
man, in a judicial manner, "but the crow, as I take
him, is a kind of long-suffering orphan among birds.
From the minute the farmers turn up these furrows
under the snow, the crow works like fury. Grubs
just fly down his red throat, and grasshoppers
ain't nowhere, but because he now and then lifts
a hill o' petetters, and pulls a mite o' corn when it
gets toothsome, and makes way once in so often
with a fat chicken that's a heap better out o' the
world than in it, the farmers is down on him, the
Legislature won't protect him, and the crow—man's
good friend—gets shot by everybody and
everything!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
<p>"I wish I was a queen," said the little girl,
passionately.</p>
<p>"Well, sissy, if you ever get to be one, just unmake
a few laws that are passed to please the
men who have a pull. Here in Maine you might
take the bounty off bob-cats, an' let 'em have their
few sheep, an' you might stand between the mink
and the spawning trout, and if you want to put a
check on the robins who make war on the cherries
an' strawberries, I guess it would be more sensible
than chasing up the crows."</p>
<p>"I'm remarkin' that you don't beat your horse,"
said his companion, abruptly.</p>
<p>"That mare," said the young man, reflectively,
"is as smart as I be, and sometimes I think a
thought smarter."</p>
<p>"You wouldn't beat that little dog," she said,
holding up her bundle.</p>
<p>"Bet your striped shawl I wouldn't."</p>
<p>"I like you," she said, emphatically. "I guess
you ain't as bad as you look."</p>
<p>The young man frowned slightly, and fell into
another reverie.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER II.</a><br />
<span class="small">EVEN SHARKS HAVE TENDER HEARTS.</span></h2>
<p>The old Moss Glen Inn, elm-shaded and half covered
by creeping vines, is a favourite resort for travellers
in the eastern part of Maine, for there a good
dinner can be obtained in a shorter space of time
than in any other country hotel in the length and
breadth of the State.</p>
<p>"And all because there's a smart woman at the
head of it," explained the young man to the
little waif beside him. "There she is—always on
hand."</p>
<p>A round, good-natured face, crowning a rotund,
generous figure, smiled at them from the kitchen
window, but while the eyes smiled, the thick, full
lips uttered a somewhat different message to a tall,
thin woman, bending over the stove.</p>
<p>"Ruth Ann, here's that soapy Hank Dillson round
again,—takin' in the farmers, as usual, engagin'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
them to pay for machinery and buildings more than
are needed, considerin' the number of their cows, an'
he's got a washed-out lookin' young one with him.
She'll make a breach in the victuals, I guess."</p>
<p>Ruth Ann, who was her sister and helper in
household affairs, came and looked over her shoulder,
just as Dillson sprang from the sleigh.</p>
<p>Mrs. Minley stepped to the door, and stood bobbing
and smiling as he turned to her.</p>
<p>"How de do, Mrs. Minley. Give this little girl a
place to lie down till dinner's ready, will you? She's
dead beat."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane walked gravely into the kitchen, and
although her head was heavy, and her feet as light as
if they were about to waft her to regions above, she
took time to scrutinise the broad face that would
have been generous but for the deceitful lips, and
also to cast a glance at the hard, composed woman at
the window, who looked as if her head, including the
knob of tightly curled hair at the back, had been
carved from flint.</p>
<p>"Step right in this way," said Mrs. Minley, bustling
into a small bedroom on the ground floor.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>
<p>'Tilda Jane was not used to being waited on, and
for one proud moment she wished that the children
in the orphan asylum could see her. Then a feeling
of danger and insecurity overcame her, and she sank
on one of the painted, wooden chairs.</p>
<p>"You're done out," said Mrs. Minley, sympathetically.
"Are you a relation of Mr. Dillson's?"</p>
<p>"No, I ain't."</p>
<p>"You can lie on that bed if you like," said
Mrs. Minley, noticing the longing glance cast
at it.</p>
<p>"Well, I guess I will," said 'Tilda Jane, placing
her bundle on a chair, and stooping down to unloose
her shoes.</p>
<p>"Stop till I get some newspapers to put on the
bed," said the landlady—"what's in that package?
It's moving," and she stared at the shawl.</p>
<p>"It's a dog."</p>
<p>"Mercy me! I don't allow no dogs in my
house."</p>
<p>"All right," said the little girl, patiently putting
on her shoes again.</p>
<p>"What you going to do, child?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
<p>"I'm goin' to the wood-shed. Them as won't have
my dog won't have me."</p>
<p>"Land sakes, child, stay where you be! I guess
he can't do no harm if you'll watch him."</p>
<p>"No ma'am, he'll not rampage. He's little, an'
he's ole, an' he's lame, an' he don't care much for
walkin'. Sometimes you'll hear nothin' out o' him
all day but a growl or a snap."</p>
<p>The landlady drew away from the bundle, and
after she had seen the tired head laid on the pillow,
she softly closed the door of the room.</p>
<p>In two minutes 'Tilda Jane was asleep. The night
before she had not dared to sleep. To-day, under
the protection of the creamery shark, she could take
her rest, her hunger satisfied by the cake he had
given her in the sleigh. The shark crept in once
to look at her. "Ain't she a sight?" he whispered
to Mrs. Minley, who accompanied him, "a half-starved
monkey."</p>
<p>She playfully made a thrust at his ribs. "Oh,
go 'long with you—always making your jokes!
How can a child look like a monkey?"</p>
<p>He smiled, well pleased at her cajoling tone, then,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
stretching himself out in an armchair, he announced
that dinner must be postponed for an hour to let the
child have her sleep out.</p>
<p>Mrs. Minley kept a pleasant face before him, but
gave vent to some suppressed grumbling in the
kitchen. With fortitude remarkable in a hungry
man, he waited until one o'clock, then, losing patience,
he ate his dinner, and, telling Mrs. Minley
that he had business in the neighbourhood, and
would not be back until supper-time, he drove away
in his sleigh.</p>
<p>At six o'clock 'Tilda Jane felt herself gently
shaken, and opening her eyes, she started up in
alarm.</p>
<p>"All right—'tain't the police," said Mrs. Minley.
"I know all about you, little girl. You needn't be
scared o' me. Get up and have a bite of supper.
Mr. Dillson's going away, and he wants to see you."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane rose and put on her shoes in silence.
Then she followed the landlady to the next room.
For an instant she staggered back. She had never
before seen such a huge, open fireplace, never had
had such a picture presented to her in the steam<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>-heated
orphanage. Fresh from troubled dreams,
it seemed as if these logs were giants' bodies laid
crosswise. The red flames were from their blood
that was being licked up against the sooty stones.
Then the ghastliness vanished, and she approvingly
took in the picture,—the fat young
creamery shark standing over the white cat and
rubbing her with his toe, the firelight on the
wall and snowy table, and the big lamp on the
mantel.</p>
<p>"Hello!" he exclaimed, turning around, "did you
make your sleep out?"</p>
<p>"Yes sir," she said, briefly. "Where shall I put
this dog?"</p>
<p>"Don't put him nowhere till we turn this cat out.
Scat, pussy!" and with his foot he gently assisted
the small animal kitchenwards.</p>
<p>"Now you can roast your pup here," he said,
pointing to the vacated corner.</p>
<p>"Don't touch him," warned 'Tilda Jane, putting
aside his outstretched hand. "He nips worse'n a
lobster."</p>
<p>"Fine dog that," said the young man, ironically.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
"Come on now, let's fall to. I guess that rat's
rampaging again."</p>
<p>"Yes, he's pretty bad," said 'Tilda Jane, demurely;
and she seated herself in the place indicated.</p>
<p>Mrs. Minley waited on them herself, and, as she
passed to and fro between the dining-room and
kitchen, she bestowed many glances on the lean,
lank, little girl with the brown face.</p>
<p>After a time she nudged Hank with her elbow.
"Look at her!"</p>
<p>Hank withdrew his attention for a minute from
his plate to cast a glance at the downcast head opposite.
Then he dropped his knife and fork. "Look
here! I call this kind of low-down."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane raised her moist eyes.</p>
<p>"You've got ham and eggs; fried petetters
and toast, and two kinds of preserve, and hot
rolls and coffee, and cake and doughnuts, which
is more'n you ever got at the asylum, I'll warrant,
and yet you're crying,—and after all the
trouble you've been to me. There's no satisfying
some people."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>
<p>'Tilda Jane wiped her eyes. "I ain't a-cryin' for
the 'sylum," she said, stolidly.</p>
<p>"Then what are you crying for?"</p>
<p>"I'm cryin' 'cause it's such a long way to Orstralia,
an' I don't know no one. I wish you was a-goin'."</p>
<p>"I wish I was, but I ain't. Come on now, eat
your supper."</p>
<p>"I suppose I be a fool," she muttered, picking up
her knife and fork. "I've often heard I was."</p>
<p>"Hi now—I guess you feel better, don't you?"
said the young man, twenty minutes later.</p>
<p>He was in excellent humour himself, and, sitting
tilted back in his chair by the fireplace, played a
tune on his big white teeth with a toothpick.</p>
<p>"Yes, I guess I'm better," said 'Tilda Jane,
soberly. "That was a good supper."</p>
<p>"Hadn't you better feed your pup?" asked the
young man. "Seems to me he must be dead, he's
so quiet."</p>
<p>"He's plumb beat out, I guess," said the little
girl, and she carefully removed the dog's queer
drapery.</p>
<p>A little, thin, old, brown cur staggered out, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
lips viciously rolled back, and a curious unsteadiness
of gait.</p>
<p>"Steady, old boy," said the young man; "my
soul and body, he ain't got but three legs! Whoa—you're
running into the table."</p>
<p>"He don't see very well," said 'Tilda Jane, firmly.
"His eyes is poor."</p>
<p>"What's the matter with his tail? It don't seem
to be hung on right."</p>
<p>"It wobbles from having tin cans tied to it.
Gippie dear, here's a bone."</p>
<p>"Gippie dear," muttered the young man. "I'd
shoot him if he was my dog."</p>
<p>"If that dog died, I'd die," said the little girl,
passionately.</p>
<p>"We've got to keep him alive, then," said the
young man, good-humouredly. "Can't you give him
some milk?"</p>
<p>She poured out a saucer full and set it before
him. The partially blind dog snapped at the saucer,
snapped at her fingers until he smelled them and
discovered whose they were, then he finally condescended
to lick out the saucer.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p>
<p>"And you like that thing?" said the young man,
curiously.</p>
<p>"Like him!—I love him," said 'Tilda Jane,
affectionately stroking the brown, ugly back.</p>
<p>"And when did he give away that leg?"</p>
<p>She shook her head. "It's long to tell. I guess
you'd ask me to shut up afore I got through."</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER III.</a><br />
<span class="small">THE STORY OF HER LIFE.</span></h2>
<p>The young man said nothing more at the time,
but ten minutes later, when he was thoughtfully
smoking a long brown pipe, and 'Tilda Jane sat
in a chair beside him, rocking her dog, he called
out to Mrs. Minley, who was hovering about the
room. "Sit down, Mrs. Minley. P'raps you can
get this little girl to talk; I can't."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane turned sharply to him. "Oh, mister,
I'd do anything for you. I'll talk."</p>
<p>"Well, reel it off then. I've got to start soon."</p>
<p>"What d'ye want to know?" she said, doggedly.</p>
<p>"Everything; tell me where you started from.
Was you born in the asylum?"</p>
<p>"Nobody don't know where I was born. Nobody
don't know who I am, 'cept that a woman come
to the poorhouse with me to Middle Marsden when
I was a baby. She died, an' I was left. They give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
me the name of 'Tilda Jane Harper, an' put me in
the 'sylum. Children come an' went. Just as soon
as I'd get to like 'em they'd be 'dopted; I never
was 'dopted, 'cause I'm so ugly. My eyes ought
to 'a' been blue, an' my hair curly. I might 'a'
been a servant, but my habits was in the way."</p>
<p>"Habits—what habits?" asked Hank.</p>
<p>"Habits of impidence an' pig-headedness. When
the men come to kill the pigs I'd shut myself in
my room, an' put my fingers in my ears, an' I
couldn't hear, but I'd always squeal when the pigs
squealed."</p>
<p>"Is that why you wouldn't eat your ham just
now?"</p>
<p>"Oh, that ain't ham to me," she said, eloquently.
"That bit o' red meat was a cunnin', teeny white
pig runnin' round a pen, cryin' 'cause the butcher's
after him. I couldn't eat it, any more'n I'd eat my
brother."</p>
<p>"You're a queer little kite," interjected the young
man, and he exchanged an amused glance with Mrs.
Minley, who was swaying gently back and forth in a
rocking-chair.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p>
<p>"So you wasn't very much set up at the asylum?"
he went on.</p>
<p>"I guess I'm too bad for a 'sylum. <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note—Original text: 'Onct our washerwoman'">Once our
washerwoman</ins> took me home to supper. I guess
heaven must be like that. They had a cat, too. I
used to get in most trouble at the 'sylum 'bout cats.
When starvin' ones came rubbin' up agin me in the
garden, I couldn't help sneakin' them a bit o' bread
from the pantry. It beats all, how cats find out people
as likes 'em. Then I'd get jerked up."</p>
<p>"Jerked up?" repeated her interlocutor.</p>
<p>"Locked in my room, or have my hands slapped.
<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note—Original text: 'Onct I took'">Once I took</ins> a snake in the house. He was cold,
but he got away from me, an' the matron found him
in her bed. She whipped me that time."</p>
<p>"Was that what made you run away?"</p>
<p>"No, I run away on account o' this dog. You
call up the cold spell we had a week ago?"</p>
<p>"You bet—I was out in it."</p>
<p>"Well, there come the coldest night. The matron
give us extry blankets, but I couldn't sleep. I woke
up in the middle o' the night, an' I thought o' that
dog out in the stable. 'He'll freeze,' I said, an'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
when I said it, it seemed as if icicles were stickin'
into me. I was mos' crazy. I got up an' looked
out the window. There was a moon, an awful bitin',
ugly kind of a moon grinnin' at me. I put on some
clo'es, I slipped down-stairs, an' it seemed as if
everythin' was yellin' in the cold. Every board
an' every wall I touched went off like a gun, but
no one woke, an' I got out in the stable.</p>
<p>"The horse was warm an' so was the cow, but this
little dog was mos' froze. I tried to warm him, but
my fingers got like sticks. Then I did a scand'lous
thing. I says, 'I'll take him in bed with me an'
warm him for a spell, an' no one'll know;' so I
lugged him in the house, an' he cuddled down on
my arm just so cunnin'. Then I tried to stay
awake, so I could carry him out early in the
mornin', but didn't I fall to sleep, an' the first thing
I knowed there was the matron a-spearin' me
with her eyes, an she put out her hand to ketch
the dog, an' he up an' bit her, an' then there was
trouble."</p>
<p>"What kind of trouble?" asked the young
man.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p>
<p>"I had bread an' water for two days, an' the dog
was shut up in the stable, an' then I was brought up
before the lady-board."</p>
<p>"The lady-board," murmured Mrs. Minley; "what
does the child mean?"</p>
<p>"The board of lady managers," explained Dillson.</p>
<p>"Tell us about it," he said to 'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>The latter was keeping an eye on the clock. She
knew that the time must soon come for her to part
from her new-found friend. It was not in her nature
to be very demonstrative, yet she could not altogether
hide a certain feverishness and anxiety. One thing,
however, she could do, and she subdued her emotion
in order to do it. It amused the young man to hear
her talk. She would suppress her natural inclination
to silence and gravity, and try to entertain him.
And the more she talked, possibly the longer he
would stay.</p>
<p>Therefore she went on: "There they set round
the table as big an' handsome as so many pies. One
lady was at the top, an' she rapped on the table with
a little hammer, an' said, ''Tention, ladies!' Then
she says, 'Here is the 'fortinate object of dissection.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
What part shall we tackle fust? Name your wishes,
ladies.' Then she stopped an' another lady begun,
'Mam pressiding, stake the case.'"</p>
<p>The young man took his pipe from his mouth, and
Mrs. Minley ejaculated, "Mercy me!"</p>
<p>"Madam president, I guess," he said, gravely.
"Go on, sissy."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane went on, still with her eye on the
clock, and still speaking feverishly. "The mam
pressiding staked me out. Says she, 'Here is a
little girl—she come to us like a lily o' the field;
no dress on, no bunnit, no nothin'. We've fed an'
clothed the lily, an' guv her good advice, an' she's
lifted up her heel agin us. She deifies us, she introjuces
toads an' snakes into the sacred presings of
our sinningcherry for orphans. She packs a dirty
dog in bed. We'll never levelate her. She's lowering
the key of our 'stution. She knows not the
place of reptiles an' quadruples. Ladies, shall we
keep this little disturving lellement in our 'stution?
If thy hand 'fend against thee cut it off. If thy
foot straggle, treat it likewise.'</p>
<p>"Then she set down, an' another lady got up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
Says she, 'I'm always for mercy—strained mercy
dropping like juice from heaven. If this little girl is
turned inside out, she'll be a bright an' shinin' light.
I prepose that we make the 'speriment. The tastes
is in her, but we can nip off the grati'cations. I
remove that instead of disturving her, we disturve
the animiles. Ladies, we has hard work to run this
'stution.'"</p>
<p>"This 'stution?" said the young man.</p>
<p>"Yes, 'stution," repeated 'Tilda Jane, "that's
what they call the 'sylum. Well, this lady went on
an' says she, 'Let's send away the cats an' dogs an'
all the children's pets—squirrels an' pigeons an'
rabbits, 'cause this little girl's disruptin' every child
on the place. <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note—Original text: 'Onct when cats come'">Once when cats come</ins> an' other animiles,
they was stoned away. Now they're took in.
I come across one little feller jus' now, an' instead o'
learnin' his lesson he was playin' with a beetle.
Ticklin' it with a straw, ladies. Now ain't that
awful? We've got 'sponsibilities toward these
foun'lings. I feels like a mother. If we sends 'em
foolish out in the world we'll be blamed. Our faithful
matron says it's unpossible to ketch rats an'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
mice. This little girl gets at the traps, an' let's
'em go. She's a born rule-smasher!'</p>
<p>"Then she closed her mouth an' set down, an' the
big lady sittin' at the head o' the table pounded her
hammer 'cause they all fell to jabberin'. Says she,
'Will some lady make a commotion?' Then one
lady got up, an' she says, 'I remove that all animiles
be decharged from this 'stution.'</p>
<p>"'What about the chickings?' called out another
lady. 'You must declude them. This will go on
record.' The other lady said, ''Scuse me, I forgot
the chickings. I'll mend my dissolution. I remove
that all quadruples be decharged from this 'stution.'</p>
<p>"That suited some, an' didn't suit t'others, an'
there was a kind of chally-vally. One lady said she's
mend the mendment, an' then the mam pressiding
got kind o' mixy-maxy, an' said they'd better start
all over agin, 'cause she'd lose her way 'mong so
many mendments. After a long time, they got their
ideas sot, an' they said that I was to stay, but all the
animiles was to go. I didn't snuffle nor nothin', but
I just said, 'Are you plannin' to kill that there
dog?'</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>
<p>"The mam pressiding gave a squeal an' said, 'No,
that would be cruel. They would give the dog to
some little feller who would be good to him.' I said,
'Little fellers tie tin cans to dogs' tails'—an' then
they got mad with me an' said I was trespicious.
Then I said, 'All right,' 'cause what could I do agin
a whole lot o' lady-boards? But I made up my mind
I'd have to work my way out of it, 'cause it would kill
that little dog to be took from me. So I run away."</p>
<p>Her story was done, and, closing her lips in dogged
resolution, she stared inquiringly at the young man.
He was not going to withdraw his protection from
her, she saw that, but what would he direct her to
do next?</p>
<p>He was thoughtfully tapping his pipe against the
fireplace, now he was putting it in his pocket, and
now he was going to speak.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<a name="p045" id="p045"></a>
<img src="images/p045.jpg" width="550" alt="" />
<div class="caption">"'TILDA JANE SAT LIKE A STATUE."</div>
<p class="rt"><a href="#LOI">[Back to LOI]</a></p>
</div>
<p>"Little girl, you've started for Australia, and as I
don't believe in checking a raring, tearing ambition,
I won't try to block you, exactly, but only to sidetrack.
You can't go to Australia bang off. It's too
far. And you haven't got the funds. Now I'll make
a proposition. I've got an old father 'most as cranky
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>as that there dog. I guess if you're so long-suffering
with the animal, you'll be long-suffering with the
human. He needs some tidy body to keep his house
trigged up, and to wait on him, 'cause he's lame. He
has an everlasting wrastle to keep a housekeeper on
account of this same flash-light temper. But I guess
from what I've seen of you, that you could fix him.
And you'd have a home which you seem to hanker
for. And you could save your money and start for
Australia when you've put enough flesh on those
bones to keep you from blowing away into the sea
and getting lost. Starting would be convenient, for
my father lives near the big Canadian railway that is
a round the world route. You can step aboard the
cars, go to the Pacific, board a steamer, and go on
your way to Australia. What do you say—is it a
bargain?"</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane sat like a statue. The firelight danced
behind her little, grave profile that remained unchanged,
save for the big tears rolling slowly and
deliberately down each thin cheek and dropping on
the faded dress. Only the tears and the frantically
clasped hands betrayed emotion.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p>
<p>"I guess it's a go," said the young man, kindly.
"Here's my father's address," and getting up he
handed a card to her. "Hobart Dillson, Ciscasset,
Maine. I've got to make tracks now, but Mrs.
Minley here will put you on a train that comes by
here in the morning, and all you've got to do is to sit
still in it, till you hear the conductor holler Ciscasset.
Then you hustle out and ask some one where
Hobart Dillson lives. When you get there, don't
shake if he throws a crutch at you. Just tell him
you've come to stay, and I'm going to pay extra
for it. That'll cool him, 'cause he's had to pay a
housekeeper out of his own allowance up to this.
The old boy and I don't rub along together very
sweet, but he knows the size of a dollar every
time."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane choked back the suffocating lump in
her throat, and gravely rose to her feet. "Sir, I'm
as much obleeged to you as—"</p>
<p>Here she broke down.</p>
<p>"As you ought to be," he finished. "Don't mention
it. I'm happy to make your acquaintance. So
long," and he politely held out two fingers.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p>
<p>A vague terror seized the little girl. He had
arranged everything for her, and yet she had never
since her escape felt so paralysed with fear. Her
beseeching eyes sought Mrs. Minley's face. The
landlady was smiling graciously at her, but the little
girl's heart sunk. Quite unknown to herself, she
was a sharp reader of character. She was losing her
best friend in the fat young man.</p>
<p>"Take me with you," she gasped, suddenly clinging
to his hand.</p>
<p>"Can't do that, sissy. I'm going back into the
settlements—bad roads, scattered houses. You'd
freeze stiff. Better stay here with Mrs. Minley.
I'll run up to Ciscasset by and by to see you."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane drew back in sudden, steely composure.
She was ashamed of herself. "I'm crazy,"
she said, shortly; "you've done enough for me now.
I'll take care of your father if he gets mad fifty
times a day."</p>
<p>Already she felt a sense of responsibility. She
drew herself up with dignity, and in sad, composed
silence watched the young man leave the room and
the house. When the last faint sound of his sleigh-bells<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
had died away, she gave up her listening attitude,
and turned patiently to Mrs. Minley, who was
saying with a yawn, "I guess you'd better go to
bed."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane walked obediently toward her room,
and Mrs. Minley, seating herself on a chair in cold
curiosity, watched her undress.</p>
<p>When the little girl knelt down to say her prayers,
a feeble smile illuminated the woman's face. However,
she was still listless and uninterested, until the
latter portion of the petition.</p>
<p>"O Lord," 'Tilda Jane was praying earnestly,
almost passionately, "forgive me for all this sin an'
'niquity. I just had to run away. I couldn't give
up that little dog that thou didst send me. I'll live
square as soon as I get takin' care o' that ole man.
Bless the matron an' make her forgive me, an' bless
all the lady-boards—Mis' Grannis 'specially, 'cause
she'll be maddest with me. Keep me from tellin'
any more lies. Amen."</p>
<p>When 'Tilda Jane rose from her knees, Mrs.
Minley's breath was coming and going quickly, and
there was a curious light in her eyes. "Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
Grannis, did you say?" she asked, shortly. "Mrs.
Grannis, over Beaver Dam way?"</p>
<p>"Yes, ma'am."</p>
<p>"What has she got to do with the asylum?"</p>
<p>"She's the fust lady-board. She sits behind the
table an' pounds the hammer."</p>
<p>"And she'll be maddest with you?"</p>
<p>"Yes, ma'am. She says children has too much
liberties."</p>
<p>"Hurry into bed," said Mrs. Minley, briefly, and
taking up the lamp, and without a word of farewell,
she disappeared from the room.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane cowered down between the cold sheets.
Then she stretched out a hand to touch the precious
bundle on the chair by her bed. And then she tried
to go to sleep, but sleep would not come.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER IV.</a><br />
<span class="small">UNSTABLE AS WATER.</span></h2>
<p>A vague uneasiness possessed her. Ah, how
happy would she be, could she know that the young
creamery man was sleeping under the same roof!
But he was speeding somewhere far away over the
snowy roads. However, she should see him again.
He had said so, and, with the hopefulness of youth,
she sighed a happy sigh and, closing her eyes tightly,
listened to the various sounds about the quiet house.</p>
<p>There must have been another arrival, for she
heard doors opening and shutting, and also the jingle
of sleigh-bells. They were strangely confused in
her mind with the ringing of the rising-bell at the
orphan asylum, and she was just sinking into a
dreamy condition, a forerunner of sleep, when she
heard a hard voice in her ear.</p>
<p>"Get up an' dress, little girl."</p>
<p>She raised herself quietly from the pillow. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
stood over her the tall, gaunt woman whom she had
heard Mrs. Minley address as Ruth Ann. To her
perturbed mind, there rose a vision of a graven
image from the Bible, as she stared at the woman's
stony countenance. She was standing shading a
candle with her hand, and her deep eyes were fixed
in unmistakable compassion on the little girl.</p>
<p>"Jump up," she repeated, "an' dress like sixty.
You've got yourself into a peck o' trouble."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane had not a thought of questioning the
wisdom of this command. Something about the
hard-faced woman inspired her with confidence, and
without a word she stepped out of bed, and began
rapidly putting on her clothes.</p>
<p>"I'll talk while you dress," said the woman, in a
hard, intense voice, and putting down the candle,
"but, Lord, how can I say it all?"</p>
<p>There was a kind of desperation in her tone,
although no trace of emotion appeared on her face.
'Tilda Jane felt a strange kinship with this reserved
woman, and flashed her a sympathetic glance while
buttoning one of her stout and ugly garments.</p>
<p>Ruth Ann made a brief grimace. "Here I am,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
she said, with a sudden burst of speech, "a middle-aged
woman gettin' old. You're a young one settin'
out on life's journey. I'll never see you agin,
prob'bly. Let me give you a word—be honest, an'
if you can't be honest, be as honest as you can.
You'll have no luck otherwise. You may think
you're havin' luck in bein' sly, but it's a kind o' luck
that turns to loss in the long run. There's that
sister o' mine. She reminds me o' Reuben in the
Bible—'unstable as water thou shalt not excel.'
She's that deceitful that I should think she'd choke
with it so she couldn't breathe."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane made no remark, but as she threw her
dress over her head her two black eyes scintillated
wonderingly in the woman's direction.</p>
<p>"Unstable," said Ruth Ann, bitterly. "I'd 'a'
loved her if she'd been honest, but it's always the
same,—fair to the face, foul behind the back. I've
slaved for her an' waited on her, an' heard her
praised for work I've done, and seen young men
oggle her, an' she oggle back, an' I've never had
an offer an' never will, an' sometimes I think I hate
her."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p>
<p>'Tilda Jane paused for an instant in her rapid
dressing. This sisterly repulsion was something
unknown to her childish experience.</p>
<p>"Then when she gets sick from stuffin' herself,
I'm feared, an' think she's goin' to die, but she'll
'tend my funeral, an' cry an' look so handsome that
some ole Jack will pop the question on the way
home. Here, child, eat these while you dress,"
and she drew some doughnuts from her pocket.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane pushed them from her, with an involuntary
movement of dislike.</p>
<p>"You've turned agin me for turnin' agin my
sister," said the woman, bitterly. "Wait till you're
treated as I am. An' let me tell you what she's
done to you. You made mention o' Mis' Grannis.
Mis' Grannis has got a mortgage on this house.
Mis' Grannis lends her money, Mis' Grannis is the
god my sister bows down to. Do you think she'd
let you stand between her and Mis' Grannis? No—the
minute she heard you say Mis' Grannis
would be pleased to git you back, that minute she
made up her mind to fool you and Hank Dillson
that she can't abide 'cause he ain't never asked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
her to stop bein' a widow. So she made me help
her hitch up, an' she's off on the wings of the
wind to tell her sweet Mis' Grannis to come an'
git you; an' just to fool her who is so cute at
foolin' other folks, I made up my mind to git you
off. Now do you take it in?"</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane did take in this alarming bit of news,
and for one instant stood aghast. Then she resolutely
fell to lacing on her shoes.</p>
<p>"You're gritty," said the woman, admiringly.
"Now I'll tell you what I've laid out. I'm goin'
to guide you through the woods to the Moss Glen
Station. When we git mos' there, I'll skedaddle
home an' to bed, 'cause I don't want sister to find
me out. Here's an extry pair o' stockin's an' shoes
to put on before you board the train. You'll git
yours full o' snow water. If all goes as I calc'late,
you'll have time to change 'em in the station.
You don't want to git sick so you can't stand up
to that ole man. Here's a little tippet for your
shoulders. Dillson told sister to give you a shawl,
but she'll not do it. An' he paid her, too. Now
come, let's start."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p>
<p>'Tilda Jane brushed her hand over her eyes,
resolutely picked up her dog, and followed her
guide out to the kitchen.</p>
<p>Ruth Ann caught up a shawl, threw it over her
head, and opened the door. "My—it's black! I
guess we'll have to take a lantern."</p>
<p>She turned back, fumbled in a corner of the
kitchen, struck a light, then rejoined 'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>For some minutes they plodded on in silence.
Then Ruth Ann said, anxiously, "I don' know
what I'll do if it don't snow. She'll track us sure—me,
big feet, an' you, smaller ones. Glory, it's
snowin' now!"</p>
<p>A sudden wind had sprung up in the black, quiet
night, and whirled a few flakes of snow in their
faces. Then the snow began to fall from above,
gently and quietly, flake by flake.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane struggled along the heavy road in the
wake of the tall woman ahead. The small dog
seemed to have grown larger, and lay a heavy burden
in her arms. Yet she uttered no word of
complaint. Her mind was in a whirl, and she gave
no thought to physical fatigue. What was she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
doing? Had she—a little girl—any right to give
so much trouble to grown people? Her actions
were exactly in opposition to every precept that
had been instilled into her mind. Children should
be seen and not heard. Children should wait on
grown people. Children must not lie under any
circumstances. They must be obedient, truthful,
honest, and uncomplaining. Perhaps she ought to
go back to the orphan asylum. She could stand
punishment herself—but her dog? They would
make her give him up. Some boy would get him.
Boys were all mischievous at times. Could she
endure the thought of that little feeble frame
subjected to torture? She could not, and steeling
her heart against the asylum, the matron, and the
lady managers, she walked on more quickly than
ever.</p>
<p>She would never forget that ghostly walk through
the woods. The narrow way wound always between
high snow-laden sentinels of trees. The sickly,
slanting gleam of the lantern lighted only a few
steps ahead. Mystery and solemnity were all about
her; the pure and exquisite snow, on which they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
were putting their black-shod feet, was to her the
trailing robe of an angel who had gone before.
The large, flat snowflakes, showered on her erring
head, were missives from the skies, "Go back,
little girl, go back."</p>
<p>"Lord, I can't go back," she repeated, stubbornly,
"but I'll repent some more, by and by. Please
take away the sick feeling in the middle of my
stomach. I can't enjoy anythin'."</p>
<p>The sick feeling continued, and she gave Ruth
Ann only a feeble "yes," when she suddenly turned
and threw the light of the lantern on her with a
brisk, "Don't you want to know what lie I'm goin'
to tell 'bout your leavin'?</p>
<p>"I'm not goin' to tell any lie," Ruth Ann continued,
triumphantly. "If you've got grace enough
to hold your tongue, other folks'll do all your lyin'
for you. Sister'll come home, Mis' Grannis with
her, prob'bly. They'll go ravagin' in the spare
room. They'll come ravagin' out—'Ruth Ann,
that young one's run off!' An' I'll be busy with
my pots an' pans, an' all I'll have to say is: 'Do
tell!' or, 'Why, how you talk!' An' sister'll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
rave an' tear, an' run round like a crazy thing, an'
look at Mis' Grannis out o' the corner of her eye."</p>
<p>Ruth Ann's shoulders shook with enjoyable
laughter, but if she had turned suddenly she
would have seen a look of unmistakable disgust
flitting over the face behind her.</p>
<p>She did turn suddenly a few minutes later, but the
look was gone. "Here, give me that dog," she said,
peremptorily.</p>
<p>The little girl protested, but the woman took him,
and again they plodded on in silence.</p>
<p>"Here we be," she said, after they had been walking
for an hour longer.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane raised her head. The narrow road had
abruptly expanded into a circular clearing, and in the
midst of the clearing stood a small wooden building.</p>
<p>Ruth Ann walked up to it, handed 'Tilda Jane the
dog and the lantern, and put her hands on one of the
diminutive windows.</p>
<p>It opened easily, and she ejaculated with satisfaction,
"Just what I thought. Come, crawl in here;
the station agent's been here all the evenin', an' the
fire ain't quite out. You'll be as snug as a bug in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
rug. He'll be back at daylight agin, an' soon after
your train'll come along for Ciscasset. Don't you
breathe a word to him 'bout me. Say Mis' Minley
brought you here, if he asks anythin'. Here's enough
money to buy your ticket. I ain't got much. Sister
keeps me short, an' she's took away with her what
Hank Dillson give her for you. Mind an' keep that
card with his father's name pinned inside your dress.
Here's a lunch," and she produced a parcel from her
pocket. "Don't fret, sister can't git home much before
breakfast, an' by that time you'll be in Ciscasset,
an' I guess they'll not follow you there. She don't
know the name o' the place, anyway. She didn't
take no 'count when Hank mentioned it, an' when
she asked me, you'd better believe I forgot it, too."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane scrambled through the window, and,
upon arriving inside, turned around and gravely shook
hands with her guide. "I guess I sha'n't forgit this."</p>
<p>"Don't you take no pains to remember it before
sister," said the woman, with a chuckle, "if you don't
want me to live an' die in hot water. Good luck to
you. Shut the winder, an' put a stick on the fire,"
and she strode off through the snow.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p>
<p>'Tilda Jane shuddered. She was not a nervous
child, yet the knowledge that she was alone in a
forest pressed and bore down upon her. However,
she was out of the increasing storm. She had got
her guilty feet off that angel's trailing robe, and the
little letters from heaven were not dashing in her
face, nor was there any danger now that one of the
groaning trees bending to lament over her would fall
and crush her shrinking form.</p>
<p>They were creaking all around the circular opening—those
spying trees—staring through the curtainless
windows at her, and instead of throwing on more
wood, and making a blaze that would enable her to
be plainly seen, she opened the stove door, and, cowering
over the embers, changed her wet foot-gear,
and tried to dry her clinging skirts.</p>
<p>She was entirely miserable until the frightened dog
crept into her arms. Here was something weaker
and more in need of protection than herself, and,
hugging him closely to her, she prepared to spend
the rest of the night in a patient waiting for the
morning.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER V.</a><br />
<span class="small">ANOTHER ADVENTURE.</span></h2>
<p>The quietest and most undemonstrative passenger
on the night train from Boston was the shabby little
girl in the corner, with the bundle beside her on the
seat.</p>
<p>The conductor, after one sharp glance, paid no
attention to her, the brakemen paid no attention to
her, the boy with the gum-drops and novels ignored
her. She had the air of knowing where she was
going, and also of being utterly uninteresting, and
greatly to her relief she was left entirely to her own
devices.</p>
<p>In reality 'Tilda Jane was in a state of semi-paralysis.
She scarcely dared to move, to breathe. All
her life had been spent in the quiet precincts of the
asylum. She had scarcely been allowed to go to the
small village in its vicinity, and when she had been
allowed to visit it she had seen nothing as wonderful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
as this, for there was no railway there. It took her
breath away to be whirled along at so rapid a rate.
She wondered how the people dared to walk about.
She wondered how she had ever had courage enough
to step on board the flaming, roaring monster that
had come rushing out of the woods as if it would
devour the little station, the agent, herself, and her
dog. But they had not been devoured, and the
agent had guided her staggering footsteps toward the
monster. If he had not done so, she would in her
bewilderment have been left a prey for the pitiless
Mrs. Minley.</p>
<p>For two hours she sat with swimming brain, then
it occurred to her that she must in some way acquaint
this wonderful and frightful means of locomotion,
with her desire to alight at her destination.
She closely watched the people entering and leaving
the car, and discovered that immediately following
the entrance of a man who bawled some unintelligible
exclamation, something took place that reminded her
of a game played at the asylum. Certain people went
out, and certain others came in and took their places.
She must catch this noisy man and speak to him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>
<p>She patiently waited for him to pass through the
car. Once he swept by her, and then some time
elapsed before she saw him again. The train had
been waiting for fifteen minutes at a station. A
number of men had gone out, and presently come
back brushing their moustaches and with toothpicks
between their teeth. This must be an eating-place;
and Ruth Ann said that 'Tilda Jane would arrive in
Ciscasset before breakfast-time.</p>
<p>The little girl desperately addressed a passenger
passing her. "I say, sir, when do we come to
Ciscasset?"</p>
<p>"Ciscasset!" repeated the man. "We passed it
an hour ago."</p>
<p>"Passed it!" she echoed, stupidly.</p>
<p>The man turned to a news agent sauntering by.
"Here, you, send the conductor here."</p>
<p>The conductor did not appear, but a brakeman
came. "Got carried beyond your station, little girl.
You're in Canada now, but it's all right; we'll ship
you off at the next stop. Number eight will take
you back. All ri-i-i-ght."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane fell back on her seat with a strange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
sinking of heart. She remembered now that Hank
Dillson had said the conductor would "holler" Ciscasset;
but, if he had done so, she had not distinguished
the words in the strange sounds issuing
from his mouth.</p>
<p>It seemed as if only a few bewildered minutes had
passed when someone ejaculated, "McAdam Junction!"
and the friendly brakeman was beside her.
She felt herself lifted from her seat, bundle and all,
and swung to a platform, where she stood among a
group of people. She did not know where to go or
what to do, and remained as one in a dream until
some one touched her shoulder.</p>
<p>"You the little girl carried beyond your station?"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," she gasped, and looked up into the
pleasant face of a young man bending over her.</p>
<p>"All right; the conductor told me about you.
Come in here," and he led the way to a waiting-room.
"Had your breakfast?"</p>
<p>"No, sir, but I've got it here," and she pulled
Ruth Ann's parcel out of her pocket.</p>
<p>The young man smiled and motioned it back.
"Come have some hot coffee," and he passed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
through a doorway into an eating-room, where 'Tilda
Jane presently found herself seated before a steaming
cup of coffee, and a plate of beefsteak and
potatoes.</p>
<p>"I ain't got any money to pay for this," she said,
bluntly, to the young woman who set the tempting
viands before her.</p>
<p>"That's all right," said the girl, smiling.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane picked up her knife and fork. "All
right!" seemed to be a railway expression. It was
immensely comforting to her, and she soberly partook
of the hot breakfast, drank all her coffee, and
emptied the scraps from her plate into her handkerchief.
Then she approached the counter where
the young woman stood.</p>
<p>"Thank you kindly, ma'am. I've made a good
meal."</p>
<p>Then she went outdoors into the crisp morning
air. The snow-storm was over, and the day was
delightful—blue above, white below. It was like
a fairy world. She walked to the end of the platform,
unrolled her shawl, and, freeing her mummy-like
dog, set his breakfast before him. He ate with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
avidity, then, showing a disinclination to return to
his bandages, hopped on his three legs along the
platform beside her, his crooked tail meanwhile
describing successive circles in the air. Some of
the loiterers about the station gathered around him,
and seeing that his bodily infirmities were a subject
of mirth rather than of compassion, 'Tilda Jane, in
spite of warm protests on his part, once more
swathed him in his shawl, and carried him with
dignity into the waiting-room. There she sat until
the agreeable young man ran in and said her train
was coming.</p>
<p>Something warned her that she ought to implore
him to tell some one to have a care of her—to see
that she did not again get carried beyond her destination,
but a kind of paralysis seized upon her
tongue, and she could only open her mouth and
gape stupidly at him.</p>
<p>"You'll be all right now," he said, with a nod.
"Jump when you hear Ciscasset."</p>
<p>"Ciscasset, Ciscasset!" she repeated the name
in a kind of desperation, then, as the train started
with a jerk and she tumbled into a seat, she said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
aloud, and without addressing any one in particular,
"I wish to jump off at Ciscasset."</p>
<p>"Bless the child!" ejaculated an old lady in the
seat before her, "I guess this is her first journey,"
and turning around, she stared mildly.</p>
<p>"Oh, ma'am," said 'Tilda Jane, "can't you help
me get off at Ciscasset? The train goes so fast, an'
I'm so little."</p>
<p>"Bless the child!" said the old lady again, "of
course I will. Conductor, this little girl wishes to
get off at Ciscasset."</p>
<p>"All right," said that official, hurrying by.</p>
<p>"This little girl wishes to get off at Ciscasset,"
exclaimed the old lady once more, this time to a
brakeman.</p>
<p>He nodded and passed on, and presently the conductor
returned and said, smartly, "Tickets!"</p>
<p>"I ain't got any," replied 'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>"Then you must buy one," said the old lady;
"have you got any money, my dear?"</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane never thought of asking the conductor
if he had not been informed of her mishap. She
never dreamed that the pleasant-faced young man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
had forgotten to ask that she be carried back to the
station for which she had bought her ticket. Therefore
she drew her handkerchief from her pocket,
untied a knot in its corner, and slowly produced
fifty cents.</p>
<p>"Is that all the money you've got?" asked the
conductor, briskly.</p>
<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
<p>"Where do you come from?"</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane preserved a discreet silence.</p>
<p>"Put it up," he said, waving his hand toward the
handkerchief and immediately going away.</p>
<p>"Oh, what a nice kind man!" said the old lady.
"He's going to let you ride free."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane breathed more freely, and returned
her handkerchief to its place.</p>
<p>The conductor, meanwhile, had gone to a Pullman
car in the rear, where a man in plain clothes was
lying back on a seat, apparently engaged in an aimless,
leisurely scrutiny of the occupants of the car.</p>
<p>"Jack," said the conductor, "there's a slip of a
girl in the day car—poor clothes, shawl bundle, no
money, won't tell where she comes from, making a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
great fuss about going to Ciscasset, looks like an
emigrant."</p>
<p>"All right," said Jack, laconically, then he gave
an imperceptible nod toward a trio of well-dressed
young men engaged in card playing. "Want to see
me nab that New York jeweller's clerk?"</p>
<p>"Yep," said the conductor.</p>
<p>"Got any telegrams in your pocket?"</p>
<p>"Two."</p>
<p>"Lend me one, and sit down here a minute."</p>
<p>Jack got up, the conductor took the vacated seat,
and waited one, two, three minutes, and then Jack
reappeared from between the curtains of the drawing-room
at the rear of the car.</p>
<p>"A telegram for H.J. Bolingbroke," he called, in
a loud voice; "any passenger of that name in this
car?"</p>
<p>The youngest of the three men playing cards
involuntarily raised his head, started from his seat,
half extended his hand, then drew back.</p>
<p>Jack tossed the telegram to the conductor, and
nodded to the young man. "Thought you were
travelling under an assumed name. H. J. Boling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>broke
<em>alias</em> Blixton. Have you got those diamonds
in your pocket?"</p>
<p>The young man flushed painfully, while his fellow
players threw down their cards and surveyed him
curiously.</p>
<p>"Trouble you to follow me to another car," said
Jack, and he led the way for the detected smuggler.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane saw the two men pass, and innocently
stared at them, little dreaming that her turn was to
come next.</p>
<p>After awhile Jack reappeared and sat down in a
seat behind 'Tilda Jane. After noticing the ineffectual
attempts made by the old lady to draw the
little girl into conversation, he leaned over and
poured some candy into her lap from a bag he held
in his hand.</p>
<p>"Have some, sissy?"</p>
<p>She gratefully flashed him a glance over her
shoulder. "Thank you, sir."</p>
<p>"Going far?" he asked, agreeably.</p>
<p>"To Ciscasset," she said, feverishly. "Will you
tell me when we come to it?"</p>
<p>"Certainly. Going to visit friends?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
<p>"No, sir."</p>
<p>"Oh, going home?"</p>
<p>"No, sir."</p>
<p>"Your home isn't quite so near as Ciscasset?"</p>
<p>"No, sir."</p>
<p>"Did you bring that small dog across the ocean
with you?" he asked, his keen eye noting a stirring
inside the bundle.</p>
<p>"No, sir."</p>
<p>"Where did you pick him up?"</p>
<p>"Some boys were goin' to drown him."</p>
<p>"So you're a kind little girl."</p>
<p>"I ain't as good as I ought to be," she said,
warmly; "but I'm goin' to try to be better. Oh,
sir, are we at Ciscasset yet?"</p>
<p>"No, this is Vanceboro, the border station between
Canada and the States. I guess you'd better
come this way for Ciscasset, little girl."</p>
<p>"Why, this train goes direct to Ciscasset," interposed
the old lady.</p>
<p>"Yes, ma'am, but this little girl is a stop-over.
She'll probably go on the next train."</p>
<p>The old lady grew suspicious. "You let that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
child alone, sir. Where's the conductor? Conductor,
I say, come here. Can't some one get the
conductor? Don't go with him one step, little
girl."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane, grown very pale, gazed apprehensively
at the man, and did not offer to leave her seat.</p>
<p>He threw back his coat and displayed a badge.
"Madam, I'm a government inspector."</p>
<p>"A government inspector! What's that?" the
old lady spluttered, eyeing him over her glasses.</p>
<p>"Well, madam, there ain't much time for explanation,
but I can tell you this much, namely, that
we have to detain and examine all persons without
means of livelihood who attempt to enter the United
States from foreign countries."</p>
<p>She still gazed at him suspiciously. "I never
heard of such a thing. I guess this is a free
country."</p>
<p>"Yes, ma'am, and the government wants to keep
it free. If you get a lot of pauper foreigners here,
it'll not be free long."</p>
<p>"This little girl is American, ain't you, sissy?"</p>
<p>"I'm an orphan," said 'Tilda Jane, guardedly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
Whatever happened, she was determined not to
admit too much.</p>
<p>At this moment the conductor appeared, and the
old lady hailed him indignantly. "What does this
mean, sir? This little girl offered to pay her passage.
I saw her with my own eyes. Now you're
going to put her off the train."</p>
<p>"It's all right, ma'am," he said, soothingly, "she'll
likely be allowed to go on to-morrow."</p>
<p>"And you'll keep that innocent child here all
day, and she too frightened to breathe?" cried the
old lady. "I never heard of such doings. I'll write
the President! I'll show you up in the papers!"</p>
<p>"She'll be well taken care of, madam," said the
conductor. "There's a good hotel here. All detained
are lodged and fed at government expense.
She'll be put in charge of a chambermaid."</p>
<p>"You're a set of villains!" said the old lady,
wrathfully.</p>
<p>"Oh, law!" groaned the conductor, "I'm sick of
these fusses. Pick up her traps, Jack."</p>
<p>"Come, little girl," said Jack, kindly, and 'Tilda
Jane, seeing that the inevitable had once more over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>taken
her, rose resignedly, but the too kind and
officious old lady clung to her so wildly that the
two men were forced to draw her away from her.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane, in a state of complete bewilderment
totally unmixed with terror, for she had taken a
liking to the kind face of her guide, trotted meekly
after him into the shadow of a long V-shaped building.
The platform was crowded with people. Two
trains were standing at the station, and in a large
dining-room on her right she saw thronged tables
and hurrying waitresses.</p>
<p>She was ushered into a room where there was a
handsomely dressed woman with a flushed face and
tearful eyes, a dejected looking boy and girl sitting
very close to each other, a diminutive and poorly
dressed German Jew, and a composed looking man
sitting behind a small table.</p>
<p>"I'll have to leave you now," said her guide.
"Don't be scared, but speak up," and with a reassuring
smile he disappeared.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER VI.</a><br />
<span class="small">DEAF AND DUMB.</span></h2>
<p>'Tilda Jane sat down on a bench in the corner
and took the dog on her lap.</p>
<p>The fashionably dressed woman was speaking and
gesticulating earnestly in front of the man whose
face was only a trifle less calm and stony than that
of Ruth Ann.</p>
<p>"I never heard of such a thing in my life—to
take my sealskin coat from me in the dead of winter.
Now if it was summer, it wouldn't be so bad. My
nice coat that cost me four hundred and seventy-five
dollars."</p>
<p>The man listened stolidly.</p>
<p>"And you tell me your government orders you
to take ladies' jackets from them. It seems incredible!"</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane curiously scanned the garment under
discussion. It certainly was very handsome.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p>
<p>"It is incredible, madam. The government does
not wish to deprive ladies of their sealskin coats. It
merely requires its custom officials, of whom I am
one, to enforce the law which has been made to prevent
the importation of sealskin coats free of duty."</p>
<p>"And have you taken many jackets?" sneered
the woman.</p>
<p>The official gazed at her in frigid silence.</p>
<p>"I'll go right back to Toronto, where I live," she
said, indignantly. "I was going to buy my daughter's
trousseau in New York, but I'll spend every
cent at home. That's the way we will make New
York suffer on account of your government being
so hateful!" and she flounced from the room. The
man behind the table cast a leisurely glance over
the remaining occupants of the room. Then he
addressed the dejected boy and girl.</p>
<p>"Hello, you!—what's your name?"</p>
<p>"Thaddeus and Mary Lee," said the boy, mournfully.</p>
<p>"Brother and sister?"</p>
<p>"Man and wife," responded the boy, lugubriously.</p>
<p>The assistant inspector elevated his eyebrows.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
<p>"What ages?"</p>
<p>"Nineteen and seventeen," sighed the lad.</p>
<p>"Where are you going?"</p>
<p>"To Boston."</p>
<p>"What for?"</p>
<p>"To look for work."</p>
<p>"Got any money?"</p>
<p>"Two dollars and seventy cents."</p>
<p>"That all?"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
<p>"What place do you come from?"</p>
<p>"Chickaminga, Quebec."</p>
<p>"You'll take the 8.15 <span class="fs70">A. M.</span> train back to-morrow,"
said the man, briefly. "Now, Deutscher," and he
nodded to the German Jew.</p>
<p>The boy and girl left the room, hand in hand,
with melancholy clothing them like a garment, and
'Tilda Jane gazed after them with wide-open eyes.
Her attention, however, was soon distracted, for the
little Jew, the instant he was indicated, sprang from
his seat, extended both hands, and nimbly skipping
over the floor between his numerous bundles, overwhelmed
the inspector with a flood of German.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p>
<p>The inspector leaned back in his chair and at last
put up a hand with a commanding, "Halt!"</p>
<p>The old man paused open-mouthed, and the inspector
went on in German: "You left your home,
you crossed the sea, you wish to go to Portland to
relatives—so far, so good, but where are your
papers?"</p>
<p>The old man broke into a second burst of
eloquence.</p>
<p>"Your certificate," reiterated the inspector, "your
writing from the captain of the ship."</p>
<p>The old man shook his head sadly. He had no
papers.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane did not understand a word of what he
was saying, but his gestures were expressive, and she
anxiously watched his interlocutor.</p>
<p>"Where did you land?" asked the inspector.</p>
<p>"In Halifax, Nova Scotia."</p>
<p>"From what ship?"</p>
<p>"<i lang="de" xml:lang="de">Das Veilchen.</i>"</p>
<p>"Captain's name?"</p>
<p>"Strassburger."</p>
<p>"Your name?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p>
<p>"Franz Veier."</p>
<p>"I'll telegraph him. That's all."</p>
<p>"And can I not go to my friends now—at once?
They are waiting, they are expecting. We have so
much to say."</p>
<p>"No," said the inspector, and as the German burst
out into groans and lamentations, he waved him from
the room.</p>
<p>When the door closed, and 'Tilda Jane felt that the
cold and scrutinising eyes of the inspector were fixed
on her, she was stricken with sudden dumbness.
How these people had talked! She could not in a
month utter as much as they had said in a few
minutes. The result of their loquacity had been a
seeming paralysis of her organs of speech.</p>
<p>"What's your name, little girl?" said the official,
with slight geniality.</p>
<p>Her lips parted, but no sound came from them.</p>
<p>"<i lang="de" xml:lang="de">Sprechen Sie Deutsch?</i>" he asked, agreeably.</p>
<p>She shook her head, not from any knowledge of
his meaning, but to signify her disinclination for
speech.</p>
<p>"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Parlez-vous français</i>?" he went on, patiently.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p>
<p>Her head again negatived this question, and he
inquired in Spanish if she knew that tongue.</p>
<p>The shaking of the head became mechanical, and
as the inspector knew seventeen languages, he
addressed her successively in each one of them.</p>
<p>After she had shaken her head at them all, he
surveyed her a few seconds in meditative silence.
Then he began to talk on his fingers. She was
probably deaf and dumb.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane joyfully uncurled her hands from the
bundle on her lap. This was a safe medium of conversation,
for talking on the fingers had been a
favourite amusement of the orphans during silence
hours; and she would not be tempted to say too
much, and betray the fact that she was a runaway.
Accordingly, she spelled out the information, "I am
an orphan."</p>
<p>"Where do you come from?" he asked her.</p>
<p>"A long ways off," her finger tips informed him.</p>
<p>"Name of place?"</p>
<p>"I can't tell you," she responded.</p>
<p>"Where are you going?" he inquired.</p>
<p>"To—" she hesitated about the spelling of Cis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>casset,
but got something near enough to it for him
to understand.</p>
<p>"Any relatives there?" he spelled on his fingers.</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Going to visit?'</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Have you any money?" he next asked her, and
she politely and speedily informed him that she had
fifty cents.</p>
<p>"You must tell me where you come from," came
next from him in peremptory finger taps.</p>
<p>"No, sir," she replied, with spirited movements.</p>
<p>"Then you'll stay here till you do," he responded,
and with a yawn he rose, turned his back to her, and
looked out of the window.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane took up her dog, and slipped out of
the room. She was not frightened or sorry for the
deception she had just practised. It did not seem to
her that it was deception. For the time being she
was deaf and dumb, and, far from being alarmed by
her helpless condition, she possessed the strong conviction
that she would be well taken care of. She
had also ceased to worry about the board of lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
managers, and in her present comfortable, callous
state of mind she reflected that she might stay here a
year, and they would never think of looking for her
in a railway station. She was lost to them, and she
gaily hummed a tune as she strolled to and fro on
the big wooden platform, watching the shunting
engines, the busy custom-house officers, and the
station yard employees, who were cleaning, rubbing,
scouring, and preparing cars for further journeys.</p>
<p>At twelve o'clock, just as she was beginning to
stifle yawns, and gaze wistfully at the windows of
the dining-room, a young girl in a white apron
came and stood in the doorway, and, shading her
eyes from the sun shining in such dazzling brightness
on the snow, beckoned vigorously to 'Tilda
Jane.</p>
<p>The little girl needed no second invitation, and,
with her dog limping behind her, trotted nimbly
toward her new friend.</p>
<p>"Poor little soul—she's deef and dumb," said
the dining-room girl, compassionately, as she passed
a group of men in the hall. "Ain't it a pity?"</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane did not speak or smile, nor did her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
conscience, often so troublesomely sensitive, now
give one reproving twinge. Since talking to the
inspector she felt as if deaf and dumb. She had
been officially proclaimed so, and in meek patience
she seated herself at the table, calmly pointed to
what she wished, and, being most tenderly and
assiduously waited upon by the pitying girl, ate a
large and excellent dinner.</p>
<p>At the orphan asylum there had never been fare
such as this, and, after she had finished her chocolate
pudding, and put in her pocket a juicy orange
that she could not possibly eat, she bowed her head,
and internally and thankfully repeated the orphanage
grace after meat.</p>
<p>"Just look at her!" exclaimed the admiring girl.
"Ain't she cute? What kind of folks must she have
to let such a poor little innocent travel alone? I
don't believe she's obstinate. That assistant inspector
is as hateful as he can be. Come, sissy,
and I'll show you to your room," and she approached
'Tilda Jane, and took her by the hand.</p>
<p>The latter pointed to her dog, and not until she
had seen him satisfy the demands of his appetite,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
would she consent to follow her guide to a neat
little apartment in the top of the wooden hotel.</p>
<p>Upon arriving there, she thanked the girl by
a smile, closed the door, and, throwing herself on
her bed, was soon buried in sweet and wholesome
slumber.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER VII.</a><br />
<span class="small">CLEARING UP A MISTAKE.</span></h2>
<p>That evening, when some of the custom-house
officials and some of the guests of the hotel were
sitting tipped back in chairs in the smoking-room,
the assistant inspector said to the inspector, who
had just come in, "I couldn't make anything of
your deaf and dumb kid, Jack."</p>
<p>"What deaf and dumb kid?" asked Jack, seating
himself, and drawing out his cigar case.</p>
<p>"That young one with the bundle."</p>
<p>"She ain't deaf and dumb. Her tongue's hung
as limber as yours."</p>
<p>"Well, I swan!" said the assistant inspector,
blankly, and, as he spoke, he brought his chair
down on its four legs, and gazed about the room
with an expression of such utter helplessness that
the other men broke into a roar of laughter.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
<p>"Don't cry, Blakeman," said Jack, soothingly.
"It's only once in a coon's age you're fooled."</p>
<p>"Do you suppose the slyboots has gone to bed?"
asked Blakeman, again tipping back his chair, and
returning to his professional manner. "Uncle Sam
hasn't got any spare cash to waste on such like.
Just open the door, Rufus, and see if you see any
of the girls about."</p>
<p>A dining-room girl good-naturedly consented to
go in search of 'Tilda Jane, and upon entering the
room found her on her knees thoughtfully looking
down at the railway tracks running close to the
hotel.</p>
<p>Stepping forward and gently touching her shoulder,
the girl pointed down-stairs.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane nodded, smiled, and, taking her hand,
went out into the hall and down the staircases with
her. 'Tilda Jane stared at the ring of men sitting
in the smoking-room. When she caught sight of
her friend of the morning, she smiled and bobbed
her head at him, then, letting her dog slip from her
arm to the floor, she stood in silence, waiting to be
questioned.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p>
<p>She had no doubt that this was some special tribunal
called together to deliberate upon her case. She
was not afraid of these men, they had kindly faces.</p>
<p>"What made you pretend you were deaf and
dumb?" asked the inspector, at last.</p>
<p>She opened her mouth once or twice, tried to
speak, failed, and at last articulated with difficulty,
and with an air of genuine surprise, "Why—ain't
I deef an' dumb? I ain't spoke ever since he made
me think so till now," and she nodded toward the
assistant inspector.</p>
<p>"I made you think so!" ejaculated Blakeman,
irritably.</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," she said, dreamily, and lingering over
her syllables as if she found a new pleasure in the
exercise of speech. "You had so much to say, an'
the other people had so much to say, that the room
seemed chock full o' words. They was flyin' round
ever so thick, but I couldn't ketch one o' them."</p>
<p>"Well, now, you've got to quit lying and tell us
where you come from," said the assistant inspector,
roughly. "You've got to be sent home to-morrow."</p>
<p>"Sent home?" she repeated wonderingly.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
<p>"Yes—to Canada. Now tell us the name of
the place you belong to, or we'll ship you to some
poorhouse."</p>
<p>"Do I come from Canada?" she asked, with a
mystified air.</p>
<p>Jack jogged his assistant's elbow. "Seemed to
me there was the smell of a ship about her."</p>
<p>"Not so," responded Blakeman who prided himself
on distinguishing nationalities. "She hasn't
any European accent. She's from right over the
border here somewhere."</p>
<p>"Do you know my mother?" 'Tilda Jane was
eagerly asking the assistant inspector.</p>
<p>"Yes—know her well. If you don't speak up
I'll telegraph her."</p>
<p>"Oh, I'll never speak then," said 'Tilda Jane,
taking a step forward and clasping her hands painfully.
"Oh, sir, do telegraph to my mother. I've
cried an' cried at nights 'bout her. Other girls has
mothers that loves 'em an' strokes their hair, an'
nobody ever done that to me. They just thinks I'm
ugly. Oh, sir, oh, sir, won't you telegraph my
mother?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
<p>Blakeman had gone too far. The sentiment of the
meeting was against him, and a low murmur warned
him to retract what he had said.</p>
<p>"I don't mean your mother," he said, sulkily. "I
mean your guardians."</p>
<p>"The lady-boards?" asked 'Tilda Jane, eagerly.</p>
<p>He did not know what "lady-boards" meant, but
his silence seemed to give assent to her question,
and losing the bright flush that had come to her
face, she relapsed into painful and profound silence.</p>
<p>He would never know how he had hurt her. Oh!
what hopes he had raised, and in an instant dashed
to the ground, and checking the convulsion in her
throat, she stealthily wiped away the two tears of
distress coursing down her thin cheeks.</p>
<p>"Don't cry," said Jack, kindly. "I expect you're
tired from your trip in the train yesterday. You
had a pretty long one, hadn't you?"</p>
<p>"Yes, Mr. Jack," she said, humbly. "It seemed
kind o' long, but I'm not used to bein' drug along
so mighty quick."</p>
<p>"I didn't notice her till we passed McAdam
Junction," whispered Jack to his assistant. "She's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
come down from some place in New Brunswick.
Telegraph McAdam."</p>
<p>"They'll not know," growled Blakeman. "Robinson
on yesterday's Montreal express is the man.
He'll be back to-night. He'll know where she got
on. If he'd reported, 'twould have saved this."</p>
<p>"I guess he didn't think we'd struck such an
obstacle," remarked Jack, with a chuckle. Then he
said aloud, "Don't you suppose they'll be worrying
about you, sissy?"</p>
<p>"No, sir," she said, meekly, "they'll be more mad
than worried."</p>
<p>"You haven't lost that paper with the address,
have you?" said Jack, cunningly.</p>
<p>"No, sir," and she put her hand to her breast.</p>
<p>He got up and walked toward her. "Let me see
if I can read it."</p>
<p>"There's no 'casion for that," she said, with
dignity.</p>
<p>"You'll have to let me see it," he said, firmly, so
firmly that it being no part of her plan to "<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note—Original text: 'dare the undarable'">dare the
undareable</ins>," she quietly handed Hank's card to him.</p>
<p>"Hobart Dillson, Ciscasset, Maine," he read, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
he gave it back to her. "Thank you, sissy. I
guess you can go to bed now."</p>
<p>"In a minute," said 'Tilda Jane, submissively,
while she made a queer bob of a curtsey to all
present. "Gen'l'men all—before I go I must say
somethin'. Up-stairs jus' now I was ponderin' on my
wickedness. I guess you think I don't know that all
liars has their portion in the lake o' fire an' brimstone.
I knows it an' feels it, but gen'l'men I ain't
told no more lies nor I could help. That 'bout bein'
deef an' dumb I can't call a lie, 'cause I felt it, an'
I'm s'prised now to hear myself talk. But I have
told lies, an' I know it. To-day I had a boss dinner.
I went to sleep an' on my bed I dreamed. Somethin'
roared an' shook the house an' I woke in a
sweat. Did I think the devil had come after me?
Yes, sirs—gen'l'men, I've been awful bad, I don't
s'pose any of you knows what such badness is. I'm
afeared I've got to go on lyin' till I like lies better'n
truth. That's what the—what ladies I has known
said would happen to little girls as stepped aside
from the paths of righteousness."</p>
<p>The men were all staring at her, the assistant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
inspector most intently, for this flow of language
from the supposedly deaf and dumb child surprised
even him—a man used to surprises.</p>
<p>"I'm goin' to repent some day," continued 'Tilda
Jane, sadly, "just as soon as I get out o' this, an'
enjoyin' fam'ly life. I'm goin' to repent of all 'cept
one thing, an' I can't repent 'bout that 'cause I
dunno if it's wrong. Do you like dogs?" and she
abruptly addressed the assistant inspector.</p>
<p>"No," he said, brusquely.</p>
<p>"What do you like?" she went on, wistfully,
"cats, birds, children—do you like girls, sir, nice
little girls with blue eyes an' curly hair?"</p>
<p>The assistant inspector was a remarkably fine
blond specimen of a man, and, as he was popular
among the young women of the neighbourhood,
'Tilda Jane's artless question produced a burst of
laughter from his companions, and a furious flaming
of colour in his own face.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<a name="p092" id="p092"></a>
<img src="images/p092.jpg" width="500" alt="" />
<div class="caption">"'I'M GOIN' TO REPENT SOME DAY.'"</div>
<p class="rt"><a href="#LOI">[Back to LOI]</a></p>
</div>
<p>Her question had gone home, and she proceeded.
"Suppose you had a nice little girl an' some one wanted
to take her away, an' frighten her, an' tie jinglin' things
to her an' make her run, an' you'd ketch her up an'
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>run off to the woods, would that be awful wicked,
do you s'pose, an' would you have to repent?"</p>
<p>The assistant inspector preserved a discreet and
resentful silence, but two or three of his companions
murmured between their pipe-stems and their lips,
"Not much he wouldn't."</p>
<p>"Now that's what troubles me," 'Tilda Jane continued.
"The rest is bad, but is that bad? I guess
I'll have to ask some minister, an', gen'l'men all,
I guess you'd better let me go on to Ciscasset.
You've got a nice place here, an' plenty o' things
to eat, an' I think you're very fair, but I feel like
movin' on," and pausing, she anxiously scanned the
row of faces about her.</p>
<p>"Run away to bed now," said Jack. "We'll tell
you to-morrow what you're to do," and as 'Tilda
Jane picked up her pet and disappeared, he sauntered
across the room, took up a telegraph form, and
addressed a message to the creamery shark's father.</p>
<div class="blockquot fs80">
<p>"Hobart Dillson, Ciscasset. Girl, age about twelve. Dark
hair, eyes—run away from place unknown. Going to your
address. Held as immigrant without means. Refuses to give
name. Can you supply any information? Answer paid for."</p></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER VIII.</a><br />
<span class="small">A THIRD RUNNING AWAY.</span></h2>
<p>"Look here, little girl," said Jack, stopping 'Tilda
Jane as she was coming out of the dining-room the
next morning, "I've had a telegram from your friend
in Ciscasset."</p>
<p>"An' what does he say?" she asked, breathlessly.</p>
<p>"I'll read it," and he drew a paper from his
pocket. "Never heard of girl. Don't want her.
Hobart Dillson."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane looked crestfallen, but did not flinch
in face of the new difficulty. "He's a cranky ole
man. He'll be all right when I talk to him."</p>
<p>"Well, you're a queer fish," muttered her friend,
as by way of hiding her chagrin she went quickly
up-stairs. "We can't do anything with you till
Robinson gets back, and tells us where he picked
you up."</p>
<p>The assistant inspector met her in the hall above.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
"Have you made up your mind to talk yet?" he
asked, austerely.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane shook her head.</p>
<p>"I've been amusing myself by telegraphing along
the line," he said, in the same tone of voice. "None
of the stations know anything about you, and the
agent at McAdam has started off in the woods for
his holidays. The conductor that brought you is
laid up from an accident to his train, so you've got
to speak for yourself; and do you know what I've
made up my mind to do?"</p>
<p>"No, sir," she said, steadily.</p>
<p>"By to-night if you won't tell me where you
come from, I'm going to take that dog away from
you."</p>
<p>Her face turned a sickly yellow, but she did not
quail. "You wouldn't shoot him, would you?"</p>
<p>"No, I won't shoot him," he said, deliberately.
"I guess I'd give him to some nice little girl who
wouldn't tell lies."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane's head sank on her breast. "Gimme
till to-morrow morning, sir. I'd like to think it
over."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>
<p>"I'll see about it," he said, with a curious glance
at her; then he went away.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane knew that he would give her till the
morning. She would not be troubled by him all
day. She would have time to think. The worst
difficulty in her experience confronted her. She
would lose her dog in any case. To speak was to
be sent back to the asylum, to remain silent was
to let her Gippie become the cherished darling of
some other girl, and in mute agony she caressed
the smooth brown head, and put her hand before
the almost sightless eyes as if she would hide from
them even a suspicion of coming danger.</p>
<p>Mr. Jack had just stepped on one of the out-going
trains. She could not appeal to him, and the
table-girls, since they had found that she was a
story-teller, slighted her in a most marked way.</p>
<p>She wandered down-stairs and out-of-doors. All
day she loitered about the station platform watching
the trains come in,—deliberate freight-trains,
with their loads of merchandise, all to be examined
by the busy customs officials, and rushing express
trains, with their hundreds of hungry passengers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
who swept in crowds into the spacious dining-room.</p>
<p>She saw her companions in captivity borne away.
The fashionable lady got on a train that was entering
Canada, and the dismal boy and girl followed
her. The little German Jew, who had been roaming
about the hotel like a restless ghost, always with
his hat on and a bundle in his hand as if he wished
to impress all beholders with the fact that he was
only tarrying for a short time, had, on the receipt
of a telegram informing the inspectors that he had
merely forgotten his papers, become a happy maniac.
He ran to and fro, he collected his bundles, dropped
them, to kiss the hand of a table-girl who gave him
some cakes for his lunch, and had to be restrained
by main force from boarding every train that pulled
up at the station.</p>
<p>Fortunate travellers and unfortunate orphan!
She could not get on one of the trains and be borne
away. She was watched; she felt it, for she had
now a perfect comprehension of the system of
espionage established over unsuspecting travellers.
The rich and well-dressed ones were passed by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
unless they were wearing sealskin wraps, the poor
and penniless must give an account of themselves.
So there was no escape for her by train. She must
take to the road.</p>
<p>She had better go lie down and try to sleep, she
reflected with a shudder, as she had now before her
the prospect of another night in the woods. As
soon as it got dark, she must try to slip away from
the hotel.</p>
<p>At six o'clock she had had her nap and was in
her favourite spot on her knees by her open window.
Night was approaching, and she felt neither sorry,
nor frightened, nor apprehensive. The sun was
going down, and she was so completely wrapped in
deep and silent content that she could neither speak
nor think. She did not know that she was an ardent
lover of nature—that her whole soul was at the
present moment so filled with the glory of the winter
evening that she had no room for her own troubles.</p>
<p>The clanging supper-bell disturbed her, and, with
a sigh and a look of longing farewell at the sky,
she closed the window and made her way to the
dining-room.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p>
<p>After supper she returned to her post, and, as
she could not now see the glorious sky and the
snowy fields, she let her attention fall upon the
trains below that had begun to have a strange
fascination for her. She had lost all fear of them
by this time, and had even begun to notice that
there were differences in them just as there were
differences in people. Some were big and bulky,
others were quick and dashing. Some had hoarse
voices, some clear ones. The Canadian engines
coming in shrieked in one tone, the American ones,
passing them from the other direction, replied in
another.</p>
<p>Hour after hour went by, and with the time her
sense of dreamy contentment faded away. It gave
her but little dismay to look out into the starlit
night and fancy herself alone in snowy solitudes,
but it gave her considerable dismay to look down
below, and find that the hotel was neither getting
dark nor perfectly quiet, as she fancied all well-regulated
houses did at night. She had forgotten
that they could not sleep here, at least everybody
could not. Trains were coming and going all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
time, and with this constant supervision below, how
could she evade detection?</p>
<p>"Number seventeen is an hour late and getting
later every minute," she heard some one call after
a time; "bad snow-drifts up north."</p>
<p>"Guess I'll take a wink of sleep," a tired voice
responded, "there'll be nothing but freights for a
spell," and then followed comparative silence.</p>
<p>Footsteps were only occasionally heard, fewer
lights flashed in the distance, and it was only at
much longer intervals that passing trains shook
the house. There was a lull in the constant
noises, and now was the time for action. She
rose stealthily, and took her dog in her arms—a
pathetic child figure no longer, but a wary, stealthy
little elf endeavouring to escape from danger
threatened by these larger and more powerful
human beings.</p>
<p>Her sleeping-room was a tiny chamber opening
out of one occupied by two of the dining-room
girls. She was not afraid of their waking. She
had heard them say as they undressed that they had
to get up at half-past four to iron table-cloths and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
napkins, and there was not an instant's interruption
of their heavy, dreamless slumber as she stole noiselessly
by them.</p>
<p>Now for the staircase. She paused anxiously at
the top, and looked down. There was no one in
sight, and holding her breath, and tiptoeing cautiously,
she stole down step by step.</p>
<p>At last she was at the bottom of both flights of
stairs. So far so good, and she laid her hand on
the knob of the front door that was never locked.
But stop, let her pause—there were sounds outside.</p>
<p>Some one out there hesitated, halted, and remarked
to some other person behind, "Will you
come in and have a bite of something to eat?"</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane scarcely dared to breathe, and, gazing
down the hall behind her, shook in her substantial
shoes. She could see the office at the end of the
hall, and the sleepy clerk napping at his desk. If
she retreated toward him, he might wake up and
discover her, and if the men entered she could not
possibly avoid being caught by them.</p>
<p>In intense anxiety she awaited results. There
were only a few seconds of uncertainty, then her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
heart gave a bound of thankfulness. The footsteps
had passed on, and only waiting till they died away,
she opened the door and glided through.</p>
<p>Now she was on the brightly lighted platform at
the mercy of any passer-by, or any wakeful person
who might be at one of the hotel windows. She
made one swift rush across it, one leap over the
railway tracks, and with a stifled exclamation of
thankfulness found herself on the village road.</p>
<p>Like a dark, diminutive ghost she sped up the
hill past the silent houses. Now she was comparatively
safe, yet which way should she go? She was
completely puzzled, yet she had a vague idea that
there were great forests surrounding Vanceboro, for
she had heard the men at the hotel talk of fishing
and shooting.</p>
<p>Trembling in every limb from excitement, and
pressing her precious bundle closely to her, she took
a road to the left. She must not go to the right,
for across the river was Canada, and if she got into
that foreign country again, she would have fresh
difficulties in returning to her own native one. She
would press on through the village, take to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
woods, and trust to luck to find some house where
she could ask the way to Ciscasset.</p>
<p>There was a moon to-night, an old, pale moon,
and it cast a tremulous light over the soft, white
fields sloping down to the Sainte-Croix River, the
sleeping village, and the brightly lighted station yard
in the hollow. She turned around, took one farewell
glance at the habitations of men, and plunged into
the winding road leading into the heart of the forest.</p>
<p>Hour after hour she plodded on. This reminded
her of her walk with Ruth Ann two evenings before,
only here there was more light, the snow was deeper,
and the trees were not as high as those on the way
to the Moss Glen station. She hoped with a shiver
that she should meet no wild beasts. Hark! What
was that crashing through the alder bushes? She
stopped short, clasped her dog to her breast, and
looked about for some means of defence. Nothing
offered but a dry tree branch, and she was just
bending over to seize it when there rushed by her,
so quickly that she had no time to be afraid, an
object that caused a faint smile of pleasure to come
to her pale lips.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p>
<p>This was a large deerhound running along with
his nose to the snow, and he paid no more attention
to her than if she had been one of the stumps by
the side of the road.</p>
<p>"Here, doggie, doggie!" she called, wistfully, but
he did not return, and, startled by the sound of her
voice in the intense stillness, she hastily resumed
her way.</p>
<p>How solemn the moon was, staring down at her
with that section of a face on which she fancied she
saw an ear, the corner of a mouth, and one terrible,
glistening eye. "Little girl, where are you going?
Are you doing right? Are you not a naughty little
girl?"</p>
<p>"I can't think about it now," she said, desperately.
"When I git settled down I'll square things
up. Anyway, I'm not bad for the fun of it. Law
me, ain't this road long! Here, Gippie, I guess you
might walk a few steps. Keep in my tracks an' I'll
not let anythin' hurt you. If a bear comes, he'll
eat me first. It'll do you good to stretch your legs
a mite."</p>
<p>Away back in the hotel Mr. Jack was just getting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
home. "We can let our deaf and dumb kid go in
the morning," he said to his assistant, who got on
the train as he left it. "The waitress at McAdam
was just inquiring about her—says she's U. S.
all right. Came from Moss Glen station, didn't
know Ciscasset when she got to it, and was carried
on. Agent forgot to speak to Robinson about her,
and the waitress wanted to know if she got through
all right."</p>
<p>"U. S.," grumbled the assistant inspector, pausing
with his foot on the steps of the baggage-car, "why
didn't she say so?"</p>
<p>"Was frightened—I guess she'd run away—a
case of innocence abroad."</p>
<p>"Well, we can't hold her if she isn't an immigrant,"
said Blakeman, with relief. "Let her go.
They've got a poorhouse in Ciscasset, I suppose."</p>
<p>"She'll go in no poorhouse," said Mr. Jack, with
a chuckle. "She's too smart."</p>
<p>If he could have seen at that moment the weary
little figure toiling along the forest road, he would
have uttered the appreciative adjective with even
more energy. Tired, hungry, occasionally stooping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
to lift a handful of snow to her lips, 'Tilda Jane
plodded on. Her thin figure was bent from fatigue.
She had again picked up the wailing dog, and had
slung him on her back in the shawl, yet there was
not the slightest indication of faltering in her aspect.
There were no clearings in the woods, no promise
of settlement, yet her face was ever toward the
promised land of Ciscasset, and her back to the
place of captivity in Vanceboro.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER IX.</a><br />
<span class="small">LOST IN THE WOODS.</span></h2>
<p>Nothing could be more exquisitely beautiful than
that winter morning in the Maine woods. The
white glory of the snow, the stealing pink and gold
glances of the sun, the bravery of the trees proudly
rearing their heads aloft and stretching out their
heavily laden arms,—all made a picture that filled
with awe even the heart of rough Bob Lucas, unregistered
guide and nominal lumberman, noted for his
skill as hunter and poacher and his queer mingling
of honesty, law-breaking, piety, and profanity.</p>
<p>No, it was not a picture, it was reality, and he was
a part of it. He was in it, he belonged to this
glorious morning, the morning belonged to him, and
he put up his hand and pulled off his cap.</p>
<p>"Branching candlesticks on the altar of the
Lord," he muttered as he surveyed the trees. "I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
feel like a vessel o' grace, more's the pity I can't
take on the actions o' one."</p>
<p>He stood lounging in the cabin door—red-haired,
long-nosed, unkempt, and stalwart. Inside were his
two sons getting the breakfast, and the appetising
odour of frying bacon floated out on the fresh
air.</p>
<p>"Hi, Poacher—whot's up with you?" he suddenly
exclaimed, and his gaze went to a deerhound
of unusually sturdy build, who was ploughing
through the snow toward the cabin.</p>
<p>The dog wagged his tail, advanced, and, lifting
toward him a countenance so bright with intelligence
that it might almost be called human, opened
his mouth, and dropped something at his master's
feet.</p>
<p>"Hello, boys!" said the man, stepping inside the
cabin; "what in the name o' creation's this? I
call it a morsel of woman's togs. Don't your
mother wear aprons like it, or somethin'?"</p>
<p>The two strapping lads in high boots and woollen
shirts turned their red faces from the fireplace.</p>
<p>"Yes, siree," said the taller of them, fingering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
the scrap of cotton; "they call it something like
jingo."</p>
<p>"Gingham, you gull," interposed his brother, with
a guffaw of laughter. "I've seen it in the stores.
Where'd you get it, pop?"</p>
<p>"Poacher fetched it. When I got out o' my
bunk this mornin' an' opened the door, he put up
that ole muzzle of his an' give a sniff. Then off
he sot. I knew he'd got somethin' on his mind.
He's been runnin' deer, an' he found this on his
way back."</p>
<p>"He's a beaut," said the other lad, eyeing him
admiringly. "He's nosed out something. What'll
you do, pop?"</p>
<p>"Swaller some breakfast an' make tracks for
Morse's camp."</p>
<p>"S'pose it was some person," said the younger of
the boys, uneasily.</p>
<p>"By gum!" and the man suddenly smote his
thigh, "s'pose the ole woman had run after us with
somethin'. Hustle on your coats, boys. Mebbe it's
your ma."</p>
<p>The faces of both boys had turned white, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
their hands were shaking. Seizing their coats, they
rushed out of the cabin.</p>
<p>"Pop, it wasn't bitter last night," said the younger,
in a hushed voice.</p>
<p>"Shut up!" said his father, irritably, and in profound
silence the three proceeded through the wood
in single file, following the dog who, without excitement,
but with his dark face beaming with pleasure
at being understood, rapidly led them over his own
tracks of a few minutes previous.</p>
<p>Mile after mile they went in silence, until at last
the father, who was leading, made a leap forward.</p>
<p>There was a dark mound on the snow against a
tree trunk, and dropping beside it he turned it over.</p>
<p>"Thank the Lord!" he ejaculated, while scratching
and beating the snow away from it, "it ain't
what I feared."</p>
<p>"Why, it's only a gal," said one of the boys. "Is
she gone, pop?"</p>
<p>"Here—shake her up," he replied. "What's
this she's curled round? A dog, sure as thunder,
an' alive an' warm. Merciful grindstones, look at
him!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p>
<p>Irritably stepping out of wrappings, consisting of
a small tippet and a shawl, was a little old dog, the
most utter contrast to the handsome deerhound that
could have been imagined.</p>
<p>The hound stared inquiringly and politely at Gippie,
and, being a denizen of the woods, made the
first overtures to friendship by politely touching him
with the end of his muzzle.</p>
<p>The smaller dog snapped at him, whereupon the
hound withdrew in dignified silence, and watched his
owners, who were making vigorous efforts to restore
the benumbed girl.</p>
<p>"Her heart's beatin'," said Lucas, putting his
hand on it. "The dog lay there, an' kep' it warm."</p>
<p>"Rub her feet—rub harder," he said to his sons,
while he himself began chafing 'Tilda Jane's wrists.
"She's jist the age o' your sister Min. S'pose she
was here, stone cold an' half dead!"</p>
<p>The boys redoubled their efforts at resuscitation,
and presently a faint colour appeared in the little
girl's marble cheeks, and the cold lips slightly moved.</p>
<p>Lucas put his head down. "What you sayin'?
Dog, is it? He's all right. If you'd wrapped your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>self
more, an' him less, it might 'a' bin better. Yet,
I guess not. If it hadn't 'a' bin for the dog, you'd
'a' bin dead. Put on her shoes, boys. We'll carry
her to that heap o' logs of ours."</p>
<p>"Pop, will one of us have to show her out?" said
Joe, anxiously pressing beside him.</p>
<p>"Yep," said his father. "Here, strip off your
coat an' put it round her."</p>
<p>"An' I s'pose I'll hev to go 'cause I'm the youngest,"
said the boy, bitterly.</p>
<p>"No, sir—you're always doin' dirty work. This
time it'll be Zebedee."</p>
<p>Zebedee frowned, and muttered that he wished
girls would stay out o' the woods; then he tramped
on beside his brother.</p>
<p>"Here, gimme my gun," said Lucas, presently.
"You-uns is younger. You kin carry the gal."</p>
<p>He had been carrying 'Tilda Jane over his shoulder,
and now the little procession started again, this
time with the boys bearing the semi-unconscious
burden.</p>
<p>Gippie, squealing and complaining, followed behind
as well as he was able, but finally, becoming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
stuck in a drift, gave a despairing yell and disappeared.</p>
<p>Lucas turned around, went in the direction of
the crooked tail sticking up from the snow, and
pulling him out, contemptuously took him under
his arm.</p>
<p>"If you was my dog, you'd get a bullet to eat.
Howsomever, you ain't, an' I guess we'll hev to
keep you for the leetle gal. Git on thar, sons."</p>
<p>Two hours later, 'Tilda Jane opened her eyes on
a new world. Where had her adventures brought
her this time? Had she died and gone to heaven?
No, this must be earth, for she had just heard a
string of very bad words uttered by some one near
her. But she could not think about anything. A
feeling of delicious languor overpowered her, and
slowly opening and shutting her eyes, she little by
little allowed her surroundings to impress themselves
upon her.</p>
<p>She was very warm and comfortable; she was
sitting on the floor, propped against the wall by
means of an overturned chair and blankets; a fire
in an open fireplace blazed beside her; Gippie was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
making his toilet before this fire, and she was very
happy.</p>
<p>"Here, sup this," some one said, and languidly
lifting her eyelids, she saw a big red-haired man
bending over her.</p>
<p>He was holding a cup to her lips—coffee sweetened
with molasses. Just what they used to have
at the asylum, and with a faint smile, and a feeble
"Thank you, sir," she slowly swallowed it.</p>
<p>"I was scared to give you any before," he said,
gruffly; "thought you might choke. Here, gimme
some grub, sons."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane felt a morsel of something put in her
mouth. It was followed by another morsel of something
hot and savoury, and speedily she felt new life
in her veins. She could sit up now, and look about
her.</p>
<p>"Guess you can feed yourself," said the man,
going back to the table. "Fall to now—you most
got to the end of your tether."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane took the two-pronged fork he put in
her hand, and began to eat with slow avidity, not
disregarding the requests for titbits from her dog,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
who occasionally paused for that purpose in his
endeavours to lick himself dry.</p>
<p>At intervals she cast a glance at the centre of
the cabin, where a man and two boys were seated
at a rough table. These must be her rescuers. She
had fallen down in the snow the night before. Not
even her fear of death had been able to keep her on
her feet.</p>
<p>She stopped eating. "Who be you?"</p>
<p>"We be lumbermen, when the fit takes us," said
the man, shortly.</p>
<p>"Well," said 'Tilda Jane, "I guess—" then she
stopped, overpowered by intense feeling.</p>
<p>"I guess," she went on, finally, "that there
wouldn't 'a' bin much o' me this morning if it hadn't
bin for you comin'."</p>
<p>"'Twasn't us," said the man, agreeably, "'twas
Poacher there," and he indicated the dog under the
table, who, at the mention of his name, rose and
walked politely toward the little girl.</p>
<p>He looked at her and she looked at him, then he
took a step nearer and laid his muzzle on her
shoulder. With exquisite subtlety he comprehended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
all that she wished to say in relation to himself,
and all that she felt in relation to the dog race in
general.</p>
<p>She laid her cheek against his velvet ear. Then
her arm stole around his neck.</p>
<p>The dog stood in courteous silence, until, feeling
embarrassed under her attention, he looked somewhat
foolishly at his master, and appealingly licked
'Tilda Jane's cheek.</p>
<p>As quick to understand him as he was to understand
her, she released him, whereupon he lay
down beside her and put his handsome head on
her lap.</p>
<p>Gippie extended his muzzle, sniffed suspiciously,
then his short-sighted eyes discovering the presence
of a rival, he advanced snapping.</p>
<p>The large dog generously averted his head, and
Gippie, seeing that he was not to be dislodged,
meanly curled himself up on Poacher's glossy
back.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<a name="p116" id="p116"></a>
<img src="images/p116.jpg" width="650" alt="" />
<div class="caption">"HE LAY DOWN BESIDE HER."</div>
<p class="rt"><a href="#LOI">[Back to LOI]</a></p>
</div>
<p>"Yes, that's a boss dog," the man went on.
"Search the State from Fort Kent to Kittery
Depot, and you'll not find a cuter. He's given me
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>pointers many a time—where you hail from, leetle
gal?"</p>
<p>"I'm going to Ciscasset," she said, dreamily.
Her mind was running back to the night before,
and, unaware that she was holding a piece of
bacon poised on her fork in tempting proximity
to Poacher's nose, she stared intently at the fire.</p>
<p>She had been near death. Had she been near
the heaven that the matron and the "lady-boards"
pictured, or would it have been the other place, on
account of her disobedience?</p>
<p>"The soul that sinneth it shall die"—"For whosoever
shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in
one point, he is guilty of all"—"Keep thyself
pure"—"For without are dogs, and sorcerers,
and murderers, and idolaters, and whosoever loveth
and maketh a lie"—that meant without the city,
the beautiful city of gold where her mother probably
was, and many of her unknown relatives,
and where all good matrons, orphans, and "lady-boards"
went.</p>
<p>"I guess I'd bin without, with no comfort but
the dogs," she thought bitterly, and pushing away<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
her plate, she said aloud, "I thank ye kindly, but
I can't swaller another morsel."</p>
<p>A roar of laughter saluted her ears. Gippie's
inquiring muzzle had scented out the bacon and
had seized it, whereupon Poacher, knowing that it
was not intended for him, had gently but firmly
taken it from him, and was walking about the
cabin, holding it aloft, while Gippie snarled at his
heels.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane paid no attention to them. The
greater matter of her soul's destiny was under
consideration. "Are you an extry good man?"
she abruptly asked her host.</p>
<p>He stopped laughing, and a shadow came over
his face. Then his glance went to his boys.
"What you say, sons?"</p>
<p>The boys stared at each other, avoided his eye,
and said, uneasily, "Course you be, pop—don't
make game."</p>
<p>"Make game," repeated the man, strangely,
"make game," then he laughed shortly, and made
another onslaught on the bacon and bread.</p>
<p>"'Cause I'm lookin' for an extry good person,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
went on 'Tilda Jane, brusquely. "Some one that
won't blab, an' that I kin tell a story to."</p>
<p>"Well, thar ain't no extry good persons in the
woods," said her host, "we be only ordinary. You
better wait till you git out. What was you doin'
so far from houses last night, leetle gal, 'stead o'
bein' tucked snug in bed?"</p>
<p>"I might as well tell the truth," she said, helplessly.
"I'm tired o' lies. I was runnin' away
from somethin', but whether my runnin' was good
or bad is what I can't make out."</p>
<p>"While you're puzzlin' you eat some more breakfus',"
said the man, getting up and putting another
supply of bacon on her plate. "You've got to
call up strength to git out. I s'pose you dunno
you're some miles from sofas, an' pianos, an' easy
chairs."</p>
<p>"I didn't know where I was goin'," she said, apologetically,
"or what I was comin' to. I jus' travelled
on an' on. Then I begun to get queery an' I left
the road. Thinks I, there'll be kind animiles in the
woods. Mebbe I'll meet a nice black bear, an' he'll
say, 'Little girl, you're lost an' I'll lead you to my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
den. We'll be happy to have you an' your little
dog, an' I'll not let no one eat him, an' I'll give a big
party an' invite all the foxes, an' deer, an' bears an'
squirrels 'cause you're fond o' wild beasts, little girl.'
An' it seemed I'd come to the bear's den, an' there
was a soft bed, an' I just lay down, an' was goin' to
sleep when I thought, 'Mebbe if I sleep, some little
bird'll tell him I'm a baddie, an' he'll eat me up,' an'
I felt just awful; then I forgot everythin' till I woke
up here—I guess I'm obliged to you."</p>
<p>The lumberman was about to reply to her when
one of the boys ejaculated, "Hist, pop, look at
Poacher!"</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER X.</a><br />
<span class="small">AMONG FRIENDS.</span></h2>
<p>The animal had gone to the door, and stood in a
listening attitude.</p>
<p>"Some one's comin'," said the boy. "Is everythin'
snug?"</p>
<p>The three cast hurried glances about the room,
then shaking off a somewhat uneasy expression, the
man stepped to the one and only window of the
cabin.</p>
<p>"Game warden Perch," he said, dryly, "and registered
guide Hersey. Comin' spyin' round—bad
luck to 'em," and he sulkily went back to the
table.</p>
<p>Presently there came a knocking at the door.
"Come in," bawled Lucas, not inhospitably, and two
men, much smarter, cleaner, and more dapper-looking
than the red-haired man and his sons, entered the
cabin.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p>
<p>"Howdye," they said simultaneously, as they stood
their guns and snow-shoes against the wall, and took
possession of the two boxes vacated by the boys at a
sign from their father. Then, with an appearance of
enjoyment, they dragged the boxes near the fire, and
stretched out their hands to the blaze.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane saw that they were staring in unmitigated
astonishment at her, and with a feeling that
she herself was out of the world and in a place where
passers-by were few and infrequent, she examined
them in equal interest.</p>
<p>"Where'd you come from?" asked the elder of
them at last, fixing her with a pair of piercing
eyes.</p>
<p>"She got keeled over on the old road last night,"
spoke up Lucas, much to her relief. "Lost her
way. Dog here, found her," and he motioned toward
Poacher, who was surveying the newcomers in cold
curiosity.</p>
<p>Warden Perch's attention being drawn to the dog,
he stared at him earnestly, then turned to his companion.
"Ever see that animal before?"</p>
<p>"Not near at hand," said the other, with a slight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
sneer. "Guess' I've seen his hind legs and the tip
of his tail once or twice."</p>
<p>"Hev some breakfus?" said Lucas, who was imperturbably
going on with his own.</p>
<p>Warden Perch inspected the table. "Not on bacon—haven't
you got something more uncommon?"</p>
<p>"We've got some beans in thar," said Lucas, with
a backward nod of his head toward a bag on the
floor, "coarse brown beans. They might be a treat
for ye, seein' ye don't git 'em much in hotels."</p>
<p>Perch flushed angrily and opened his mouth as if
to make a retort. Then he drew a blank book from
his pocket, and to calm himself ran his eye over the
report he was making for the game commissioner of
the State.</p>
<p>"Left Nexter 10.55 <span class="fs70">A. M.</span> March 1, for Bluefield.
March 2 at Bearville 11.30 <span class="fs70">A. M.</span> Jim Greene's camp
Lake Clear at 4.35 <span class="fs70">P. M.</span> March 3 left camp at 7 <span class="fs70">A. M.</span>
Bill Emerson's camp 9.47 <span class="fs70">A. M.</span> Reached moose yard
on back side Fern Brook Ridge 1.47 <span class="fs70">P. M.</span> 3 moose
in yard—Henry," he said, lifting his head and
abruptly addressing his companion, "some of those
poachers have mighty cute tricks."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p>
<p>Henry nodded assent.</p>
<p>"Those fellows at Hacmactac Station tried hard
to fool us last week,—cut the legs off the deer, then
got a couple of bears' feet and had the bone of the
bear's leg slipped up under the skin on the leg of the
deer. Then they put them up so sly in three layers
of bagging with nothing but bears' feet sticking out,
but I caught on to those bears' legs, and said the
feet weren't big enough. So I had it opened and
took the deer and the fellows to Mattawamkeag, and
I guess they think forty dollars apiece was just about
enough for a fine."</p>
<p>Lucas and his sons burst out laughing, and 'Tilda
Jane shrewdly suspected by their amused faces and
knowing glances that they had heard the story before.
There was no love lost between these newcomers
and her preservers, and Lucas and his sons
would be glad when their callers left the cabin. But
what was all this talk about deer? Surely they did
not kill the pretty creatures whom without having
seen she loved.</p>
<p>She cleared her throat and in a weak little voice
addressed the game warden. "Sir, I've got pictures<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
in my joggafry of deer with branching horns. Does
bad men kill them?"</p>
<p>Warden Perch gave her another alert glance.
Here was no confederate of poachers. "Yes," he
said, severely, "bad men do kill them, and dogs chase
them, but mind this, young girl—poachers get
nabbed in the long run. They slide for a time, but
there's a trip-up at the end. And their dogs, too—I've
shot three hounds this week for dogging
deer."</p>
<p>"You have shot dogs!" repeated 'Tilda Jane, in
a horrified tone, and pressing Gippie closer to her.</p>
<p>"If I didn't shoot them, they'd kill the deer," said
the man, irritably.</p>
<p>"Oh!" murmured 'Tilda Jane. Here was one
of the mysteries of nature that was quite beyond her
comprehension. The dog hunted the deer, and the
man hunted the dog. The deer apparently was the
weaker one, and she must inquire into the matter.</p>
<p>"What does bad men kill deer for?" she asked,
timidly.</p>
<p>"Haven't you ever eaten any deer meat?" asked
the warden.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p>
<p>"I didn't know it was good to eat," she said,
sadly.</p>
<p>"You haven't had any here in this cabin?"</p>
<p>"I guess not, unless I might 'a' eat it when I was
fainty."</p>
<p>Lucas eyed her peculiarly, and the meaning of the
warden's question and offensive manner burst upon
her. "That's a good man," she said, indignantly,
starting from her half-reclining position and pointing
to Lucas. "I guess men that takes little girls out
o' snow-banks don't kill deer."</p>
<p>Warden Perch laughed and rose from his seat.
He had very little sentiment with regard to the
animal creation. "I calculate we'd better be moving,"
he said, to the guide. "Don't suppose we'd
see anything to keep us here, unless we'd hang on
for the big snow-storm they say is coming, and that
I expect you're waiting for," and he looked at Lucas.</p>
<p>"Me an' my sons," said the latter, coolly, "is on
our way to David Morse's lumber camp. Two of
his hands had to come out 'count o' sickness. We
lay out to git thar this evenin'. Was late in startin'
last night, an' camped here. We'll hev to git this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
leetle gal out, 'thout you might undertake it, seein'
as you're makin' for outside, I s'pose."</p>
<p>"Get your own find out," said the warden, severely;
"it will keep you out of mischief, and look
here—if I find that dog of yours up to tricks, you
know what I'll do."</p>
<p>"Shoot him on sight," said Lucas, stooping and
patting the animal who was pressing close to him;
"but you'll never ketch him, 'cause he ain't the sort
o' dog to be ketched in any kind o' mischief; hey,
Poacher?"</p>
<p>The guide went out, and the warden with a scowl
followed, slamming the door after him.</p>
<p>Lucas and his sons crowded to the window to see
their callers depart, and when they were fairly out
of sight, they burst into relieved laughter, and noisily
drew their boxes up to the fire.</p>
<p>"Say, pop, ain't he mad?" remarked Joe, excitedly.
"Mad 'cause you're too cute for him.
He'd give his teeth to fasten something on to you."</p>
<p>"Shut up," said his father, with a roll of his eye
toward 'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>The girl was puzzled. Lucas, who seemed a nice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
man, was treated as if he were not a friend to the
deer, while the departed ones, whom she did not like
at all, seemed to be their protectors. "Who are
those men?" she asked, curiously.</p>
<p>"Wal, I'll tell you," said Lucas, taking two moose
ear skins from his pocket, and fitting them together
to make a tobacco-pouch, "them two is fancy game
men. The warden an' the guide likes to lounge in
easy chairs round hotels an' tell of their doin's in
the woods, how the poachers tremble an' run when
they see 'em comin'. As a rule, they don't take to
the woods till they're druv to it by some complaint.
Then they're awful fierce, an' growl an' show their
teeth, an' run home. Nobody don't care nothin'
for 'em."</p>
<p>"Are there many men killing deer?" asked the
little girl, falteringly.</p>
<p>"Many men!" groaned Lucas. "Law me, what
a question! Las' year, leetle gal, thar was awful
heavy snow, eight foot deep in Franklin County,
seven foot in Somerset, Piscataquis, Penobscot, and
Aroostook. What a year for big game! They
couldn't git away. They was as helpless as sheep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>
Storm came on storm, till we was walkin' up among
the tree branches and knockin' off the snow with
a stick. Snow covered tracks, and poachers took
possession o' the airth."</p>
<p>"They lived high in the lumber camps, pop, do
you mind?" said Zebedee, smacking his lips.
"When a fellow was starvin' the smell just come
out to meet him."</p>
<p>"You bet, only you wasn't thar to smell it," said
his father, sharply, "you mind that. You young
ones takes to the woods too natural."</p>
<p>He surveyed them with mingled pride and dissatisfaction,
then came back to his reminiscences. "I
vum that was a winter, but the deer would 'a' starved
if they hadn't been shot, for the snow was so deep
that they couldn't get to their food. That there
Perch made a great flurry about gettin' in an'
drivin' six deer to a swamp where they could git
green stuff, but I don't believe a word of it. I believe
he shot and ate them."</p>
<p>"Do you mind the deer that was dogged into our
yard, pop?" exclaimed Joe. "I saw 'em as they
crossed the river—dog not fifteen foot behind."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p>
<p>"And what became of that deer?" asked 'Tilda
Jane, unsteadily.</p>
<p>Lucas winked at his sons and concluded the story
himself. "He run across our yard, an' among the
bark pilers at Meek an' Sons' tannery. When the
animal come runnin' down between the bark piles,
some of the crew was for killin' him, but I was
workin' thar, an' I wouldn't let 'em. He stayed
round close to us all day, an' when any dog come
an' sniffed at him, he'd run up close an' tremble,
an' ask us to see fair play."</p>
<p>"You killed that deer," exclaimed 'Tilda Jane,
bursting into tears. "Oh! why does God let men
be so wicked?"</p>
<p>Sobs were almost tearing her little, lean frame to
pieces. She had not worked up gradually to a
pitch of emotion, but had fallen immediately into it,
and Lucas and his sons stared wonderingly at her.</p>
<p>Poor little girl! She looked as if she had come
through a sea of troubles, and pity stirred in the
man's rough but not unkindly breast.</p>
<p>"Shut up now, shut up, missy," he said, soothingly.
"We did shoot that feller, but thar warn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
nowhere to keep him, but deer has bin kep'. Soft
now, an' I'll tell ye of Seth Winthrop, who has a
park an' is a rich man. Las' year, when you couldn't
go scarce five mile without seein' tracks o' blood in
the snow where some one had been slaughterin', a
moose was chased near Winthrop's place. He was
so dead beat that he jus' stood an' trembled, an' one
o' Winthrop's men put a halter on him, an' led him
to the barnyard an' give him fodder an' drink, an'
that livin' young moose is in Winthrop's park to-day,
an' he weighs four hundred pound."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane was still sobbing, and Joe nudged his
father. "Tell her 'bout the bear, pop."</p>
<p>"Now here's somethin' that'll make you laugh,"
said Lucas, kindly. "It's about a bad bear that
went an' got drunk. I was on a fishin' trip, an' I
had a jug o' black-strap with me. Know what that
is, leetle gal?"</p>
<p>"No-o-o," gasped 'Tilda Jane, who, rather
ashamed of her emotion, was trying to sober herself.</p>
<p>"Wal—it's the State o' Maine name for rum an'
molasses mixed, an' you take it with you in case you
git sick. There was some other men with me, an'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
they'd gone off in a boat on the lake. I had a gun,
but 'pon my word I didn't think o' usin' it, 'count of
gratitude to that b'ar for givin' me such a treat—just
as good as a circus. Wal, I must tell how it
happened. I didn't feel well that day—had a kind
o' pain, an' I was lyin' on the bank in the sun,
foolin' an' wishin' I was all right. By an' by,
thinks I, I'll go to the camp an' hev a drink o' black-strap.
I was mos' thar, when I met a wicked thief
b'ar comin' out. Powers around, he was as tipsy as
a tinker. He'd bin at my black-strap, an' I wish you
could 'a' seen him. He didn't know where he was at,
or where he wanted to be at, an' he was jolly, an'
friendly, an' see-sawed roun' me, an' rolled an' swaggered
till I tho't I'd die laughin'. My pain went
like las' year's snow, an' I walked after that b'ar till
he was out o' sight. Just like a drunken man he
was, makin' for home, an' in the midst of all his
foolery havin' an idea of where he'd oughter go.
I'd 'a' given a good deal to see Mrs. B'ar's face when
he arrove. An' didn't those other fellers give it to
me for not shootin' him! I said I couldn't take a
mean advantage of his sitooation."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p>
<p>'Tilda Jane's face was composed now, and
with a faint smile she reverted to the subject of
the deer. "Don't you feel bad when you're
killin' them, an' they looks at you with their big
eyes?"</p>
<p>"Look here, leetle gal, don't you talk no more
'bout them, or you'll hev me as mush-hearted as you
be," said Lucas, getting up and going to the window.
"At present I ain't got no feelin' about deer excep'
that what's in the woods is ours. You jus' stand up
an' try your feet. It's goin' to snow, an' I'd like to
git you out o' here. Did you ever try to teeter
along on snow-shoes?"</p>
<p>"No, sir," she said, getting up and walking across
the room.</p>
<p>Lucas was anxiously surveying the sky. "'Pears
like it was goin' to snow any minute. The las' thaw
took the heft of it off the ground—you'd 'a' never
got in this fur if it hadn't—an' we're bound to hev
another big fall. It ain't fur to the road, an' I guess
you an' Zebedee better start. Lemme see you walk,
sissy."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane tottered back to her seat.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p>
<p>"It's a smart trot home," observed Zebedee.
"D'ye think she could foot it?"</p>
<p>"Pop, it's snowin' now," said Joe, who had taken
his father's place at the window.</p>
<p>With almost incredible rapidity there had been
a change in the weather. A small and sullen cloud
had hidden the dreamy, thoughtful sun, and out of
the cloud came wheeling, choking gusts, bearing
bewildered snowflakes up and down, hither and
thither, before allowing them to alight turbulently
upon the quiet earth.</p>
<p>"That's quick," muttered Lucas, philosophically.
"We'll hev to put off opinions till it's over," and he
again sat down by the fire. The wind tore around
the small cabin, furiously seeking an entrance, but
finding none. Outside at least he could have his
will, and his vengeance fell upon the sturdy young
firs and spruces, who at his fierce word of command
threw off their burdens of snow, and bent and swayed
before his wrath as wildly as the most graceful hardwood
saplings. The older trees bent more reluctantly.
They had seen many winters, many
storms, yet occasionally a groan burst from them as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
the raging breath of the wind monster blew around
some decaying giant and hurled him to the ground.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane pictured the scene without, and cowered
closer to the fire. Gippie was on her lap,
Poacher beside her, and this man with his two boys,
who at present personified her best friends in the
world, were safe and warm in their shelter.</p>
<p>Her dark face cleared, and in dreamy content she
listened to the string of hunting stories reeled off
by the two boys, who, without addressing her directly,
were evidently stimulated by the knowledge
that here was an interested, appreciative, and "brand
new" listener.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XI.</a><br />
<span class="small">A SUDDEN RESOLUTION.</span></h2>
<p>The storm did not abate. All day long it raged
around the cabin, and the four prisoners talked,
ate, and drank without grumbling at their captivity.
When bedtime approached, Lucas addressed 'Tilda
Jane in an apologetic manner. "Ye see we ain't
used to havin' leetle gals, an' I'm afeard we can't
make you very comfy, as my ole woman says, but
we'll do the best we kin. This room's all we've got,
but I'm goin' to try to make it two. See here,"
and rising, he went to one of the rough bunks built
against the wall opposite the fire; "I'm a-goin' to
drape ye off a place for yourself and dog," and,
hanging a blanket on a hook by the fireplace, he
called loudly for a nail to drive in the logs across
the corner.</p>
<p>The two boys, who were playing cards at the
table, jumped up, and presently 'Tilda Jane had a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
snug corner to herself. Lucas had dragged out one
of the fragrant fir beds from one of the bunks. The
rustling of the evergreen inside reminded her of her
narrow straw bed at the orphanage, and drawing
the blanket over her, she nestled down and patiently
waited for her friends to seek their equally fragrant
couches. She was very sleepy, but she must not
drop off until she had said her prayers. It never
occurred to her to repeat them to herself. She
must get up and say them aloud, and upon her
knees.</p>
<p>After some time there was silence outside her
screen, except for the heavy breathing of the sleepers,
and the slow, deliberate crackling of the fire
over the fresh wood heaped upon it by Lucas.</p>
<p>She crept quietly from her bed and knelt down.
"Dear Father in heaven, I thank thee for saving my
life. I might 'a' been dead at this minute if thou
hadst not sent that good dog to find me. Please
make me a better girl for being saved. I'll take
good care o' that old man if thou wilt let me find
him. Bless the red-haired man that owns this cabin.
I guess he is a good man, Lord, but if he kills deer,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
wilt thou not lay on his heart a coal from thy altar?
If he was a deer, he would not like to be killed.
Bless him, dear Father in heaven, an' his two boys,
an' bless me an' Gippie an' Poacher an' keep us safe
for evermore,—an' bless the lady-boards, an' the
matron, an' all the little orphans, an' let them find
good homes an' get out o' the 'sylum,—Lord, I
will write them a letter as soon as I get settled, an'
confess what is wickedness, an' what ain't. I don't
want to be a bad little girl. I want to live straight,
an' go to heaven when I die, but I'm sorry I had
to begin in a 'sylum. It ain't a place for children
what likes animiles. For Jesus' sake, Amen."</p>
<p>With a relieved sigh, 'Tilda Jane crept back to
bed and went to sleep, quite unaware that her petition
had awakened Lucas, who slept as lightly as
a cat. She had waked him, and now he could not
go to sleep. For a long time he lay motionless in
his bunk, then softly getting up, he seated himself
on one of the boxes before the fire, and let his head
sink on his hands.</p>
<p>Years ago he had had a deeply religious mother.
One who would rise at dead of night and pray<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
earnestly for her children. 'Tilda Jane's childish
prayer had brought back this mother from her grave.
What a good woman she had been! The dying
wind, sobbing and sighing without, called to mind
the camp-meetings that he used to attend when he
was a boy. Churches were few and far between,
and it was the event of the year for the scattered
religious people to gather together under the pines
for out-of-door services. He could hear the women
singing now,—the weird sound of their voices
floated down the chimney. Surely he was among
them again,—that good, religious crowd.</p>
<p>He shook himself, muttered an impatient exclamation,
and went back to bed. No, they were mostly
dead, his mother was in heaven, and he was a hard,
impenitent man. But his children—something
ought to be done about them. This little girl had
stirred these old memories—Zebedee and Joe must
quit this life, and, with a snarl of determination on
his brow, he turned over and fell into a profound
and resolved slumber.</p>
<p>Early the next morning 'Tilda Jane heard some
one stirring quietly about the cabin. She peeped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
from behind the screen, and found that it was the
father of the boys. He was making coffee, and
taking dishes from a shelf to set them on the small
table. He was also frying meat.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane did not like to venture out until the
boys had made their toilet, which they presently did
by springing from their beds, drawing on their boots,
and smoothing their thick locks with a piece of comb
that reposed on a small shelf near a broken looking-glass.</p>
<p>When they had finished, she piped through the
screen, "Will you please gimme a lend o' the comb?"</p>
<p>It was politely handed to her, and in a short time
she made her appearance.</p>
<p>"Ho—deer's meat!" said Joe, sniffing joyfully.
"Where'd you get it, pop?"</p>
<p>"Found half a carcass leanin' agin the door this
mornin'," he said, briefly.</p>
<p>"Some o' the boys must 'a' left it on their way
out," remarked Zebedee. "Hard blow to travel in.
Gimme some, pop."</p>
<p>Lucas had settled himself at the table, and was
eating with every appearance of enjoyment.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p>
<p>"Nop," he said, pausing, and speaking with his
mouth full. "That thar is for you an' the leetle
gal."</p>
<p>The boys stared at him in undisguised astonishment.</p>
<p>"Fall to," he said, inexorably, "eat your bacon
and beans, an' be thankful you've got 'em. There's
many an empty stummick in the woods this mornin'."</p>
<p>Joe, who was readier of speech than his brother,
found his tongue first. "Ain't you goin' to give us
any fresh meat, pop?"</p>
<p>"No, sir-r-r."</p>
<p>"You ain't got loony in the night, pop?"</p>
<p>"Y' don't calklate to eat half a carcass y'rself,
do ye?" said Zebedee, with a feeble attempt at a
joke.</p>
<p>"Nop—what I don't eat, I'll lug off in the
woods."</p>
<p>"He's loony," said Joe, with resignation, and serving
himself with bacon.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane was silently eating bread and beans,
and to her Lucas addressed himself. "Leetle gal,
the storm's a-goin' to conclude accordin' to my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
reckonin'. Kin you foot it out on snow-shoes this
mornin' to the nearest house, do you s'pose?"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," she said, quietly.</p>
<p>"An' you two boys will keep her comp'ny," said
Lucas, turning to his sons. "I'm a-goin' to march
on to Morse's camp."</p>
<p>There was a howl of dismay from Joe. "You
give me your word Zebedee was to go."</p>
<p>"An' I give you my word now that you're to go,"
said his father, sternly. "In an hour I'll make
tracks. You two wait till the last flake's settled,
then take the leetle gal an' git her out safe an' sound
to William Mercer's. Ask him to hitch up an' take
her over to Nicatoos station, an' I'll settle with him.
Then you skedaddle for home, git out your books,
an' to-morrer go to school."</p>
<p>This time there was a simultaneous howl from the
boys, and in the midst of their distress could be
heard faintly articulated the words, "Pop—books—school!"</p>
<p>Lucas turned to 'Tilda Jane. "Yes, we're poachers,
leetle gal, an' when I ask ye to say nothin'
about what ye've seen an' heard here, I know ye'll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
keep as mum as we do. I'm a poacher, an' I'm
goin' to hev a hard time to give it up. They used
to call me king o' the poachers, till another feller
come along smarter nor I was. Anyway, I can't
give it up yet. It's in my blood now, an' men as ole
as I be don't repent easy. It's when ye're young
an' squshy that you repents. But these two cubs o'
mine," and he eyed his boys with determination, "has
got to give up evil ways right off. Ye've got to go
to school, sons, an' learn somethin', an' quit poachin',
an' hevin' the law hangin' over ye all the time."</p>
<p>The boys looked ugly and rebellious, and, perceiving
it, he went on. "Come now, none o' that;
when ye're respectable, hard-workin' men ye'll be
ashamed o' your father, an' that'll be my punishment
if I don't get out o' this. An' you needn't
kick, 'cause I'll lick ye all to splinters if I ketches
one o' you in the woods this spring. Ye've got to
turn right round."</p>
<p>"I'll turn right round an' come back," said
Zebedee, bitterly and furiously.</p>
<p>Lucas got up, took him by the coat collar, and,
without a word, led him outside the cabin.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p>
<p>A few minutes later they returned—both flushed—Lucas
grim and determined, and Zebedee sulky
and conquered.</p>
<p>"Air you also cravin' for an argyment?" asked
Lucas, ironically, of Joe.</p>
<p>"I'm cravin' to lick you," said the boy, bursting
out into a wild raving and swearing at him.</p>
<p>"Swearin' when there is ladies present," said his
father, seizing him by the shoulder, and dragging
him the way his brother had gone.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane stopped eating, and sat miserably with
downcast eyes. She felt dimly that she had made
trouble in this family, and brought additional misfortune
upon herself, for what kind of escorts would
these whipped boys be?</p>
<p>Lucas's tussle with Joe was a longer one than the
former with Zebedee had been, and not until after
some time did he return. Joe hung about outside
for an hour, then he came in, shaking and stamping
the snow from him, and, as if nothing had happened,
sat down and finished his breakfast.</p>
<p>Lucas, meanwhile, had been making preparations
for his long tramp. 'Tilda Jane watched him with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
interest as he took a sack, tied a potato in each
corner, and proceeded to fill it with parcels of provisions.</p>
<p>When at last he sat down, took off his cow-hide
moccasins, and began to tie on soft moose moccasins,
fit for snow-shoeing, he addressed his two
boys.</p>
<p>"When parients tell their children things air to
be did, they ought to be did. When the children
raves an' tears, they ought to be licked, an' when
the lickin's over, the reasons come. Air you
sighin' either o' ye to see the inside o' State's
prison? Air you, Zebedee?"</p>
<p>"No, sir," said the boy, shortly.</p>
<p>"Air you, Joe?"</p>
<p>Joe, with his mouth full of beans, replied that
he was not.</p>
<p>"Wal, that's where you'll land if ye don't quit
breakin' State's law. Ye ain't either o' ye as clever
as I be, but I've got to try to give it up, too. I've
bin feelin' that ye'd git caught some day, and I've
made up my mind, an' I'll hold it to my dyin' day.
I'm goin' to crowd ye out o' this risky game. If I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
ketch one o' you after deer agin, I'll give ye up to
the warden myself. I swan I will," and he brought
his hand down energetically on the table. "Now
you go home an' go to school with smart boys an'
gals till summer vacation, then ye can tell me
what ye think of it. I'll not pretend I'll let ye out
of it if ye don't like it, but I guess ye will. Ye've
bin to school before an' made good progress, an' I
asks yer pardon for takin' ye out."</p>
<p>Zebedee listened in quiet resentfulness, but Joe,
who possessed a more volatile disposition, and who
having satisfied his hunger was comparatively good-natured,
remarked, "What'll ye do about Poacher,
pop?"</p>
<p>Lucas's face darkened suddenly, and unhappily.</p>
<p>"Come here, ole boy," he said, and when the dog
went to him, he bowed his head for a minute over
him. "We've bin good friends—me an' you.
Many's the trap I've led ye in, an' many a time
my heart would 'a' bin sore if ye'd a bin caught.
An' now, 'count o' my transgression, ye're a wanderin'
sheep. Ye'll never git back in the fold agin
unless some good sheep leads ye."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p>
<p>"There's somethin' you can't make over," said
Zebedee, briefly. "He'll chase deer as long as he
kin wag a leg."</p>
<p>"Leetle gal," said Lucas, suddenly, "would ye
like to hev this dog?"</p>
<p>"To have him—that beauty dog!" 'Tilda Jane
gasped, confusedly. "Oh, sir, you'd never give him
away."</p>
<p>"I'd most as soon give a child away," said Lucas,
"an' I'd never do it, if it warn't for his habits.
Ye're a-goin' to Ciscasset, which is somethin' of a
place, an' a ways from the woods. An' ye'll pet him
an' kinder cherish him, an' keep him from frettin' an'
bein' lonely. My ole woman don't set much store
by dogs, an' when I'm workin' in the tannery he's
off doggin' deer by himself. He's nearly got shot
dead. See those ripples in his back? That's
where he's bin grazed. Poacher, ole boy, you've
got to go with this leetle gal, if she'll hev you."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane hesitated, stammered, looked into the
dog's anxious face, and the boys' protesting ones,
and said at last, "But the ole man where I'm goin',
mebbe he'll breach at my havin' two dogs."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p>
<p>"Prob'bly he will," said Lucas, "but you crowd
right up to him. Folks is queer 'bout dogs. Them
as don't like 'em don't want to give 'em standin'
room on this airth, but you walk right up to 'em an'
say, 'This dog has as good a right to a place on
God's footstool as you hev, an' I'm goin' to see he
gits it. If you was more like a dog yerself, ye'd be
more thought of, ye cross-grained, cranky ole skillingsby'—come
you, sons, quit that scowlin'. Do
ye know why I'm givin' that dog to the little gal
stid o' you?"</p>
<p>They uttered a brief negative.</p>
<p>"'Cause she knows dog language," said Lucas,
dropping his voice to a whisper, and looking mysteriously
over his shoulder, "an' if there was a deer
here, you'd find she knowed deer talk. You, sons,
is fond o' dogs, but not in the style the leetle gal is,
or I be. It's a kind o' smartness at gettin' inside
the animal's skin. He don't verily talk. Ye jist
understan' him without talk—leetle gal, what's
Poacher sayin' now?"</p>
<p>"Oh, he don't want to go with me," burst out
'Tilda Jane, with energy. "He's a sick dog. Look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
at his eyes an' his droopin' ears. He don't want you
to give him away. He don't want me to take him.
Oh, I can't!" and she buried her face in her hands
as if to hide temptation from her.</p>
<p>"He's got to go," said Lucas, stroking Poacher's
head, "an' mind me, dog," and he put his hand
under the dog's jaws and lifted them so that he could
look in his eyes, "no runnin' away from Ciscasset.
Ye stay with that leetle gal. Don't ye come chasin'
round here, 'cause if ye do, I'll turn my back on ye
for a runaway, an' ye'll feel worse'n ye do now when
we part on speakin' terms. Say, is it a bargain, ole
feller? Call him, leetle gal."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane was overawed by Lucas's determined
manner, and dropping her hands she ejaculated
feebly, "Here, Poacher, Poacher!"</p>
<p>The dog looked at her, then pressed closer to
his master, whereupon Lucas seized a stick by the
fireplace, and struck him sharply.</p>
<p>Poacher turned his large brown eyes on him in
one despairing, reproachful glance, then with
drooping head sauntered across the room to the
boys.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p>
<p>"Call him," said Lucas to 'Tilda Jane. "Speak
up as if ye knew he was your dog."</p>
<p>"Poacher," she said, in a firm voice, "come here.
You're mos' as unhappy as I be—we'll be unhappy
together."</p>
<p>The suffering animal moved slowly toward her,
and laid his head on her lap.</p>
<p>There were tears in his eyes, and the little girl
groaned as she wiped them away.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XII.</a><br />
<span class="small">FAREWELL TO THE POACHERS.</span></h2>
<p>Lucas was ready to start, and 'Tilda Jane and the
boys stood in the doorway watching him tie on his
snow-shoes.</p>
<p>"Now, sons," he said, straightening himself up and
drawing on his woollen mittens, "I'm goin' one way
an' you another, but if ye act contrairy an' pouty to
that leetle gal, I'll know it, for she's goin' to write
me, an' if there's any complaint, there'll be such
a wallopin' as these ones this mornin' would be a
shadder an' a dream to."</p>
<p>His lecture over, he looked over his shoulder and
narrowly inspected the faces of his two boys. They
were reserved, almost expressionless. It might be a
month before he saw them again. He forgot 'Tilda
Jane for an instant, "Sons—ye know yer pop loves
ye, don't ye?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p>
<p>His tone had suddenly changed, and the two big
boys ran to him as if they still were children. "Pop,
can't we come back after we take her out?" they
exclaimed, with backward jerks of their heads toward
'Tilda Jane. Their hands were on his arms, and
they were roughly fondling his shoulders—these
two unmannerly cubs of his.</p>
<p>"Sons," he said, in a broken voice, "I ain't been
a good father to ye. I've got to spend the last o'
my life in rootin' up the weeds I sowed the fust
part. I don't want you to have such a crop. Now
you go 'long out an' be good sons. Your mother'll
be sot up, an' you mind what she says, an' I'll soon
come home. Take good care o' the leetle gal," and
passing his hand, first over one brown head, then
over the other, he tramped away out of view among
the snowy spruces.</p>
<p>The boys and 'Tilda Jane went back into the
cabin. The two former sat together by the fire and
talked, taking little notice of her. All their friendliness
of the evening before was gone, yet they were
not openly unkind, but simply neglectful. Toward
noon the snow ceased falling, as Lucas had pre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>dicted,
the sun came out brilliantly, and they began
making preparations for departure.</p>
<p>Zebedee was to wear an old pair of snow-shoes
that had been left in the cabin, and 'Tilda Jane was
to put on his new ones. Her humility and unselfishness
slightly thawed the boys' reserve, and when
they at last started, her ridiculous attempts at snow-shoeing
threw them into fits of laughter.</p>
<p>Zebedee carried the infirm Gippie, who otherwise
would have sunk to his neck in the snow, Poacher
soberly plunged his way along, while Joe assisted
'Tilda Jane in keeping her equilibrium. After an
hour's travel, she had become quite expert in the
art of taking wide steps, and no longer needed his
helping hand.</p>
<p>"Air we mos' there?" she asked.</p>
<p>"In the span of another hour and a half," said
Joe.</p>
<p>The hour and a half went by. They tramped on
under the serene blue of the sky, and in such a
solemn stillness that it seemed as if never a bird nor
beast could have inhabited this white wilderness.
Only the voiceless, silent trees were there, clad all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
in white like ghosts of departed living things. But
at last their winding way through the wood came
to an end, and they stepped out on the old road.
Here were evidences of travel. A few teams had
passed by, and there were snow-shoe tracks alongside
those of the sleigh runners.</p>
<p>The trees also grew more sparsely, and soon gave
place to clearings, then the distant roof of a barn
appeared, and finally a long, thin string of small
farmhouses winding down a bleak road before them.</p>
<p>"Is this your home?" asked 'Tilda Jane, of the
boys.</p>
<p>"Nop," answered Joe, "we live off'n that way,"
and he pointed down a road to the left. "But we've
got to take you here to the Mercers', pop said."</p>
<p>He drew up before the first in the string of
houses,—a poor enough place, and unspeakably
chilling in its deathly whiteness. A tiny white
house, a white barn, a white fence, a white cow in
the yard,—white snow over everything.</p>
<p>"Looks as if they'd all died an' gone to heaven,"
thought 'Tilda Jane, with a shiver.</p>
<p>"Hole on," said Joe. "I'll run ahead an' see if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
the folks is home. Ain't no smoke cornin' out o'
the chimney."</p>
<p>He swung open the gate, hurried in, pounded at
the front door, pounded at the back door, and
finally returned. "Guess there mus' be a funeral
or somethin'—all off, anyway. What'll we do,
Zeb?"</p>
<p>Zebedee shrugged his shoulders. "S'pose we go
nex' door?"</p>
<p>"But them's the Folcutts," objected Joe.</p>
<p>"S'pose they be."</p>
<p>"Well, you know—"</p>
<p>"Guess they kin drive as well as Mercer's folks."</p>
<p>"What would pop say?"</p>
<p>"It's nearer than the nex' house."</p>
<p>"I'm kind o' tired," said 'Tilda Jane, politely and
faintly. "Just drop me, an' you go back. I'll find
some one."</p>
<p>"Nop," said Joe, firmly, "we promised pop."</p>
<p>"Come on," said Zebedee, "let's try the Folcutts."</p>
<p>They went slowly on to the next blot on the
landscape,—this one, a low-roofed, red house with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
untidy windows, and a feeble, wavering line of smoke
rising from the kitchen chimney.</p>
<p>They all went around to the back door, and, in
response to their knock a slatternly woman appeared.</p>
<p>"What you want, boys?"</p>
<p>"Pop says will you take this gal to Nicatoos
station?" asked Joe. "He'll square up with you
when he comes out."</p>
<p>The woman looked 'Tilda Jane all over. "The
roads is main heavy."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane leaned up against the door-post, and
the woman relented. "I guess it won't kill our
hoss," she remarked. "Is it the seven o'clocker
you want?"</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane appealed to the boys.</p>
<p>"Yes, m'am," responded Joe, promptly.</p>
<p>"Needn't start for an hour yit. Come on in,
boys."</p>
<p>"I guess we'll be goin' on home," said Zebedee.</p>
<p>Joe, for some reason or other, seemed reluctant to
leave 'Tilda Jane. He carefully lifted Gippie to a
resting-place by the kitchen stove, untied 'Tilda
Jane's snow-shoes and strapped them on his back,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
stroked Poacher repeatedly, and finally with a hearty
"So long, little gal, let's hear from you," he made
her an awkward bob of his head and ran after his
brother, who had reached the road.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane drew up to the stove, and, while she
sat drying her dress, looked about her. What a
dirty kitchen! The log cabin she had just left
was neatness itself compared with this place. Pots
and pans were heaped in a corner of the room,
the table was littered with soiled dishes, the
woman herself was unkempt, frowsy, and dispirited
in appearance.</p>
<p>She was also cunning, for, while she seized a
broom and stirred about the accumulation of dust
on the floor, she inspected the little girl with curious,
furtive glances.</p>
<p>"You bin stoppin' with the Lucases?" she asked,
at last.</p>
<p>She had opened the door, and while she looked
one way she carelessly tried to sweep in another way
the pile of rubbish she had collected.</p>
<p>"Yes, m'am," said 'Tilda Jane, wearily.</p>
<p>"How's Mis' Lucas?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p>
<p>'Tilda Jane paused to gaze out the open door. Why
did not the woman shut it? And why, when it was
so pure and clean without, did she not feel ashamed
to keep so dull and untidy a house? If it were summer-time,
and the ground were brown and green, this
dun-coloured room would not be so bad, but now—the
contrast made her sick.</p>
<p>"How's Mis' Lucas?" repeated her hostess, in a
dull voice.</p>
<p>"I don't know," replied 'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>Mrs. Folcutt poised herself on her broom and with
rustic deliberation weighed the statement just made.
Then she said, "She ain't gone away?"</p>
<p>"I dunno," said 'Tilda Jane, "I never see her in
my life."</p>
<p>Here was a puzzle, and Mrs. Folcutt pondered
over it in silence, until the draught of chilly air made
her remember to close the door.</p>
<p>"Are we to start soon?" inquired 'Tilda Jane,
after a time.</p>
<p>"I ain't a-goin' to take you," said her hostess, unamiably,
"it's Uzziah—Uzziah!" and she went to
an open stairway leading from the kitchen.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>
<p>"What cher want?" came back, in an impatient
tone.</p>
<p>"You're wanted. Passenger for the station."</p>
<p>A boy speedily appeared. 'Tilda Jane was not
prepossessed in his favour as he came lumbering down
the staircase, and she was still less so when he stood
before her. He had his mother's sharp face, lean
head, and cunning eyes, and he was so alarmingly
dirty that she found herself wondering whether he
had ever touched water to his face and hands since
the winter began.</p>
<p>"Go hitch up an' take this gal to the station," said
his mother, in feeble command.</p>
<p>He stood scrutinising 'Tilda Jane. "Who fur?"</p>
<p>"Bob Lucas."</p>
<p>"How much'll he gimme?"</p>
<p>"I dunno. He'll pay when he comes out."</p>
<p>"S'pose the warden ketches him?"</p>
<p>"He ain't bin ketched yit."</p>
<p>"He's goin' to—so they say at the post-office."</p>
<p>"I've got fifty cents," said 'Tilda Jane, with
dignity. "Here it is," and she laid it on the
table.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p>
<p>The youthful fox snatched at it, and grinned at
his mother as he pocketed it.</p>
<p>"Say—that ain't fair," remarked 'Tilda Jane.
"You ain't kerried me yet."</p>
<p>"She's right," said the more mature fox. "Give
it back, Uzzy."</p>
<p>Uzziah unwillingly restored the coin to 'Tilda
Jane.</p>
<p>"Now go hitch up," said his mother.</p>
<p>He sidled out of the room and disappeared, and
Mrs. Folcutt's covetous eye wandered over 'Tilda
Jane's wearing apparel. "Say, sissy, that's a pooty
fair shawl you took off'n your dog. I always favour
stripes."</p>
<p>"So do I," replied 'Tilda Jane, and, with a premonition
of what was coming, she turned her head
and gazed out the window.</p>
<p>"I guess you might as well square up with us,"
said the slatternly woman, seating herself near her
caller and speaking in' persuasive accents, "and then
you'll not hev to be beholden to Bob Lucas. It's
jus' as well for a nice little gal like you to hev no
dealin's with them Lucases."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p>
<p>"That shawl ain't mine," said 'Tilda Jane,
sharply.</p>
<p>This statement did not seem worth challenging by
the woman, for she went on in the same wheedling
voice, "You'll not hev no call for it on the cars. I
kin lend you somethin' for the dog to ride down in.
It's too good for wrappin' him," and she gazed contemptuously
at Gippie.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane drew in her wandering gaze from the
window, and fixed it desperately on Poacher, who was
lying under the stove winking sadly but amiably at
her. Was no one perfect? Lucas hunted deer, this
good dog helped him, his boys were naughty, this
woman was a sloven and a kind of thief, her boy was
a rogue, and she herself—'Tilda Jane was a little
runaway girl. "You can have this tippet," she said,
sternly. "That shawl's got to be sent back to where
it comes from."</p>
<p>"Oh, you stole it, did ye?" said the woman, with
a sneer. "Well, I guess we kin hitch up for no
thieves," and she got up and moved deliberately
toward the door as if she would recall her son.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane's nimble fancy ran over possibilities.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
She had fallen among sharpers, she must be as sharp
as they. Her offensive manner fell from her. "Look
here," she said, bluntly, "I ain't got one mite o'
money but that fifty-cent piece. If your boy'll drive
me to Nicatoos right off, I'll give him that as I said,
an' I'll send back the shawl by him. But if you don't
want to do it, speak right up, an' I'll move on to the
next house, and," she continued boldly as she saw
consent on the cunning face, "you've got to give me
somethin' to eat an' drink with it, 'cause I've got two
dogs to take care of, an' I don't want to get to Ciscasset
and tumble over from bein' fainty."</p>
<p>Mrs. Folcutt's gray face became illumined by a
silly smile. There was not a shawl like that in the
settlement, and bustling to her feet, she stroked it
and felt it with admiring fingers, until admonished
by 'Tilda Jane that time was passing, and if she
was going to get her anything to eat she had better
be quick about it.</p>
<p>The little girl almost choked over the sloppy tea
from the venerable teapot, the shady bread and
butter, and the composite dish of preserves set
before her, yet resolutely shutting her eyes she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
ate and drank, and forced Gippie to do the same.
Poacher would touch nothing. "Don't ye know
them huntin' dogs eats <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note—Original text: 'only onct a day'">only once a day</ins>?" said Mrs.
Folcutt, contemptuously.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XIII.</a><br />
<span class="small">AN ATTEMPTED TRICK.</span></h2>
<p>"How fur are we from Nicatoos?" inquired
'Tilda Jane of her charioteer one hour later.</p>
<p>"A matter of a mile," he replied, beating his
disengaged hand upon his knees. He was sulky
and cold, and 'Tilda Jane averted her glance from
him to his small brown nag, who was trotting along
as cheerfully as if there were a reward at the end
of the drive for him.</p>
<p>He was a curious little horse. Surely there
never before was one with such a heavy coat of hair.
He looked like a wild animal, and with gladness
of heart she noted his fat sides. The Folcutts
might be mean and untidy, but they certainly were
good to this faithful friend, and her mind went off
in puzzled reflection.</p>
<p>She was pursuing the same line of thought of
an hour before. No one was perfect, yet no one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
was wholly bad. There was good in everybody and
everything. Poacher was a bad dog in some respects,
and she cast a glance at him as he came
trotting sleek and thoughtful behind the sleigh, but
what a noble character he was in other respects!
Gippie was a crank, and she pressed closer the
small animal beside her, but he had his good points,
and he was certainly a great comfort to her.</p>
<p>Her heart was much lighter now that she was
drawing nearer to the train that was to take her to
Ciscasset, and in raising her little, weary head gratefully
to the sky, she noted in quick and acute
appreciation an unusually beautiful sunset. The
colours were subdued—the sky was as hard and
as cold as steel, but how clear, how brilliantly clear
and calm! She would have fine weather for her
arrival in her new home.</p>
<p>She was glad that she was not to stay here. She
felt herself quite a travelled orphan now, and somewhat
disdainfully classed this rough settlement as
"back-woodsy." The houses were uninviting and
far apart, the roads and yards were desolate. The
men were in the woods, the women and children<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
were inside huddling around the fires. Middle Marsden
was a quiet place, but it had not seemed as
much out of the world as this. She hoped Ciscasset
would be cheerful. Her travels had given her a
liking for meeting new faces, and for enjoying some
slight excitement. Not as much as she had had
during the last few days—no, not as much as that.
It was too trying for her, and she smiled faintly as
she called up her last vision of her little careworn
face in the cracked looking-glass in the log cabin.</p>
<p>"What's the matter?" she asked, abruptly.</p>
<p>The sleigh had come to a sudden standstill, and
the boy was holding the lines in dogged silence.</p>
<p>"Why don't you drive on?" she asked.</p>
<p>"Now you jus' looky here," he replied, in a rough
and bullying tone. "I ain't a-goin' one step furder.
I'm mos' froze, an' the station's right ahead. You
foller yer nose a spell, an' you'll git thar. Gimme
the shawl an' the fifty cents, an' git out."</p>
<p>For one moment 'Tilda Jane sat in blank amazement.
Then she looked from his dirty, obstinate
face to the plump pony. The latter showed no
signs of fatigue. He could go for miles yet. If he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
had made a plea for the harness, she would not have
so much wondered, for it was patched and mended
with rope in a dozen places.</p>
<p>Then her blood slowly reached boiling-point.
She had stood a good deal from these Folcutts.
The shawl was worth five dollars. That she knew,
for she remembered hearing the matron tell how
much it had cost her. She had overpaid them for
this drive, and she was not prepared to flounder
on through the snow and perhaps miss her train.</p>
<p>Her mind, fertile in resources, speedily hit upon
something. She must get this bully out of the
sleigh, and she fixed him with a glance more determined
than his own. He had on a rough homespun
suit of clothes, and a home-made cap to match it.
This cap was pulled tightly over his ears, but it was
not on tight enough to resist 'Tilda Jane's quick
and angry fingers.</p>
<p>Plucking it off, she threw it over a snake fence
into a snow-bank, saying at the same time, "If
you're goin' to turn me out, I'll turn you out first."</p>
<p>The boy was furious, but the cold wind smote
his head, and, postponing retaliation, he sprang first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
for his cap, shouting warningly, however, as he
swung his leg over the fence, "I'll make you pay
up for this, you—"</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane neither heard nor cared for the offensive
epithet applied to her. With feet firmly braced,
both hands grasping the lines, Gippie beside her, and
Poacher racing behind, she was sweeping down the
road. She had never driven a horse before in her
life, but she adored new experiences, and she had
carefully watched every motion of the young lout
beside her.</p>
<p>He could scarcely believe his eyes. He gaped
speechless for a few minutes, for the sound of the
sleigh-bells had made him turn sharply as he was
picking up his cap. Then he restored the covering
to his head, ran to the fence, and bawled, helplessly,
"Stop thar—stop! Stop!"</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane was skimming gaily around a turn in
the road toward the sunset. He thought he heard
a jeering laugh from her, but he was mistaken.
Having got what she wanted, she was going obliviously
on her way. The boy had been an obstacle,
and she had brushed him aside.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<a name="p168" id="p168"></a>
<img src="images/p168.jpg" width="550" alt="" />
<div class="caption">"'STOP THAR—STOP! STOP!'"</div>
<p class="rt"><a href="#LOI">[Back to LOI]</a></p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p>
<p>With his slower brain he was forced to pause and
deliberate. Had she stolen their rig? Stupid as he
was, the conviction forced itself upon him that she
had not. She could not take the rig on the train,
anyway, and plucking up courage, and shivering in
the cold that had seized upon him during his deliberations,
he meditatively and angrily began to plod
over the route that he had recommended to her.</p>
<p>Three-quarters of an hour later, he drew into the
station yard. The train had come and gone, and his
eager eyes went to the pony tied safe and sound
under the shed, with not only the lap-robe over his
back, but also the striped shawl—the first and last
time that he would have the pleasure of wearing it.</p>
<p>At the sound of the bells when he turned the
sleigh, the telegraph operator came to the station
door. "Here's fifty cents for you, left by a black-eyed
girl."</p>
<p>Without a "thank you," the boy held out his hand.</p>
<p>"I guess you don't like that black-eyed girl much,"
said the young man, teasingly.</p>
<p>"She's a—" and the boy broke into an oath.</p>
<p>"Shut up!" said the young man, with a darkening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
face. Then with some curiosity he went on, "What
did she do to make you talk like that?"</p>
<p>"Spilt me out," replied the boy, with another
volley of bad language.</p>
<p>"You young hound," said the man, witheringly,
"if she spilt you out, I'll bet you deserved it. I'll
not touch your dirty hand. If you want your money,
go find it," and throwing the fifty cents in a snow-drift,
he went back into the warm station and slammed
the door behind him.</p>
<p>Uzziah's troubles were not over, and he had still
to learn that the way of the transgressor is a tiresome
one. He fumbled desperately in the snow, for
he wanted fifty cents above all things in the world
just then, but he was destined not to find it; and at
last, cold, weary, and yet with all his faults not
inclined to wreak his wrath on the pony who stood
patiently watching him, he threw himself into the
sleigh and sped gloomily homeward. His mother
had the shawl, but he had nothing for his trouble,
for he counted as nothing and worse than nothing
his experience of the maxim that one sly trick
inspires another.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XIV.</a><br />
<span class="small">HOME, SWEET HOME.</span></h2>
<p>'Tilda Jane was in a quandary. She had boarded
the train for Ciscasset, she sat up very straight and
apparently very composed—her outward demeanour
gave not a hint of the turmoil within. In reality
she was full of trouble. She had not a cent of
money in her pocket, and her new familiarity with
the workings of the Maine Central Railway assured
her that it did not carry passengers for nothing.</p>
<p>What was she to do? She pulled the little tippet
more closely around Gippie's shoulders. She had
taken it from her own, for it was absolutely necessary
for him to have another covering now that the
shawl was gone. Perhaps he would be taken away
from her. She had noticed that it was not a customary
thing for people to travel with dogs. His
head and tail were plainly visible—this tippet was
not like the voluminous shawl.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p>
<p>Lucas had not offered her money, and she had not
liked to ask him for it. Perhaps he had not thought
about it. Perhaps if he did think of it, he supposed
that he was doing enough to get her to Nicatoos—and
there was the conductor entering the other end
of the car. She must do something, and deliberately
rising from her seat, she slipped Gippie under
her arm, and made her way out to the platform of
the fast moving train.</p>
<p>It was quite dark now. She gave one side glance
at the white, silent country they were passing
through, then stepped into the lighted car ahead.</p>
<p>"This is a smoking-car, young girl," observed
some one, haughtily.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane had dropped into the first seat she
came to, which happened to be beside a very stout
and very dignified gentleman who had a cigar in his
mouth, and who was reading a newspaper.</p>
<p>She looked round, saw that there were a number
of men in the car—no women, no children, and that
the atmosphere was a hazy blue.</p>
<p>"Smoke don't bother me," she said, almost scornfully.
What was a breath of smoke compared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
with her inward discomposure over her pecuniary
difficulties?</p>
<p>"I'm in a little trouble," she said, brusquely, "I
ain't got money to buy a ticket."</p>
<p>The gentleman gazed at her suspiciously. "I
have no money for beggars," he said, and he turned
his broad back squarely on her.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane, for one so obstinate, was strangely
sensitive. With her face in a flame of colour, she
rose. Had any one else heard the insult? No, not
a man in the car was looking her way.</p>
<p>"I'm a poor little girl," she breathed over the
gentleman's substantial shoulder, "but I'm no beggar.
I guess I work as hard as you do. I wanted
you to lend me a dollar or so to be sent back in a
letter, but I wouldn't take it now—no, not if you
crawled after me on your hands an' knees like a dog
holdin' it in your mouth," and precipitately leaving
him, she sauntered down the aisle.</p>
<p>The gentleman turned around, and with an amazed
face gazed after her. Stay—there she was pausing
by the seat in which was his son. Should he warn
him against the youthful adventuress? No, he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
old enough to take care of himself, and he settled
back in his corner and devoted himself to his
paper.</p>
<p>The only person in the last seat in the car was a
lad of seventeen or eighteen who was neither reading
nor smoking, but lounging across it, while he
suppressed innumerable yawns. He was very handsome,
and he looked lazy and good-natured, and to
him 'Tilda Jane accordingly addressed herself. She
had hesitated, after the rebuff she had received, to
apply to any of those other men with their resolved,
middle-aged or elderly faces. This lad she was not
at all afraid of, and resting Gippie on the arm of his
seat, she stared admiringly at him.</p>
<p>He straightened himself. Here was something
interesting, and his yawns ceased.</p>
<p>"Well, miss, what can I do for you?" he inquired,
mischievously, as she continued to stare at him without
speaking.</p>
<p>He would lend her the money, she knew it before
she asked him. There was something else in her
mind now, and her little sharp eyes were full of
tears.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p>
<p>"Is anything the matter with you?" he asked,
politely.</p>
<p>She could not answer him for a few seconds,
but then she swallowed the lump in her throat
and ejaculated, "No, sir, only you are so pretty."</p>
<p>"Pretty!" he repeated, in bewilderment.</p>
<p>"Yes," she said in low, passionate, almost resentful
tones, "you ain't got no 'casion for those blue
eyes an' that yeller hair. I wish I could take 'em
away from you. I'd 'a' been 'dopted if I had 'em.
I wouldn't be standin' here."</p>
<p>"Won't you sit down?" he asked, courteously,
and with a flattered air. He was very
young, and to have a strange child melt into
tears at the sight of his handsome face was a compliment
calculated to touch even an older heart
than his.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane, with a heavy sigh, seated herself
beside him. "I'm kind o' put out," she said,
languidly, "you must s'cuse me."</p>
<p>After her interest in him, he could do nothing
less than murmur a civil inquiry as to the cause of
her concern.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p>
<p>"I've been tryin' to borrer money," she replied,
"an' I was 'sulted."</p>
<p>"To borrow money—then you are short of
funds?"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," she said, calmly, "I'm a-travellin', but
I ain't got no money to pay for me nor for this dog,
an' his head an' tail shows this time, an' he'll be
nabbed."</p>
<p>"Where are you going?" asked the lad.</p>
<p>"To Ciscasset, sir, if I ever get there. I'm
beginnin' to think there ain't no such place."</p>
<p>"I assure you there is, for I live in it myself."</p>
<p>"Do you?" she ejaculated, with a flash of interest.
"Do you know a man by the name of Hobart
Dillson?"</p>
<p>"Rather—he was my father's bookkeeper for
years. We pension him now," he added, grandly,
and with a wish to impress.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane was not impressed, for she did not
know what a pension was.</p>
<p>"What kind of a feller is he?" she asked, eagerly.</p>
<p>"Oh, a sort of tiger—might be in a cage, you
know, but we haven't got one big enough."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p>
<p>"You mean he gets mad easy?"</p>
<p>"Never gets un-mad. Always stays so. Is a
regular joke, you know. Going to visit him?"</p>
<p>"I'm goin' to be his housekeeper," said 'Tilda
Jane, with dignity.</p>
<p>The lad cast a rapid and amused glance over her
small resolved figure, then taking his handkerchief
from his pocket, turned his face to the window, and
coughed vigorously.</p>
<p>"I can fight, too," she added, after a pause, "but—"
slowly, "I sha'n't fight him."</p>
<p>The lad did not turn around except to throw her
one gleam from the corner of a laughing eye, until
she ejaculated uneasily, "There comes the conductor—are
you a-goin' to lend me some money?"</p>
<p>His face reappeared—quite sober now. "Well,
young lady, I am not a capitalist, but I think I can
raise you a loan. How much do you want—that
is, where did you come on?"</p>
<p>"I come on at Nicatoos, an' I've another dog in
the baggage-car."</p>
<p>"Travelling with two dogs," he murmured, "and
short of funds. You have courage!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p>
<p>"I like some animiles better'n some people,"
observed 'Tilda Jane, sententiously.</p>
<p>"Your sentiment does you credit," he replied,
gravely, and as the conductor approached, he held
out his hand. "I pay for this little girl and her
dog in the baggage-car."</p>
<p>"That's a fine hound you've got," the conductor
observed, civilly, to 'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," she replied, meekly. "I hope he
ain't scared o' the train."</p>
<p>"He don't like it much, but some of the boys
have been playing with him. Why—" and he
drew back in surprise, "you're the obstinate young
one I pointed out to the inspector the other day.
Here—you needn't pay," and he put in her hand
the money her new friend had just given him.
"There was a great racket about you. You needn't
have run away from Vanceboro—if you'd spoken
the truth, you'd saved yourself and us a lot of
trouble. However, I guess they'll be glad to hear
you're all right."</p>
<p>"I'll be 'bliged if you'll give my respecks to
Mr. Jack," she said, steadily.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p>
<p>"I'll do it," said the conductor, "and tell him
you've picked up another dog," and with a wink at
her companion, he passed on.</p>
<p>"Accep' my thanks," she said, after a time, handing
the loose change in her lap to the lad.</p>
<p>"Keep it," he replied, generously. "I don't want
it."</p>
<p>A grim flash like a streak of lightning passed over
her dark face, and he added, hastily, "As a loan, of
course. You may need money for your dogs. Old
Hobart will begrudge them a bone, I assure you."</p>
<p>She thanked him, and thoughtfully tied the money
in a corner of her handkerchief.</p>
<p>"Now if his son were home, he would be different.
Hank is a rattling, good-natured sort of a fellow.
No principle, you know, but not a tiger by any
means."</p>
<p>"I'll thank you, sir, to keep a stiff tongue when
you're talkin' of Hank Dillson," observed 'Tilda
Jane, severely. "He's done me favours, an' you'd
better keep your tongue off his father, too. If you're
dyin' to pitch into some one, pitch into that selfish
ole tub a-readin' that big paper up there. He turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
his back on me when I hinted round him for the
loan of a dollar or so."</p>
<p>"And I'll thank you to keep a stiff tongue when
you speak of that gentleman," said the lad, smartly,
"for he's my father."</p>
<p>"Your father!" echoed 'Tilda Jane, in astonishment.</p>
<p>"Yes, ma'am."</p>
<p>"Did he <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note—Original text: 'onct have blue eyes'">once have blue eyes</ins> an' curly hair?"</p>
<p>"I believe so. He's a good-looking man yet."</p>
<p>"He's a—" began 'Tilda Jane, hurriedly, then
she stopped short. "Law me—I'll never learn to
forgive folks before the sun goes down; I'm gettin'
wickeder an' wickeder. What's your name, sir?
I'll want to send you this money soon's I earn
some."</p>
<p>"My name is Datus Waysmith, and my father is
the biggest lumber merchant on the Ciscasset
River."</p>
<p>"Is he?" she said, wistfully, "an' have you got
more family?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I have a mother as pretty as a picture, and
three sisters."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p>
<p>"An' you have a nice room with a fire that ain't
boxed up, an' you sit round, an' no other folks come
in, an' no bells ring for you to get up and do somethin'?"</p>
<p>"We have loads of rooms in our house," said the
lad, boastfully. "It's the biggest one in Ciscasset.
You'll soon find out where we live. Here we are
most in—Iceboro next, then home," and he flattened
his face against the glass.</p>
<p>Outside in the dark night, bright lights appeared,
danced over the snowy country, then disappeared.
The train was running through the outskirts of a
prosperous town.</p>
<p>"Is Ciscasset a nice place?" asked 'Tilda Jane,
wistfully.</p>
<p>"Slowest old place that ever was. I'd like to live
in Bangor or Portland. There's something going on
there. We've nothing but a river, and mills, and
trees, and hills—not a decent theatre in the place."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane did not know what a theatre was, and
discreetly held her peace.</p>
<p>"I say—here we are!" exclaimed the boy. "I
hope mamma will have a good supper."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p>
<p>A shadow overspread 'Tilda Jane's face, and seeing
it, the boy said, impulsively, "Stop here a minute—I
want to speak to papa," and he rushed away.</p>
<p>The little girl sat still. They were going more
slowly now, and all the men in the car were standing
up, putting on coats and warm caps. She had no
wrap, but her dress was thick, and hugging Gippie
closer, she felt that she should not suffer from the
cold.</p>
<p>The boy was making an animated appeal to his
father, who was asking him short, quick questions.
At last he gave him a brief, "Very well!" and the
boy ran back to 'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>"Papa says you can ride with us. I told him you
had no one to meet you, and it would be cold comfort
wandering about alone to find your way. He
used to think a lot of Dillson, but you'd better not
talk to him."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane trailed slowly after her guide through
the crowd of people leaving the train, and passing
through the lighted stone station to the yard outside.
Here were drawn up a number of sleighs.
The boy led her to the handsomest one.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p>
<p>"Jump up on the box with Jenks," he said in a
whisper. "Curl down under the rug, and I'll bring
dog number two. He'll run behind, won't he?"</p>
<p>"I guess so," replied 'Tilda Jane, with an equally
mysterious whisper, and she slipped down under the
soft bearskin robe.</p>
<p>In two minutes the boy came back, leading
Poacher by a small rope. "I'll just tie him behind,"
he said, "to make sure. He's all right—and
here's papa."</p>
<p>He stood aside, while his dignified parent got into
the sleigh. 'Tilda Jane, from her high seat, looked
around once. The lumber merchant and his son
were down in a black valley of soft, smothering furs,
Poacher was running agreeably behind, and Gippie
was snug and warm in her lap.</p>
<p>No one spoke during the drive, and they glided
swiftly through the snowy town. 'Tilda Jane had
a confused vision of lighted shops with frosty windows,
of houses with more sober illuminations, then
suddenly they were stealing along the brink of a
long and narrow snow-filled hollow. This was the
Ciscasset River, still held by its winter covering.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
She thought she heard a murmur of "rotten ice"
behind her as the lumber merchant addressed his
son, and she was enough a child of the State to
know that a reference to the breaking up of the ice
in the river was intended.</p>
<p>Presently they dashed up a long avenue of leafless,
hardwood trees to a big house on the hill. A hall
door was thrown open, and within was a glimpse of
paradise for the homeless orphan. Softly tinted
lights in the background illuminated and made
angelically beautiful the white dresses and glowing
faces of a lady and three little girls who stood on
the threshold with outstretched arms.</p>
<p>The father and son welcomed to these embraces
had forgotten 'Tilda Jane, and as the sleigh slowly
turned and went down the cold avenue, tears
streamed silently down her cheeks.</p>
<p>"Where am I to take you?" suddenly asked the
solemn coachman beside her.</p>
<p>"To Hobart Dillson's," she said, in a choking
voice.</p>
<p>Nothing more was said, she saw nothing, heard
nothing, felt nothing of her immediate surroundings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
She had once been taken to a circus, and the picture
now before her mind was that of a tiger pacing back
and forth in his cage, growling in a low monotonous
tone, always growling, growling at a miserable child
shrinking outside.</p>
<p>"That there is Dillson's cottage, I think," said
the coachman at last.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane roused herself. Through her blurred
vision a small house wavered at the end of a snowy
path. She wiped her eyes hastily, thanked the man,
and, slipping from her high seat, ran behind the
sleigh and untied Poacher.</p>
<p>The man turned his sleigh and glided slowly out
of sight. She stood watching him till he disappeared,
then, followed by her two dogs went reluctantly
up the path.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XV.</a><br />
<span class="small">THE FRENCH FAMILY.</span></h2>
<p>'Tilda Jane stood entranced. This was not the
Dillson cottage, the coachman had made a mistake.
She stood staring in the window, for this was a sight
that pleased her above all other sights.</p>
<p>Here was another family,—a happy family, evidently,
all gathered around a cheerful fire in a good-sized
living-room. There were an old grandfather
in the corner smoking a pipe, an old woman beside
him with a white cap on her head, a middle-aged
man cleaning a gun by the light of a lamp on the
table, a middle-aged woman knitting a stocking, and
a cluster of children of all ages about the grandfather,
grandmother, father and mother.</p>
<p>Mingled with the crackling of the open fire was
a very gay clatter of tongues speaking in some foreign
language, and one boy's voice soared above the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
rest in the words of a song that 'Tilda Jane was
afterward to learn:</p>
<div class="poetry-container" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><div class="poetry">
<p class="verseq">"<em>Un Canadien errant,</em></p>
<p class="verse"><em>Bannis de son pays,</em></p>
<p class="verse"><em>Parconrait en pleurant,</em></p>
<p class="verse"><em>Un pays étranger.</em>"</p>
</div></div>
<p>She gazed at them until the sense of increasing
cold checked her rapture, and made her move regretfully
toward the door and rap on it.</p>
<p>It was immediately opened by a brown-eyed child,
and held far back as if she were expected to enter.</p>
<p>"Can you tell me where Mr. Hobart Dillson
lives?"</p>
<p>"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ou-ay, ma'mzelle</i>," murmured the child, bashfully
hanging her head.</p>
<p>"But enter—it is cold," called the mother, rising
and coming forward, stocking in hand.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane felt drawn toward this alluring family
circle, and one minute later was sitting in a chair
on its circumference.</p>
<p>"But come in, dawgie," said the mother gently
to Poacher, who stood hesitating on the threshold.</p>
<p>He came in, and was greeted silently and politely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
by two respectable curs that rose from the hearth-stone
for the purpose, then he lay down beside them,
and gratefully extended his limbs to the fire.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane sat for a minute looking about her
without speaking. These people were not staring
at her, but they were all stealing occasional curious
glances in her direction.</p>
<p>"I'm lookin' for Hobart Dillson's," she said,
bluntly, "but I guess there ain't no such person,
for the nearer I get the more he seems to run
off."</p>
<p>The mother of the family smiled, and 'Tilda Jane
gazed in admiration at the soft black eyes under
the firm brows. "I can tell you, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mademoiselle</i>—he
is near by, even nex' doah."</p>
<p>"Oh!" murmured 'Tilda Jane, then she fell into
meditation. These people were foreigners, poor,
too, evidently, though perfectly neat and clean.
She wondered how they got into the country.</p>
<p>"You air emigrants?" she said, at last, inquiringly.</p>
<p>"French," said the woman, "'Cajien French—sent
from our country long ago. Our people went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
back. We returned to earn a little money. Too
many people where we lived."</p>
<p>"Did you come through Vanceboro?" asked
'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>The woman's liquid eyes appealed to her husband.
He shrugged his shoulders, looked down the barrel
of his gun, and said, "It is a long time ago we
come. I do not know."</p>
<p>"Mebbe they weren't so partickler," observed
'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>"Let um do!" came in a sepulchral voice from
the fireplace.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane stared at the old grandfather, who
had taken his pipe from his mouth to utter the
phrase, and was now putting it back.</p>
<p>The house-mother addressed her. "Do not fear,
<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mademoiselle</i>; it is the only English he knows. He
means 'all right, do not anxious yourself, be calm,
very calm.'"</p>
<p>"Does he?" murmured 'Tilda Jane; then she
added, unwillingly, "I must be going."</p>
<p>"Delay youself yet a leetle," urged the woman,
and her pitying eyes ran over the girl's drooping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
figure. "The children go to make corn hot.
Marie—" and a stream of foreign syllables trickled
and gurgled from her lips, delighting and fascinating
her caller.</p>
<p>A little maid danced from the fireplace to one
of the tiny pigeon-hole rooms opening from the
large one, and presently came back with a bag of
corn and a popper.</p>
<p>"And a glass of milk for <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mademoiselle</i>," said the
woman to another child.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane was presently sipping her milk, eating
a piece of dark brown bread, and gazing dreamily
at the fire. Why could she not linger in this
pleasant home.</p>
<p>"You know Mr. Dillson?" she said, rousing
herself with an effort, and turning to her hostess.</p>
<p>"But yes—we have lived nex' him for so many
yeahs."</p>
<p>"Do you think I can keep house for him?" asked
'Tilda Jane, wistfully.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<a name="p190" id="p190"></a>
<img src="images/p190.jpg" width="550" alt="" />
<div class="caption">"'YOU ARE YOUNG FOR THAT, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">MADEMOISELLE</i>, YET—'"</div>
<p class="rt"><a href="#LOI">[Back to LOI]</a></p>
</div>
<p>The woman hesitated, laid her knitting on her
lap, and thoughtfully smoothed her tweed dress.
"You are young for that, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mademoiselle</i>, yet—" and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>she scrutinised 'Tilda Jane's dark, composed, almost
severe face—"if a girl could do it, I should think
yes—you can. He is seeck, poor man. He walks
not well at all. It makes him—"</p>
<p>"Like the evil one," muttered her husband,
clutching his gun more tightly; "if he was a crow,
I would shoot."</p>
<p>"Let um do!" came in guttural tones from
grandfather's corner.</p>
<p>The woman laughed merrily, and all anxiety faded
from her face. "Hark to <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">gran'père</i>—it makes me
feel good, so good. No one can make us feel bad
if we feel not bad ourselves. Deelson is seeck. He
is not hap-py. Let us not be seeck, too. Let us be
hap-py. <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Allons mes enfants, est-ce que le</i>—" and
then followed more smooth syllables that 'Tilda Jane
did not understand.</p>
<p>She soon saw, however, that an order had been
given to butter and salt the corn, and presently she
was shyly but sweetly offered some by the French
children. Even Poacher and Gippie had some kernels
laid before them, and in the midst of her concern
as to Mr. Dillson's behaviour, her heart swelled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
with gratitude to think that she should have such
good neighbours. Here all was gentleness and peace.
She had never seen so kind a woman, such amiable
children. Did they ever quarrel and slap each other,
she wondered.</p>
<p>"It's getting late, ain't it?" she exclaimed at last,
with uneasiness. "I must go," and she rose quickly.</p>
<p>"But you can stay all night if you desiah," said
the woman, motioning toward the pigeon-holes.
"Stay, and go nex' doah in the morning."</p>
<p>"No, no, I must not," said 'Tilda Jane very hastily,
through fear that she might yield to so pleasant a
temptation. "But can I drop in an' see you by
spells?"</p>
<p>"But yes, yes—certainly, come often," said the
woman. "Come at any hour," she said under her
breath, and seizing 'Tilda Jane's hand in her own,
"if it is not agreeable there, at any time run here."</p>
<p>"I'm 'bliged to you," said Tilda Jane, gratefully,
"much 'bliged, an' if you want any floors scrubbed,
or anythin' done, jus' you run over an' get me. I'll
come—" and with a sturdy nod of her head, she
took her dogs, and slipped out into the darkness.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p>
<p>"If agreeable leave your dogs here till mornin',"
called the woman after her.</p>
<p>The little girl shook her head. "I guess he'd
better see 'em right off. Good-night, an' thank
you."</p>
<p>The woman clasped her hands, and, looking up at
the sky before she went into the house, murmured
in her own language, "Holy One, guard her from
that terrible rage!"</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XVI.</a><br />
<span class="small">THE TIGER IN HIS LAIR.</span></h2>
<p>The next house to that of the French people was
larger and more pretentious than theirs. It had
more of a garden, there were two stories instead of
one, and the roof was surmounted by a tiny tower.</p>
<p>The outside of the tiger's den was highly satisfactory,
and 'Tilda Jane smiled in weary stoical humour.
Now to find the particular corner in which
the tiger himself abode. The house was dark, except
for one feeble glimmer of light on the ground floor.
She had rapped at the front door, she had rapped at
the back door without getting any response, and now
she returned to the latter to see if perchance it had
been left unfastened.</p>
<p>It had, and lifting the latch cautiously, she went
in. She knew Mr. Dillson was an old man, she
knew he was lame, and possibly he heard her, but
could not come to her rescue. Passing through a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
small porch where she stumbled against some heaped
up pans, she turned the first door-knob she touched
in passing her hand around the dark wall.</p>
<p>She found herself in a kitchen. The table in the
middle of the floor, the chairs, the dresser, were all
illumined by a feeble, dying glow in a small cooking
stove, and by the beams of a candle struggling
through an open door.</p>
<p>Poacher and Gippie crept after her as she proceeded
slowly in the direction of this light. They
felt that there was something mysterious afoot.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane paused at the bedroom door. Here
was the lair of the tiger, and there was the tiger
himself,—an old man with white hair, red eyes, and
a night-cap. A candle was on a shelf by the head
of the bed, and a pair of crutches was within reaching
distance, and the old man was lifting his head
from the pillow in astonishment.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane could not help laughing aloud in her
relief. This was not a very dangerous looking person.
He seemed more amazed than vexed, and she
laughed again as she noted his clutch of the bed-clothes,
and the queer poise of his white head.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p>
<p>"'Scuse me, sir," she said, humbly, "for comin'
this time o' night, but I thought you'd like me to
report first thing. I hope you've heard from your
son I was comin'?"</p>
<p>The old man said nothing. He was still open-mouthed
and dumb, but something in his face
assured 'Tilda Jane that he had heard—he had
received some news of her, apart from the telegram
sent by Mr. Jack.</p>
<p>"I've had lots o' speriences," she said, with a tired
gesture. "I'll tell 'em some other time. I jus'
wanted to 'nounce my 'rival, an' tell you I'm goin'
to wait on you good—I guess I'll go to bed, if
you'll tell me where to get a candle, an' where I'm
to sleep."</p>
<p>He would tell her nothing. He simply lay and
glared at her, and by no means disposed to seek a
quarrel with him, she made her way back to the
kitchen, opened the stove door, and, lighting a piece
of paper, searched the room until she found the
closet where the candles were kept.</p>
<p>The old man lay motionless in his bed. He heard
her searching, heard the dogs pattering after her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
and a violent perspiration broke out upon him.
Wrath sometimes gave him unwonted fluency of
speech. To-night it rendered him speechless. He
did not wish this beggar's brat to wait on him.
Hank had not asked his permission to send her—had
simply announced that she was coming. He
was treated as if he were a baby—an idiot, and this
was his own house. Hank had nothing to do with
it. He didn't care if Hank did pay her. He had
money enough of his own to hire a housekeeper.
But he didn't want one. He wanted to wait on
himself. He hated to have women cluttering round,
and he lay, and perspired, and inwardly raged, and
obtained not one wink of sleep, while 'Tilda Jane,
having obtained what she wished, peacefully composed
herself to rest.</p>
<p>First though, she calmly bade him "Good-night,"
told him to "holler," if he wanted anything, and,
calling her dogs, went off in search of a bed for
herself.</p>
<p>Beyond the kitchen was a front hall,—cold,
dusty, and comfortless. Up-stairs were four rooms,
two unfurnished, one having something the appear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>ance
of a spare room left long unoccupied, the other
smelling of tobacco, exceedingly untidy, littered with
old clothes, fishing rods, bats, cartridge shells, and
other boyish and manly belongings. This must be
Hank's room, probably it had been occupied later
than the other, and the bed would not be so damp.
She would sleep here, and she turned down the
clothes.</p>
<p>"Good land!" she murmured, "I wonder how
long sence those blankets has been washed?" and
she turned them back again, and, going to the
other room, obtained two coverlets that she spread
over herself, after she lay down on the outside of the
bed.</p>
<p>The dogs had already curled themselves up on a
heap of clothes on the floor, and in a few minutes
the three worn-out travellers were fast asleep.</p>
<p>When 'Tilda Jane lifted her head from her very
shady pillow the next morning, her ears were saluted
by the gentle patter of rain. The atmosphere was
milder—a thaw had set in.</p>
<p>She sprang up, and went to the dogs, who were
still snoring in their corner. "Wake up," she said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
touching them with her foot. Gippie started, but
something in the expression of Poacher's eloquent
eyes told her that, although he had been apparently
sound asleep, he knew perfectly well what was going
on about him.</p>
<p>"Let's go and see Mr. Dillson," she exclaimed,
and picking up Gippie, she ran down-stairs with
Poacher at her heels.</p>
<p>"It ain't cold—it's just pleasant," she muttered,
turning the key with difficulty in the front door, and
throwing it open.</p>
<p>"Oh, my, how pretty!" and she clasped her hands
in delight. Across the road was the deep hollow of
the river. She was in one of a line of cottages following
its bank, and across the river were fields and
hills, now a soft, hazy picture in the rain. But the
sun would shine, fine days would come—what an
ideal place for a home! and her heart swelled with
thankfulness, and she forgot the cross old man in
the room behind her.</p>
<p>The cross old man would have given the world
to have turned her out of his house at that very
minute, but his night of sleeplessness and raging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
temper had given him a fierce headache, a bad
taste in his mouth, and such a helplessness of limbs
that he could not turn in bed.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane fortunately did not know that if he
could have commanded his tongue he would have
ordered her into the street, but she saw that there
was something wrong with him, and as she stood in
his doorway, she said, pityingly, "I guess you're
sick; I'll make you some breakfast," and she vanished
in the direction of the wood-shed.</p>
<p>He heard her chopping sticks, he heard the brisk
snapping of the fire and the singing of the teakettle.
He heard her breaking eggs—two eggs
when he never cooked more than one at a time!
He opened his mouth to protest, but only gave
utterance to a low roar that brought Poacher, who
happened to be the only one in the kitchen, into his
room to stare gravely and curiously at him.</p>
<p>She made an omelet, she toasted bread, she
steeped him a cup of tea—this slip of a girl. She
had evidently been taught to cook, but he hated her
none the less as she brought in a tray and set it
beside his bed.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p>
<p>He would not touch the food, and he gave her
a look from his angry eyes that sent her speedily
from the room, and made her close the door behind
her.</p>
<p>"I guess he'd like to gimme a crack with them
crutches," she reflected, soberly, "I'd better keep
out of his way till he's over it. Reminds me o' the
matron's little spells."</p>
<p>If she had been a petted darling from some loving
home, she would have fled from the cottage in dismay.
As it was, although she suffered, it was not
with the keenness of despair. All her life she had
been on the defensive. Some one had always found
fault with her, some one was always ready to punish
her. Unstinted kindness would have melted her,
but anger always increased her natural obstinacy.
She had been sent here to take care of this old man,
and she was going to do it. She was too unconventional,
and too ignorant, to reflect that her protective
attitude would have been better changed for a
suppliant one in entering the old man's domain.</p>
<p>However, if she had meekly begged the privilege
of taking care of him, he would have sent her away,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
and as she was given neither to hair-splitting nor
introspection, but rather to the practical concerns of
life, she calmly proceeded with her task of tidying
the house without reference to future possibilities.</p>
<p>The kitchen was the first place to be attacked, and
she carefully examined the stove. It smoked a little.
It needed cleaning, and girding on some old aprons
she found in the porch, she let the fire go out, and
then brushed, and rubbed, and poked at the stove
until it was almost as clean outside as it was inside.
Her next proceeding was to take everything off the
walls, and wipe them down with a cloth-bedraped
broom. Then she moved all the dishes off the
dresser, washed the chairs, and scrubbed the
floor.</p>
<p>Then, and not until then, did she reopen the door
into the old man's room. Now he could see what a
clean kitchen she had, and how merrily the fire was
burning in the stove. It was also twelve o'clock,
and she must look about for something more to
eat.</p>
<p>Mr. Dillson had not touched his breakfast, so she
ate it herself, made him fresh toast, a cup of tea, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
a tiny meat hash, then went up-stairs to tidy her
bedroom.</p>
<p>The hash was well-seasoned, and the odour of
onions greeted the old man's nostrils tantalisingly.
He was really hungry now. His wrath had burned
down for lack of fuel, and some power had come
back to his limbs. He ate his dinner, got out of
bed, dressed himself, and limped out to the kitchen.</p>
<p>When he had dropped in his big rocking-chair, he
gazed around the room. The girl had done more in
one morning than all the women he had ever
employed had done in three. Perhaps it would be
economy to keep her. He was certainly growing
more feeble, and a tear of self-pity stood in his eye.</p>
<p>There she was now, coming from the French-woman's
house. She had been over there to borrow
sheets, and a flash of impotent rage swept over
him. He tried to have no dealings with those foreigners.
He hated them, and they hated him. This
girl must go, he could not stand her.</p>
<p>The back of his rocking-chair was padded, and
before he realised what was happening, his state
of fuming passed into one of sleepiness,—he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
off, soundly and unmistakably announcing in plain
terms, through throat and nose, to the world of the
kitchen, that he was making up for time lost last
night.</p>
<p>When he opened his eyes, it was late afternoon,
and 'Tilda Jane, sitting at a safe distance from him,
was knitting an unfinished sock of his, left by his
dead wife some ten years ago.</p>
<p>He blinked at her in non-committal silence. She
gave him one shrewd glance, with her toe pushed
Gippie's recumbent body nearer her own chair, and
went on with her work. If he wanted to hear her
talk, he could ask questions.</p>
<p>The afternoon wore away and evening came.
When it grew quite dark 'Tilda Jane got up,
lighted a lamp, put on the teakettle, and with
the slender materials at hand prepared a meal
that she set before the uncommunicative old man.</p>
<p>He ate it, rolling his eyes around the clean
kitchen meanwhile, but not saying a word.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane kept at a safe distance from him
until he had finished and had limped into bed.
She then approached the table and ate a few mor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>sels
herself, muttering as she did so, "I ain't hungry,
but I mus' eat enough to help me square up to that
poor ole crossy."</p>
<p>She was, however, too tired to enjoy her supper,
and soon leaving it, she washed her dishes and went
up-stairs.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XVII.</a><br />
<span class="small">THE TIGER MAKES A SPRING.</span></h2>
<p>The situation would have been absurd if it had
not been painful. The next morning the old man
was still in the same mood, angry at the girl's invasion
of his premises, and yet so appreciative of the
value of her energetic ways that he did not insist on
her departure. And so day after day, for a whole
week, 'Tilda Jane lived on, keeping house for the
old man, but saying not one word to him.</p>
<p>He would not speak to her, and she would not
begin a conversation with him. She prepared his
meals from food that the storekeeper and butcher
readily gave her on the old man's account, and exercised
her tongue by talking to her dogs.</p>
<p>Occasionally she called on her French neighbours,
the Melançons, and from them gleaned various items
of information about the eccentric Mr. Dillson, without,
however, allowing them to know that he would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
not speak to her. This secret she proudly kept to
herself. She found out from them that the old man
was ordinarily in better health than at present,—that
he was usually able to hobble about the house
and wait on himself, for his temper had of late
become so violent that no woman in Ciscasset
would enter his house to work for him. Therefore,
'Tilda Jane's arrival had been most opportune,
for he would have been in danger of starving to
death if left to himself.</p>
<p>Feeling persuaded of this, and greatly pleased to
think that she had been and was of service to the
father of her benefactor Hank, her attitude toward
the old man continued to be one of philosophical and
good-natured obstinacy. She would not speak to
him, but she was willing to wait on him in silence,
looking forward to the time when he would find his
tongue.</p>
<p>Her only fear of his sullenness was on behalf of
her dogs. He hated them—she knew it by the
menacing tremble of his crutches whenever the
animals came within his reach. Therefore, her
constant endeavour was to keep them out of his way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
She had made two soft, persuasive beds in the
wood-shed for them; but it was cold there, and she
could not stay with them. They loved her with
all the strength of their doggish hearts, and wished
to be with her every minute of the time.</p>
<p>Often at night she would start up in bed from
troubled dreams of a fierce old figure mounting the
staircase, crutch in hand. There was no lock on
her bedroom door, and if the old man had a sudden
accession of strength, he could easily push aside
the barrier of a wash-stand and two chairs that she
put across this door before she went to bed.</p>
<p>She wished that Hank would come home. He
might persuade his peculiar parent to end this
unnatural silence, and give her a chance to become
acquainted with him.</p>
<p>"Mebbe he'll soon come, Poacher," she whispered
in the ear of the dog who was sitting close beside
her. "We'll make up our minds for that, won't
we?"</p>
<p>The dog was sitting up very straight beside her,
and gazing benevolently down at Gippie, who lay
on her lap. They were all out on the front door<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>-step,
and 'Tilda Jane was knitting industriously.
It was a day like May in the month of March—there
was a soft, mild air and a warm sun that made
dripping eaves and melting snow-banks. Little
streams of water were running from the garden
to the road, and from the road to the hollow of the
river, where large cakes of ice were slowly loosening
themselves, breaking up and floating toward the
sea. Spring was coming, and 'Tilda Jane, despite
the incorrigible sulkiness of the person with whom
she was living, felt it good to have a home.</p>
<p>"We'll have lots o' sport by an' by runnin'
in the fields, Poacher," she whispered, lovingly, in
his ear, "you ole comfort—always so sweet, an'
good, an' never sassing back. You jus' creep away
when you see some one comin' and don't say a
word, do you? You're a sample to me; I wish
I was like you. An' you never want to be bad,
do you, an' chase back to the woods?"</p>
<p>The dog abandoned his stately attitude, and gave
his tongue a quick fillip in the direction of her forehead.
No—thanks to her intense devotion to him,
he had no time for mournful reflections on the past.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p>
<p>"But I guess you'd like to see your master sometimes,"
she murmured. "I see a hankerin' in your
eyes now an' agin, ole feller, an' then I jus' talk
to you hard. You darlin'!" and throwing her
arm around his neck, she squeezed him heartily.</p>
<p>He was boldly reciprocating, by licking her little,
straight, determined nose, when there was a clicking
sound around the corner of the house.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane released him and raised her head.
The old man was approaching, leaning heavily on
his crutches. The beauty of the day had penetrated
and animated even his ancient bones. 'Tilda Jane
was delighted to see him moving about, but, giving
no sign of her satisfaction, she rose and prepared
to enter the house. He did not approve of having
the front door unlocked, he did not approve of her
habit of dodging out-of-doors whenever she had no
work to do inside. She felt this, although he had
never said it, and pushing Gippie into the hall, she
stepped down the walk to pick up her ball of yarn.</p>
<p>The dog's enemy was some distance away, and
seeing him leaning so heavily on his crutches, it did
not occur to her that there could be any fear of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
danger. However, with all her acuteness, she did
not measure the depth of his animosity, nor the
agility with which it could inspire him.</p>
<p>With a deftness and lightness that would have
been admirable if it had not been cruel, the old man
bore all his weight on one crutch, swung the other
around in the air, and with the heavy end struck
a swift, sure blow on Poacher's glossy black forehead.</p>
<p>It was all done in the twinkling of an eye—in
the short space of time that the little girl's back
was turned. She heard the crashing blow, flashed
around, and saw the black body of the dog extended
on a white snow-bank. His eyes were open, his
expression was still the loving one with which he
had been regarding her as she stooped to pick up
the ball.</p>
<p>For an instant 'Tilda Jane felt no emotion but
wonder. She stood stock-still, staring alternately
at the old man and at the motionless body of the
dog. It had occurred to her that he would kill one
of her pets if he had a chance, but now that he
had done it, the thing seemed unreal, almost absurd.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
Surely she was dreaming—that was not Poacher
lying there dead.</p>
<p>She went up to the dog, touched him with soft,
amazed fingers, lifted the velvet ears, and put her
hands on his forehead. There was the slightest
ruffling of the smooth skin where the crutch had
struck him.</p>
<p>The old man stood and watched her for a few
seconds, his face a trifle redder than usual, but
giving no other sign of emotion. He watched her
until she lifted her head and looked at him, then
he turned hastily and limped to the back door.</p>
<p>It was an awful look to see on the face of a child,—an
avenging, unforgiving, hateful look,—the look
of a grown person in cold, profound wrath. He did
not regret killing the dog, he would like to dispose
of the other one, but he did object to those murderous
eyes. She was capable of killing him. He
must get rid of her, and make his peace with some
of the Ciscasset witches, in order that they might
come and wait on him.</p>
<p>He went thoughtfully into the house and sat
down in his usual corner beyond the kitchen stove.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
He wondered whether she would give him any supper.
He could get it himself to-night if she did not.
He was certainly better, and a glow of pleasure
made his blood feel warm in his veins.</p>
<p>Stay—there she was, coming slowly in—he
thanked his lucky stars, looking very much the same
as usual. He would not be slain in his bed that
night. And she was getting fresh wood for the fire.
Perhaps she would make hot cakes for supper. She
was wonderfully smart for a girl. He had several
times speculated as to her age. Sometimes when
talking to the dogs she seemed no more than eleven
or twelve years old. Ordinarily she appeared to
him about fifteen, but small for the age. To-day in
her wrath, she might be taken for seventeen. How
subdued she seemed as she moved about the kitchen.
He had done a good thing to strike down one of
those animals. She would not have such an independent
air now.</p>
<p>She built up the fire, set the teakettle on the
back of the stove—he wondered why she did not
put it on the front, and why she gradually piled on
sticks of wood until there was a roaring blaze that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
caused him some slight uneasiness. Was she going
to set the chimney on fire?</p>
<p>No, she was not; when there was a bed of fiery red
coals, she took up her tiny padded holder, lifted off
one of the stove covers, then, to his surprise, went into
the corner behind him, where he kept his crutches.</p>
<p>What was she going to do? and he uneasily
turned his head.</p>
<p>She had both his crutches in her hand—his polished
wooden crutches with the gold plate inscription.
Years ago, when he resigned his position as
bookkeeper at Waysmith and Son's big mill, a gold-headed
cane had been presented to him, on which
was engraved a flattering inscription. Nothing that
had ever been given to him in his life had tickled
his vanity as this present from the rich and prosperous
firm had done.</p>
<p>When he had been obliged to put away the cane
on account of his increasing bodily infirmities, he
had had the gold plate inscription transferred to his
crutches where he could see it all the time, and have
others see it. Now—what was she going to do
with those crutches?</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<a name="p215" id="p215"></a>
<img src="images/p215.jpg" width="600" alt="" />
<div class="caption">"HE LIFTED UP HIS VOICE AND ROARED AT HER."</div>
<p class="rt"><a href="#LOI">[Back to LOI]</a></p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p>
<p>He opened his mouth, and for the first time
addressed her. "Put those crutches down."</p>
<p>She paid less attention to him than she did to
the crackling of the fire. Walking behind his chair,
and making a wide circle to avoid his outstretched
arms, she went to the other side of the stove and—</p>
<p>He lifted up his voice and roared at her. She
was sticking the legs of his crutches down in that
fiery furnace.</p>
<p>He roared again, but she did not even raise her
head. She was holding the crutches down, stuffing
them in, burning them off inch by inch—very
quietly, very deliberately, but very surely. She was
not thinking of him, she was thinking of the dead
dog out on the snow.</p>
<p>He kept quiet for a few seconds, then he began
to bellow for mercy. She was burning up to the
cross-bar handles, she would soon reach that gold-plate
inscription, and now for the first time he knew
what those eulogistic words were to him—he, a
man who had had the temper of a maniac that had
cut him off from the sympathy of every human being
he knew.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p>
<p>Tears ran down his cheeks—in incoherent words
he stammered an apology for killing her dog, and
then she relented.</p>
<p>Throwing the charred and smoking tops to him,
she shut up the stove, took her hat and tippet from
a peg in the wall, and clasping Gippie to her, left the
house without one glance at the old man as he sat in
the smoky atmosphere mumbling to himself, and
fumbling over the burnt pieces of wood as tenderly
as if they had been babies.</p>
<p>She had conquered him, but without caring for
her conquest she left him.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XVIII.</a><br />
<span class="small">IN SEARCH OF A PERFECT MAN.</span></h2>
<p>Ciscasset, perhaps most beautiful of Maine towns
near the Canadian border, was particularly beautiful
on the morning after 'Tilda Jane's departure from
Hobart Dillson's cottage. The sun was still shining
fervently—so fervently that men threw open their
top-coats or carried them on their arms; the sky
was still of the delicate pink and blue haze of the
day before, the wind was a breath of spring blown at
departing winter.</p>
<p>It was still early, and beautiful Ciscasset was not
yet really astir. Few women were to be seen on
the streets,—only a score of shop-girls hurrying to
their work,—but men abounded. Clerks were going
to their desks and counters, and early rising business
men to their offices. Market-men swarmed in from
the country in order to be the first to sell their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
produce in the prosperous little town with the Indian
name.</p>
<p>Other towns and villages might direct their search
across the sea for European titles for streets and
homes. Ciscasset prided itself on being American
and original. The Indian names were native to the
State, and with scarcely an exception prevailed in
the nomenclature of the town. Therefore the—in
other places Main Street—was here Kennebago
Street, and down this street a group of farmers was
slowly proceeding. They had sold their farm produce
to grocers and stable-keepers, and were now
going to the post-office for their mail.</p>
<p>Assembled a few moments later in a corner of the
gray stone building, and diligently reading letters
and papers, they did not see a small figure approaching,
and only looked up when a grave voice inquired,
"Air you too busy to speak to me a minute?"</p>
<p>The men all stared at the young girl with the dog
in her arms, the heavy circles around her eyes, and
the two red spots on her cheeks.</p>
<p>"What do you want?" asked the oldest farmer, a
gray-haired man in a rabbit-skin cap.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p>
<p>"I want to find the best minister in this place."</p>
<p>A smile went around the circle of farmers. They
were all amused, except the gray-haired one. He
was nearest to 'Tilda Jane, and felt the intense
gravity of her manner.</p>
<p>"In the town, I mean," she went on, wearily. "I
want to ask him something. I thought they'd know
in the post-office, but when I asked behind them
boxes," and she nodded toward the wall near them,
"they told me to get out—they was busy."</p>
<p>The old farmer was silent for a moment. Then
he said, gruffly, "You look beat out, young girl, like
as if you'd been out all night."</p>
<p>"I was," she said, simply, "I've been pacin' the
streets waitin' for the mornin'."</p>
<p>The attitude of the younger men was half reproachful,
half disturbed. They always brought
with them to the town an uneasy consciousness that
they might in some way be fooled, and 'Tilda Jane's
air was very precocious, very citified, compared with
their air of rustic coltishness. They did not dream
that she was country-bred like themselves.</p>
<p>The older man was thinking. He was nearer the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
red spots and the grieving eyes than the others.
The child was in trouble.</p>
<p>"Bill," he said, slowly, "what's the name o' that
man that holds forth in Molunkus Street Church?"</p>
<p>His son informed him that he did not know.</p>
<p>"How d'ye do, Mr. Price," said the farmer, leaving
the young farmers, and sauntering across to the
other side of the post-office, where a brisk-looking
man was ripping open letters. "Can you give us
the name of the preacher that wags his tongue in
the church on Molunkus Street?"</p>
<p>"Burness," said Mr. Price, raising his head, and
letting his snapping eyes run beyond the farmer to
the flock of young men huddling together like gray
sheep.</p>
<p>"Would you call him the best man in Ciscasset?"
pursued the farmer, with a wave of his hand toward
'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>Mr. Price's snapping eyes had already taken her in.
"What do you mean by best?" he asked, coolly.</p>
<p>"I mean a man as always does what is right,"
said 'Tilda Jane, when the question was left for her
to answer.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p>
<p>"Don't go to Burness, then," said Mr. Price,
rapidly. "Good preacher—poor practiser."</p>
<p>"Ain't there any good practisers in Ciscasset?"
asked the farmer, dryly.</p>
<p>"Well—I know some pretty fair ones," responded
Mr. Price. "I don't know of one perfect
person in the length and breadth of the town. But
I know two people, though, who come near enough
to perfection for your job, I guess," and his brilliant
glance rested on 'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>"Who be they?" asked the farmer, curiously.</p>
<p>"Is it this young girl that wants 'em?" asked
Mr. Price.</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," said the farmer, "it is."</p>
<p>"Then I'll tell her," said his quicksilver friend,
and he flashed to 'Tilda Jane's side. "Go up Wallastook
Street to Allaguash Street. Ask for Reverend
Mr. Tracy's house. Any one'll tell you—understand?"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir—thank you; and thank <em>you</em>, too," and
with a grateful gesture toward the farmer, she was
gone.</p>
<p>The farmer gazed after her. "I hate to see a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
young one in trouble. Someone's been imposin'
on her."</p>
<p>Mr. Price felt sympathetic, but he said nothing.</p>
<p>"Who'd you send her to?" inquired the farmer.
"I'd give a barrel of apples to know."</p>
<p>"To me?" inquired Mr. Price, smartly.</p>
<p>The farmer laughed. "Yes, sir—I'd do it.
You've put me in the way of business before
now."</p>
<p>"I sent her to a man," replied Mr. Price, "who
might be in Boston to-day if he wanted to. He gave
up a big church to come here. He's always inveighing
against luxury and selfishness and the other
crowd of vices. He and his wife have stacks of
money, but they give it away, and never do the peacock
act. They're about as good as they make 'em.
It isn't their talking I care about—not one rap.
It's the carrying out of their talk, and not going
back on it."</p>
<p>"My daughter wants to go out as hired help. I
guess that would be an A number one place, if
they'd have her," observed the father, meditatively.
"Good enough," said Mr. Price, "if you want<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
her to ruin her earthly prospects, and better her
heavenly ones," and he went away laughing.</p>
<p>The farmer stepped to the post-office door.
'Tilda Jane was toiling up the sidewalk with downcast
head. The shop windows had no attractions
for her, nor was she throwing a single glance at
the line of vehicles now passing along the street;
and muttering, "Poor young one!" the farmer
returned to his correspondence.</p>
<p>The Reverend Mr. Tracy was having his breakfast
in the big yellow house set up on terraces,
which were green in summer and white in winter.
The house was large, because it was meant to
shelter other people beside the Tracys and their
children, but there was not a stick of "genteel"
furniture in it, the new housemaid from Portland was
just disdainfully observing to the cook.</p>
<p>"You'll get over that soon," remarked the cook,
with a laugh and a toss of her head, "and will be for
givin' away what we've got an' sittin' on the floor.
There's the door-bell. You'd better go answer it;
it's time the beggars was arrivin'."</p>
<p>Mr. Tracy was late with his breakfast this morn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>ing,
because he had been out half the night before
with a drunken young man who had showed an
unconquerable aversion to returning home. Now as
he ate his chop and drank his hot milk, fed a parrot
by his side, and talked to his wife, who kept moving
about the room, he thought of this young man, until
he caught the sound of voices in the hall.</p>
<p>"Bessie," he said, quietly, "there's your new maid
turning some one away."</p>
<p>His wife stepped into the hall. The housemaid
was indeed assuring a poor-looking child that the
master of the house was at breakfast and could not
see any one.</p>
<p>"Then I'll wait," Mrs. Tracy heard in a dogged
young voice. The front door closed as she hurried
forward, but she quickly opened it. There on the
top step sat a small girl holding a dog.</p>
<p>"Good morning," she said, kindly; "do you want
something?"</p>
<p>"I want to see the Reverend Tracy," responded
the little girl, and the clergyman's wife, used to
sorrowful faces, felt her heart ache as this most
sorrowful one was upturned to her.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p>
<p>"Come in," she went on, and 'Tilda Jane found
herself speedily walking through a wide but bare
hall to a sunny dining-room. She paused on the
threshold. That small, dark man must be the minister.
He was no nearer beauty than she was, but
he had a good face, and—let her rejoice for this—he
was fond of animals, for on the hearth lay a cat and
a dog asleep side by side, in the long windows hung
canaries in cages, and on a luxuriant and beautiful
rose-bush, growing in a big pot drawn up to the table,
sat a green and very self-possessed parrot. She was
not screeching, she was not tearing at the leaves, she
sat meekly and thankfully receiving from time to
time such morsels as her master chose to hand her.</p>
<p>The little, dark, quiet man barely turned as she
entered, but his one quick glance told him more than
hours of conversation from 'Tilda Jane would have
revealed. He did not get up, he did not shake
hands with her, he merely nodded and uttered
a brief "Good-morning."</p>
<p>"Won't you sit here?" said Mrs. Tracy, bustling
to the fireplace, and disturbing the cat and the dog
in order to draw up a chair.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p>
<p>"I think our young caller will have some breakfast
with me," said the minister, without raising his
eyes, and stretching out his hand he pushed a chair
beyond the rose-bush, and by a gesture invited 'Tilda
Jane to sit in it.</p>
<p>She seated herself, crowded Gippie on her lap
under the table, and mechanically put to her mouth
the cup of steaming milk that seemed to glide to
her hand. She was nearly fainting. A few minutes
more, and she would have fallen to the floor. The
minister did not speak to her. He went calmly on
with his breakfast, and a warning finger uplifted
kept his wife from making remarks. He talked
a good deal to the parrot, and occasionally to himself,
and not until 'Tilda Jane had finished the milk
and eaten some bread and butter did any one
address her.</p>
<p>Then the minister spoke to the bird. "Say good
morning to the little girl, Lulu."</p>
<p>"Good morning," remarked the parrot, in a voice
of grating amiability.</p>
<p>"Say 'It's a pretty world,' Lulu," continued her
owner.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p>
<p>"It's a pretty world, darlin'," responded the
parrot, bursting into hoarse, unmusical laughter at
her own addition. "Oh, it's a pretty world—a
pretty world!"</p>
<p>To the gentleman and his wife there was something
cynical and afflicting in the bird's comment
on mundane affairs, and they surreptitiously examined
their visitor. Did she feel this?</p>
<p>She did—poor girl, she had been passing through
some bitter experience. There was the haunting,
injured look of wounded childhood on her face, and
her curled lip showed that she, too, young as she
was, had found that all was not good in the world,
all was not beautiful.</p>
<p>The parrot was singing now:</p>
<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry">
<p class="verseq">"'Mid pleasures and palaces, though we may roam,</p>
<p class="verse">Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.</p>
<p class="verse">Home, home, sweet, s-we-e-e-t ho-o-o-me,"</p>
</div></div>
<p class="noindent">but at this point she overbalanced herself. Her
uplifted claw swung over and she fell backward
among the rose-branches.</p>
<p>The bird's rueful expression as she fell, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
ridiculous one as she gathered herself up, and with
a surprised "Oh, dear!" climbed back to her
perch, were so overcoming that the minister and
his wife burst into hearty laughter.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane did not join them. She looked interested,
and a very faint crease of amusement came
in a little fold about her lips, but at once faded
away.</p>
<p>The minister got up and went to the fire, and
taking out his watch earnestly consulted its face,
then addressed his wife.</p>
<p>"I have a ministers' meeting in half an hour.
Can you go down-town with me?"</p>
<p>"Yes, dear," replied Mrs. Tracy, and she glanced
expectantly toward 'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>The little girl started. "Can I ask you a question
or so afore you go?" she asked, hurriedly.</p>
<p>"No, my dear," said the man, with a fatherly air.
"Not until I come back."</p>
<p>"I guess some one's told you about me," remarked
'Tilda Jane, bitterly.</p>
<p>"I never heard of you, or saw you before a quarter
of an hour ago," he replied, kindly. "Do you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>
see that sofa?" and he drew aside a curtain. "You
lie down there and rest, and in two hours we shall
return. Come, Bessie—" and with his wife he left
the room.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane was confounded, and her first idea was
of capture. She was trapped at last, and would be
sent back to the asylum—then a wave of different
feeling swept over her. She would trust those two
people anywhere, and they liked her. She could tell
it by their looks and actions. She sighed heavily,
almost staggered to the sofa, and throwing herself
down, was in two minutes sleeping the sleep of utter
exhaustion.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XIX</a><br />
<span class="small">SWEET AND SOFT REPENTANCE.</span></h2>
<p>She was awakened by a hoarse whisper in her
ear: "Get up and go on, get up and go on. Don't
croak, don't croak!"</p>
<p>Her eyelids felt as heavy as lead, it seemed as if
she would rather die than stir her sluggish limbs, yet
she moved slightly as the rough whisper went on,
"Get up and go on, get up and go on. Don't croak,
don't croak!"</p>
<p>It was the parrot with the cold in her throat, and
she was perched on the sofa cushion by her head.
'Tilda Jane raised herself on one hand. How weary,
how unspeakably weary she was! If she could only
lie down again—and what was the matter with her?
Why had she waked with that terrible feeling of
unhappiness?</p>
<p>She remembered now—Poacher was gone. She
had not shed a tear over him before, but now she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
hid her face in her hands, and indulged in low and
heart-broken lamentation. Poor Poacher—dear,
handsome dog! She would never see him again.
What would the Lucases say if they knew of his
untimely end? What should she do without him?
and she cried miserably, until the sound of voices in
the next room recalled her to herself.</p>
<p>She was in the minister's house, and she must get
her business over with, and be gone. So choking
back her emotion, she wiped her face, smoothed her
dress, and, followed by Gippie, stepped into the
dining-room.</p>
<p>The minister was seated by the fire reading to
his wife. He got up when he saw 'Tilda Jane, gave
her a chair, then went on with his book. After
some time he laid it down. His caller was composed
now, and something told him that she was
ready to consult him.</p>
<p>He smiled a beautiful, gentle smile at her, and
thus encouraged, she swallowed the lump in her
throat and began:</p>
<p>"I'm 'bliged to you, sir, for lettin' me sleep
an' givin' me some breakfus, an' can I tell you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
somethin' 'bout myself? I'm all kind o' scatter-wise."</p>
<p>"And you wish some one to straighten you out?"
he asked, benevolently.</p>
<p>"Yes, sir—an' I thought the best person would
be a minister—they said you was the best here."</p>
<p>Mrs. Tracy smiled in a gratified fashion, while
'Tilda Jane went earnestly on, "I'm all mixy-maxy,
an' I feel as if I hadn't started right. I guess I'll
tell you jus' where I come from—I s'pose you
know the Middle Marsden Orphan 'Sylum?"</p>
<p>The minister told her that he had heard of it.
He did not tell her that he had heard it was one of
the few badly managed institutions for orphans in
the State, that the children were kept strictly, fed
poorly, and were rapidly "institutionalised" while
under the care of uneducated, ignorant women, who
were only partially supervised by a vacillating board
of lady managers.</p>
<p>"Well, I was riz there," continued 'Tilda Jane,
"rizzed mostly in trouble, but still I was riz, an'
the ladies paid for me, an' I didn't take that into
'count when I run away."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p>
<p>"So you ran away," he said, encouragingly.</p>
<p>"Yes, sir, 'count o' this dog, I said," and she
pointed to Gippie, "but I guess inside o' me, 'twas
as much for myself. I didn't like the 'sylum, I
wanted to run away, even when there was no talk
o' the dog, an' I'll tell you what happened," and
while the minister and his wife courteously listened,
she gave a full and entire account of her wanderings
during the time that she had been absent from the
asylum. She told them of Hank Dillson, of her
sojourn at Vanceboro, and her experience with the
Lucases, and finally her story brought her down to
the events of the day before.</p>
<p>"When that ole man keeled over my dog," she
said, brokenly, "that dog as had saved my life, I
wanted murder. I wished something would strike
him dead. But he didn't fall dead, an' then I
thought it was time for me to chip in an' do
somethin'. I took them crutches as he can't
move without, an' I burnt 'em most up—all but
a little bit at the top with the gold writin', 'cause
he sits an' gazes at it, an' I guess sets store
by it."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p>
<p>"You burnt Hobart Dillson's crutches!" exclaimed
Mrs. Tracy, in surprise.</p>
<p>"Yes, ma'am—'cause he'd killed my dog."</p>
<p>"I wonder he had not struck you down," said the
lady, with a shudder. "He is said to be a man
with a very violent temper."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane sprang up, her face as white as a
sheet. "I mos' forgot. I s'pose he's sittin' there
this minute. He can't move without 'em, an' nobody'll
go near him. Now, sir,"—and she turned
in desperate haste to the little, dark, silent man,—"tell
me quick what I ought to do."</p>
<p>"You are a child with a conscience," he said,
gravely; "you have been turning the matter over
in your own mind. What conclusion have you
reached?"</p>
<p>"Go on," said the parrot, hoarsely, and between
intervals of climbing by means of bill and claw to
the top of a chair, "go on, and don't croak. Don't
cr-r-r-r-oak!"</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<a name="p235" id="p235"></a>
<img src="images/p235.jpg" width="550" alt="" />
<div class="caption">"'I'VE LED ANOTHER DOG ASTRAY, AN' NOW HE'S DEAD!'"</div>
<p class="rt"><a href="#LOI">[Back to LOI]</a></p>
</div>
<p>'Tilda Jane turned her solemn face toward the
bird. "Walkin' to an' fro las' night, a verse o'
Scripter kep' comin' to me, 'Children, obey your
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>parents in the Lord—' Now, I ain't got any parents,
but I had lady-boards. I oughtn't to 'a' run away. I
ought to have give up the dog, an' trusted. I ought
to 'a' begged them to get me a home. I ought to 'a'
been a better girl. Then I might 'a' been 'dopted.
Ever sence I've run away, there's been trouble—trouble,
trouble, nothin' but trouble. I've led another
dog astray, an' now he's dead!"</p>
<p>Mr. and Mrs. Tracy exchanged a pitying glance.
The child was intensely in earnest. Her black eyes
were bent absently on the parrot who had fallen prey
to an immense curiosity with regard to Gippie, and
having surveyed him from the back of the chair
and the mantel, and finding him harmless, was now
walking cautiously around him as he lay on the
hearth-rug. Presently, emboldened by his silence,
she took the end of his tail in her beak. He did
not move, and she gently pinched it.</p>
<p>There was a squeal, a rush, and a discomfited
parrot minus three tail feathers flying to her master's
shoulder.</p>
<p>"Oh, my!" she exclaimed, "my, my! What a
fuss—what a fuss!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p>
<p>Very little attention was paid her. Her master
and mistress were taken up with the youthful
owner of the dog, but Mr. Tracy mechanically
stroked the bird as he put another question to
'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>"And what do you propose to do?"</p>
<p>"I think I ought to go back," she said, earnestly.
"I ought to say I'm sorry. I ought to say I'll do
better."</p>
<p>"Go back—where?" asked Mrs. Tracy, eagerly.</p>
<p>"First to the ole man. I ought to be civil to
him. I ought to talk, an' not be mum like an
oyster. I ought to ask him if he wants me to go
'way. I ought to write the lady-boards an' tell 'em
where I be. I ought to say I'll go back."</p>
<p>"Do you wish to go back?" asked Mr. Tracy.</p>
<p>A shiver passed over 'Tilda Jane's slight frame,
but she spoke up bravely. "I ain't a-goin' to think
o' that, sir. I've got to do what's right."</p>
<p>"And what about your dog?"</p>
<p>"Oh, Gippie ain't in it at all," she said, with
animation. "He don't need to go. I guess I'll
find some nice home for him with somebody as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
likes animiles," and a shrewd and melancholy smile
hovered about her tense lips as she gazed at her
host and hostess.</p>
<p>"Poor little girl," said Mrs. Tracy, sympathetically;
"we will take your dog and you, too. You
shall not go back—you shall live with us."</p>
<p>As she spoke, her big blue eyes filled with tears,
and she laid a caressing hand on 'Tilda Jane's
shoulder.</p>
<p>"Please don't do that, ma'am," said the little
girl, vehemently, and slipping her shoulder from
under the embracing hand. "Please don't do anything
homey to me. Treat me as if I was a real
orphan."</p>
<p>"A real orphan," repeated Mrs. Tracy, in slight
bewilderment.</p>
<p>"Oh, I want a home," cried the little girl, clenching
her hands, and raising her face to the ceiling.
"I want some one to talk to me as if I had
blue eyes and curly hair. I want a little rocking-chair
an' a fire. I don't want to mind bells, an'
run with a crowd o' orphans, but it ain't the
will o' Providence. I've got to give up," and her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>
hands sank to her sides, and her head fell on her
breast.</p>
<p>Mrs. Tracy bit her lip, and pressed her hands
together.</p>
<p>"Will you stay to dinner with us, my dear?" said
Mr. Tracy, softly. "I will take you into my study
where there is a fire and a rocking-chair, and you
shall see some curiosities that I picked up in Palestine."</p>
<p>"Oh, no, sir, I must go," and she again became
animated. "That ole man—I mus' see him. Tell
me, sir, jus' what I am to do. I've been doin' all
the talkin', an' I wanted to hear you. I guess I'm
crazy," and she pressed her hands nervously over
her ears.</p>
<p>She was in a strange state of nervous exaltation
that was the natural reaction from her terrible dejection
of the evening before. She had decided to
make a martyr of herself—a willing martyr, and
Mr. Tracy would not detain her.</p>
<p>"Go back to Mr. Dillson's, my dear; you have
mapped out your own course. I do not need to
advise you. Your conscience has spoken, and you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
are listening to its voice. Go, and God bless you.
You shall hear from us."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane was about to rush away, but Mrs.
Tracy detained her. "Wait an instant. I have
something for you," and she hurried from the room.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XX.</a><br />
<span class="small">WAITING.</span></h2>
<p>Mr. Dillson had not passed a pleasant night.
In the first place he had not been able to move for
a long time after 'Tilda Jane's departure. For half
an hour he had sat, hoping that she would return,
or that some one would call on some errand. Without
his crutches he was helpless.</p>
<p>Strange to say, he was not in a rage with her.
Indeed, he had never felt more kindly disposed
toward her, and he certainly had never so longed
for a sight of her little thin, ungraceful figure.
Just at the moment of the burning of the crutches
he could have felled her to the earth, but after it
was an accomplished fact his lack of resentment
was a marvel even to himself. Possibly it was
because she had saved the gold plate. Possibly—as
minute after minute went by—it was because a
peculiar fear drove all vengeance from his mind.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p>
<p>He had not liked the look in her eyes when she
went out. Suppose she should make way with herself?
Suppose she should jump into a hole in the
ice, or throw herself in front of a locomotive, or do
any other of the foolish things that desperate and
maddened people were in the habit of doing? What
would then be his position? Not an enviable one,
by any means. He was partly—not wholly, for he
had some shreds of vanity left—aware of his neighbours'
opinion respecting himself. There was an
ugly word they might connect with his name—and
he glowered over the fire, and felt sufficiently uncomfortable
until a strange and marvellous thing
happened.</p>
<p>The kitchen was in an ell of the house, and, by
hitching his chair around, he could command a view
from the side window of a slice of the garden in
front, and also of a narrow strip of the road before
the house. He would watch this strip, and if a
passer-by appeared, would hail him or her, and beg
to have a new pair of crutches ordered from the
town.</p>
<p>It was while he was sitting in the gathering gloom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
watching this bit of highway, that the marvellous
thing happened. Just by the corner of the house
was a black patch on the snow,—the hind legs and
tail of the poor deceased Poacher. The fore part of
the body was beyond his vision. Dillson had no
particular dislike for the spectacle. A dead dog was
a more pleasant sight than a living one to him, and
he was just wondering whom he would get to remove
the animal, when he imagined that he saw the
tail move.</p>
<p>No, it was only his imperfect vision, and he rubbed
his eyes and moistened his glasses. Now the tail
was no longer there—the hind legs were no longer
there. Had some one come up the front walk and
drawn the creature away?</p>
<p>He pressed his face close against the window-pane.
No—there was the dog himself on his feet and
walking about—first in a staggering fashion, then
more correctly.</p>
<p>The old man eagerly raised the window. If the
girl lived, and was going about saying that he
had killed her dog, here was proof positive that
he had not; and smacking his lips, and making a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
clicking sound with his tongue, he tried to attract
the resuscitated Poacher's attention. He must
capture the animal and keep him.</p>
<p>It was years since he had called a dog—not since
he was a young man and had gone hunting on the
marshes below the town.</p>
<p>"Here, dog, dog!" he said, impatiently; "good
dog!"</p>
<p>Poacher gravely advanced to the window and
stood below him.</p>
<p>"Good dog," repeated the old man. "Hi—jump
in," and he held the window higher.</p>
<p>The dog would not jump while the enemy was
there. He would not have jumped at all, if he had
been at the back door, for he would have smelled his
mistress's tracks and gone after her. Now he suspected
that she was in the house.</p>
<p>Though every movement gave him agony, the old
man hobbled away from the window. The dog
sprang in, and Dillson clapped the sash down. He
had the animal now.</p>
<p>Poacher was running around the room, sniffing
vigorously. He stood on his hind legs and smelled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
at the peg where the hat and tippet had hung.
Then he ran to the wood-shed door.</p>
<p>With a most unusual exertion of strength, the old
man rose, pushed the chair before him, and breathing
hard, and resting heavily on it, opened the cellar
door. He would shut the dog down there out of
sight, and where he could not run out if any one
came in.</p>
<p>"She's down there, dog," he said, and the boldness
with which he told the story so impressed
Poacher, that after one inquiring glance which
convinced him that his enemy's attitude had
changed from that of a murderous to a semi-friendly
one, he dashed down the steps into the
cold cellar.</p>
<p>Dillson slammed the door, and chuckled. Now
to get back to the window. He tried to hitch his
chair along, but he was weak and must rest. He
sat for a few minutes, and when the few minutes
were over, he found that his muscles had stiffened.
He could not move.</p>
<p>He sat a little longer. The fire went out, and
the room got cold. He was so far from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
window that he doubted if any one could hear him
if he shouted.</p>
<p>He lifted up his voice to try. He was as hoarse
as a crow. He had a cold, and it was every
minute getting worse. If he had the dog from
the cellar, he might tie something to him and
frighten him so that he would go dashing through
a window. He began to feel that if the little girl
did not return, he might sit there till he died.</p>
<p>His case was not desperate yet, however. He
waited and waited. The night came and went,
and another morning dawned, and the weather
changed outside, until a stiff frost began to transform
the thaw into a return of winter weather—and
still he waited, but the little girl did not
come.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XXI.</a><br />
<span class="small">THE TIGER BECOMES A LAMB.</span></h2>
<p>Gippie was tired out, and in an execrable temper.
He had had to trot home all the way from the
Tracys, for his mistress was carrying a long bundle
under one arm, and a good-sized basket on the
other. And now that she was in sight of the house,
she was fairly running, and he could scarcely keep
up with her.</p>
<p>Her head was turned far round, she was looking
over her shoulder in the direction away from
the front of the house, and yet she went right
to the spot where the unfortunate Poacher had
fallen.</p>
<p>Gippie knew very well what all her emotion was
about. Like some deaf and partly blind human
beings, he was more aware of happenings than
people supposed. Poacher was dead, and he was
not sorry for it, for he had been desperately jeal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>ous
of him, and limping up to his mistress he
impatiently whined to claim recognition.</p>
<p>"Oh, Gippie, what shall I do?" she moaned.
"What shall I do? He was so good and gentle.
I can't go in—I can't go in."</p>
<p>She was on her knees on the snow. Her hands
were wandering over the depression where Poacher
had lain. Her face was so pale and unhappy, that
even Gippie's selfish heart was touched, and standing
on his hind legs to reach her shoulder, he
tenderly licked her right ear inside and out, until
she brushed him aside with a half laugh, half sob,
and a murmured, "You tickle my ear, Gippie."</p>
<p>She got up and moved slowly toward the back
door, while the dog trotted along nimbly on his three
legs after her. Why, what a vault! and Gippie
shivered and turned his short-sighted eyes in the
direction of the kitchen stove. It was black and
cold, and the old man, sitting in the draughtiest corner
of the room, right by the cellar door, was a dull,
mottled purple. He did not speak when the door
opened. He was morose and silent, and his whole
appearance was that of a man in extreme distress.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p>
<p>Gippie was an excellent hater, and it did him
good to see the old man suffer. However, he did
not care to suffer with him, and squealing dismally,
he planted himself near the delinquent stove.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane's listlessness and painful depression
were gone. With a quick exclamation, she had
dropped her basket and bundle, and had sprung to
the kindling box.</p>
<p>There was nothing in it. She rushed to the
wood-shed, came back with a handful of sticks and
paper, and by dint of extra quick movements had,
in an astonishingly short space of time, a good fire
roaring up the chimney.</p>
<p>Then she turned to the old man, who was still
sitting in stony silence. "I'm 'fraid you're most
froze, sir. Can't you come nigher the fire?"</p>
<p>Dillson's eyelids were swollen with the cold, but
there was still room for a disagreeable twinkle to
glimmer through. He would say nothing, however,
and 'Tilda Jane, approaching the long, peculiar
looking bundle, opened it, took out a pair of
crutches, and handed them to him with a humble,
supplicating air.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p>
<p>Gippie crawled farther under the stove, and,
lowering his head, awaited developments.</p>
<p>But there was no danger of a blow from the old
man. His hands were so benumbed that he could
not hold the crutches. They slipped to the floor
with a crash, and, opening his purple lips, he ejaculated
the word, "Tea!"</p>
<p>"Ain't you had nothin' sence I left?" inquired
'Tilda Jane, sharply.</p>
<p>Dillson shook his head.</p>
<p>"You ain't been sittin' there all night?"</p>
<p>He nodded his head this time.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane's face took on an expression of dismay,
and she flew around the kitchen.</p>
<p>The warm atmosphere was now enwrapping the
old man in a most agreeable manner, and when
'Tilda Jane handed him the big cup, he grunted
something between an expression of thanks and a
desire that she should hold it to his lips.</p>
<p>While he greedily drank the hot liquid, 'Tilda
Jane, with a queer choking in her throat, addressed
broken remarks to him. "I didn't know, sir—I
was hopin' some one would come in—I was mos'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>
crazy 'bout the dog—I forgot all 'bout you till
jus' now."</p>
<p>"More," he said, shortly, when 'Tilda Jane put
the cup down.</p>
<p>She refilled it, then, as his hands began to get
supple and he could manipulate it himself, she
uncovered the basket Mrs. Tracy had given her.</p>
<p>"I didn't look in before," she exclaimed. "Oh,
the beauty eggs!" and she carefully unrolled a
napkin, "an' the white rolls, an' Washington cake,
an' a meat pie, an' a tart—I say, grampa, we'll
have a good dinner!"</p>
<p>The old man looked strangely at her, but she
went on unheedingly: "They're jus' boss people.
I'm glad I went an' talked to 'em—I'm sorry I was
so ugly to you, grampa, an' if you don't want me,
I guess I'd better go 'way."</p>
<p>She spoke quite humbly and naturally, and, as she
did so, she raised her head and glanced in Dillson's
direction.</p>
<p>He made no response, and she went on: "I've
been a very bad little girl, but I'm goin' to be better,
an' you jus' tell me what you want me to do,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
grampa, an' I'll do it, an' if you don't want to
talk, you jus' write it. I know you're a big
man, an' mebbe you don't want to talk to a
little girl like me, but I'll not lay it up agin you.
You jus' do what you want, an' I'm not tryin'
to come round you, 'cause I 'spect you'll send
me off quicker'n a flash so soon as you get some
one else."</p>
<p>Her lips were trembling, and her face was bright
and expectant, but the old man gave her no satisfaction.</p>
<p>"Hand me some of that pie," he said, unexpectedly.</p>
<p>"Can you wait till I set the table an' make it look
real pretty, grampa?" she said, coaxingly.</p>
<p>Dillson was nearly starved, and, without a word,
held out his hand in a commanding fashion.</p>
<p>"All right, grampa," she said, gently, and she
handed him a generous slice; "anythin' you like.
This is your house. It ain't mine."</p>
<p>Dillson ate his pie, watching her meanwhile out
of a corner of his eye.</p>
<p>"Bread and meat," he said when he had finished.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p>
<p>'Tilda Jane supplied this want, and earnestly
watched these viands going the way of the pie.</p>
<p>"More tea," he said, when they were gone.</p>
<p>When he had eaten and drunk to an alarming
extent, he pointed to the crutches. "Where did
you get them?"</p>
<p>"I saw 'em in a window, grampa,—a great big
druggist's window,—an' I went in an' said to the
man, 'Can you trust me for 'em? I'll pay you, sure
pop, if you'll gimme time. I'm goin' to be a good
girl now, an' never tell no more lies nor steal, nor
do anythin' bad,' but he jus' said ever so grumpy,
'This is a cast down, no credit system store,' but I
wasn't cas' down, an' I said, 'S'pose you was a lame
man, an' a bad little girl burnt up your crutches,
how would you feel? 'Then he looked kind o'
solemn, an' said, 'Whose crutches was burnt up?'
An' I said, 'Mr. Hobart Dillson's crutches,' an' he
said, 'What girl burnt 'em?' I said, 'A little girl
that don't know where to look.' Then he asked
what you said when I burnt your crutches, an' I
said you didn't say much, you jus' cussed. Then
he turned his face round to the bottles, an' when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>
he looked out it was red, an' he was shakin' all over
like as if he's been cryin', an' he jus' pointed to the
crutches an' said, 'Take 'em, an' welcome.'"</p>
<p>Dillson's head dropped on his breast. This girl
had evidently gone to Peter Jerret's store,—Peter
Jerret who had owed him a grudge ever since the
day he went in and denounced him before a store full
of customers for overcharging him for prescriptions.
Peter had actually dared to pity him—Hobart Dillson,
and so had let the girl have the crutches, not
caring whether he ever got paid or not. Well, he
hadn't thought Peter would ever pity him, and, drawing
his crutches toward him, Dillson cautiously lifted
himself, and tried his weight upon them.</p>
<p>Yes, he could walk, he would go to bed, and think
over Peter's conduct. It affected him, but he must not
look soft. "Open my door," he said to 'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>While she flew to obey his command, the old
man heard a low whine near him, and remembered
Poacher. The dog had recognised the girl's voice,
and would soon make himself known. He might as
well have the credit of his discovery. If she had
come home sulky he would have allowed her to find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>
the dog for herself, but she was meek and biddable,
and she had also secretly pleased him by addressing
him as "grampa," in tones of such respect and
affection. She had improved decidedly, and he exclaimed,
peremptorily, "Here, you!"</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane ran out from the bedroom, where she
was turning down the icy sheets in the bed so that
the chill might be taken from them.</p>
<p>"Open this door," ordered the old man.</p>
<p>With a wondering air 'Tilda Jane threw back the
cellar door. Then she gave a joyful scream.</p>
<p>There, standing on the top step, cold and shivering,
half famished, but alive and well, was her
beloved Poacher.</p>
<p>She tried to catch him around the neck, but he
flew past her into the kitchen, came back like a shot,
and, dashing up her back, licked her neck, sprang
into the air, and again racing round and round the
room, brought on what she herself would call a
"combobberation."</p>
<p>The old man was so near, that Poacher, in his wild
gyrations to and fro, swept one of his crutches from
him. 'Tilda Jane, even in the midst of her aston<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>ished
and ecstatic glee, perceived this, and stooped
down to recover the lost article, but she could not
lay her hand on it, for the excited dog, with his head
in the air and his tongue hanging out, made repeated
dashes at her, beside her, behind her,—he was
everywhere that she was. And Gippie was after
him, for, snorting with rage and mortification at the
resuscitation of his rival, he had bounded from
under the stove, and, with his maimed tail wagging
excitedly in the air, was biting, snapping, growling
at Poacher's heels, nipping him fiercely, if by chance
he paused a second to rest.</p>
<p>The noise and confusion were overcoming, and the
old man, holding firmly to his remaining crutch, and
grasping the back of a chair, grimly surveyed the
scene. Finally 'Tilda Jane secured the crutch, and,
pantingly brushing back her dishevelled hair, she
passed it to him across the dogs' backs.</p>
<p>Poacher had now sunk on the floor at her feet,
while Gippie was exerting his feeble strength in
trying to crowd him away from 'Tilda Jane's stout
shoes.</p>
<p>"Forgive us, grampa, dear grampa," she said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
beseechingly; "but it's such a joyful 'casion—such
a 'casion. My heart never felt so big in my life.
It's all swolled up. Oh, ain't you sweet to prepare
this s'prise for me. When I come back jus' now I
thought my pet was buried in the cold ground—oh,
I jus' love you!" and, climbing over the quarrelling
dogs, she seized the bunch of knuckles nearest
her, and kissed them fervently.</p>
<p>The old man slowly uncurled his fist and looked
at it. How many years was it since any one had
kissed him?</p>
<p>He put the crutch under his arm, and turned
toward the bedroom.</p>
<p>"Good night, grampa, dear grampa," floated sweetly
after him. The girl was down on the floor with her
dogs, her arm was around the hound's black neck, the
three-legged atrocity was pressed to her side. She
was happy, yes, happy—"as happy as a fool," he
grumbled to himself. Nothing to annoy her, nothing
to trouble her. Wait till she got older, and life's
worries began to crowd around her, and with an impatient
groan the old man flung himself down on the
chair by his bed.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XXII.</a><br />
<span class="small">A TROUBLED MIND.</span></h2>
<p>'Tilda Jane and grampa were sitting out in front
of the house. The spring months had passed, the
apple-trees had blossomed, and the young apples had
formed. With the changing season had come happier
days for 'Tilda Jane. Little by little, as the
weeks slipped by, a better understanding had arisen
between her and "grampa."</p>
<p>He still gave way occasionally to terrible fits of
temper and sullenness, but 'Tilda Jane understood
him better now, and was quick to soothe and pacify
him, or, if he was unmanageable, to keep out of his
presence until he recovered.</p>
<p>Just now he was in an unusually amiable frame
of mind,—a frame of mind so accommodating that it
boded storms in the near future. However, 'Tilda
Jane did not care. She accepted the present peace
and was thankful.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p>
<p>She had dragged out his big rocking-chair for him
to sit on, and had given him an evening paper to
read, while she herself was curled up on her
favourite seat on the door-step.</p>
<p>The old man was not inclined to read his paper,
and dropping it on his knees he took off his glasses,
put them in his pocket, and let his eyes wander to
the apple-trees.</p>
<p>The river was flowing blue and open now, birds
were singing, and all things betokened a fine
summer.</p>
<p>"When you hear those robins sing, don't it feel
as if there was a little string squeakin' inside o'
you?" said 'Tilda Jane, gleefully.</p>
<p>Dillson made no reply, and seeing that he was in
no mood for a sympathetic comparison of emotions, she
diplomatically started another topic of conversation.</p>
<p>"I guess the birds make me glad, 'cause I'm so
happy you let me bide with you, grampa—an'
you've been so noble an' generous to lend me money
to pay for the matron's shawl I took for Gippie.
An' it was so kind in the lady-boards to write back
that they was glad to get rid of me."</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<a name="p258" id="p258"></a>
<img src="images/p258.jpg" width="650" alt="" />
<div class="caption">"'THEY WAS GLAD TO GET RID OF ME.'"</div>
<p class="rt"><a href="#LOI">[Back to LOI]</a></p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p>
<p>The old man laughed a toothless laugh at her
whimsical view of the lady-boards' reply, but said
nothing.</p>
<p>"I ain't told you much of my travels yet,
grampa," she said, agreeably. "I've been so busy
house-cleanin'. I guess you'd like to hear about
Vanceboro."</p>
<p>The old man did not display any particular interest
in Vanceboro, but having assured herself by a swift
examination of his features that the subject was not
disagreeable to him, she went on, "It's a great ole
place. I'd like you to go there sometime, grampa.
Such goings-on with them furriners! I saw one
woman walkin' up and down wringin' her hands an'
cryin' 'cause they wouldn't let her bring her ole
mother into this nation."</p>
<p>She waited for her hearer to ask why the mother
was forbidden to come where the daughter could
enter, but he did not do so, and she continued,
"She was a poor woman from Boston, an' her
mother was a poor woman from Canada, an' they
said if she come in 'twould be two poor women
together, an' first thing they knowed they'd be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>
both in the poorhouse. So her mother had to go
back to Canada."</p>
<p>Dillson looked entirely uninterested in the case of
the would-be immigrant, so, after a farewell announcement
that sometimes as many as two hundred
"furriners" went through Vanceboro in a single
day, 'Tilda Jane passed on to another branch of
her subject.</p>
<p>"It's a reg'lar jubilee, grampa, when the trains
come in—a boy runnin' to a big bell an' ringin' it,
an' people pourin' into the lunch-room, an' jus'
chasin' the food into their mouths an' lookin' hunted-like,
as if there was somethin' after them, an' some
don't take time to go to the tables. They step up
to the lunch-counter, which is shaped jus' like a
moon when it ain't full. There's glass dishes on it,
with oranges, an' bananas, an' cakes an' pies, an'
sangwiches, an' a funny machine where you drop
a nickel in a crack, an' if the hand points to five, or
ten or fifteen, you get twenty-five cents' worth of
candy, an' if you don't get candy you get good
advice like as, 'You've been keepin' bad comp'ny,
quit it or you will never prosper,' or 'You've run<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>
away from home, an' the perlice is on your track,'
or 'Smokin is a bad thing for your health.'"</p>
<p>Grampa was not very much interested, so 'Tilda
Jane tried something more startling.</p>
<p>"There's great talk of railroad accidents there.
Men get killed awful. I heard a table-girl ask a
brakeman how he could go on a train for fear he'd
be hurt, an' he said he dassent stop to think, he had
to take chances. I used to see 'em runnin' like
cats on top o' them cars, slippery with snow an' ice.
If you're inside one o' them cars, grampa, an' there's
goin' to be a turnover, jus' grip hard on somethin'
steady, 'cause then you're not so apt to get killed.
I heard a conductor say that."</p>
<p>Grampa's travelling days were over, yet it pleased
him to be talked to as if he were still a strong and
active man, and he said, shortly, "I'm not likely to
be going far from home."</p>
<p>"You don't know, grampa," she said, soothingly.
"Some day when you get nice and well, I'd like to travel
with you, but first you must be very quiet like one of
Job's mice, an' not have anythin' gnawin' at you—I
guess you've had lots of plague times in your life."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p>
<p>Grampa looked unheedingly beyond her to the
apple-trees.</p>
<p>Her face was shrewd and puckered, and she was
surveying him like a cunning little cat.</p>
<p>"Sometimes, grampa, I hear you fussin' in your
sleep—moanin' an' cryin' like a poor dog what's lost
her pups."</p>
<p>The old man turned and looked at her sharply.</p>
<p>She went on boldly, "Can I lie in my soft,
warm bed up-stairs an' you a-sufferin'? No, I
creepy, creepy down, to see if I can do anythin'."</p>
<p>"Don't you do that again," said the old man, his
face becoming red. "You stay in your bed at
night."</p>
<p>"All right, grampa," she said, meekly, "but I've
heard things already."</p>
<p>"Things—what things?" he asked, sharply.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane folded together the apron she was
hemming, and getting up, opened a door of retreat
behind her into the house.</p>
<p>"About losin' that money," she said, sadly. She
paused, and as he neither spoke or made any motion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>
to throw a crutch at her, she proceeded, "Grampa,
I jus' know it's like a little pain hawk pickin' at
your skin."</p>
<p>Grampa was still silent, painfully so, and she
hurried on, "You haven't got much money, an' you
have me an' the dogs to take care of. Now,
grampa, won't you let me get some work to do
outside to help us?" and she screwed her features
into their most persuasive appearance.</p>
<p>Grampa had his head turned away over his shoulder,
and when he after a long time twisted it around,
'Tilda Jane rose, and prudently and swiftly retired
into the hall.</p>
<p>He must be in a rage. His face was fiery, and
he was making a choking, spluttering sound in his
throat,—a sound that only came from him in moments
of agitation.</p>
<p>"Don't you—don't you," he stammered, "spy on
me again, and bother your young head about things
you know nothing of. Do you hear?" and he
accentuated his remarks by a tap of his crutch on
the door-step. "I've had a way all my life of talking
over things in my sleep. And you've got<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
enough to do at home. I'll not have you working
for other people."</p>
<p>"All right, grampa," said 'Tilda Jane, submissively,
and she made a step toward him. She had
planned to fly through the hall to his bedroom, and
remove his wash bowl and pitcher, for since she had
come to the cottage he had broken several in his
fits of rage.</p>
<p>But grampa was not angry in a violent way this
time. "He's more bothered than mad," she murmured,
dispiritedly, and she drew aside to allow him
to pass by her into the house.</p>
<p>"The dew's falling," he muttered, as he went by
her. "I'll go sit in the kitchen a spell."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane went mournfully to sit under the trees
on a wooden bench that grampa had had made for
her. The two dogs curled themselves up at her
feet, and with a sigh she picked up a writing pad
beside her. It was almost too dark to see the lines,
but she must finish a letter that she had begun to
write to Hank.</p>
<p>His former custom had been to scratch a line to
his father once in six months to say he was alive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>
and well, but since 'Tilda Jane's arrival he had
written every week, and had addressed his letters
to her.</p>
<p>It was a great pleasure to the little girl to get
these letters, and an equal pleasure to answer them.
She related to him every occurrence of her daily
life, all details of his father's conduct except disagreeable
ones, and her letters always ended with
an urgent request that he would come and visit
them.</p>
<p>This evening she had as usual made an appeal at
the end of her letter. "Dear Mr. Hank, it seems a
long time sence the snow was on the ground. I
guess if you knew how much we want to see you
you'd come hurryin' home. The dogs send love,
Gippie specially 'cause he knows you. Poacher says
he'd be happy to make your acquaintance—and,
Mr. Hank, your father's kind of worried about
somethin'. I guess he'd like to see you."</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XXIII.</a><br />
<span class="small">AN UNEXPECTED APPEARANCE.</span></h2>
<p>While 'Tilda Jane wrote, Poacher suddenly made
a stealthy movement, and Gippie, deaf as he was,
had enough of the dog spirit left in him to know
that some one was coming, and to elevate the tiny
V-shaped flaps over his ears.</p>
<p>The gate clicked, there was a rustling along the
ribbon-grass bordering the narrow path, and then
'Tilda Jane's writing-pad fell to the ground, and she
sprang up with a delighted scream.</p>
<p>For peering forward in the gathering gloom, she
discovered Hank, the long-absent Hank, moving
heavily and awkwardly up the path toward her.</p>
<p>He had grown thin; his clothes hung loosely on
him, and he was pale and worried in appearance, but
'Tilda Jane did not criticise him. He was the
person who had most helped her in her search for
a home, and, springing toward him, she caught his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>
arm and ejaculated: "Oh, Hank! Mr. Hank—is
it truly you I'm pinchin', or is it a ghost?"</p>
<p>He smiled faintly, and, in return, pinched her
cheek. "I ain't a ghost yet, though 'pon my word
I didn't know but what I'd soon be one." As
he spoke, he threw himself wearily on the seat.
"Well, 'Tilda, how does Ciscasset treat you? Coronation!
You're getting fat," and he scanned her
in satisfaction. "I wouldn't know you for the little
runaway that held me up last March out at
Marsden."</p>
<p>"I guess I'm gettin' fat 'cause I'm peaceful in
my mind," said 'Tilda Jane, demurely; "I don't
have no one to fight. I'm jus' havin' the softest
time!"</p>
<p>"So father really treats you well?"</p>
<p>"Of course—don't I write you? He's jus' as
sweet as a peach. He lets me wash, an' scrub, an'
cook, an' never says a word excep' not to work too
hard, an' if he wants to be jus' a little bit cranky,
jus' a teeny little bit, he goes in his room an' shuts
the door till the bad spirit gets out of him."</p>
<p>"Did he ever hurt you?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p>
<p>"No, he never struck me—he usen't to like the
dogs."</p>
<p>Hank had never been told of Poacher's adventure,
but his attention wandered to the dog, and he
absently stroked his head.</p>
<p>"You've done the old man a lot of good," he said
at last.</p>
<p>"I—no, sir," said 'Tilda Jane, earnestly. "I
guess it's the dogs. But he wants more good done
to him. He's in a regular slouch of despond sometimes,
Mr. Hank."</p>
<p>"Is he?" said the young man, listlessly; "what's
he desponding about?"</p>
<p>"About money, Mr. Hank. He lost some in
the street, and never got it back—then it costs
something to keep me and the dogs. I feel
dreadful about it. I try to eat jus' as little as
possible, but I'm as hungry as a bear mos' all the
time."</p>
<p>Hank's attention was aroused. "You must not
stent yourself, sissy. This is too bad. I'm to
blame. I've been intending to send you some
money, but I've had a run of bad luck."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p>
<p>His face was so disturbed that 'Tilda Jane made
haste to change the subject.</p>
<p>"Oh, I'm so worked up to see you—I'm perfectly
'tossicated. I feel jus' like the teakettle
afore it boils, an' that 'minds me—I mus' go set it
on. <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note—Original text: You mus' he">You mus' be</ins> starvin'."</p>
<p>"No, I ain't hungry; I haven't had an appetite
for a week. How much did father lose?"</p>
<p>"Sixty dollars," said the little girl, reluctantly.</p>
<p>Hank relapsed into silence after this information.
He was evidently not inclined to talk, but 'Tilda
Jane was brimful of questions, and presently burst
out with one of them.</p>
<p>"Mr. Hank, what did you do with that beauty
horse of yours?"</p>
<p>"Had to sell it," he said, bitterly. "I've lost
everything I had. Those farmers are all against me.
Every potato top among them. I'm played out in
this State. They'd like to jail me if they could."</p>
<p>"Jail you," said 'Tilda Jane, resentfully, "I guess
I'd come and pound at the door of the jail if they
did."</p>
<p>"You ought to pound," said Hank, in an ungrate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>ful
and ungallant tone, "'cause I ain't had a mite of
luck since you crossed my path."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane fell into blank astonishment for the
space of one minute, then she asked, wistfully, "Do
you mean that—did I truly bring you bad luck?"</p>
<p>"You truly did," he said, peevishly. "I'm all
broken up in my business, cleaned out, done for."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane pushed the hair back from her forehead
with a bewildered gesture. Her benefactor
was in trouble—perhaps ruined, and through her.
But this was no time for reflection, the urgency
of the case demanded action.</p>
<p>"Mr. Hank," she said, softly, "warn't it a
roguey kind of a business, anyway?"</p>
<p>"All business is roguey," he said, gruffly.</p>
<p>"I guess you don't mean that," she said, mildly.
"I know you don't mean that I've done you harm.
I guess you're jus' in trouble like the river in the
spring, when the ice goes mixy-maxy every way."</p>
<p>He smiled slightly as he rose, and looked down
into the shrewd little face, "Well, ta, ta, 'Tilda—be
a good girl."</p>
<p>"Where are you goin'?" she asked, helplessly.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p>
<p>"Blest if I know—somewhere to earn a living,
to Canada, maybe."</p>
<p>"Don't you go through Vanceboro," she said,
sharply, then she pressed her hands to her head.
"I think I'm crazy—are you Hank Dillson,
standin' there sayin' you're goin' to leave us like
this?"</p>
<p>"Don't take on, 'Tilda," he said, consolingly.
"I'm real sorry. I wouldn't have come out of
my way this much if I hadn't promised you, and
if you hadn't been such a nice little girl. Of
course you haven't hurt me. I guess you've done
me good, for I've had a kind of disgust with my
business ever since you set foot in my life."</p>
<p>She paid no attention to the latter part of his
speech. "You say you've got to go, an' I can't
keep you," she murmured, stupidly, "an' you don't
know where you're goin'."</p>
<p>"I don't know, an' I don't want to know. I'll
loaf along till my money gives out, then I'll go to
work."</p>
<p>"Hank, do you think of Orstralia?"</p>
<p>"No, I ain't got dough enough to get that far."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p>
<p>"Do you mean bread?"</p>
<p>"No, I mean cash."</p>
<p>"Why don't you stay here?"</p>
<p>"Nothing to do that I know of. This is a one-horse
place."</p>
<p>"Hank, you ain't seen your father," she cried,
catching at his coat sleeve, as he turned toward
the gate.</p>
<p>"'Pon my word, I forgot the old man. I believe
I'll go in for sixty seconds. You say his health's
better?"</p>
<p>"Yes," said 'Tilda Jane, hurriedly, "I didn't
write you that he had a fit not long sence, and
it seemed to straighten him out. He goes to town
on his crutches every day, an' Gippie limps after
him—oh, Hank Dillson, Hank Dillson, I'm mos'
loony about this business of your goin' away."</p>
<p>Hank smiled wearily at her, and went slowly
toward the house.</p>
<p>"How long can you stay?" she asked, running
after him. "How long will you give us?"</p>
<p>He took out his watch, and held it close to his
face. "I guess I'll take the eleven o'clock train.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
It's nine now—I thought I'd look up some of the
boys."</p>
<p>"Give us all the time," she said, pleadingly, "stay
with your father an' me. Oh, promise, will you?"</p>
<p>"All right," he said, obligingly. "I don't care
if I do. I'm beat out, anyway."</p>
<p>"I have to go some place, but I'll be back soon,"
she called after him, then she threw up both hands
and pressed them over her ears,—a favourite gesture
with her when she was doing hard thinking.</p>
<p>"Mr. Waysmith or Mr. Tracy," she repeated,
half aloud. "Mr. Waysmith or Mr. Tracy. Mr.
Tracy," she said, at last, "he's most likely," and
whirling on her heel, she flew down the path, out
the gate, and into the street.</p>
<p>Poacher, silent, graceful, and swift, kept close to
her, but the battered Gippie soon gave up the
chase with a howl of protest, and went limping
home.</p>
<p>Hank, to his surprise, had, on the whole, the
most agreeable talk of his life with his father.
The old man was altered. He had been, at the
same time, the stiffest and the most demonstrative<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>
of parents, the young man reflected. There really
was a remarkable change for the better in him,
and yet, at the end of three-quarters of an hour,
Hank got up to take his leave.</p>
<p>They were nearly always absent from each other,
they had got out of the way of taking an active interest
in each other's concerns—there was not yet
sufficiently firm footing and enough of it to bridge
to the shaky background of the past, and parting
would be a mutual relief.</p>
<p>Yet the old man's eyes twinkled wistfully as they
followed his son to the door. Hank had told him
nothing of his troubles, yet his father saw that he
had lost flesh, that he had not a prosperous air, and
he acutely guessed that all was not going well with
him. He would find out from the young girl, and
with a sigh he settled back in his chair.</p>
<p>"I'll try to come home soon again, father," said
Hank, dispiritedly, as he looked over his shoulder
before closing the bedroom door, and he was just
shrugging his shoulders at the promise, when something
dark and panting caught at him in the unlighted
kitchen, and made him jump.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CHAPTER XXIV.</a><br />
<span class="small">A FRIEND IN NEED.</span></h2>
<p>It was 'Tilda Jane, breathing like a race-horse.</p>
<p>"What's up with you, sissy?" he asked.</p>
<p>She could not speak for a few seconds, then she
gasped with difficulty, "Hank, dear old Hank, he's
in there—the loveliest man—he's always ready to
do a turn for any one—go in—tell him your business.
I've said a little, mind what he tells you, an'
you'll get on. He's helped lots of people. He was
in the midst of a dinner party. He's so good—he
jus' left it an' come. Go—" and she gave him a
gentle push and sent him into the parlour, where he
blinked his eyes alternately at the lamp on the table,
and at a small, dark, quiet man who sat with his hat
on his knee.</p>
<p>The small man was breathing hard, as if he, too,
had been walking fast, but on seeing Hank, he rose
and stood with outstretched hand.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p>
<p>"My name is Tracy," he said, kindly, "and I
have come to this town since you left it, but I
know your family."</p>
<p>"I know you, too," said Hank, bluntly, "from
her letters," and he jerked his head backward, but
'Tilda Jane, after softly closing the door, had
disappeared.</p>
<p>Mr. Tracy sat down again, and Hank sat opposite
him. A slight and awkward pause ensued, broken
speedily, however, by the minister.</p>
<p>"Young man, you are in trouble."</p>
<p>"Yes, I am that," said Hank, gruffly.</p>
<p>"State your trouble," said the minister, kindly.</p>
<p>Hank hesitated an instant, then his words came
with a rush. "You've visited creameries, sir?"</p>
<p>"I have."</p>
<p>"Well, there's good creameries and bad creameries.
A few years ago, when I was casting about
in my mind for something to do, I got in with a
Chicago firm known as the White Elephant firm—owing
to so many States being spotted with their
buildings, loaded on the farmers, and costing too
much to keep up. Being a Maine man, they sent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>
me to my own State. I was one of their most go-ahead
sharks, now they've fired me to fix themselves
right with the farmers. Do you know how they
take in a community, sir?"</p>
<p>"No, I don't."</p>
<p>"Well, s'pose you're a shark. You navigate
round among the farmers, and make a smother of
big talk about hauling in buckets full of money.
You get a committee to visit some creamery where
the outfit is salted to make an extra showing. You
pay the farmers' expenses, you offer 'em a block of
stock, and up goes the creamery in their district
with machinery from the promoting company,
costing two or three times over what everything
is worth. When the whole thing's up, it'll usually
dawn on the minds of your stockholders that
a creamery ain't much without cows, and their
cows ain't got enough milk to pay for the fuel
they burn. 'Way back here fifty miles, I had
whipped up a creamery; I had a man to run the
machinery, but he was a simpleton. He ruined
the separator, it had to be sent back to the shop,
an' I got mad with him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p>
<p>"Then he blabbed, told everything he knew, an' a
lot he didn't, an' the farmers stopped counting their
cows long enough to listen. Hasty words flew
round, about fraudulent subscriptions, vitiated transactions,
no contracts, ruined farms, going to law—an'
I thought it was time to skip. The firm had
made me stop there up to this, an' as soon as I
ran, they bounced me—I'm all played out here,
sir. My native State bids me farewell!"</p>
<p>Hank suddenly ceased speaking, his head dropped
on his breast, yet before it did so, he shot one appealing,
hopeful glance at his listener. Despite
his "don't-care" tone, and off-hand manner, it was
plainly to be seen that he felt himself in trouble, and
knew that there was one at hand who would help
him.</p>
<p>"You've been in a poor business," observed Mr.
Tracy, quietly. "You want to quit it?"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," said Hank, meekly.</p>
<p>"Listen then—" and his companion in his turn
began to speak rapidly.</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane, flying about the house, sent many an
anxious thought to the closed parlour. What was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>
the minister saying to Hank? Would Hank talk
to him freely?</p>
<p>"O Lord! Lord! Lord!" she cried, suddenly
stopping and raising her clasped hands to the ceiling,
"do make his heart soft—soft as mush, an'
don't let him be sassy. The minister is smooth an'
nice, an' he would stand sass, but it's awful bad for
Hank. He's got to sober down. O Lord, make
him solemn—jus' like an owl!"</p>
<p>She dashed a tear from the corner of her eye, and
went on with her occupation of wrapping various
articles in a red handkerchief.</p>
<p>When the parlour door opened, she ran to the
front hall, and as Mr. Tracy passed her, she caught
his hand and pressed it fervently.</p>
<p>He said nothing, but smiling with the more than
earthly sweetness of one who truly loved his fellow
men, he hurried back to his deserted guests.</p>
<p>Hank followed close at his heels, and as he stood
in the hall doorway, looking already straighter and
taller, he smiled patronisingly down at 'Tilda Jane.</p>
<p>"You're a mighty fine girl, sissy, how old are you
now?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span></p>
<p>"Thirteen o'clock las' week—struck fourteen this—oh,
what did the minister say?"</p>
<p>Hank thumped his chest. "He's got me a situation,
sissy,—a situation that means bread and butter
for you and father, and maybe cake and jam."</p>
<p>The little girl locked her hands in intense excitement.
"Where, Hank, oh, where?"</p>
<p>"Here, sissy."</p>
<p>"In Ciscasset?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane suppressed a scream. "An' you can
live at home?"</p>
<p>"Well, I rather guess so."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane's pleasure was too deep for words.
She stood gaping speechlessly at him.</p>
<p>Hank, in high good humour, beamed benevolently
on the orphan girl as she stood beside him. "What
are you sticking your head up an down for like a
chicken taking a drink?" he said at last.</p>
<p>"Hank, I'm givin' thanks," she said, reverently,
"givin' thanks that you've got led out of that roguey
business."</p>
<p>"I'll not get into anything of that kind again,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>
sissy," he said, with a shamefaced air. "You may
just be sure of that. I've had a great talk with that
friend of yours—and sissy, I'm obliged to you."</p>
<p>There was a queer break in his voice. An end
had suddenly come to his troubles. He would now
be in the way of earning an honest living. And it
would be a pleasure to live with his father and this
young girl who would look up to him and admire
him.</p>
<p>"Sissy," he said, abruptly, "where do you think
my new berth is?"</p>
<p>"I don't know—oh, tell me quick."</p>
<p>"In the Waysmith lumber mill. Mr. Waysmith
offered a place to your friend Tracy to-day for some
young man, and I'm the young man."</p>
<p>"With the Waysmiths?" murmured 'Tilda Jane,
"where your father used to be?"</p>
<p>"The same, sissy."</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane could stand no more. "O Lord, I
thank thee!" she cried, with a burst of tears, and
running into the kitchen, she buried her face in the
roller towel hanging on a door.</p>
<p>Hank sauntered after her, and on his way stumbled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>
over a bundle done up in a spotted red handkerchief.
He stooped down, picked it up, and opened it. It
contained a few lumps of sugar, a Bible, a pair of
socks, two handkerchiefs, half a loaf of cake, and
fifty cents wrapped in a piece of newspaper.</p>
<p>"My travelling kit," he murmured; "well, if she
ain't the best little creature!"</p>
<p>"Hello, 'Tilda!" he called out; "stop that
whimpering, and come and tell grampa the news."</p>
<p>The little girl hastily dried her face on the towel,
and ran into the bedroom where grampa sat surveying
them in bewilderment from the edge of his
bed. Some time ago he had come to his room with
the intention of undressing. His son's visit had
upset him, and he had been sitting confusedly listening
to the scraps of conversation he caught from
different parts of the house.</p>
<p>"Grampa, grampa!" cried 'Tilda Jane, running
in, and excitedly waving her hands, "Hank's goin'
to live at home with you, an' me, an' the dogs.
We'll be a real family. Oh, ain't it lovely, ain't it
lovely?" and catching hold of her skirts she began
a sidling and peculiar dance about the room.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p>
<p>Hank laughed till the tears came into his eyes.
'Tilda Jane was good, but she was not graceful.
Then his merriment over, he began to yawn, and
'Tilda Jane, as keen of observation as ever, immediately
espied this sign of fatigue.</p>
<p>She caught up Gippie, who alone showed no pleasure
at the prospect of having another inmate of
the house, and danced out to the kitchen.</p>
<p>"Come out, grampa dear," she called, "we'll
all have a good supper, 'cause this is a most joyful
'casion."</p>
<p>As grampa started to limp out to the kitchen,
Hank quietly placed himself by his side.</p>
<p>The old man looked at him. "I'm not sorry
you're going to stay," he remarked, gruffly. "They
say there's no place like home."</p>
<p>"You'd better believe that's true, father," said
Hank, warmly; "a fellow gets sick of hotels and
boarding-houses. We'll have some more funds now
that I'm going to get at some decent kind of work.
You mustn't bother your head about expenses."</p>
<p>The old man sank into his chair with a sigh of
relief. His face was working strangely. Last year<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>
at this time he was alone and miserable in a cheerless
house. Now his son was with him, a brisk
young girl was flying about his kitchen, a bright fire
burned in the stove, a fire that was not unpleasantly
warm to his aged limbs even on this summer night.
A white cloth covered his formerly bare and uninviting
table; he was going to have pie, and coffee,
and toast and cake for supper,—surely the coming
of this orphan had been a fortunate thing for him,
and he slowly chafed his hands as he gazed at the
glowing bed of coals.</p>
<p>Hank was following 'Tilda Jane from kitchen to
pantry, and from pantry to kitchen.</p>
<p>"You're getting to be a great housekeeper," he
said, admiringly; "but we must not forget the
schooling. It's a great thing to be educated. You
can't hold your own in this world unless you know
something. You wrote me Mrs. Tracy was teaching
you some, didn't you?"</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane paused as she filled a sugar-bowl.</p>
<p>"Yes, three evenin's a week. She's a boss—I
mean a good teacher. I learned some at the 'sylum,—no,
the asylum, when I warn't—no, when I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
werent'—no, when I wasn't in the kitchen. And
grampa talks to me some. He's a fine scholar."</p>
<p>"That's good—get all you can; but three evenings
a week ain't enough. As soon as I can compass
it, I'll have some one to take care of father
daytimes, and let you go to school."</p>
<p>"To school!" said the little girl, "to learn more—to
know how to speak proper! Oh, oh, I'm mos'
too happy to live! Hank Dillson, I think you're
the mos' beautiful man that was ever made!" and,
dropping her sugar-bowl on the shelf, she seized a
hand of the ex-creamery shark, and warmly pressed
it between her little lean palms.</p>
<p>Hank, in some embarrassment, murmured, "Oh,
fudge, I'm not as good as the next one."</p>
<p>"You're a million times better!" exclaimed 'Tilda
Jane. "Oh, what a glad man Mr. Waysmith will
be to have you in his mill! Come now, let's have
supper. Dear ole grampa mus' get to bed. You
wouldn't like to kill him with joy the first night
you're home."</p>
<p>A few minutes later 'Tilda Jane was beaming
behind the big coffee-pot. At last she had become<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>
a member of a really happy family. Her dogs were
stretched luxuriously on their rag mat by the stove,
Grampa, calm and quiet, was sipping his coffee, and
listening to some of Hank's travelling adventures.</p>
<p>She could not contain her delight. Her heart
was too full, and presently she burst into low, irrepressible
laughter.</p>
<p>Her companions stopped talking and stared at
her.</p>
<p>"Oh, I can't help it!" she exclaimed, wildly,
"I feel as if I'd come through a big sea of troubles
to reach the promised land! I'm crazy—I'm
crazy!" and too excited to keep still she pushed
her chair aside, and rocked back and forth on her
feet.</p>
<p>She saw stretching before her a long vista of
happy years—the sight was almost too much for
her, yet even in her ecstasy she thought of other
children less fortunate.</p>
<p>"Hank, brother Hank!" she called suddenly,
"the Tracys say to pass on blessings. All the
world ain't joyful like us. When you make a little
money will you let me write to the lady-boards for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>
another orphan,—the ugliest little orphan they've
got,—worse than me, if it's not unpossible."</p>
<p>"You just write it down that I will," said Hank,
gazing kindly and benevolently at her flushed face.</p>
<p>"We'll do it," cried 'Tilda Jane. "We'll be
good to that other orphan. I know they'll have
one, but how can I wait? What shall I do? I
mus' hug some one, I'm so happy!"</p>
<p>She flashed a glance at the dogs. They were
sleepy and comfortable. "Grampa, I guess it'll
have to be you," she said, gaily, and, running to the
old man, she threw her arms around his wrinkled
neck, kissed his bald head, and fulfilled her promise
of a hugging so vigorously that at last he called for
mercy.</p>
<p>"Now, I'll go take something," she said, demurely,
and, with a last caress, "you darlin' ole
grampa—I could eat you—Lord, give me a thankful
heart for all these mercies," then, reverently
bending her head over her plate, she took up her
knife and fork with a long and happy sigh.</p>
<p class="p2 pfs90">THE END.</p>
<p class="p4" />
<div><a name="PBC" id="PBC"></a></div>
<hr class="fulla pg-brk" />
<hr class="fulla" />
<p class="p2 pfs135"><span class="smcap">L. C. Page & Company's</span><br />
Cosy Corner Series<br />
<span class="xs">OF</span><br />
Charming Juveniles</p>
<div class="figcenterx">
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<p class="pfs80">Each one volume, 16mo, cloth, Illustrated, 50 cents</p>
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<div class="advert">
<p><b>Ole Mammy's Torment.</b> By <span class="smcap">Annie Fellows-Johnston</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "The Little Colonel," etc.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Little Colonel.</b> By <span class="smcap">Annie Fellows-Johnston</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "Big Brother."</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Big Brother.</b> By <span class="smcap">Annie Fellows-Johnston</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "The Little Colonel," etc.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Gate of the Giant Scissors.</b> By <span class="smcap">Annie Fellows-Johnston</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "The Little Colonel," etc.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Two Little Knights of Kentucky,</b> who were "The Little
Colonel's" neighbors. By <span class="smcap">Annie Fellows-Johnston</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">A sequel to "The Little Colonel."</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Story of Dago.</b> By <span class="smcap">Annie Fellows-Johnston</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "The Little Colonel," etc.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Farmer Brown and the Birds.</b> By <span class="smcap">Frances Margaret
Fox</span>. A little story which teaches children that the birds
are man's best friends.</p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Story of a Short Life.</b> By <span class="smcap">Juliana Horatia Ewing</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">This beautiful and pathetic story is a part of the world's
literature and will never die.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Jackanapes.</b> By <span class="smcap">Juliana Horatia Ewing</span>.</p>
<p>A new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite and
touching story, dear alike to young and old.</p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Little Lame Prince.</b> By <span class="smcap">Miss Mulock</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">A delightful story of a little boy who has many adventures
by means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Adventures of a Brownie.</b> By <span class="smcap">Miss Mulock</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">The story of a household elf who torments the cook and
gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the children.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>His Little Mother.</b> By <span class="smcap">Miss Mulock</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Miss Mulock's short stories for children are a constant
source of delight to them, and "His Little Mother," in
this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts
of readers.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Little Sunshine's Holiday.</b> By <span class="smcap">Miss Mulock</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">"Little Sunshine" is another of those beautiful child-characters
for which Miss Mulock is so justly famous.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Wee Dorothy.</b> By <span class="smcap">Laura Updegraff</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion of the
eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Rab and His Friends.</b> By Dr. <span class="smcap">John Brown</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Doctor Brown's little masterpiece is too well known to
need description.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Water People.</b> By <span class="smcap">Charles Lee Sleight</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Relating the further adventures of "Harry," the little hero
of "The Prince of the Pin Elves."</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Prince of the Pin Elves.</b> By <span class="smcap">Chas. Lee Sleight</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">A fascinating story of the underground adventures of a
sturdy, reliant American boy among the elves and
gnomes.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Helena's Wonderworld.</b> By <span class="smcap">Frances Hodges White</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">A delightful tale of the adventures of a little girl in the
mysterious regions beneath the sea.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>For His Country.</b> By <span class="smcap">Marshall Saunders</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">A beautiful story of a patriotic little American lad.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>A Little Puritan's First Christmas.</b> By <span class="smcap">Edith Robinson</span>.</p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>A Little Daughter of Liberty.</b> By <span class="smcap">Edith Robinson</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "A Loyal Little Maid," "A Little Puritan
Rebel," etc.</span></p>
<p><span class="negin1">A true story of the Revolution.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>A Little Puritan Rebel.</b> By <span class="smcap">Edith Robinson</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">An historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the
gallant Sir Harry Vane was governor of Massachusetts.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>A Loyal Little Maid.</b> By <span class="smcap">Edith Robinson</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary days,
in which the child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, renders important
services to George Washington and Alexander
Hamilton.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>A Dog of Flanders.</b> <span class="smcap">A Christmas Story.</span> By <span class="smcap">Louise
de la Ramée</span> (Ouida).</p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Nurnberg Stove.</b> By <span class="smcap">Louise de la Ramée</span> (Ouida).</p>
<p><span class="negin1">This beautiful story has never before been published at a
popular price.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The King of the Golden River.</b> <span class="smcap">A Legend of Stiria</span>.
By <span class="smcap">John Ruskin</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Written fifty years or more ago, this little fairy tale soon
became known and made a place for itself.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>La Belle Nivernaise.</b> <span class="smcap">The Story of An Old Boat and
Her Crew.</span> By <span class="smcap">Alphonse Daudet</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">It has been out of print for some time, and is now offered
in cheap but dainty form in this new edition.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Young King.</b> <b>The Star Child.</b></p>
<p><span class="negin1">Two stories chosen from a recent volume by a gifted
author, on account of their rare beauty, great power,
and deep significance.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>A Great Emergency.</b> By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Ewing</span>.</p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Trinity Flower.</b> By <span class="smcap">Juliana Horatia Ewing</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">In this little volume are collected three of Mrs. Ewing's
best short stories for the young people.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Adventures of Beatrice and Jessie.</b> By <span class="smcap">Richard
Mansfield</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">A bright and amusing story of the strange adventures of
two little girls in the "realms of unreality."</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>A Child's Garden of Verses.</b> By <span class="smcap">R. L. Stevenson</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">This little classic is undoubtedly the best of all volumes of
poetry for children.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Little King Davie.</b> By <span class="smcap">Nellie Hellis</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">It is sufficient to say of this book that it has sold over
110,000 copies in England, and consequently should well
be worthy of a place in "The Cosy Corner Series."</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Little Peterkin Vandike.</b> By <span class="smcap">Charles Stuart Pratt</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">The author's dedication furnishes a key to this charming
story.</span></p>
<p><span class="negin1">"I dedicate this book, made for the amusement of the
boys who may read it, to the memory of one boy, who
would have enjoyed as much as Peterkin the plays of
the Poetry Party."</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Making of Zimri Bunker.</b> <span class="smcap">A Tale of Nantucket.</span>
By <span class="smcap">W. J. Long</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">The story deals with a sturdy American fisher lad during
the war of 1812.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Fortunes of the Fellow.</b> By <span class="smcap">Will Allen Dromgoole</span>.
A sequel to "The Farrier's Dog and His
Fellow."</p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Farrier's Dog and His Fellow.</b> By <span class="smcap">Will Allen
Dromgoole</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">This story, written by the gifted young Southern woman,
will appeal to all that is best in the natures of her many
admirers.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Sleeping Beauty.</b> <span class="smcap">A Modern Version.</span> By <span class="smcap">Martha
B. Dunn</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">A charming story of a little fishermaid of Maine, intellectually
"asleep," until she meets the "Fairy Prince."</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Young Archer.</b> By <span class="smcap">Charles E. Brimblecom</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">A strong and wholesome story of a boy who accompanied
Columbus on his voyage to the New World.</span></p>
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<div class="bbox2">
<p class="pfs90">NEW JUVENILES</p>
</div>
<div class="bbox2a">
<p class="pfs240">Our Devoted Friend<br />
the Dog</p>
<p class="pfs120 smcap">By SARAH K. BOLTON</p>
<p class="pfs80 wsp">AUTHOR OF "GIRLS WHO HAVE BECOME FAMOUS," ETC.</p>
<p class="pfs100"><em>Fully illustrated with many reproductions from original
photographs.</em></p>
<p class="pfs100">1 vol., small quarto, $1.50</p>
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<img src="images/sep2.jpg" width="25" alt="" />
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<p>This book of the dog and his friends does for the
canine member of the household what Helen M. Winslow's
book, "Concerning Cats," did for the feline.
No one who cares for dogs—and that class includes
nearly all who do not care for cats, and some who do—will
admit that the subject of Mrs. Bolton's book is a less
felicitous choice than that of its predecessor; while the
author's well-known ability as a writer and lecturer, as
well as her sympathy with her subject, are a sufficient
guarantee of a happy treatment.</p>
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<p class="pfs150 lsp">THE</p>
<p class="pfs240">Rosamond Tales</p>
<p class="pfs120 smcap">By CUYLER REYNOLDS</p>
<p><em>With many full-page illustrations from original photographs
by the author, together with a frontispiece from a
drawing by Maud Humphreys.</em></p>
<p class="pfs100">Large 12mo, cloth, $1.50</p>
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<p>These are just the bedtime stories that children always
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amount of interesting knowledge of birds, animals, and
flowers, just the things about which the curiosity of
children from four to twelve years old is most insatiable.
The book will be a boon to tired mothers, as a delight to
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<p class="pfs120 smcap">By MARY F. WADE</p>
<p class="pfs100">Four volumes, each illustrated, cloth, 12mo, 60 cents</p>
<p class="pfs120">
<span class="smcap">Volume I.</span><br />
<span class="xl">Our Little Japanese Cousin</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Volume II.</span><br />
<span class="xl">Our Little Brown Cousin</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Volume III.</span><br />
<span class="xl">Our Little Indian Cousin</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Volume IV.</span><br />
<span class="xl">Our Little Russian Cousin</span></p>
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<p>These are the most interesting and delightful accounts
possible of child-life in other lands, filled with quaint
sayings, doings and adventures. The "Little Japanese
Cousin," with her toys in her wide sleeve and her tiny
bag of paper handkerchiefs; the "Little Brown Cousin,"
in whose home the leaves of the breadfruit-tree serve for
plates and the halves of the cocoanut shells for cups; the
"Little Indian Cousin," who lives the free life of the
forest, and the "Little Russian Cousin," who dwells by
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<p class="pfs80 wsp">A SERIES OF CHARMING ILLUSTRATED
JUVENILES BY WELL-KNOWN AUTHORS</p>
<p>We shall issue ten new volumes in this well-known
series of child classics, and announce three as follows:</p>
<p class="pfs180">A Little Puritan Pioneer</p>
<p class="pfs120 smcap">By EDITH ROBINSON</p>
<p>Author of "A Loyal Little Maid," "A Little Puritan's
First Christmas," etc.</p>
<p class="pfs180">Madam Liberality</p>
<p class="pfs120 smcap">By MRS. EWING</p>
<p>Author of "Jackanapes," "A Great Emergency,"
"Story of a Short Life," etc., etc.</p>
<p class="pfs180">A Bad Penny</p>
<p class="pfs120 smcap">By JOHN T. WHEELWRIGHT</p>
<p>The other seven will include new stories by Louise
de la Ramée, Miss Mulock, Nellie Hellis, Will Allen
Dromgoole, etc., etc.</p>
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</div>
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<div class="advert">
<p><b>Old Father Gander:</b> <span class="smcap">or, The Better-Half of Mother
Goose</span>. <span class="smcap">Rhymes, Chimes, and Jingles</span> scratched from
his own goose-quill for American Goslings. Illustrated
with impossible Geese, hatched and raised by <span class="smcap">Walter
Scott Howard</span>.</p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="100%" summary="">
<tr><td class="tdl pad2 wd90">1 vol., oblong quarto, cloth decorative</td><td class="tdr wd20">$2.00</td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="negin1">The illustrations are so striking and fascinating that the
book will appeal to the young people aside from the fact
even of the charm and humor of the songs and rhymes.
There are thirty-two full-page plates, of which many are
in color. The color illustrations are a distinct and successful
departure from the old-fashioned lithographic
work hitherto invariably used for children's books.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Crock of Gold:</b> <span class="smcap">A New Book of Fairy Tales</span>.
By <span class="smcap">S. Baring Gould</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "Mehalah," "Old Country Life," "Old English
Fairy Tales," etc. With twenty-five full-page illustrations
by F. D. Bedford.</span></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="100%" summary="">
<tr><td class="tdl pad2 wd90">1 vol., tall 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top</td><td class="tdr">$1.50</td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="negin1">This volume will prove a source of delight to the children
of two continents, answering their always increasing demand
for "more fairy stories."</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Shireen and Her Friends:</b> <span class="smcap">The Autobiography of a
Persian Cat</span>. By <span class="smcap">Gordon Stables</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Illustrated by Harrison Weir.</span></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="100%" summary="">
<tr><td class="tdl pad2 wd90">1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative</td><td class="tdr">$1.25</td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="negin1">A more charming book about animals Dr. Stables himself
has not written. It is similar in character to "Black
Beauty," "Beautiful Joe," and other books which teach
us to love and protect the dumb animals.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Bully, Fag, and Hero.</b> By <span class="smcap">Charles J. Mansford</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">With six full-page illustrations by S. H. Vedder.</span></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="100%" summary="">
<tr><td class="tdl pad2 wd90">1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top</td><td class="tdr">$1.50</td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="negin1">An interesting story of schoolboy life and adventure in
school and during the holidays.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Adventures of a Boy Reporter</b> <span class="smcap">in the Philippines</span>.
By <span class="smcap">Harry Steele Morrison</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "A Yankee Boy's Success."</span></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="100%" summary="">
<tr><td class="tdl pad2 wd90">1 vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated</td><td class="tdr">$1.25</td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="negin1">A true story of the courage and enterprise of an American
lad. It is a splendid boys' book, filled with healthy interest,
and will tend to stimulate and encourage the proper
ambition of the young reader.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Tales Told in the Zoo.</b> By <span class="smcap">F. C. Gould</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">With many illustrations from original drawings.</span></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="100%" summary="">
<tr><td class="tdl pad2 wd90">1 vol., large quarto</td><td class="tdr">$2.00</td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="negin1">A new book for young people on entirely original lines.</span></p>
<p><span class="negin1">The tales are supposed to be told by an old adjutant stork
in the Zoological Gardens to the assembled birds located
there, and they deal with legendary and folk-lore stories
of the origins of various creatures, mostly birds, and
their characteristics.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Philip:</b> <span class="smcap">The Story of a Boy Violinist</span>. By T. W. O.</p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="100%" summary="">
<tr><td class="tdl pad2 wd90">1 vol., 12mo, cloth</td><td class="tdr">$1.00</td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="negin1">The life-story of a boy, reared among surroundings singular
enough to awaken interest at the start, is described by
the present author as it could be described only by one
thoroughly familiar with the scene. The reader is carried
from the cottages of the humblest coal-miners into the
realms of music and art; and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">finale</i> of this charming
tale is a masterpiece of pathetic interest.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Black Beauty:</b> <span class="smcap">The Autobiography of a Horse</span>. By
<span class="smcap">Anna Sewell</span>. <em>New Illustrated Edition.</em></p>
<p><span class="negin1">With twenty-five full-page drawings by Winifred Austin.</span></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="100%" summary="">
<tr><td class="tdl pad2 wd90">1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top</td><td class="tdr">$1.25</td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="negin1">There have been many editions of this classic, but we confidently
offer this one as the most appropriate and handsome
yet produced. The illustrations are of special
value and beauty, and should make this the standard
edition wherever illustrations worthy of the story are
desired.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Voyage of the Avenger:</b> <span class="smcap">In the Days of the
Dashing Drake</span>. By <span class="smcap">Henry St. John</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "A Middy of Nelson's Day," etc. With twenty-five
full-page illustrations by Paul Hardy.</span></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="100%" summary="">
<tr><td class="tdl pad2 wd90">1 vol., tall 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top, 400 pages</td><td class="tdr">$1.50</td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="negin1">A book of adventure, the scene of which is laid in that
stirring period of colonial extension when England's
famous naval heroes encountered the ships of Spain,
both at home and in the West Indies. Mr. St. John
has given his boy readers a rattling good story of the
sea. There is plenty of adventure, sufficient in fact to
keep a boy fixed near the fireside until the last page is
reached.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>A Child's History of Spain.</b> By <span class="smcap">Leonard Williams</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "Ballads and Songs of Spain," etc.</span></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="100%" summary="">
<tr><td class="tdl pad2 wd90">1 vol., small 12mo, with frontispiece, cloth, gilt top</td><td class="tdr">$0.75</td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="negin1">Although the recent war with Spain has aroused general
interest and caused a great demand for literature relating
to the subject, there has not as yet been published a condensed
history of Spain for young people. Mr. Williams's
little book will prove a desirable addition to the children's
historical library.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Fairy Folk from Far and Near.</b> By <span class="smcap">A. C. Woolf</span>, M. A.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">With numerous full-page color illustrations by Hans Reitz.</span></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="100%" summary="">
<tr><td class="tdl pad2 wd90">1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative</td><td class="tdr">$1.50</td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="negin1">It is long since there has appeared such a thoroughly delightful
volume of fairy tales as that of Annie C. Woolf.
An added attraction to the book is found in the exquisite
colored illustrations, the work of Hans Reitz. As a
Christmas gift-book to children, these tales will be hard
to excel.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Magnet Stories.</b> By <span class="smcap">Lynde Palmer</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">A new edition; new binding and larger size volume, 5 vols.,
12mo. Reduced price.</span></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" width="100%" summary="">
<tr><td class="tdl wd90">Drifting and Steering</td><td class="tdr">$1.00</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">One Day's Weaving</td><td class="tdr">1.00</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Archie's Shadow</td><td class="tdr">1.00</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">John-Jack</td><td class="tdr">1.00</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Jeannette's Cisterns</td><td class="tdr">1.00</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div class="advert-box">
<div class="p4 pg-brk"></div>
<div class="bbox2">
<p class="pfs90">NEW JUVENILES</p>
</div>
<div class="bbox2a">
<p class="pfs150 lsp">THE</p>
<p class="pfs240">Woodranger Tales</p>
<div class="p1"></div>
<p class="pfs120 smcap">Volume III.</p>
<p class="pfs180">The Hero of the Hills</p>
<p class="pfs120 smcap">By G. WALDO BROWNE</p>
<div class="p1"></div>
<p class="pfs120 smcap">Volume I.</p>
<p class="pfs180">The Woodranger</p>
<p class="pfs120 smcap">By G. WALDO BROWNE</p>
<div class="p1"></div>
<p class="pfs120 smcap">Volume II.</p>
<p class="pfs180">The Young Gunbearer</p>
<p class="pfs120 smcap">By G. WALDO BROWNE</p>
<p class="pfs100">Each large 12mo, cloth, fully illustrated, $1.00</p>
<div class="figcenterx">
<img src="images/sep2.jpg" width="25" alt="" />
</div>
<p>There is the reality of history behind these stories,
the successful series of "Woodranger Tales," the scope
and trend of which are accurately set forth in the title.
While full of adventure, the interest in which sometimes
rises to the pitch of excitement, the stories are not sensational,
for Mr. Browne writes with dignity, if with liveliness.
The books will not fail to interest any lively,
wholesome-minded boy.</p>
</div>
<div class="bbox2">
<p class="pfs90">SEND FOR CIRCULARS, ETC.</p>
</div>
<div class="p4 pg-brk"></div>
<div class="bbox2">
<p class="pfs90">NEW JUVENILES</p>
</div>
<div class="bbox2a">
<p class="pfs240 lsp">Prince Harold</p>
<p class="pfs80">A FAIRY STORY</p>
<br />
<p class="pfs120 smcap">By L. F. BROWN</p>
<br />
<p class="pfs100"><em>With ninety full-page illustrations</em></p>
<br />
<p class="pfs100">Large 12mo, cloth, $1.50</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/sep2.jpg" width="25" alt="" />
</div>
<p>A delightful fairy tale for children, dealing with the
life of a charming young Prince, who, aided by the Moon
Spirit, discovers, after many adventures, a beautiful girl
whom he makes his Princess. He is so enamored that
he dwells with his bride in complete seclusion for a
while, entrusting the conduct of his kingdom meantime
to his monkey servant, Longtail. The latter marries
a monkey princess from Amfalulu, and their joint reign is
described with the drollest humor. The real rulers
finally return and upset the reign of the pretenders. An
original and fascinating story for young people.</p>
</div>
<div class="bbox2">
<p class="pfs90">SEND FOR CIRCULARS, ETC.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="p2 pfs135 pg-brk"><span class="smcap">L. C. Page & Company's</span><br />
Gift Book Series<br />
<span class="xs">FOR</span><br />
Boys and Girls</p>
<div class="figcenterx">
<img src="images/sep1.jpg" width="20" alt="" />
</div>
<p class="pfs80">Each one volume, tall 12mo, cloth, Illustrated, $1.00</p>
<div class="figcenterx">
<img src="images/sep1.jpg" width="20" alt="" />
</div>
<div class="advert">
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Little Colonel's House Party.</b> By <span class="smcap">Annie Fellows-Johnston</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "Little Colonel," etc. Illustrated by E. B. Barry.</span></p>
<p><span class="negin1">Mrs. Johnston has endeared herself to the children by her
charming little books published in the Cosy Corner
Series. Accordingly, a longer story by her will be
eagerly welcomed by the little ones who have so much
enjoyed each story from her pen.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Chums.</b> By <span class="smcap">Maria Louise Pool</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "Little Bermuda," etc. Illustrated by L. J.
Bridgman.</span></p>
<p><span class="negin1">"Chums" is a girls' book, about girls and for girls. It relates
the adventures, in school, and during vacation, of
two friends.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Three Little Crackers.</b> <span class="smcap">From Down in Dixie</span>. By <span class="smcap">Will
Allen Dromgoole</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "The Farrier's Dog." A fascinating story for
boys and girls, of the adventures of a family of Alabama
children who move to Florida and grow up in the South.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Miss Gray's Girls:</b> <span class="smcap">or, Summer Days in the Scottish
Highlands</span>. By <span class="smcap">Jeannette A. Grant</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">A delightfully told story of a summer trip through Scotland,
somewhat out of the beaten track. A teacher,
starting at Glasgow, takes a lively party of girls, her
pupils, through the Trossachs to Oban, through the
Caledonian Canal to Inverness, and as far north as
Brora.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>King Pippin:</b> <span class="smcap">A Story for Children</span>. By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Gerard
Ford</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "Pixie."</span></p>
<p><span class="negin1">One of the most charming books for young folks which
has been issued for some time. The hero is a lovable
little fellow, whose frank and winning ways disarm even
the crustiest of grandmothers, and win for him the affection
of all manner of unlikely people.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Feats on the Fiord:</b> <span class="smcap">A Tale of Norwegian Life</span>. By
<span class="smcap">Harriet Martineau</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">This admirable book, read and enjoyed by so many young
people, deserves to be brought to the attention of parents
in search of wholesome reading for their children to-day.
It is something more than a juvenile book, being really
one of the most instructive books about Norway and
Norwegian life and manners ever written.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Songs and Rhymes for the Little Ones.</b> Compiled by <span class="smcap">Mary
Whitney Morrison</span> (Jenny Wallis).</p>
<p><span class="negin1">New edition, with an introduction by Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney.</span></p>
<p><span class="negin1">No better description of this admirable book can be given
than Mrs. Whitney's happy introduction:</span></p>
<p><span class="negin1">"One might almost as well offer June roses with the assurance
of their sweetness, as to present this lovely little
gathering of verse, which announces itself, like them, by
its own deliciousness. Yet, as Mrs. Morrison's charming
volume has long been a delight to me, I am only too
happy to declare that it is to me—and to two families
of my grandchildren—the most bewitching book of
songs for little people that we have ever known."</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Young Pearl Divers:</b> <span class="smcap">A Story of Australian Adventure
by Land and by Sea</span>. By <span class="smcap">Lieut. H.
Phelps Whitmarsh</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">This is a splendid story for boys, by an author who writes
in vigorous and interesting language, of scenes and adventures
with which he is personally acquainted.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Woodranger.</b> By <span class="smcap">G. Waldo Browne</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">The first of a series of five volumes entitled "The Woodranger
Tales."</span></p>
<p><span class="negin1">Although based strictly on historical facts the book is an
interesting and exciting tale of adventure, which will
delight all boys, and be by no means unwelcome to their
elders.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Three Children of Galilee:</b> <span class="smcap">A Life of Christ for the
Young</span>. By <span class="smcap">John Gordon</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">There has long been a need for a Life of Christ for the
young, and this book has been written in answer to this
demand. That it will meet with great favor is beyond
question, for parents have recognized that their boys and
girls want something more than a Bible story, a dry
statement of facts, and that, in order to hold the attention
of the youthful readers, a book on this subject
should have life and movement as well as scrupulous
accuracy and religious sentiment.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Little Bermuda.</b> By <span class="smcap">Maria Louise Pool</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">Author of "Dally," "A Redbridge Neighborhood," "In a
Dike Shanty," "Friendship and Folly," etc.</span></p>
<p><span class="negin1">The adventures of "Little Bermuda" from her home in
the tropics to a fashionable American boarding-school.
The resulting conflict between the two elements in her
nature, the one inherited from her New England ancestry,
and the other developed by her West Indian surroundings,
gave Miss Pool unusual opportunity for
creating an original and fascinating heroine.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Wild Ruthvens:</b> <span class="smcap">A Home Story</span>. By <span class="smcap">Curtis York</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">A story illustrating the mistakes, failures, and successes of
a family of unruly but warm-hearted boys and girls.
They are ultimately softened and civilized by the influence
of an invalid cousin, Dick Trevanion, who comes to
live with them.</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>The Adventures of a Siberian Cub.</b> Translated from the
Russian of Slibitski by <span class="smcap">Leon Golschmann</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">This is indeed a book which will be hailed with delight, especially
by children who love to read about animals.
The interesting and pathetic adventures of the orphan-bear,
Mishook, will appeal to old and young in much the
same way as have "Black Beauty" and "Beautiful Joe."</span></p>
<div class="p1x"></div>
<p><b>Timothy Dole.</b> By <span class="smcap">Juniata Salsbury</span>.</p>
<p><span class="negin1">The youthful hero, and a genuine hero he proves to be,
starts from home, loses his way, meets with startling adventures,
finds friends, kind and many, and grows to be a
manly man. It is a wholesome and vigorous book, that
boys and girls, and parents as well, will read and enjoy.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="transnote pg-brk">
<a name="TN" id="TN"></a>
<p><strong>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</strong></p>
<p>Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.</p>
<p>Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,
and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained. For example:
writing-pad, writing pad; cocoanut; curtsey; beshawled.</p>
<p>
<a href="#Page_38">Pg 38</a>, 'Onct our washerwoman' replaced by 'Once our washerwoman'.<br />
<a href="#Page_38">Pg 38</a>, 'Onct I took' replaced by 'Once I took'.<br />
<a href="#Page_42">Pg 42</a>, 'Onct when cats come' replaced by 'Once when cats come'.<br />
<a href="#Page_90">Pg 90</a>, 'dare the undarable' replaced by 'dare the undareable'.<br />
<a href="#Page_163">Pg 163</a>, 'only onct a day?' replaced by 'only once a day?'.<br />
<a href="#Page_180">Pg 180</a>, 'onct have blue eyes' replaced by 'once have blue eyes'.<br />
<a href="#Page_269">Pg 269</a>, "You mus' he" replaced by "You mus' be".<br />
</p>
<p><a href="#PBC">Publisher's Book Catalog:</a><br />
In the Cosy Corner Series, 'and announce four' replaced by 'and
announce three'.</p>
<p>A page from 'Gift Series for Boys and Girls' has been moved to its
proper position at the end of that section. This page described
'Three Children of Galilee' through 'Timothy Dole'.</p>
</div>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52018 ***</div>
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