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diff --git a/old/52583-0.txt b/old/52583-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index eddb563..0000000 --- a/old/52583-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6026 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cupid of Campion, by Francis Finn - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Cupid of Campion - -Author: Francis Finn - -Release Date: July 16, 2016 [EBook #52583] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CUPID OF CAMPION *** - - - - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from -page images generously made available by the Internet -Archive (https://archive.org) - - - - - - CUPID OF CAMPION - -[Illustration] - - CUPID - OF CAMPION - - - BY - FRANCIS J. FINN, S.J. - - _Author of “Tom Playfair,” “Percy Wynn,” “Harry Dee,”_ - _“Claude Lightfoot,” etc._ - - [Illustration] - - - - NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO - BENZIGER BROTHERS - PUBLISHERS OF BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE - - - - - COPYRIGHT 1916 BY BENZIGER BROTHERS - - - - - CONTENTS - - CHAPTER I - In which Clarence Esmond places himself in the hands of the - Bright-eyed Goddess of Adventure, and entrusted by that Deity to - the care of a Butcher’s Boy 9 - - - CHAPTER II - In which the Steamer St. Paul and a tramp lend their aid to - the Bright-eyed Goddess 18 - - - CHAPTER III - In which Clarence and his companion, the Butcher’s Boy, - discourse, according to their respective lights, on poetry and - other subjects, ending with a swim that was never taken and the - singing of Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay for the last time 28 - - - CHAPTER IV - In which Clarence Esmond, alone and deserted, tries to pray; - and his parents defer their trip to the Coast 45 - - - CHAPTER V - In which Ben, the gypsy, associates himself with the - Bright-eyed Goddess in carrying out her will upon Master Clarence - Esmond, and that young gentleman finds himself a captive 58 - - - CHAPTER VI - In which Clarence meets Dora, learns much of his gypsy - companion, fights Ezra, and is sung to slumber 69 - - - CHAPTER VII - In which the strange tale of Dora, another victim of the - Bright-eyed Goddess, is told to Clarence 89 - - - CHAPTER VIII - In which Clarence enters upon his career as a gypsy, and - makes himself a disciple of Dora 100 - - - CHAPTER IX - In which Clarence gets some further knowledge of a shrine, - which has much to do with the most important events of this - veracious narrative, and pays back the gypsy, Pete, with compound - interest 106 - - - CHAPTER X - In which Clarence engages in a swimming race, and to the - consternation of Dora disappears in the waters of the Mississippi 118 - - - CHAPTER XI - In which John Rieler, of Campion College, greatly daring, - goes swimming alone, finds a companion, and acts in such a manner - as to bring to Campion College the strangest, oddest boy visitor - that ever entered its portals 126 - - - CHAPTER XII - In which Clarence relieves the reader of all possible doubts - concerning his ability as a trencherman, and the Reverend Rector - of Campion reads disastrous news 135 - - - CHAPTER XIII - In which Clarence as the guest of Campion College makes an - ineffectual effort to bow out the Bright-eyed Goddess of - Adventure 141 - - - CHAPTER XIV - In which Clarence tells his story and gets the Reverend - Rector to take a hand against the Bright-eyed Goddess 147 - - - CHAPTER XV - In which Clarence begins to admire Campion College, and - becomes the room-mate of a very remarkable young man, as the - sequel will clearly show 164 - - - CHAPTER XVI - In which the Bright-eyed Goddess comes to bat again, and - promises to win the game 170 - - - CHAPTER XVII - In which one surprise follows so closely upon the heels of - another that Masters Esmond and Rieler lose power of speech and - Will Benton strikes a blow which will live forever in the - traditions of Campion College 182 - - - CHAPTER XVIII - In which there are a joyful return, a sad duty and a picnic, - ending with a reunion of loved ones 195 - - - CHAPTER XIX - In which John Rieler fails to finish his great speech, and - Clarence is seriously frightened 207 - - - CHAPTER XX - In which there is another joyful reunion, and Clarence - presents an important letter to the Rector of Campion College 215 - - - CHAPTER XXI - In which everybody is happy, Will Benton is jocose, and - justifies the title of this Romance of the Upper Mississippi 228 - - - - - CUPID OF CAMPION - - - - - CHAPTER I - - - _In which Clarence Esmond places himself in the hands of the - Bright-eyed Goddess of Adventure, and is entrusted by that Deity - to the care of a Butcher’s Boy._ - -On a morning early in September, the sun was shining brightly upon the -village of McGregor. Nestled in a coulée between two hills, one rising -squarely and rock-ribbed, lacking only the illusion of windows to give -it the appearance of a ruined castle, the other to the northwest, -sloping gently upwards, and crowned at the summit with a number of -villas, McGregor, running down to the Mississippi River, was as pretty a -town as Iowa could boast. - -On this bright particular morning, an overgrown youth was sitting on the -boat-landing, his feet dangling above the water, his face glooming -darkly. Master Abe Thompson, age sixteen, was troubled in spirit. - -He was homeless. He had lost his position, that of a butcher’s boy, just -a little after sunrise. It arose out of a difference of seventy-five -cents in the butcher’s accounts. Abe had been told under penalty of -having “his face shoved in” never to darken the doors of the -butcher-shop again. At the tender age of twelve Abe had left his home -unostentatiously and without serving notice, and ever since had spent -his time in losing jobs up and down the river. The trouble with Abe was -that he never could resist “obeying that impulse,” no matter what that -impulse might be. He had been blessed, if one may say so, with an -obedient mother and an indifferent father. The discipline of the public -school which Abe was supposed to attend might have done something for -the boy had he been present for so much as six days hand-running. But -Abe had early made a successful course in the art of dodging duty. He -was by way of joining that vast army of the unemployed who are the -ornament of our country roads in summer and of our back alleys in -winter. Abe was entitled to graduate with honors in the ranks of those -who have learned the gentle art entitled “How not to do it.” At the -present moment Abe Thompson was in darkest mood. His soul just now was -fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils. His gloomy eyes moved vacantly -over the waters shimmering in the sun. Suddenly his air of listlessness -disappeared, his eyes grew tense. Among the boats around the landing was -one small skiff riding high on the water, in which (for some people will -be careless) lay a pair of oars and a paddle. - -Abe was still gazing at this boat and its contents with greedy eyes when -there came upon his ears the sound of a sweet, piercing soprano voice, -giving, to whoso should wish to hear, the ineffable chorus of an almost -forgotten music-hall melody: - - “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, - Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, - Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, - Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!” - -Abe turned to discover coming blithely down street—the one street -running through McGregor—a gay lad of about fourteen years of age, -dressed in an immaculate white sailor-suit. The approaching youth was -walking, skipping, and jumping in such wise that it was hard to define -what he was doing at any particular moment. He was rather small for his -years, but apparently of muscle all compact. Gracefulness characterized -his wildest and most impetuous motions. He was a perfect blonde, and his -hair, bobbed after the fashion of little girls of ten or eleven, gave -him a somewhat feminine aspect, further emphasized by his cream-and-rose -complexion. A close observer, studying his pretty features, might indeed -have inferred from his tip-tilted nose and his square chin that the -youngster was not safely to be treated as a mollycoddle. Abe was not a -close observer. - -“I say,” he broke out, as the pretty boy drew near, “what sort of a -lingo is that you’re giving us? You don’t call that American, do you?” - -“Good morning, fair sir,” replied the boy, raising his sailor hat and -bowing elaborately, “may I have the pleasure of your acquaintance?” - -“What lingo was that you was a-singing?” - -“The language, fair sir, of adventure.” - -Abe frowned, and spat into the river. - -“Permit me,” continued the newcomer, “to introduce myself. I have the -honor of informing you that my name is Clarence Esmond. What is yours?” - -“I’m Abe Thompson. What are you looking for this morning?” continued -Abe, as he noticed that Clarence was gazing longingly at the craft -moored at the river’s edge. - -“Who?—me?” queried the debonair youth. He drew himself erect, threw -back his head, raised his eyes, and with a dramatic gesture continued: -“I am looking for the bright-eyed goddess of adventure!” - -“Oh, talk American!” - -“I will, gentle youth. I am looking for fun; and if something happens, -so much the better.” - -“Do you want to go anywheres?” - -“I want to go everywhere. I’d like to be on the ocean, running a liner; -I’d like to be a cowboy, dodging Indians; I’d like to be a soldier in -the trenches, and a sailor in a submarine. In fact, I’d like to be -everywhere at the same time.” - -“You can’t do that, you boob,” said Abe with strong disfavor on his -rugged face. - -“I am one of those fellows,” continued Clarence, “who wants to eat his -cake and have it.” - -“Oh, jiminy!” roared Abe, breaking into a loud laugh, “you want to eat -your cake and you want to have it at the same time?” - -“That’s it exactly. I want to eat my cake, and at the same time have -it.” - -“Oh, jiminy! Why, do you know what you are?” asked Abe laughing with -conscious superiority. - -“Won’t you please tell me?” - -“Why, you are an idiot, a plumb-born idiot.” - -“Oh, am I?” and as Clarence asked the question his face beamed with joy. - -“You sure are.” - -“I suppose,” continued Clarence, “that you think I am one of those chaps -who hasn’t got enough sense to come in out of the rain when it is -raining.” - -“You’re the dumbdest idiot I ever met,” said the frank butcher’s boy. - -“I guess you are right,” assented the lad beamingly. “Lots of people -have told me I am an idiot. And I never do come in out of the rain when -it is raining. I use a cravenette.” - -“Oh, Lord!” cried Abe, all his crude humor stirred to scornful laughter, -“what an awful ass you are!” - -“Thank you so much,” answered Clarence glowing with delight. “It’s a -pleasure to meet a fellow who says just what he thinks.” - -“Any more like you at home?” - -“I happen to be the only child,” answered Clarence. “I am the light of -my mother’s eyes. There are no others like me.” - -“I should say not! Say, who let you loose?” - -“That reminds me,” said Clarence, his smile leaving him. “I’ve got to be -back at noon, and it’s nearly eight-thirty now. Say, do you know this -river?” - -“I should say I do. Do you want me to row you?” - -“Is there any place around here worth seeing?” - -“Sure! Pictured Rocks! Everybody goes there. It’s a mile down the -river.” - -“Suppose I hire a boat, would you mind acting as my guide—salary, fifty -cents?” - -“I can do better than that,” said Abe, becoming all of a sudden -obsequious. “That’s my boat down there—that little boat with the -oars—and I’ll take you to Pictured Rocks and bring you back for one -dollar. That’s fair enough, ain’t it?” - -Abe was young and his imagination undeveloped. Had he been older, he -would have tried to sell the boat and a few houses nearest the river -bank, all together, for a slightly larger sum. - -“That’s a go!” cried Clarence, running for the boat, jumping in and -seating himself to row. “Come on quick. Cast off, old boy.” - -The boat was locked to a post. Abe was accustomed to facing such -difficulties. He broke the lock under Clarence’s unobservant eyes, and, -shoving the skiff off and jumping in, seated himself in the stern. - -“You row and I’ll steer,” he said, as he picked up the paddle. - -Clarence dipped the oars into the water, and with a few strokes the two -started down the river with the swift current. It was a beautiful -morning, clear and crisp. The river, a vast lake in width with islands -and inlets and lagoons and streams between the Iowa and the Wisconsin -shores, was dancing in the sunlight. Birds, late though the season was, -made the air gay. On the Wisconsin shore the solemn hills, noble and -varied, stood sentinel over the smiling valleys of golden grain which -ran almost to the river’s banks; on the Iowa side, a twin range came -down almost to the water. The river was clear and, despite the current, -had all the appearance of a vast lake. - -The air and the sunshine and the scenery entered into Clarence’s soul. - -“Hurrah!” he cried, brandishing an oar. “All aboard to meet the -bright-eyed goddess of adventure!” - -And the bright-eyed goddess was not deaf to the summons of the -thoughtless lad. The goddess was awaiting him. The meeting was to be -very soon, and the interview a long one. And it is because of the -meeting that this veracious story is written. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - - _In which the Steamer St. Paul and a tramp lend their aid to the - Bright-eyed Goddess._ - -“I say,” observed Abe presently, “you can row some!” - -“What do you think I’ve been going to school for?” retorted the dainty -youngster, as with even and strong stroke he sent the boat flying down -the current. - -“What are you giving us? There ain’t no rowing-schools.” - -“It may be, fair sir,” answered Clarence, “that there be no schools with -that precise name; at the same time, I don’t mind telling you that for -the past three years I’ve been attending Clermont Academy in New York -State, a young gentleman’s boarding school, as the prospectus says, -where for the trifling sum of nine hundred dollars a year, cash in -advance semi-annually, I have learned to play handball, baseball, -football, lawn tennis, basket-ball, hurdling, shot-throwing, swimming, -skating, and a few other little things like that.” - -“You call that a school?” exclaimed Abe, his large nose curling in -disdain. - -“Everybody calls it a school,” answered Clarence, blithely, “even the -babes in their mothers’ arms.” - -“What about readin’, ’ritin’ and ’rithmetic?” continued the incredulous -steersman. - -“Oh, we’ve got all that, too; if we want that sort of thing. We can’t be -running and jumping all day, you know.” - -“That’s a measly school,” continued Abe. - -“Awful sorry you don’t like it. Of course, you don’t have to come.” - -“No school for me,” said Abe emphatically. “Say, why ain’t you at school -now?” - -“Because my ma and my pa are over here visiting. They’re going West as -far as the coast, and my pa’s taking me along so’s he’ll know me next -time he sees me. And my ma says she’s real anxious to make my -acquaintance.” - -“You don’t mean to say you don’t know your own pa and your own ma?” -cried the scandalized Abe. - -“Well, I haven’t seen ’em ever since I was eleven. A boy changes a good -deal in three years. My ma didn’t change so much. But she says she’d -hardly know me. I say, this river looks fine! How is it for swimming?” - -“Mighty bad,” answered Abe, his power of invention beginning to stir. -“If you don’t know this river, you’re just as like as not to get -drownded. It looks all right,” continued the young vagabond, warming up -to his theme; “but it’s full of sink-holes and places that suck you -down. Don’t you ever go in this river unless you know some one who can -show you a safe spot. You see that little house there, with the red -roof?” - -“It appears to me I do.” - -“Well, the other day, three guys who didn’t know nothing about this -river went in swimming just in front of it. All three went down, and -they never come up no more.” - -“What!” cried Clarence, resting on his oars and losing something of his -color. - -“Yes, sir,” Abe affirmed, regretting now that he hadn’t made it six or -seven boys. “And their fathers all came here to see what could be done, -and one of them went in and he was drownded too. It’s a mighty dangerous -river in these parts.” - -“That settles it,” said Clarence, resuming his rowing with a sigh. “I’ll -not take the swim today that I promised myself.” - -“Oh, I can fix that,” said Abe, “I know a place right down by Pictured -Rocks where a hen wouldn’t mind swimming; it’s so safe. Oh, look!” he -continued, “here comes the St. Paul.” - -“What? Where?” cried Clarence, once more relinquishing the oars and -craning his neck. “By George! That’s worth seeing. Where is it from?” - -“From St. Louis. It’s a passenging boat and is going to St. Paul.” - -The approaching steamboat, just turned a bend, was quite near them. - -“Aha!” cried Clarence, picking up the oars and becoming melodramatic. -“There she is! I can see her. Somewhere, Master Abe, in that boat is the -bright-eyed goddess of adventure, and I’m going to meet her.” As he -spoke he set vigorously to rowing out towards mid-stream. - -“Say, you boob,” roared Abe, dropping his paddle in dismay: “You’re -going to get run down. Do you want to get drownded?” - -“Not at all. Now just sit tight, don’t rock the boat, and let me do it -all by myself. We’re going to shoot right across her bow. You just leave -it to me. We can do it easily.” - -They were now quite near the steamer and it looked to Abe, as it looked -to the captain of the boat, as though the little craft were almost -certain of being run down. Abe fell back, his cheeks grew white, his -teeth chattered; he turned his face from the approaching vessel. -Meantime, there was a whistle, a clanging of bells, and hurried -movements on the St. Paul. As the forward deck filled with excited -passengers, the steamboat came almost to a full stop; observing which -Mister Clarence, who had been rowing with all his might and main, -lessened his efforts most perceptibly, and gazed enquiringly at the big -boat. - -“Say, do you know, Abe, I believe that boat’s in trouble? Maybe they -want our help.” - -Abe sat up and once more took notice. - -“You young jackass!” roared the captain leaning as far as it was safe -over the deck. - -“Which one of us do you mean, sir?” asked Clarence. - -“_You_, gosh blame you! _You_, drat your hide! If there were more idiots -on this river like you, I’d give it up and take to farming. I’ve stopped -my boat on your account.” - -“Go right ahead, sir. I didn’t want you to stop.” - -Clarence beamed kindly on the captain, smiled upon the passengers, and -doffed his cap. There came a cheer from the deck, Clarence hummed -“Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,” and presently the two adventurers had the river -to themselves. - -“He said you were a young jackass,” said Abe presently. - -“Yes, I noticed.” - -“Well, you are.” - -“Why, I could have made that easily. There was no danger at all. He had -no business to stop that old boat of his. I didn’t ask him to. And then -he goes and calls me names.” - -“He said you were an idiot,” pursued Abe. - -“That’s nothing. I’ve heard that before. Nearly all my friends say -things like that to me.” - -“I’ll not go rowing with you again, you big boob.” - -“You’ll not get the chance. I’m off for the Coast at noon-time.” - -“Here we are,” cried Abe presently, steering towards the shore. “This is -the place that leads up to Pictured Rocks.” - -“Hurrah for Pictured Rocks!” shouted Clarence, bringing with a few swift -strokes the boat well up on the beach. “And what are Pictured Rocks -anyhow?” - -“The folks round here,” answered Abe, as he took the oars from the boat -and carefully hid them in the undergrowth near the shore, “calls ’em -Pictured Rocks, because the rocks up this here hill instead of being -white like other rocks is in layers of red and orange and blue and all -sorts of colors between, and they says that the Injuns used to come here -and use the stuff of the rocks for war-paint.” - -“Well,” said Clarence, blithely turning a few cartwheels on reaching the -bank, “I’m ready for your Pictured Rocks. Do you think I’ll find the -bright-eyed goddess of adventure amongst them?” - -“I dunno. Come right along; we can get up there in about fifteen -minutes.” - -But the bright-eyed goddess of adventure was nearer than Clarence -fancied. She took, on this occasion, the guise of a tramp, who, making -his way along the railroad ties of the Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul -towards McGregor and chancing to see a youth in a white sailor-suit, -thought it worth his while to pause upon his weary journey. - -Abe led the way. He passed the tracks unnoticed by the road adventurer. -Clarence, pausing at every other step to take in the view, presently -followed. - -“Say, young feller, could I say a word to you?” - -“Make it a dozen, while you’re about it,” answered Clarence, gazing at -the long-haired, unshorn, shabby, middle-aged man before him. - -“I ain’t had nothing to eat since last night. Could you spare me a -dime?” - -“With pleasure,” responded the youth, taking out as he spoke a handful -of coin, selecting a quarter and handing it over to the hungry one. - -The sight of money brings a strange light into certain eyes. The tramp’s -were of that kind. - -“You’re carrying too much money for a kid. Give me some more,” he said. - -“Skiddoo! Hump yourself!” yelled Abe from a safe distance. - -Clarence was looking hard at his new acquaintance. There was no -mistaking the glint in the fellow’s eye. The beggar had developed into -the highwayman. - -“Excuse me!” said Clarence, and turning tail he dashed down the track. - -The tramp had a good pair of legs in excellent condition from much -travel. He was quick to the pursuit. - -“Run faster!” roared Abe, content to give advice. “He’s catching up.” - -Clarence had a start of nearly ten yards; but before he had gone far, it -grew clear to him that his pursuer was no mean runner. Nearer and nearer -drew the tramp. The race could not last much longer. - -Suddenly Clarence stopped, whirled around, and before his pursuer could -realize the turn of events, plunged through the air, landing with both -arms about the astounded man’s knees. The tramp went down with a -suddenness to which few men are accustomed, and, assisted by a quick -shove from the boy’s agile arm, started rolling from the tracks down an -incline of some fifteen feet. By the time he had arisen to a sitting -posture below and passed his hand over the several bruises on his head, -the boy was back with Abe and lustily making his way up the hillside. - -The tramp saw him, no more; but as he rose to resume his wearied -journey, he heard a blithe voice far up the hillside carolling forth: - - “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, - Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, - Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, - Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!” - - - - - CHAPTER III - - - _In which Clarence and his companion, the Butcher’s Boy, - discourse, according to their respective lights, on poetry and - other subjects, ending with a swim that was never taken and the - singing of Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay for the last time._ - -“That was great,” said Abe, enthusiastically, as he led the way up a -steep and winding path. “You dished that feller easy. How did you do -it?” - -“I just tackled him.” - -“What’s that?” - -“Don’t you know anything about football?” - -“Naw!” - -“Well, when a chap on the other side has the ball and is running up the -field with it and you want to stop him, you make a dive at his knees and -clasp your arms right above ’em; and the faster he’s going, the harder -he’ll fall.” - -“I’d like to learn that game,” remarked Abe with some show of -enthusiasm. - -“What a nice little stream that is,” continued Clarence, waving his hand -towards a tiny streamlet beside their upward path. “I like the sound of -running water, don’t you? There ought to be a waterfall somewhere about -here.” - -“There is; it’s furder up.” - -“Are you fond of Tennyson, Abe?” - -“Eh? What’s that? Another game?” - -“He’s a poet.” - -“A what?” - -“A poet: he writes verses, you know.” - -“I don’t read nothin’.” - -“Well, listen to this: - - “‘I come from haunts of coot and hern, - I make a sudden sally - And sparkle out among the fern - To bicker down a valley!’” - -“Sally is a girl’s name,” said Abe, whose brows had grown wrinkled from -concentrated attention. - -“I don’t think you quite got the idea of those lines,” said Clarence -suavely. “But just listen to this: - - “‘I chatter, chatter as I flow - To join the brimming river; - For men may come and men may go, - But I go on forever.’” - -“Say that again, will you?” - -Clarence obligingly and with some attention to elocution repeated the -famous stanza. - -“Who said that?” asked Abe. - -“Tennyson.” - -“What was he chattering for?” - -“He wasn’t chattering; it was the brook that chattered.” - -“Well, why didn’t he say so, then? He said, ‘_I chatter._’” - -“Oh, hang it! He put those words into the mouth of the brook.” - -“But a brook ain’t got no mouth.” - -“Yes; but he put himself in place of the brook. He just imagined what -the brook would say, if it could talk. Listen once more.” And for the -third time and still more melodramatically Clarence gave voice to the -quatrain. - -“Tennysee was a fool. The idea of a feller taking himself to be a brook. -Why, if he _was_ a brook, he couldn’t talk anyhow.” - -“Abe, you’re hopeless.” - -“See here, don’t you call me no names.” - -“You’re a literalist!” - -“You’re another, and you’re a liar!” - -“Oh!” cried Clarence, gurgling with delight, “here are the Pictured -Rocks, sure enough. And a cave!” - -Beside the stream, a vast bed of rocks in veritable war-paint, hollowed -at the centre into a rather large cavern, greeted the eyes of the -astonished youth. The colors in horizontal layers were gay and -well-defined, red being predominant. - -“This is where the Injuns used to come for their paint,” explained Abe, -forgetting his grievance in the pleasure of being a cicerone. “They used -to come down this path and daub themselves up, and then cross the river -to Wisconsin, and shoot the Injuns on the other side with their bows and -arrers.” - -Clarence was examining the surface of the rock. It was easy to rub away -the outer part of the soft layers. - -“Say, Abe, let me paint you. I think you’d make a fine Indian.” And -Clarence with a handful of red sand sprang smilingly at his guide. - -“You go on and paint yourself,” growled Abe, backing quickly. As a -result, he missed his footing, slipped and fell into the tiny stream, -where he sat for several seconds before it occurred to him to rise. - -“Ha, ha, ha!” screamed Clarence. His silvery laughter, clear and sweet, -was caught up by the echoes and came back translated into the merriment -of elfland. - -Much as the echoes seemed to appreciate his burst of glee, it did not -appeal at all to the wrathful guide. His face had grown red as a -turkey-cock’s; his fists doubled, and he was on the point of assaulting -the unsuspecting Clarence. - -“Oh, hark, oh, hear!” cried Clarence with a gesture and in a voice so -high and ringing that Abe was startled, and paused in the execution of -his revenge. - -“Did you hear ’em?” - -“Hear what?” - -“The echoes. They’re the horns of elfland, you know.” - -“The what!” exclaimed Abe. He had a dread of the unknown word. - -“The horns of elfland faintly blowing.” - -“You’re blowing yourself. Here you”——Abe stooped, picked up a small -twig and placed it on one shoulderband of his blue overalls—“Knock that -chip off’n my shoulder!” - -Clarence surveyed his offended companion severely. - -“Abe, come on; let’s go up. You know, I owe you a dollar. If you were to -put one of my beautiful blue eyes into mourning, I think I’d claim that -dollar for damages and then where would you be?” - -“Well, then, you stop using them big words.” - -“All right, Abe.” - -With an occasional shout to set the wild echoes flying, the two pursued -their steep upward way. For the most part, there was no conversation. - -When they reached the waterfall, nothing would do Clarence but at the -risk of life and limb to get under the hollow rock, over which fell the -water in a wide but thin stream, and, extending his head and opening his -mouth, catch what drops he could as they fell. - -“Abe!” he suddenly said, “I think I know now where the goddess of -adventure lives.” - -“Eh? What?” - -“If ever I wish to communicate with that bright-eyed lady, I’ll address -my letters thus: - - “‘To the Goddess of Adventure, - The Bright-eyed Waterfall, - Pictured Rocks, - Iowa, U. S. A.’” - -“You drop that goddess of adventure. I don’t believe in no such -foolishness as that.” - -“All right, Abe, if you don’t believe in her, she doesn’t exist. Now for -the top.” - -Up they went, with quick steps and, as regards Clarence, steady -breathing. Abe was puffing. Loose living had reached out into the future -and gained for him the “far off interest of years.” Abe belonged to that -steadily increasing class of Americans who, growing up without -recognition of any law of God or man are destined to be short-lived in -the land. - -Presently, they were at the summit. - -“Look,” cried Abe, his sulkiness yielding momentarily to a spark of -enthusiasm. He led the way forward a few feet and paused. - -“Oh-h-h-h-!” cried Clarence. - -Far, far below, the river rolled its flashing length, the broad river, -silvery in the sun, the broad river with its green wooded islands, its -lagoons, its lesser streams, its lakes. To the southeast another body of -water, yet more silvery, emptied itself into the Mississippi. Beside -both and around both and all the way that eye could see up and down the -Mississippi River rose the full-bosomed hills, older than the Pyramids, -holding their secrets of the past in a calm not to be broken till the -day of judgment. Between the hills and the river, on the Wisconsin side, -lay the valley, rich in golden grain, dotted here and there with granary -and farm-house. It was in very deed a panorama beautiful in each detail, -doubly so in its variety. - -“What river is that?” asked Clarence. - -“What! Don’t you know that? I thought from the way you were talking that -you knew everything. That’s the Wisconsin River.” - -“You don’t say! Why, that’s where Marquette came down. Think of that, -Abe. Marquette came down that river and discovered the upper -Mississippi. He must have passed right near to where we’re standing.” - -“I’ve been round this river all my life, and I never heard of no -Marquette. Who was he?” - -“He was a priest.” - -“A Catlic?” - -“Yes, and a Jesuit.” - -“I hate those dirty Catlics,” growled Abe, spitting savagely. - -Behold, gentle reader, Abe’s religion. He hated Catholics, and in doing -so felt consciously pious. He belongs, it must be sadly confessed, to -the largest church in the backwoods of America; the Great Unlettered -Church. So worldly a thing as a railroad has been known to put their -religion to flight. - -“I’m not a Catholic myself,” said Clarence, losing for the moment his -light manner, “and I believe they’re superstitious and away behind the -times; but I don’t hate them. Anybody who reads books knows that there -have been splendid men and women who were good Catholics. A Church that -has lived and kept fully alive for nineteen hundred years is not to be -sneezed at.” - -“Sneezed at! What do you want to sneeze at it for? What good would that -do? We ought to blow it up.” - -“My son,” said Clarence, raising his head, tilting his chin and assuming -a paternal air, “I’m beginning to despair of you. A moment ago, you -remember, I said you were a literalist. Well, it’s worse than that. -You’re a pessimist.” - -At this Abe broke into a torrent of profanity. In this particular sort -of diction he showed a surprising facility. - -“Excuse me, friend,” said Clarence, “for breaking in upon your exquisite -soliloquy; but would you mind telling me what that big building over -there in the distance is? It seems to be across the river from -McGregor.” - -“That,” said Abe with some unction in his tones, “is Champeen College.” - -“Champeen College?” - -“Yes, the Catlics are trying to run it, but them guys doesn’t even know -how to spell it. They leave out the H. I saw their boat—a fellow told -me about it—and sure enough they didn’t have no H.” - -Clarence pondered for a few moments. - -“Look here,” he said presently. “Perhaps you mean Champion College.” - -“That’s just what I said; Champeen College.” - -“You say Champeen; you mean Champion.” - -“That’s what I’ve said all along—Champeen College.” - -Again Clarence reflected. - -“Oh!” he said, breaking into a smile, “I think I’ve got it. Leaving out -that H you have Campion College. That’s it, I’ll bet; and Campion was a -wonderful Jesuit priest, famous in history and novel. He died a martyr.” - -Hereupon the butcher’s boy proceeded to express his sentiments on the -Jesuits. He declared them at some length and with no little profanity. - -“I think,” observed Clarence calmly, when Abe had stopped more for want -of breath than of language, “that it’s about time to start down, if we -want to have that swim. Be good enough, gentle youth, to lead the way.” - -Their descent was along another roadway, south of the one by which they -had come up. In parts, the path was so steep that it was difficult to -keep one’s foothold. - -Abe led sullenly. He was deep in thought. The problem of beginning life -again was facing him, beginning life with one pair of ancient overalls, -a shirt, a jack-knife, shoes that had seen better days, and, in -prospect, the handsome sum of one dollar. There was no question of his -beginning life at McGregor. There confronted him, indeed, a difficulty, -apparently insurmountable, in showing his face there at all. Abe figured -to himself an irate boat-owner waiting at the landing for the person who -had had the boldness to take away his skiff. How, then, he reflected, -could he collect his dollar, get Clarence back, and escape unobserved. -One plan would be to land below McGregor and let Clarence go the rest of -the way alone. But even that plan had its risks. Doubtless, there were -boatmen on the river even now in quest of the missing craft. Much -thinking was alien to Abe’s manner of life; continuous thinking, -impossible. He left the solution in the lap of the gods, therefore, and -started conversation with his companion. With Abe, language was not the -expression of, but rather an escape from, thought. So he gabbled away, -going from one subject to another with an inconsequence which bridged -tremendous gulfs of subject. - -In an unhappy moment, he became foul in his expression. He did not, by -reason of being in the advance, see the blush that mantled his -companion’s face. - -“Suppose you change the subject,” said Clarence, giving, as he spoke, -Master Abe a hearty shove with both arms. - -If dropping the subject entirely is equivalent to changing it, Abe was -perfectly obedient. At any rate, he certainly changed his base; and -before the words were well out of Clarence’s mouth, Abe was sliding down -the steep incline at a rate which would have outdistanced the average -runner. He went full thirty feet before a friendly stump brought him to -a pause. - -“Look here,” cried Abe, remaining seated where he had come to a stop, -and rubbing himself; “What did you mean?” - -“You aren’t hurt, are you?” enquired the sailor-clad youth, drawing near -and really looking sympathetic. - -“Hurt!” echoed Abe, rising as he spoke “I’m sore; and,” he continued as -he craned his neck to see what had happened to his clothes, “my overalls -is torn.” - -“So they is,” assented Clarence, his love of mischief once more in the -ascendant. “How much are those overalls worth?” - -“I paid eighty-five cents for them.” - -“Very good. I’ll give you two dollars instead of one. Is that all -right?” - -“Suppose you pay me now,” suggested Abe, holding out his hand. - -“No you don’t,” answered Clarence. Our young lover of adventure was not -of a suspicious disposition; nevertheless it was plain to him that Abe, -once he had the money, would, as like as not, either attempt to take -revenge for the indignities shown him, or desert at once and leave his -charge to shift, as best he might, for himself. In fact, it would be -just like Abe to refuse the further services of the boat. “We’ll take -our swim first, and then when we’re on the boat and in sight of McGregor -I’ll pay you the two dollars.” - -Still rubbing himself, and muttering savagely under his breath, Abe led -the way down. The descent was soon accomplished, and presently the two -boys were disrobing. - -“My ma told me that I might take a swim this morning,” remarked -Clarence, “provided I went in with some person who knew the river well, -and who could show me a good place. Do you know the river and how to -swim well?” - -“I guess I do. Why, I know this river by heart.” Here Abe paused, gazed -carefully at the boat, and suddenly brightened up as though some happy -thought had found lodgment in his primitive brain. “And look here,” he -continued impressively, “I want to show you something. You see that -place where my boat is?” - -“Seems to me I do.” - -“Well, going _down_ the river from where that boat lays is the most -dangerous spot you can find. It is a risk for the best swimmer—big men -swimmers—to go in there.” - -“See here, I don’t want to go and get drowned,” protested Clarence. The -young gentleman, having doffed his sailor costume, revealed to the -admiring eyes of his companion a beautiful brand new bathing suit of -heavenly blue, evidently put on for this occasion. Clarence had left -home that morning prepared to go swimming. - -“Oh, you won’t get drownded; there’s a place up stream just a little -ways that I told you about where a hen could swim. We can row up there -in no time. Get in the boat, in the stern, and I’ll row you.” - -“As you say, so shall it be, fair sir,” and with this Clarence tumbled -into the boat. - -“That’s it,” said Abe, encouragingly, as he proceeded to shove the boat -into the water. - -“Hey! You’ve forgotten the oars,” said Clarence. - -For answer Abe continued to push the boat. - -“The oars! The oars!” cried Clarence. - -“You don’t need no oars,” shouted Abe as with a tremendous effort he -sent the boat spinning out into the current. “Now, smartie, I’ve fixed -you! You stay right in there where you are, or you’ll be drownded sure.” - -The boat with its solitary occupant was now fully thirty feet from the -shore. Clarence, possessed of one single-piece swimming suit and nothing -else in the world, turned pale with alarm. - -“What’s the meaning of this?” he cried. - -“There ain’t no meaning,” returned Abe, thoughtfully going through the -pockets of Clarence’s sailor suit. “You just sit tight and maybe you’ll -land in St. Louis by the end of the month.” - -“Look here, I’ve got to be back at McGregor by twelve o’clock,” -remonstrated Clarence, “You’re carrying this joke too far.” - -“You’ll not see McGregor today, nor yet tomorrow,” answered Abe, grimly, -as he wrapped up in Clarence’s handkerchief the paper money and the -silver which he had found. - -Clarence noticed with dismay that his boat, now at least twenty-five -yards from the shore, was going down the stream at what seemed to him a -very rapid rate. - -In the meantime, Abe, having securely hid the money, stood on the shore -and grinned triumphantly at the boy in the boat. - -“You will use big words, will you? You will try to be funny, will you? -You will shove me down the hill; you will come round here showing off in -your dandy clothes! Next time you get a chanst, you won’t be so -smart—Now, what have you got to say for yourself?” - -The youth in the current saw that, so far as the butcher’s boy was -concerned, his case was hopeless. In reply, then, to this question, he -opened his pretty mouth, lifted his head proudly, and carolled forth: - - “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, - Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, - Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, - Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!” - -As Clarence was singing, Master Abe, throwing out both hands in a -gesture of defiance, suddenly bolted into the bushes. He was gone, -leaving on the shore his own and Clarence’s clothes. - -The deserted youth in the boat came to an end of his singing. He had -sung bravely to the last note. He never sang “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay” -again. Abe was gone: he was alone. Clarence at last gave in. He burst -into tears and wept for some time in sore bitterness of heart. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - - _In which Clarence Esmond, alone and deserted, tries to pray; - and his parents defer their trip to the Coast._ - -After all, Clarence was but fourteen years of age. He was brave beyond -his years. He had a craving for adventure. But, picture to yourself a -lad in a thin blue bathing suit, in an oarless boat, alone on a great -river. Clarence was really a good swimmer. He was at home in any lake; -he had disported many a time in the salt water; but a river with its -unknown dangers was new to him. The fear of the unknown, therefore, -coupled with the warning of the butcher’s boy, kept him in the boat, -when in fact he could easily have made the shore. Adventure is all very -well in its way, but one likes to meet that fair goddess with reassuring -companions. No wonder, then, that the boy broke down. - -For some minutes he continued to sob. His grief was poignant. Chancing -to glance over the side of the boat, he saw his features, tear-stained -and swollen, reflected in the clear water. It was the first time that he -had ever seen his reflection when he was in heavy grief. He looked -again, and then suddenly broke into a laugh. - -“Never say die,” he muttered to himself, and forthwith, putting his -elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, he began to meditate. - -What would his parents think about it? They would search, they would -find his clothes upon the river bank and conclude naturally that he was -drowned. Perhaps, however, Master Abe would reassure them on that point. -Clarence did not know that Abe, having taken to the bushes and making -his way into the interior of Iowa, had already dickered with a farmer’s -boy for an old pair of overalls and was now doing his best to put as -wide a distance between himself and McGregor as possible. - -Once more Clarence raised his head and looked about him. The sun was now -in mid-heaven and, shining down upon the boy’s unprotected calves and -shoulders, promised to leave the memory of that adventurous day in -scarlet characters upon his tender skin. On one side flowed the -Wisconsin into the Mississippi; on the other the Iowa hills frowned down -on him. The river itself was clear of craft. Water, water, everywhere; -and standing sentinel over the mighty stream the hills of two sovereign -states. Hotter and hotter fell the rays of the sun. - -“Lord, have mercy on me,” exclaimed Clarence. He really prayed as he -uttered these words. - -Clarence, it must be confessed, knew very little of prayer. They did not -specialize on that form of devotion—nor, in fact, on any form of -devotion—at the academy of which for two years he had been a shining -ornament. Vainly did he try to cudgel his brain for some other prayer. -Even the Our Father, recited in tender years at his mother’s knee, he -had forgotten. - -The sun grew hotter; it was getting almost unbearable. Clarence was -driven to action. After some effort, in which he skinned his knuckles, -he succeeded in dislodging one of the two boards serving as seats. -Placing this next to the others he threw himself below, doubled up so as -to get himself as much as possible under the welcome shade, and—happy -memory—murmured: - - “Now I lay me down to sleep, - I pray to God my soul to keep: - And if I die before I wake, - I pray to God my soul to take.” - -In saying these homely but beautiful lines, our adventurer had no -intention of courting slumber. Nevertheless, he was sound asleep in ten -minutes. The incidents of the morning, the climb up the hill, the -rowing, the brush with the tramp—all these things, combined with the -fact that he had stayed up late the night before and had risen that -morning at five o’clock, sent him into a slumber the sounder for the -quiet and the freshness of the great river. - - * * * * * - -About the same hour in which Clarence had snuggled low down in the boat -and presently fallen into deep slumber, a gentleman came hurrying down -to the McGregor boat-landing. He was a rather handsome man in the prime -of life, dressed in a manner that showed he belonged to the -many-tailored East. He was pulling at his mustache, gazing anxiously all -about him, and betraying in many ways nervousness and anxiety. - -“Beg pardon,” he began, addressing a group of men and women who were -waiting for the ferry-boat that plied between McGregor and Prairie du -Chien, “but have any of you chanced to see a boy of fourteen in a white -sailor suit about here? He’s my son.” - -“Did you say a white sailor suit?” asked a man of middle age. - -“Yes.” - -“Why, I think I saw a boy dressed that way this morning. As I was coming -down the street, towards nine o’clock, I saw a boat going down stream -with two people in it. First, I thought the one rowing was a girl; I -took another look, and I could almost swear it was a boy dressed in -white. They were gone down some distance, and so I couldn’t say for -sure.” - -Just then a young man of about twenty-one dressed in flannels joined the -group. - -“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “I’m a stranger here, and am rowing -down the river from LaCrosse to Dubuque. This morning I locked my boat -here, leaving the oars in it, and went for breakfast and a little stroll -into the country back of McGregor. My boat has disappeared.” - -“Was it painted green?” inquired the first informant, “and did it ride -rather high?” - -“Yes, that’s the boat.” - -“Well, the boat I saw, with, I thought, two boys in it, one in a white -sailor suit, must have been your boat.” - -“Strange!” exclaimed Clarence’s father. “My boy, I am sure, would not do -such a thing.” - -“What about the other boy?” said an old inhabitant. “There’s a -no-account fellow here-abouts named Abe Thompson. He was the butcher’s -boy and got fired early today. He’s disappeared this morning, too, and -I’ll bet my boots that he’s the one who went off in that boat.” - -“That reminds me,” put in another member of the group. “When the St. -Paul came in here this morning, the passengers were all talking about a -small boy rowing a boat up near Pictured Rocks, who tried to cross their -bow. The Captain had to stop the steamboat and he said that the two boys -in that boat seemed anxious to commit suicide. When the Captain roared -at the oarsman and called him a jackass, the kid smiled and asked which -one of the two he was speaking to.” - -“That was my son Clarence beyond a doubt,” said Mr. Esmond with the -suspicion of a smile. “It would be just like him to cut across the bow -of a steamboat, and that question of his makes it a dead certainty. The -boy sat up until one o’clock last night reading Treasure Island. He’s -very impressionable, and he left the house this morning with his heart -set upon meeting with an adventure of some sort or other. It’s near -twelve o’clock now, and we were to start for the coast at one-forty. -Can’t I get a motorboat around here somewhere?” - -The man who had been the first to give information then spoke up. - -“Sir,” he said, “I have a fairly good motorboat at the McGregor landing. -It will be a pleasure for me to do anything I can to help you.” - -“Thank you a thousand times. Let’s get off at once. My name is Charles -Esmond.” - -“And mine,” returned the other, “is John Dolan.” The two, as they made -their way to the motorboat, shook hands. - -“This is awfully kind of you,” continued Mr. Esmond, as he seated -himself in the prow. - -“It’s a pleasure, I assure you. I’ve really nothing to do at this -season, and so I pass most of my time on the river.” - -As he spoke these words, the boat shot out into the water. - -“Now,” continued Mr. Dolan, “as a working hypothesis, we may take it for -granted that those boys went to Pictured Rocks; everybody goes there. So -we’ll make for that place and reach it, I dare say, in six or seven -minutes.” - -“I hope nothing has happened,” said the father. “This morning my wife -had a bad sick headache, and Clarence was overflowing with animal -spirits. We had promised him, the night before, a ride on the river and -a swim. He had never been on the Mississippi, and he was all eagerness. -To make matters worse, I got a telegram this morning to send on a report -on a Mexican mine—it’s my business, by the way, to study mines here, in -Mexico, and, in fact, almost anywhere. That report meant two or three -hours of hard work. So I told Clarence to run out and get some good -boatman, if he could, and go rowing. I cautioned him to be careful about -where he went swimming and not to go in alone. He promised me faithfully -to be back at twelve. Now I have no reason to think the boy would break -his word. In fact, I had an idea that he was truthful.” - -“You talk of your boy,” observed Mr. Dolan, “as though you didn’t know -him very well.” - -Mr. Esmond relaxed into a smile. - -“It does sound funny, doesn’t it,” he said. “The fact of the matter is -that I really have very little first-hand knowledge of him. At the age -of five, Clarence learned how to read, and developed a most -extraordinary passion for books at once. If allowed, he read from the -time he got up till he went to bed. I never saw such a case of -precocity. It was next to impossible to get him to take exercise. His -mother did her best to restrain him, and I did my share too, though it -was very little, as I was away looking up mines nine months out of the -twelve. When the boy was eleven, it became clear that some radical -action had to be taken. I looked around for some school that would suit -or rather offset his idiosyncrasy. After no end of inquiries I -discovered Clermont Academy in New York State, where athletics were -everything and such studies as reading, grammar and arithmetic were a -sort of by-product. Clarence has been there for three years, and, up to -a week ago, his mother and I never saw him from the time of his -entrance. Well, he’s a changed boy. He is fairly stout, and muscular -beyond my most sanguine hopes. He is up in all sorts of games. In fact, -in his class—boys of twelve to fourteen—he’s the leader. All the same, -I blush to say that I really know very little about my boy.” - -“Perhaps the lad is a genius,” suggested Mr. Dolan. - -“Some of my friends have made that claim and accused me of trying to -clip his wings. All the same, I want my boy, genius or no genius, to -grow up to be a hale, hearty man.” - -“Halloa!” exclaimed Dolan. He had turned the boat shoreward. Before the -eyes of both lay in full view on the bank two suits of clothes. The boat -had scarce touched the shore, when Mr. Esmond jumped from it and ran to -the spot where the clothes lay spread upon the ground. - -“My God! These are my son’s,” he cried, gazing with dismay upon the -white sailor suit which he had caught up in his hands. His face -quivering with emotion, he stood stock still for a moment, then sank -upon the ground and buried his head in his hands. - -“And this,” said John Dolan, looking closely at the abandoned overalls, -“belongs to that ne’er-do-well butcher’s boy. It looks bad. They must -have gone swimming here.” - -Mr. Esmond arose and looked about. - -“Where’s that boat they had?” he inquired. - -“It may have drifted away,” answered John. “Or, more probably, that -butcher’s boy, who is a known thief, has hidden it somewhere. He knew -very well that there would be a search for it.” - -“Say, Dolan, you’ll stand by me, won’t you? I am almost in despair; the -thing is so sudden.” - -“I’ll do anything you want.” - -“Well, you leave me here and run back to McGregor. Send word to my wife -that I am detained—don’t let her think or even suspect that our boy is -drowned—and to put off our trip to the Coast, as I cannot make the -train. Tell her to expect me and Clarence before supper. Then get the -proper officials of McGregor to come here at once and drag the river. -Hire any extra men you judge fit. Don’t bother about expense. Now go and -don’t lose a moment.” - -Left alone, Mr. Esmond made a careful search, tracing the boy’s steps in -their ascent to Pictured Rocks. He went part of the way himself, crying -out at intervals, “Clarence! Clarence! Clarence!” There was no answer -save the echoes which to his anxious ears sounded far differently from -the “horns of elfland.” - -Again and again he called. And yet Clarence was not so far away—hardly -half a mile down the river, locked in slumber, and, as it proved, in the -hands of that bright-eyed goddess of adventure whom the reckless lad had -not in vain wooed. - -Returning to the shore, Mr. Esmond on further investigation traced his -boy’s footprints to the river’s banks. At this juncture, several -motorboats arrived, each carrying a number of men, and soon all were -busy dragging the river. - -At six o’clock John Dolan insisted on bringing the despairing father -back to McGregor. - -“Dolan,” he said, as they started upstream, “have you any religion?” - -“I hope so. I’m a Catholic.” - -“I don’t know what I am;—but my poor boy! His mother ought to be a -Catholic, but she was brought up from her tender years by Baptist -relations with the result that she’s got no more religion that I have. -When my boy was born, I started him out on the theory that he was not to -be taught any religion, but was to grow up without prejudices, and when -he was old enough, he was to choose for himself. All the religion he -ever got amounted to his saying the ‘Our Father’ and ‘Now I lay me down -to sleep.’ At that school he’s been going to there’s no religion taught -at all. I wish I had done differently. Think of his appearing before a -God he never thought of. Some of our theories look mighty nice in -ordinary circumstances. But now! My son is dead, and without any sort of -preparation.” - -“We can pray for him; we can hope.” - -“Well, if his soul is saved,” said Esmond gravely, “it’s not because of -me, it’s in spite of me.” - -When the bereaved father reached the hotel, the despair in his eyes told -the tale to his wife. Let us drop a veil over that scene of sorrow—the -sudden loss of an only child. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - - _In which Ben, the gypsy, associates himself with the - Bright-eyed Goddess in carrying out her will upon Master - Clarence Esmond, and that young gentleman finds himself a - captive_. - -It was the time when the night-hawk, soaring high in air and circling -wantonly, suddenly drops like a thunderbolt down, down till nearing the -ground it calls a sudden halt in its fall, and cutting a tremendous -angle and letting out a short sound deep as the lowest string of a bass -violin shoots up into the failing light of the evening; it was the time -when the whippoorwill essays to wake the darkening sky with his -insistent demands for the beating of that unfortunate youth, poor Will; -it was the time when the sun, having left his kingdom in the western -sky, stretches forth his wand of sovereignty from behind his curtains -and touching the fleecy clouds changes them into precious jewels, ruby, -pearl, and amethyst; it was, in fine, the time when the day is done and -the twilight brings quiet and peace and slumber to the restless world. - -However—and the exception proves the rule—it did not bring quiet and -peace and slumber to Master Clarence Esmond. In fact, it so chanced that -the twilight hour was the time when he was deprived of these very -desirable gifts; for his sleep was just then rudely broken. - -First, a feeling of uneasiness came upon his placid slumbers. It seemed -to him, in those moments between sleeping and waking, that a very -beautiful fairy, vestured in flowing white, and with lustrous and -shining eyes, appeared before him. She gazed at him sternly. “Oh, it’s -you, is it?” murmured Clarence. “I’ve been looking for you, star-eyed -goddess. Be good enough, now you’re here, to supply me with one or two -first-class adventures in good condition and warranted to last.” In -answer to which, she of the starry eyes extended her wand and struck her -suppliant a smart blow on the forehead. As she did this, the light in -her eyes went out, her form lost its outline, fading away after the -manner of a moving picture effect into total darkness. - -Clarence’s eyes then opened; it was not all a dream—the loose board -above him had fallen and struck him on his noble brow. Also, although -his eyes were open, he could see very little. Almost at once he realized -where he was. Almost at once he recalled, with the swiftness thought is -often capable of, the varied events of the day. Almost at once, he -perceived that the boat, no longer drifting, was moving swiftly as -though in tow. - -Clarence sat up. There was a splashing of the water quite near the boat. -He rubbed his eyes and peered into the gathering darkness. A brown hand, -near the prow, was clasped to the gunwale. Then Clarence standing up -looked again. From the hand to the arm moved his eyes; from the arm to -the head. Beside the boat and swimming vigorously was a man, whom, -despite the shadows of the evening, Clarence recognized as young and -swarthy. They were rapidly nearing shore. - -“Say!” cried Clarence. “Look here, will you? Who are you?” - -The swimmer on hearing the sound of the boy’s voice suspended his -swimming, turned his head, and seeing standing in what he had supposed -to be an empty boat, a young cherub arrayed in a scanty suit of blue, -released his hold and disappeared under the water as though he had been -seized with cramp. - -The boat freed of his hand tilted very suddenly in the other direction, -with the result that the erect cherub lost his balance so suddenly that -he was thrown headlong into the waters on the other side. - -Simultaneously with Clarence’s artless and unpremeditated dive, the -strange swimmer came to the surface. He had thought, as our young -adventurer subsequently learned, that the figure in the boat was a -ghost. But ghosts do not tumble off boats into the water; neither do -ghosts, when they come to the surface, blow and sputter and cough and -strike out vigorously with an overhand stroke, which things the supposed -ghost was now plainly doing. The stranger, therefore, taking heart of -grace, laid the hand of proprietorship upon the boat once more. Clarence -from the other side went through the same operation. - -“What did you spill me for?” he gasped. - -“I didn’t know anyone was in the boat,” returned the stranger with a -slightly foreign accent. “When you stood up and spoke, I was plumb -scared.” - -“I really think I’m rather harmless,” remarked the boy, blithely. “Never -yet, save in the way of kindness, did I lay hand on anybody—well hardly -anybody. Where are we anyhow?” - -“We’re on the Mississippi River,” returned the other guardedly. - -“Oh, thank you ever so much. I really thought we were breasting the -billows of the Atlantic.” - -Meanwhile, they had drawn within a few feet of the shore, on which -Clarence now cast his eyes. On a sloping beach in a grove surrounded by -cottonwoods blazed a ruddy fire. Standing about it but with their eyes -and attention fixed upon the two swimmers was a group consisting of a -man a little beyond middle age, a woman, apparently his wife, a younger -woman, a boy a trifle older and larger than Clarence, a girl of twelve, -and five or six little children. In the camp-fire’s light Clarence -perceived that they were, taking them all in all, swarthy, black-haired, -clad like civilized people, and yet in that indescribable wild way of -which gypsies possess the secret. - -“Come on,” said the man, as the boat touched the shore. - -“Excuse me,” said Clarence politely, “but I’m not dressed to meet -visitors. The water is fine anyway; and it’s not near so dangerous as -it’s cracked up to be. Can’t you get a fellow at least a pair of -trousers?” - -“You’ll stay here, will you?” - -“I certainly will,” answered the youth, turning on his back and -floating. “I’ve had enough of being out on the Mississippi to last me -for several weeks at the very least. Go on, there’s a good fellow,—and -get me something to put on.” - -With a not ill-natured grunt of assent, the man walked up the sloping -bank. As he passed the watchful group he uttered a few words; whereupon -the larger gypsy boy came down to the shore and fixed a watchful eye -upon the bather, while the others broke up and gave themselves to -various occupations. Clarence’s rescuer went on beyond the fire, where -two tents lay pitched beside a closed wagon—a prairie schooner on a -small scale. After some search in which the young woman assisted him, he -issued from the larger tent with a pair of frayed khaki trousers and an -old calico shirt. - -Returning to the river’s edge, he beckoned the swimmer, who, quick to -answer the call, seized the clothes and darted behind the largest -cottonwood. Clarence was dressed in a trice. - -“I wish,” he observed, walking up to his rescuer, “to thank you for -saving me. I’ve never been on a big river before; and I was afraid to -try swimming. I say,” and as Clarence spoke, he gazed ruefully at his -nether garment, “who’s your tailor?” - -“What’s your name, boy?” - -“Clarence Esmond, age 14, weight 110 pounds, height five feet two in -my—” - -“And how did you come to be in that boat?” - -Clarence, involuntarily gazing at his frail craft and noticing that the -older gypsy, assisted by the boy, had already beached it, and was now -getting ready to give it a new coat of paint, proceeded to tell at some -length his various encounters with the bright-eyed goddess of adventure -since his departure that morning from McGregor. While he was telling his -rather incredible tale all the party gathered about him. Not all, he -observed, were gypsies. The little girl of twelve was as fair-skinned as -himself. She was a beautiful child, with face most expressive of any -passing emotion. It was to her that Clarence presently found he was -addressing himself. One of his subtle jokes, lost on the gypsies, drew a -smile of appreciation from the little girl. She was dainty in her -dress—which was in no respect gypsy-like. - -“There’s another adventure here,” Clarence reflected. “Where did they -get her?” However, he was content to keep these thoughts to himself. At -the conclusion of his story, Clarence addressed himself to the young -man. - -“And now, sir, where am I?” - -“You’re in Wisconsin.” - -“Oh, I’ve crossed to the other side, have I? And about how far down the -river am I from the town of McGregor?” - -“You are—” began the younger gypsy, when his senior cut him short, and -spoke to him hurriedly for some minutes in a language strange to -Clarence’s ears. - -“I say,” interrupted Clarence, “my folks must be awful anxious about me. -Would you mind letting me know how far I am from McGregor? I want to get -back.” - -“You are over thirty-five miles from McGregor,” said the older man, -thoughtfully doubling the actual distance. - -“Whew! Where can I get a train? I’ve got to get back.” - -“Hold on,” said the elder; “what does your father do?” - -“He’s a mining expert.” - -“Is he rich?” - -“I suppose he is. That’s what people say; and if you get me back, I’ll -see that you’re paid.” - -Again the two men conferred. Watching them eagerly, Clarence gathered -these items of information: the elder was called Pete, the younger, Ben; -they were not in agreement, coming almost to blows; Pete was the leader. - -After further talk the two women were called into council. Suddenly the -older, a withered hag with deep eyes and heavy and forbidding brows, -turned to Clarence. - -“Your hand!” she said, laconically. - -“Charmed to shake with you,” responded the amiable adventurer, extending -his open palm. - -Instead of clasping it, the woman caught it tight, and dragging Clarence -close to the fire began eagerly to scrutinize the lines on his palm. - -“You’ll live long,” she said. - -“Not if I have many days like this,” commented Clarence. - -“You’ll have lots of wealth.” - -“No objection, I’m sure, ma’am.” - -“You will learn easy.” - -“That’s the very way I propose to learn.” - -“You’ll marry three times.” - -“Oh, I say; cut out at least two of those wives, won’t you?” - -“You’ll have a big family.” - -“No objection to children, ma’am.” - -Suddenly the woman paused, gazing fixedly at the boy’s palm. - -“Oh!” she suddenly screamed. “The cross! the cross! It’s there. I see -it. Say, boy, you’re a Catholic.” - -“You’re another,” retorted Clarence, indignantly. - -“You are! You are!” And with a cry like that of some wild animal, the -woman ran and hid herself in the larger tent. - -“Boy,” said Pete, “we’re going to take care of you.” - -“Thank you; but if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon take care -of myself.” - -“You’ll do as I tell you,” said Pete, gazing angrily at the lad. “You -may be a fraud. We will find out, and if your story is true, we’ll see -about getting you back to your people.” - -“Oh, you will, will you?—Good night!” and with this Clarence turned and -dashed up the river. Pete, followed by Ezra, was after him at once. The -old man was quick to catch up with him, and he made this fact known to -the boy by striking him with his closed fist a blow on the mouth which -brought him flat to the earth. Pete kicked his prostrate prey as he lay, -and was about to renew his brutality, when Ben roughly pulled his senior -away. - -“Look here!” cried Clarence ruefully, as he picked himself up. “Next -time you want me to do something, tell me. You needn’t punch ideas in -through my mouth. I guess I can take a hint as well as the next one.” - -“You’d better do what Pete says,” whispered Ben not unkindly. “It’s no -use trying to get away from him. I’ll be your friend.” - -“Thank you. By the way, would you call kicks and cuffs adventures?” - -The man shrugged his shoulders. - -“Well, I was singing the praises of the goddess of adventure this -morning. I wanted to meet her the worst way. Well, I’ve been meeting her -all day and I’m kind of tired. If I get my hands on her, I’ll hold her -under water till she’s as dead as a door-nail.” - -“Oh, yes!” said the mystified Ben. - -But the adventures of that day were not yet over, as Clarence, to his -cost, was soon to learn. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - - _In which Clarence meets Dora, learns much of his gypsy - companion, fights Ezra, and is sung to slumber._ - -“Dora,” said Ben, as they neared the campfire, “come here.” - -The little girl came running at his call. - -“I want you to show this boy around. He’s one of your kind, and you’ll -be good company for each other while he’s with us.” - -Dora held out her hand, her blue eyes all sympathy, her bright face -kindling, her smile all welcome. - -“Glad to meet you, Dora. My name’s Clarence Esmond,” said the lad, -taking her hand and shaking it cordially. “There’s only one thing I’ve -got against you.” - -“Why? What have I done?” asked the little miss, dismay showing itself in -her rounded blue eyes. - -“It isn’t what you’ve done; it’s what you are.” - -“Oh, indeed!” ejaculated Dora, her brows going up in bewilderment. - -“Yes, indeed. I started out this morning in quest of my lady, the -star-eyed goddess of adventure. I was just half in earnest. You see, -I’ve been at Clermont Academy, New York, for three years, where nothing -happened except three meals a day.” - -“Oh, I see,” said Dora with the suspicion of a twinkle in her eye. “The -meals happened three times a day.” - -“Oh, go on! You know what I mean.” - -“Oh, that’s a fact!” cried Dora. “Talking of meals, aren’t you hungry? -You’ve had nothing since breakfast.” - -“I ought to be hungry,” admitted Clarence, “but somehow things have been -happening so fast that it’s interfered with my appetite.” - -“That’s too bad,” said Dora. “Of course, if you don’t want anything——” - -“Oh, I say,” interrupted Clarence, “I simply said I wasn’t _very_ -hungry. If you’ve got anything to eat——” - -There was no need for Clarence to finish his sentence. Dora was off at -once, and returned very quickly with a plate of cold meat and some -crusts of bread. The repast, if the truth must be told, was not very -inviting. However, it did not seem to strike Clarence in that way at -all; for, standing with the plate in his hand, he set about eating with -a vigor which promised a speedy disappearance of everything offered him. - -“You said you weren’t very hungry,” said Dora, trying to suppress a -smile. - -“I’m not,” replied Clarence, continuing to do yeoman’s work. - -“When you are hungry, I’d like to be around,” said the girl. - -“Suppose,” said Clarence, “that we come back to our original subject. We -were talking about you and the bright-eyed goddess of adventure.” - -“Yes. Do go on, Clarence.” - -“Well, anyhow, I’ve been reading books of travel and adventure all this -summer. Last night I finished Treasure Island, and it got me going. I -was just crazy to have a few adventures; so I called on the bright-eyed -goddess to come on and set ’em up.” - -“Did she come?” - -“Come! I should say she did! She’s worn her welcome out already. But -that’s not what I wanted to say. Just before I woke up in that boat, -which Pete and his friends are painting over right now——” - -“They’ll sell it tomorrow for a few dollars,” interpolated Dora. - -“Oh, indeed! How thoughtful! Well, just before I woke, I had a dream. I -saw the bright-eyed goddess long enough to get a crack of her wand over -the head, and she looked like you.” - -“Like me?” - -“Yes, your eyes are bright and blue, your complexion is what the -novelists call dazzling, your hair is long and like the bearded corn -when it is ripe. So was hers. The goddess wore a white dress. So do -you.” - -“I always wear white,” said Dora, simply. “When I was a baby, my mother -consecrated me to the Blessed Virgin.” - -“What, are you a Catholic, Dora?” - -“Yes, Clarence; and mama kept me dressed in white with a blue sash till -I was seven years of age. Then I made my First Communion. On that day, I -told Our Lord that I would stick to the blue and the white as long as I -could.” - -“So you dress to please the Blessed Virgin?” queried the startled boy. - -They were standing beside the fire, and the flames lighting up the -girl’s features added to the glow of enthusiasm which had come upon her -face as she spoke of the blue and the white. - -“I wish I could say I did,” she made humble answer. “Sometimes I feel -that I’m thinking too much of how I look. I hope it isn’t a sin to want -to look pretty.” - -“Of course, it isn’t,” returned Clarence, promptly. “Why, I’m troubled -that way myself.” - -Dora began to giggle. - -“You’re laughing at me,” said Clarence, flushing. - -“Excuse me,” said Dora. “I—I—” - -This time she broke into silvery laughter. - -Clarence gazed down upon himself. He had forgotten, in the interest of -the conversation, his present attire. For a youth of fourteen, -bare-footed, clad in a rusty calico shirt and trousers of uncertain age, -to accuse himself of taking pride in his apparel and appearance was, now -he came to think of it, highly comical. He joined Dora in her laughing. - -“And yet I was not always thus,” he said. “You should have seen me this -morning in my natty sailor suit. I really think I was stuck on myself. -Dora, by George, you’re a good fellow.” - -“Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll tell you something about the -people you’re with.” - -Clarence looked around. The twain were practically alone beside the -fire. Two other gypsies, men whom he had not seen before, were helping -Pete and the boy to give the stolen boat a new appearance. The little -children were paddling about in the water. Strangely enough, they scarce -uttered a sound. They played, it is true, but their play was largely -pantomime. Ben was off to the right tending the horses. The two women -were in one of the tents. - -“Here’s a log,” said Clarence, rolling one forward with some exertion -towards the fire. “Suppose we sit down, and criticize the whole crowd.” - -Clarence had come to an end of his meal. He ate no more, because there -was no more to eat. One would think, could one have seen them, that the -two innocents, as they seated themselves on the log with their faces -turned towards the river and their backs to the fire, had been -acquainted with each other from their nursery days. - -“First of all,” began Dora, “there’s Pete.” - -“Oh, yes, I know Pete all right,” said Clarence, passing his hand over -his mouth and rubbing his upper lip. “And I want to say right now that -I’m not stuck on Pete.” - -“He’s not—he’s not—” Dora paused and considered. “Well, he’s not real -nice.” - -“Nobody would say he was.” - -“And he’s the leader of this band.” - -“Gypsies, eh?” - -“Yes, gypsies. It isn’t a regular band you know. It’s only a piece of -one.” - -“It’s a big enough one for me,” Clarence observed with emphasis. - -“You see, Pete got into some trouble last spring in Ohio. He made some -kind of a horse-trade and was sentenced to the workhouse for a month. -He’d have been there longer, only Ben was sent down to wait for him and -help him pay off his fine. And that’s how I came to be here.” - -“What have you got to do with paying off Pete’s fine? What have you got -to do with the workhouse?” asked Clarence indignantly. - -“Nothing,” laughed Dora. “But if it hadn’t been for Pete’s being in the -workhouse, I wouldn’t be here.” - -“Tell me all about it, Dora.” - -“I will—tomorrow. There’ll hardly be time tonight. You see, all these -gypsies are on their way to join their own crowd somewhere further north -in this State. We’ve been traveling up this way since last May—over -four months.” - -“How far have you traveled?” - -“Ben told me that we’re about five hundred miles from where we started.” - -“Five hundred miles! Let me think a minute.” Clarence began checking off -on his fingers, murmuring at the same time under his breath. - -“Why, good gracious!” he spoke out, presently. “You haven’t averaged -much more than four miles a day.” - -“Yes; but you ought to see the way we travel. We hardly ever go straight -ahead. We generally zigzag. We cut across the country in one direction -and then we cut across back again in another, always keeping near to the -river. You see, we don’t like to meet people and we always dodge the -towns and villages. I guess it’s partly my fault. They don’t want -strangers to see me.” - -“And I suppose they won’t want anybody to see me either,” said Clarence. -“Say, did you ever try to break away?” - -“I did in the beginning. Pete gave me an awful beating three different -times; and I found it was no use.” - -“Well, I’ll not stand for it. Why, it seems to me it would be easy to -get away some time or other when nobody’s on the watch. Why, Dora, we’ve -been talking here for fifteen minutes, and nobody’s been bothering about -us in the least.” - -“Don’t you believe it, Clarence. Those two women have been keeping their -eyes on us ever since we shook hands. They take turn about, and the -watching is going on night and day.” - -“Is that so? By the way, I notice that boy helping those fellows at the -boat is looking this way very often.” - -“That’s Pete’s youngest son. He’s a bit quarrelsome. He’s generally -pretty nice to me; but I think that’s because Ben gave him a shaking up -one day when he was rude to me. His name is Ezra. I think he’s a sort of -bully. I am afraid of him.” - -“I don’t like bullies myself,” said Clarence. - -“He’s watching you,” continued Dora. “He always gets angry and out of -sorts when anybody is friendly to me. Those little gypsies all like me. -But Ezra, when he notices them about me much, gives them a lot of -trouble.” - -“Maybe he’s jealous,” suggested the artless youth. - -“Jealous? Why should he be jealous? He doesn’t care for me.” - -“I can’t believe that,” said Clarence. “Anybody who meets you would be -sure to like you, because you are a good fellow.” - -Dora broke into so ringing a laugh that all the artists engaged upon the -boat stopped their work to turn their gaze upon the two children. - -“Oh, but you are the funniest boy,” she said. - -“Thank you kindly; I do try my best. But come on, let’s finish up with -the crowd before they get done with that boat.” - -“That’s so. It’s so long since I’ve had anybody I could talk to that I -can’t help wandering. Well, those two men with Pete are his oldest sons. -They don’t seem to count much one way or the other. Three of those -little children paddling in the water are Ben’s, and the other two -belong to the oldest of Pete’s sons. His wife is dead, and Ben’s wife, -that young woman, takes care of them. She’s real nice, and so is Ben. -Ben is very kind to me. He treats me like a little princess. When I told -him about wearing blue and white in honor of our Blessed Mother, he got -me a lot of nice white dresses and three blue sashes, and his wife is -just as kind. Her name is Dorcas. She helps me wash my things, and sews -for me, and—you see that little tent over there?” - -“It seems to me I do.” - -“Well, that’s my tent. Ben got it for me. His wife sleeps with me every -night; but she never comes in till I’ve said all my prayers.” - -“_All_ your prayers.” - -“Yes, all of them.” - -“I know only two,” observed Clarence regretfully, “and one of them, the -Our Father, I’ve partly forgotten.” - -“I’ll teach you all I know,” said Dora. “And,” she continued, “when I’ve -finished my prayers, I sing a little hymn to the Blessed Virgin. Then -she knows that I’m going to bed and she comes in. Isn’t that nice?” - -“I don’t know,” returned Clarence, “I haven’t heard you sing yet.” - -“Oh, I don’t mean that. I mean her staying out and leaving me to myself -till I go to bed. I call that—I call that—delicate.” - -“I can sing some myself,” said Clarence, more affected by Dora’s -declaration than he cared to show. - -“Oh, can you? We’ll get up some duets.” - -“The kids at my school used to like to hear me sing, but perhaps it was -because they didn’t know any better. But you didn’t tell me anything -about that old woman who raised such a fuss about seeing a cross on my -hand. What was the matter with her?” - -“She hates Catholics. I don’t know what to make of her. She acts as if -she would like to poison me because I’m a Catholic. She thinks you’re -one.” - -“But I’m not.” - -“What are you, Clarence?” - -“I’m nothing. My father said I was to wait till I was fourteen before I -thought anything about religion.” - -Suddenly Clarence stopped. The vision of his parents presented -itself,—their grief, their bewilderment, their perplexity. His eyes -filled with tears. - -“What’s the matter, Clarence?” - -The boy had not attended boarding school for nothing. With an heroic -effort he mastered himself. - -“Nothing. Something caught me in the throat. By the way, I’m fourteen -now; have been since last June. It’s time for me to get busy and fix up -the religious question.” - -“Oh, that’s all right,” said Dora, turning shining eyes and the glowing -face of enthusiasm upon her new friend. “I’ll instruct you in the -Catholic faith myself.” - -“But I don’t intend to be a Catholic. It isn’t up-to-date. There’s too -much superstition in it.” - -Dora’s eyes opened to their widest. - -“Clarence, how can you talk so? I’m shocked. You need instruction badly, -and I’m going to begin tomorrow.” - -They certainly at this moment looked like life-long friends. Dora, once -the question of religion had been raised, had become intensely earnest. -Master Ezra, the boat repairing being fairly completed, had drawn near -enough to see their faces without being able to catch the exact import -of their words. He was plainly disquieted. Tiptoeing his way behind the -trees he stole behind the two controversialists, and seizing the end of -the log on which they were sitting, gave it a shove and a kick, with the -result that the two fell sprawling to the earth. - -Clarence was up at once, and with a courtly air caught the girl’s hand -and helped her to her feet. - -“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Ezra. His voice was raucous. - -“My friend,” said Clarence. “I’m not at all pleased with that laugh of -yours.” - -“What?” sputtered Ezra. - -“It notes the vacant mind,” continued Clarence, with apparent calm. -“Also I desire to state that while I don’t mind your spilling me, I do -object to your spilling this girl.” - -“What?” roared Ezra, doubling his fists and advancing to within a few -feet of the youthful knight. - -“I’m not deaf, either. The thing for you to do now is to apologize to -Dora.” - -“What?” roared Ezra, louder than ever. - -“Oh, you’re deaf, are you?” - -Here Clarence put his two hands like a speaking-trumpet before his mouth -and shrilled at the top of his voice. - -“Apologize to Dora!” - -For answer Ezra’s right hand shot out, aimed direct for Clarence’s jaw. -The youngster, expecting such demonstration, jumped back, but not so -quickly as to avoid entirely the force of the blow; and as he returned -with a facer that caught Ezra between the eyes, the gypsies, man, woman -and child, came hurrying to the spot in such short order that, when Ben -threw himself between the two, a circle was already formed about the -belligerents. - -Ezra addressed Ben in gypsy patter. His words were few. Ben nodded. - -“Go ahead,” he said, and drew back into the circle; and before Clarence -had caught the full significance of these words, a blow planted full -below his jaw sent him to the earth. He was up at once, and, on careful -guard, warded off several more vicious attacks and waited for an -opening. It came presently and left Ezra’s left eye in a state which -promised to develop presently into deep mourning. - -At this the gypsy lad lost control of himself and proceeded to strike -out furiously and wildly. It was easy for Clarence, a trained boxer and -agile as a cat, to ward off these blows; easy for him, now and then, to -reach his adversary with what are known in sporting circles as -love-taps. In a few minutes, Ezra was breathing heavily. Suddenly the -gypsy changed his tactics; he tried to catch Clarence in his arms and -bear him to the ground. Clarence, not without difficulty, succeeded in -breaking away, and, once free, changed his tactics, too. Springing -forward, he literally rained blows upon the winded foe. Nose, eyes, -mouth, jaw, all received vigorous attention, till Ezra, unable to stand -the punishment, jumped back and averted his head. - -“Did you say nuff?” asked Clarence, pausing, and standing still in the -center of the ring. - -For answer, Ezra made a flying leap at his foe, determined by sheer -weight and momentum to bring Clarence to defeat. The young knight was -quick to adjust himself. Ezra’s head, intended to ram the lad’s chest, -found itself noosed within Clarence’s strong right arm. The catch nearly -brought the young knight to the earth; but surefootedness won out, and -Ezra was in chancery. - -“Say ’nuff,” commanded Clarence, with a hug and a punch that were -practically simultaneous. - -Pete spoke sharply to Ezra. - -“’Nuff,” said the gypsy boy. - -“All right,” said Clarence, and releasing his hold left Ezra free and -evidently much the worse for the short encounter. - -The gypsies had been silent throughout the brisk combat. It was -impossible to tell from their faces on which side their sympathies lay. - -“Boy,” said Ben, slipping into the ring, “I’d advise you to shake hands -with Ezra.” - -“Happy thought,” gasped Clarence. “Say, Ezra, if you’ll tell Dora you’re -sorry for taking liberties with her, I’ll be glad to shake hands with -you.” - -For answer, Ezra broke into half audible maledictions. - -“What did he do?” asked Ben. - -Clarence explained. - -“You apologize,” said Ben sternly, on hearing the story, “or I’ll give -you another licking myself.” - -“I’m sorry,” said Ezra, with the worst possible grace. - -Then Clarence caught Ezra’s hand and pumped it up and down with an -assurance which was amazing. - -The night was now well advanced, and dark clouds, black and heavy, had -within the last half hour shut out the friendly eyes of the stars. A -peal of distant thunder was heard. - -“We’d better get ready for bed,” said Ben. - -At his word, all seated themselves about the dying fire, save Pete and -his wife who at once made for the larger tent. One of the children came -running to Ben with a guitar; whereupon Dora rose and with clasped hands -stood beside the young gypsy. - -Ben, striking a few chords, nodded to Dora, who, at the nod, opened her -lips and broke forth in as sweet a voice as ever awoke the woodlands of -Wisconsin into—Gounod’s _Ave Maria_. - -Clarence was spellbound. He was exalted, carried out of himself. It was -not the voice alone, though the voice was thrillingly sweet; not the -music, though the air was one that holds music-lovers rapt the world -over; not the accompaniment, though it was supremely exquisite in the -sacred silence of the night. There was more than all this; faith, and -love, and purity, and innocence—all springing from the heart of a -child—supplied undertones beyond the reach of art that music could -supply. - -As the song proceeded, the rain began to fall, but the rain was heeded -by none—not even by the little children. Towards the end, the down-pour -grew heavy; but spellbound, no one moved. As the last note died into -silence, there ensued a few breathless seconds; then came a burst of -thunder and a forked prong of lightning which seemed to strike into -their very midst. All jumped up and made for cover. - -“Come with me,” said Ben, catching Clarence’s hand. “Your quarters will -be in the wagon. She sings,” he added, “that song every night, and,” -continued the musician, as he helped Clarence into his new sleeping -quarters, “she sings it like an angel.” - -“So she does.” - -“And,” added Ben, in a whisper, “she is an angel.” - -Ten minutes later Clarence was lying upon a bed of straw, and meditating -upon the events of the most adventurous day in his life. Around him lay -four gypsy men—Ezra, Pete’s two older sons, and Ben. But he was, to all -intents and purposes, alone. And then in bitterness and sorrow the young -adventurer wept salt tears and checked with difficulty the sighs of -utter misery. He was captive; his parents were, he supposed, frantic -with grief. Perhaps they thought him dead. And so Clarence, frightened -and unnerved, wept freely. - -Suddenly the quiet was broken. The same sweet voice, low and clear, -trilled out from the little tent: - - “Mother dear, O pray for me, - While far from heaven and thee - I wander in a fragile bark - O’er life’s tempestuous sea.” - -Clarence, at the first notes, stopped crying. - -“By George!” he said to himself at the end of the first stanza, “Here’s -the difference between that girl and me. I address myself to the -bright-eyed goddess of adventure—and see where I am! And she calls on -her dear Mother, who is also the Mother of God, and just look what Dora -is!” - -Before the second stanza was quite finished, the exhausted youth fell -into a disturbed sleep. He tossed uneasily for a time, then murmuring as -he turned, “Mother dear, O pray for me,” he was wrapped in a slumber -which no noise could disturb. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - - _In which the strange tale of Dora, another victim of the - Bright-eyed Goddess, is told to Clarence._ - -When Clarence awoke the next morning, it dawned upon him very slowly -that he was in the firm grasp of a stronger hand, and, without any -effort on his part, walking up and down the greensward at a pace not -unworthy of a professional walker. A further survey brought to his -notice the gypsies grouped together and eyeing him with interest. At her -tent door, Dora, fresh as a dew-washed rose, stood laughing at him -heartily. It was Ben, he also realized, who, holding him by arm and -collar, was causing him to walk with such tremendous strides. - -“I say, Ben, drop it. Let me go. What’s the matter?” - -“I’ve been trying to wake you for five minutes,” said Ben smiling and -puffing. “I rolled you over first where you were lying in the wagon, and -shouted and pounded you; and when you didn’t show any signs of life, I -thought you were dead.” - -“Well, I’m alive all right,” said Clarence, and, as Ben freed him from -an iron grasp, proceeded to rub his eyes. - -Pete, who had just brought the horses to the wagon, where his two older -sons took them in charge, came running over, snarling like a wildcat, -and seizing the boy by both shoulders shook him without mercy. How long -the punishment would have lasted, had it depended upon Pete, is -problematic; for Clarence, now thoroughly awakened, cleverly slipped -down to the ground and sprang between the Gypsy leader’s legs. As he did -so, he thoughtfully humped himself in transit, with the result that Pete -measured his length on the earth. - -“I wish,” gasped Clarence, “that you’d _tell_ me what you want. I’m not -a deaf mute.” - -Pete sprang for a stick in the bushes; but before he had quite made up -his mind which to choose, Ben whispered remonstratingly in his ear. Ben -was angry and determined. Bestowing a look of strong disfavor on -Clarence, Pete gave an order of some kind to his company, who at once -proceeded to break up camp. - -“You go and help Dora,” said Ben. - -“Good morning, Clarence. How do you feel?” asked the child with a smile -and the extended hand of welcome. The roses of dawn were upon her -cheeks. - -“Feel! I’m sleepy. Why, it is hardly daylight.” - -“We always travel early in the morning; it is cooler, and there are not -so many people about. Towards noon we camp in some quiet place, -generally by the river side; and then about four we go on, again, and -keep on going sometimes till it’s too dark to see. Come on now, -Clarence; we’ve got to work fast, or Pete will be down on us.” - -Under Dora’s direction, Clarence made himself quite useful. He was quick -and intelligent. The two had their share of the work finished several -minutes before the others. - -“Where are we going?” asked Clarence. - -“We’re going to zigzag, I suppose,” laughed Dora. “We’ll strike into the -country for four or five miles, and then we’ll strike back again, and by -the time we’ve pitched our camp tonight at the riverside we may be six -or seven miles—at the most ten—further up the river than we are now.” - -“Do we ride or walk, Dora?” - -“It’s this way: the women and the children stay in the wagon. Pete takes -the wagon too, now and then. The men walk and keep a lookout all the -time. I generally walk myself; but sometimes I ride. Ben told me that I -could walk with you any time I wanted.” - -“Ben’s all right,” said Clarence. - -In the splendor of a roseate dawn, the party set out. For an hour they -pushed into the interior, when, reaching a deeply wooded grove, they -halted for breakfast. Within half an hour they were upon their way -again; Pete and one of his sons in the advance, then the wagon, behind -it Clarence and Dora with Ben and the other gypsies bringing up the -rear. The road they were pursuing was overgrown with weeds and -neglected—a road, evidently, where few ventured. - -“Say, I never enjoyed a breakfast more in my life than that one. Bacon -and eggs! I kept on eating them till I saw Pete looking at me pretty -hard; and then I just had to quit. You must know, Dora, I’m a very -bashful youth.” - -“You took five eggs and lots of bacon,” said the candid girl, “and I -don’t know how much bread. This morning before you got up, two of the -gypsies traded your boat for over fifteen dollars’ worth of provisions. -You say you are a bashful youth. I’m glad you told me, for I’m very sure -I would never have found it out myself.” - -“I manage to conceal all my virtues,” returned the affable lad, smiling -broadly. “And now, Dora, if it is all the same to you, I wish you’d be -good enough to tell me how you came to be here.” - -“It’s a long story.” - -“Well, we’ve plenty of time, and if you can stand telling it, I reckon I -can stand listening. Were you kidnapped?” - -“That’s a hard question to answer, Clarence. The best way will be for me -to begin at the beginning.” - -“Go ahead.” - -“Well, when I was seven years old I made my first Holy Communion. You -know what that means, don’t you?” - -“I know what you people believe,” answered Clarence. “I’ve read a lot -about it. But, say, do you really believe that Christ is present, and -that what looks like bread is really His body?” - -“Of course I do!” cried Dora resolutely. - -“But why?” - -“Because Our Lord told us so. That is faith, we believe on the word of -God.” - -“Well, go on, Miss Theology.” - -“After making my first Communion, I started to go every day and I never -missed once for over two years. We lived just a little outside of -Dayton, Ohio, and I had to walk a mile to the church.” - -“You did—and fasting?” - -“Of course, and I just loved to go. Last April it was raining almost all -the time. It was often hard to get even to church, and the rivers and -streams around Dayton kept rising higher and higher. People said that if -the rain didn’t stop, there would be a terrible flood. Well, the rain -didn’t stop, and one day in May after three days of terrible rain I went -to church, received Communion and started home.” - -“Were you alone?” - -“I was that morning. Generally some one of the family came with me; but -the ground was so muddy that morning that my big sister who had intended -coming with me backed out.” - -“If I’d been there, I’d have gone with you,” volunteered her gallant -companion. - -“Anyhow, I had hardly got more than half a mile towards my home, when a -man and two women came running past me. They were very scared-looking -and out of breath. As they passed me the man said, ‘The dam! the dam! -It’s broken! Run for your life!’ Just then a lot of other people came -running, and I turned around, and do you know what I saw?” - -“What?” cried Clarence. - -“Men and women and children all running towards me, and further -back—maybe it was two or three miles—a sort of a wall of water, and it -was moving towards me.” - -“Good gracious!” exclaimed Clarence. “What did you do?” - -“I started to run and I did run. After a while, I got so out of breath -that I began to stagger. I looked behind and it seemed to me that the -wall of water was getting closer, and I started to run again. Somehow I -hit my foot against a log and fell, rolling over to one side of the -road, and when I tried to get up I couldn’t use my foot. I had turned my -ankle.” - -“Oh, I say,” exclaimed Clarence, “What did you do then?” - -“I was scared, and I began to cry.” - -“I’d have done that myself,” commented the boy. - -“Then I got on my knees and, while the people in crowds were hurrying -past me on the road—you see I was to one side where I had fallen—I -cried ‘Oh, my dear Mother Mary, be my mother now and save me.’” - -“And she did it?” asked the boy. - -“I was still kneeling when there came dashing towards me a man on -horseback. He saw me and checked the horse, and as he passed me he -leaned over like a circus man and caught me up, and then set the horse -at breakneck speed, and then I fainted.” - -“Gee!” said Clarence. - -“The next thing I knew I opened my eyes to find myself in a gypsy camp. -It was Ben who had saved me. He had just paid Pete’s fine and got him -out of the workhouse. They were all in a hurry to get away, because they -were afraid Pete might be arrested for something else he had done. So -they started off. Ben told me he would send me back to my parents just -as soon as they had pitched camp for the evening. And he meant it too. -But when evening came, and he started to get his horse ready, Pete made -a fuss, and Pete’s wife stood by him. They all got very angry. Then -Pete’s boys took their father’s side. Indeed I thought there was going -to be a fight. In the long run, Pete had it all his own way, and Ben -came to me and told me to wait a little longer on account of the flood. -And I’ve been waiting ever since.” - -“Four months?” said Clarence. - -“Yes; and never a word from my mother or father. I don’t know whether -they are living or dead. Often I cry at night; but then I think of my -Blessed Mother and I stop.” - -“I don’t blame you for crying,” said Clarence. “And I’ll bet your -parents think you’re drowned.” - -“There were ever so many people drowned in that flood, I have heard,” -said Dora. “Anyhow I ought to be grateful to God for sparing my life.” - -“I say, Dora. We’re both in the same boat. You know when I was shoved -out into the river in my swimming suit, my clothes were lying on the -shore. I’ll bet my ma is crying now.” And Clarence rubbed his shirt -sleeves over his eyes. - -“I miss my brothers and sisters so much,” continued the girl. “Ben and -his wife are good and kind, but I do get so homesick. Sometimes I am so -lonely.” - -“I haven’t got any sisters to miss me,” pursued the boy. “I had two, but -both of them were travelling with pa once in Mexico and they drank some -polluted water and died of typhoid fever within two days of each other. -And my little brother died when he was five. And now my father and -mother will think I am dead, too.” - -Again Clarence used his shirt sleeves to wipe his brimming eyes. - -“Sometimes Clarence, I dream that I’m home again and that mama is -holding me in her arms and kissing me, and then I’m so happy till I -wake; and then sometimes I dream that I’m receiving Holy Communion, and -I’m as happy as can be.” - -“You are?” said Clarence. - -“Of course. Why, I have not received Our Lord for months, and I’m—I’m -just hungry for Him.” - -“Dora, you are a good fellow.” - -“You told me that last night.” - -“Do you know that I’m thinking seriously of adopting you?” - -“What?” cried the girl. - -“Adopting you. I’m short on sisters, and you could help to fill the -supply.” - -“Oh, thank you; you think I’ll do, do you?” - -“You’ll do first rate,” answered Clarence tranquilly and failing to -detect the mischief in Dora’s glance. “First chance we get to see a -lawyer, we’ll have it fixed up. Say, is there no way for us to escape?” - -“I’m afraid not; you’ll see for yourself as we go on.” - -At this point of the conversation, Pete came running towards them, and -catching Dora’s eye, held up his hand. - -“What does he want?” Clarence inquired. - -“That’s his sign to tell us to get in the wagon.” - -“What for?” - -“Probably there are some people on the road. Here now, jump in. We have -to stay till he tells that we are free to go out.” - -For half an hour they remained hidden. They could hear outside strange -voices and the passing of some vehicle. - -“This is funny,” observed Clarence. - -“Do you know, Clarence, that since I joined the gypsies I have never -seen a stranger’s face till you came yesterday?” - -Clarence meditated for a moment. - -“Oh!” he said presently, and with his most engaging smile. “It was worth -your while waiting, wasn’t it?” - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - - _In which Clarence enters upon his career as a gypsy, and makes - himself a disciple of Dora._ - -Clarence learned in the course of that day a good deal of his -companions. It was a divided camp. Pete was the official leader, but his -authority was weak. He was a dried-up man with furtive eyes and hang-dog -aspect. He had a genius for breaking the law and getting into trouble. -If there were twenty ways of doing a thing, Pete invariably chose the -least honest. His range as a thief went from chickens to horses. In -this, as in all other things, he was ably abetted by his shrewish wife. -That remarkable woman had a gift for fortune-telling which was uncanny. -It was not without reason that Dora suspected Pete’s wife of having -dealings with the devil. The woman had an intense hatred for anything -that savored of the Catholic faith. Her eyes, whenever they fell upon -Dora, shot forth a baneful light. It was Ben who stood between the child -and her malignity. - -Ben was of different mould. He was brave, open and kind. A certain -gentleness and refinement were observable in him and his wife. Dora -noticed these things and pointed them out to Clarence. But she did not -tell him, for she did not know it, that it was her presence, her -example, her sweetness and modesty, which had, to a great extent, -developed in the gypsy couple these lovely qualities. - -And, in truth, it was Dora who was, in a sense, the real leader. She was -the uncrowned queen. Neat, spotless in attire, graceful of form and of -dazzling complexion, she was always fresh and bright and candid and -sweet. Upon the perfect features there was a certain indefinable -radiance—the radiance one finds so rarely on the faces of those who -appear to have been thinking long and lovely thoughts of God and whose -“conversation is in heaven.” Dora knew well the companionship of saints -and angels. A keen sense of humor, made known now in rippling laughter, -now in the twinkling of an eye, showed that the child was wholesomely -human. Ben seemed to worship the ground she trod upon; his wife was a no -less ardent devotee, and the little children vied with each other in -winning her word or smile. Even Pete’s two graceless sons put aside -their coarseness and what they could of their evil manners in her -winning and dainty presence. Wherever she moved, she seemed to evoke -from those she met undreamed-of acts of gentleness and sweetness and -love. And indeed before the day was spent, the child unwittingly won a -new devotee—Master Clarence himself. Clarence, be it known, was in most -respects a normal boy. He was also unusually clean in thought and in -word and in life. He had never used a really coarse expression, and he -recoiled from any sort of foulness. If one were to ask why this was so, -there would be no adequate answer, save that there is no accounting for -the uncovenanted graces and mercies of God. A sort of instinct had -guided the boy, during his three years at Clermont Academy, in the -choice of his companions. He was always seeking the society of those he -considered his betters. It took the lad little time to discover that -Dora was pure, innocent, gentle, gracious, and high-minded above all -whom he had ever met. Before nightfall, he too was her slave. - -Let there be no misunderstanding. The reader who considers this a case -of puppy love has missed the point. Clarence was at an age and -development when the normal boy is little interested in the girl. But to -him Dora was something apart. She was set high on a pedestal. She was an -ideal. She stood to him for all that was good and beautiful and -inspiring in human nature. - -As for Dora herself, she had never before encountered a youth so blithe, -so debonair, so clever of speech and quick of wit as the young -adventurer. She perceived something in the boy of which he himself was -scarcely aware—a knightliness, a gallantry that went with high ideals, -a serene and lovely purity of heart. She, in turn, placed Clarence upon -a pinnacle, and was in intent his devoted slave. Within twenty-four -hours, she was unconsciously depending upon him. - -On the very afternoon of their first day’s travel, she organized a -“Catechism class,” consisting of Clarence, Ben, and his wife. It was -held in the wagon and lasted for an hour. Before it was ended, each -member knew how to make the sign of the cross, and Master Clarence -himself, who had asked many questions and put many objections, was -beginning to see that the Catholic Church was not so encrusted with -superstitions, as he had supposed, nor in any wise, as he had once held, -out of date. - -Pete and his wife, upon understanding what was going on, were furious; -the woman particularly so. The leader, afraid to wreak vengeance on -Dora, singled out Clarence as the victim to his rage. Many a secret blow -did the boy receive during the day’s journey. - -At nightfall there came a heavy rain. All took shelter in the big tent. -Clarence happened to remark how two nights previously he had been -engrossed in a wonderful story called Treasure Island. - -“What was it about?” asked Ben. - -“Do you want me to tell it?” - -“Oh, do,” cried Dora. “I haven’t read a story or heard one for ever and -ever so long.” - -“I like a nice story,” said Dorcas, Ben’s wife, beaming on the lad. - -“Tell us Treasure Island,” begged one of the children. - -And Clarence, thus adjured, set about recounting that wondrous tale of -ships and pirates and buried treasures. At the first words, Pete and his -wife left the tent. But the others remained, and listened to a lad who -coupled an extraordinary memory with a flow of vivid language. The story -was in its first quarter when Pete returned and, to the disappointment -of all, announced bedtime. The guitar was brought, Gounod’s _Ave Maria_ -sung, and when sleep visited the eyes of Clarence, who kept himself -awake to hear Dora’s good-night hymn to the Blessed Mother, it visited a -youngster who in twenty-four hours had achieved a partnership with a -singularly lovely child in the leadership of a gypsy band. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - - _In which Clarence gets some further knowledge of a shrine, - which has much to do with the most important events of this - veracious narrative, and pays back the gypsy, Pete with compound - interest._ - -It was the third day of Clarence’s experiences as a gypsy. He and Ben -and Dorcas had become great friends. Often the young gypsy couple chose -to walk with Dora and the boy, and, in their talks, the subject was not -infrequently religion. Clarence was quick to grasp the truths of faith, -and, indeed, became a sort of assistant professor, supplementing the -explanations of Dora with knowledge gained from his own wide range of -reading. - -Pete and his wife were at no pains to conceal their fury at the turn of -events brought about by the arrival of Clarence. There was poison in -their looks and venom in their tongues. Ezra made himself a sharer of -this unlovely couple’s feelings. He hated Clarence intensely; it was -hatred born of envy. The memory of his defeat still rankled. One or the -other of these three was always watching the boy, night and day. - -On this particular morning, Clarence had, after breakfast, wandered into -the forest to gather some flowers for Dora’s altar. The little girl had -the day previous brought him into her tent and shown him a little shrine -of Our Lady Immaculate. - -“I pray before it,” she said, “and I have promised our Blessed Mother -that if she have me restored to my home, I will join some Order in her -honor where I can give most of my time to prayer and meditation.” - -“So you intend to become a contemplative?” asked Clarence, looking at -the child with renewed interest. - -“If God allows me, Clarence, I’d like to sit at the feet of Our Lord -forever.” - -“Not for me,” said Clarence, “I’d like to _do_ things. The active life -suits me. But really that is one of the great things about your Church.” - -“_Our_ Church,” corrected Dora with a smile. - -“I can’t say that yet,” said Clarence. “Anyhow, as I was saying, one of -the great things about your Church is that it has something to suit the -taste of everyone. There’s no end of variety in it. And say, Dora, where -do you get all these flowers for your shrine?” - -“Ben gets most of them. His wife helps, too. They began doing this long -before they thought of becoming Catholics. Ben got me that pretty statue -somewhere or other three months ago; and he began bringing flowers -almost at once. He built the shrine, too. Whenever he came in up to a -few days ago, he always lifted his hat. One day I found him kneeling -before it. Since we began instructions, he kneels and makes the sign of -the cross.” - -“Why don’t you try to get Pete and his wife interested?” - -“They never come to my tent; they don’t even know about the shrine. Ben -has arranged all that. I believe, if they knew about it, that they would -smash the statue in pieces—and as for me, I don’t know what they would -do.” - -“By George, if I ever can do a good turn for Ben,” exclaimed the boy -enthusiastically, “I’ll do it with all my heart. He is so kind and good -and gentle. In fact, he seems to be deeply religious.” - -“That’s just what I think. His wife is just as good. She has given up -fortune-telling, she told me, for good. She says she’d rather starve -than do it again. And Ben is figuring now every day how much he has -taken dishonestly. He says before he gets baptized he’s going to restore -everything that isn’t honestly his.” - -“Dora, you’ve done all this.” - -“Oh, no, Clarence; I think it must be our Blessed Lady. She hasn’t -forgotten a single flower that Ben has brought to her shrine. She’s -going to pay him back with interest.” - -“You wouldn’t mind, Dora, if I helped gather some flowers, too?” - -“Indeed, no; but I want you to do it in honor of the Blessed Virgin.” - -“Of course. I’ll get some tomorrow.” - -It was in consequence of this conversation, then, that Clarence was -wandering in the woods. His quest was disappointing. No flowers greeted -his searching eyes. Further and further he wandered. Suddenly, he was -roughly seized by the collar from behind, and turning he saw that Pete -had him in his vigorous grip, Pete with a branch of willow in his free -hand. - -“I told you not to try to get away,” snarled the gypsy bringing the -branch smartly upon Clarence’s legs. - -“Stop that! I wasn’t trying to get away at all.” - -For answer, Pete laid the lash unmercifully upon the powerless boy, -beating him with all his strength. The pain became so great that -Clarence at length unable to restrain himself further burst into a loud -cry for mercy. - -Pete paused, looking around apprehensively. His keen ear detected the -sound of far-off footsteps. Throwing the willow aside, he released his -hold on the boy (who sank to the ground writhing in pain) and -disappeared in his usually stealthy manner, into the bushes. - -It was Ben who had heard the boy’s cry of pain. - -“What has happened?” he cried looking with concern upon the writhing -lad. - -“Pete has given me an awful beating,” answered Clarence, mastering his -voice, though the tears were still rolling down his cheeks. - -“Why? What did you do?” - -“He said I was trying to get away, and I wasn’t. I just came along here -looking for flowers for Dora’s shrine. And the worst of it is,” -continued the boy with a rueful smile contending with his falling tears, -“I didn’t get a single flower.” - -“Perhaps that holy woman who is the mother of God will pay you back for -every lick you receive. Dora said she is good pay.” - -Clarence arose, felt himself gingerly, and breaking into a smile -remarked, “If it’s all the same to the Blessed Virgin, I’d prefer to do -my trading with her in flowers instead of lashes. Never mind, Mr. Pete, -the first chance I get, I’ll fix you all right.” - -The chance, it so came to pass, presented itself that very afternoon. -They were now some six miles north of the Wisconsin, which they had -crossed the preceding day, and had reached a spot on the Mississippi -about three miles beyond Prairie du Chien, which is just across the -river from McGregor. Clarence, of course, had no idea he was so near the -place where his adventures had begun. The boy, still very sore and -bruised, again started off along the river’s bank in quest of flowers. -Mindful of the beating, he made his way cautiously, warily, determined -not to be taken unawares again. Suddenly his alert and attentive ear -caught a slight sound. Someone in a grove of trees a few yards above the -bank was whittling. Screening himself behind the willows about him, -Clarence drew closer, and after a few paces thus taken, discovered Pete, -a pipe in his mouth, seated on a log beneath a hollow tree. Pete, as he -smoked vigorously, was whittling with a certain air of enjoyment a -rather stout branch. - -“By Jove,” cried Clarence to himself, “if he’s not getting a rod in -pickle for me!” And Clarence felt his legs once more with a tender hand. -“He has no right to whack me the way he did. I’m not his son; I’m not in -his charge. And I don’t like the look of that rod at all. I wish I could -stop him.” - -Clarence, securely screened by the bushes, continued to stare and -meditate. A bee buzzed by his ear, and then another. Following their -flight, he noticed that they disappeared in a hollow of the tree under -which the industrious Pete was seated. - -Five minutes passed. Pete still smoked and whittled. Then the old leader -arose, and with a smile on his countenance, which would in all -likelihood throw any child who saw it into convulsions, proceeded to -lash the air, holding in his free hand an imaginary victim. - -“I guess he thinks it’s myself he’s holding,” murmured the astonished -witness of these strange proceedings. “Also, I think I’ll try to find -out if there isn’t a bee-hive in that tree.” - -As he thus communed with himself, Clarence bent and quickly picked up -five stones; then rising, he sent one after the other driving at the -hollow spot in the tree. The first stone went wild, the second struck -the tree, the third nearly entered the hole, the fourth flew wild, and -the fifth——! - -So intent was the gypsy upon the imaginary castigation he was inflicting -that he was still swishing the air violently when out of the hole flew -an army of angry bees. They were not inclined to be dispassionate. -Somebody had done them a wrong, and somebody had to suffer for it. The -bees were upon the gypsy when he was just putting all his strength into -a most vicious swing. He swung that stick no more. With a roar that set -the echoes ringing, Pete dropped the stick, and clapping his hands to -his head set out at a rate, which, if properly timed, would, no doubt, -have created a new record in the way of a fifty-yard dash for the river, -into which he plunged with an agility worthy of youth and professional -diving. - -To the gypsies who, attracted by his yells (for he had yelled all the -way to the river’s edge), had gathered on the bank, it appeared that -Pete was going in for a long distance swim. In fact, he had almost -crossed the river, before he ventured to turn back. Clarence, who had -thoughtfully possessed himself of the switch and broken it into minute -pieces, was the last to join the eager and mystified watchers. - -“What’s the matter?”—“What’s happened?”—These and a dozen similar -questions in English and in gypsy patter greeted his arrival. - -“I rather think,” said Clarence in his most serious manner, “that Pete -must have run up against a swarm of bees, and they weren’t glad to see -him. I noticed him a minute ago running for the river with the speed of -a deer. It was fine to see him go. It seemed to me that there was a -bunch of bees around his head—a sort of a crown of glory—acting as his -escort. It’s a pleasure to see a man like Pete run. I’d walk twenty -miles to get a treat like that.” - -Before Pete had quite achieved his return, Ben called Clarence aside. - -“Clarence, you got those bees after Pete.” - -“Who told you?” - -“Pete’s oldest son; he was watching you. _There’s always someone -watching you._” - -“Great Caesar!” cried Clarence losing all his blitheness, and turning -pale as a sheet. “I’m in for it now. He’ll _kill_ me?” - -“Why did you do it?” - -“I could hardly help it. I saw the old sinner sitting right under a -bee’s nest fixing up a switch; and I guessed he was fixing it for me. -Then he stood up, and began switching somebody with an unholy joy on his -measly old face, and I _knew_ he was switching me. I couldn’t stand for -that, and I began letting fly stones at the hole in the tree, and that -old pirate was so enjoying the imaginary whipping he was giving me that -he didn’t notice a thing till the bees came out in a body and took a -hand. It wasn’t so very bad, was it, Ben?” - -Ben grinned. - -“It was good for him,” he made answer. - -“But what am I to do? I don’t want any more whippings like I got this -morning.” - -“It’s all right for a while, anyhow,” returned Ben. “I’ve told Pete’s -son that if he says a word about it to anyone I’ll give him what you -would get. I’ve scared him, and he’s promised to keep quiet.” - -“Oh, thank you, Ben,” cried Clarence, who had been thoroughly -frightened. “You’re splendid; and if ever I can do anything for you and -yours, I’ll do it, no matter what. Say, look at the old fox. Isn’t he a -sight?” - -Pete had just reached dry land. His appearance justified Master -Clarence’s remark. Looking at his neck, one might surmise that Pete was -suffering from goiter aggravated by an extreme case of mumps. As for his -face, it gave one the impression that Pete had engaged in a prize fight, -and remained in the ring for several rounds after he had been defeated. -Pete, punctuating his steps with a fine flow of profanity, made for the -larger tent. He was seen no more that day. - -Clarence having made a most unsuccessful attempt to look sympathetic, -went to the river and took a swim. Clarence knew the river now; it had -no terrors for him. Whenever he went swimming (and he had been doing -this several times each day) one or another of the gypsy men followed -him into the water. - -That evening, having finished, amid great enthusiasm on the part of his -auditors, Treasure Island, Clarence contrived to have a few words in -private with Dora. - -“Dora,” he said, “I’ve been thinking and thinking how you and I can get -away together; but I can’t see any way.” - -“It’s no use to try,” said Dora. - -“But I can get away by myself, I think. I’ve got it figured out.” - -“You can!” - -“Yes, I think so. Of course, there’s danger in it. But I’d rather die -than get another such a whipping as that old buccaneer gave me today. -All the same, I hate to leave you here.” - -“Don’t take any big risks, Clarence.” - -“But if I go, I’ll never forget you; and, if I can, I’ll see that you -are freed.” - -“You won’t be able to do it. If you were to get free, Pete would use -some means or other to spirit me away.” - -“We’ll see,” said Clarence. “Will you pray that I may succeed?” - -“Indeed, I will. What are you going to do?” - -“I don’t want to say anything yet. It may be a week before things come -right. Good night, Dora; and don’t forget me.” - - - - - CHAPTER X - - - _In which Clarence engages in a swimming race, and to the - consternation of Dora, disappears in the waters of the - Mississippi._ - -On the following day, the camp did not break up at the usual early -hour. Pete remained in his tent nursing his injuries. The gypsies were -kept mindful of his presence, now by an occasional bellow from the -leader, now by a roaring burst of profanity. Ben had disappeared early -in the morning; and it was for him they were waiting before they -proceeded further. - -It was nearly noon-time when he returned. After an interview with Pete, -he called Clarence aside. - -“Do you know where I have been, my boy?” - -“No; where?” - -“To McGregor.” - -“You have! Is it far from here?” - -“It’s ten miles down the river.” - -“And what about my parents?” - -“They stayed over at McGregor till yesterday afternoon, hoping to -recover your body.” - -“My body?” - -“Yes. They are sure you were drowned. They have been dragging the river -for you ever since you disappeared. Yesterday, your father had to leave. -There’s a reward of one thousand dollars for your body.” - -“Gee! I didn’t know I was worth that much.” - -“Clarence,” continued Ben, “I’m sorry we’ve kept you. It isn’t all my -fault. And I’m sorry about Dora. Pete is a born kidnapper; and he has -more power than me. Anyhow, no matter what happens, so long as I’m alive -I’ll see that no harm comes to that dear little girl.” - -“Ben, you are a good fellow.” And Clarence shook Ben’s hand with vigor. - -Within fifteen minutes the gypsies were on the road. They made only five -or six miles that day, and about two hours before sunset pitched their -tents in a clearing at the river side about fifteen miles north of -Prairie du Chien. - -Clarence, at the first opportunity, went to the river and looked about -for a good place to swim. There was no need for a search. The suitable -place was awaiting him. He had hardly got into his bathing suit when -Ezra appeared and, saying little, followed him into the water. - -Ezra was a good swimmer. He used a powerful overhand stroke. - -“Say, Ezra, why do you always swim overhand?” - -“It’s the best and swiftest,” answered the gypsy boy. - -“It may be the swiftest,” returned Clarence; “but it’s no good for a -long swim. I prefer going sailor fashion.” - -“It’s the best for a long swim, if you’ve got the strength to keep it -up,” retorted Ezra. - -“All the same,” said Clarence, “I’ve got to see the boy who can beat me -out in a long distance swim, if he sticks to the overhand.” - -“You mean to say you can beat me?” said Ezra. - -“Of course, I can,” returned Clarence superbly. “I can beat you or any -of your family.” - -“You see that island in the middle of the river?” asked Ezra, pointing -as he spoke to a long, low island nearly a mile in length. Clarence -looked at it intently. It was thickly wooded and ended to the south in a -clump of willows deeply submerged in the water. The two boys were -bathing in a spot facing almost directly the middle of the long island. - -“It seems to me I do,” answered Clarence; “and it must be at least half -a mile from us.” - -“I’ll race you to the island,” said Ezra. - -“You’ll lose,” returned Clarence. - -“Hey!” cried Ezra, “hey, Ben! this kid says he can beat me to that -island. May I race him?” - -“Come here, you two,” said Ben, approaching them. As Pete was still -nursing an inflamed neck, face, and temper, Ben was now in command of -the camp. “Here’s a good place for diving off,” he continued, pointing -to a spot where the bank rose three feet or more above the water’s edge. -“Stand back, both of you, on a line with me, and when I say ‘go’ start -out with a good dive.” - -The two lads ranged themselves beside Ben. Clarence appeared to be -unusually serious. One would think, looking upon him just then, that the -winning of this race was to him a matter of life and death. The color -had almost entirely left his cheeks, his mouth was closed tight, his -chin thrown out, and his whole poise indicated supreme earnestness. - -“Are you both ready?” asked Ben. - -“I am,” returned Ezra, who was quite cool and perfectly confident. - -“Wait one second,” said Clarence. Then he gravely bowed his head and -made the Sign of the Cross. - -“Wait!” came another voice; and all three turning saw Pete’s wife -hurrying towards them. - -Holding out a skinny finger and pointing it impressively at Clarence, -she screamed: - -“May you sink, and never come up. May you drown, and your body never be -found. May my curse follow you into the other world.” - -“Is that all, ma’am?” asked Clarence breaking into his sunniest smile. - -The woman choked with rage. She tried to speak, but words and voice both -failed her. - -“Come on, boys,” resumed Ben. “Ready?” - -“Yes,” answered the two in a breath. - -“Go!” - -At the word, the boys sprang into the water. Both disappeared beneath -the surface at the same time. Within a few seconds, Ezra emerged and his -hands rose high and fast above his head in the overhand stroke. Several -seconds passed, and those watching on the shore began to show signs of -nervousness. All the gypsies, save, of course, the snarling and profane -invalid, were now gathered together beside Ben. Even Dora, who was never -to be seen at the river side when the men were swimming, had joined the -gazers, standing a few yards apart. - -“Oh, Ben,” she cried, “what’s happened to Clarence?” - -Ben made no answer. Scanning the surface of the river intently, he was -pulling off his shoes. - -“He’s drowned! He’s drowned!” screamed the gypsy hag. “My curse has -fallen.” Her laugh, horrible to the ear, rang out carrying in its -undertones all manner of evil omen. - -As the woman was speaking, Dora fell upon her knees. - -“Holy Mary,” she cried aloud, “save your dear child, Clarence. Remember -he is not baptized.” - -The girl had not yet finished her adjuration when a great shout arose -from the men and shrill screams from the children. Far out, fully five -yards ahead of Ezra and as many yards further down stream, Clarence came -to the surface. The boy had been the best long distance diver of all the -youngsters attending Clermont Academy, the eastern boarding school. - -A howl of rage arose from the old woman. - -“Get up! Get up!” she cried, rushing with outstretched and hooked claws -at the kneeling girl. It was only by the quickest of movements that Ben -was able to save the child from bodily injury. As it was, the woman -dashed into Ben’s rigid and protecting elbow, and, doubled up with pain, -retired shrieking and cursing to the genial companionship of her -husband. - -Meantime the race went on bravely. The two boys for the next ten minutes -retained their respective positions, with, however, one point of -difference. Ezra was swimming in almost a direct line; Clarence was -being carried down the river by the current. As the moments passed, the -distance between the two visibly widened. - -Ben was wringing his hands and frowning. - -“What is it, Ben?” asked Dora. “Is there any danger? Is there anything -wrong?” - -“I’m afraid,” Ben made answer, “that if Clarence doesn’t fight the -current more strongly, he may be carried down below the island. Unless -he’s a wonderful swimmer, there will be danger.” - -Ben’s forebodings promised, as the moments went on, to be justified. -Both boys were nearing the island, Ezra not more than twenty yards below -the point from which he had set out. Clarence quite near the clump of -southernmost willows. - -“Do you think he’ll reach it?” cried the girl. - -“I hope so; I don’t know.” - -Once more Dora fell upon her knees, and crossing herself, prayed with -streaming eyes to the heavenly Mother in whom she ever confided. - -“Look,” cried Ben. “Ezra has reached the island. And Clarence is trying -to swim upstream so as not to miss it. My God!” he continued, “I do -believe he’s giving out!” - -A deathly silence had come upon all. Clarence was swimming wildly. He -had abandoned the sailor stroke and was beating the water with aimless -hands. On the stillness his voice reached them. - -“Help! Help!” he cried. - -Then throwing up his hands, apparently within a few yards of the -willows, he disappeared in the calm river. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - - _In which John Rieler of Campion College, greatly daring, goes - swimming alone, finds a companion, and acts in such a manner as - to bring to Campion College the strangest, oddest boy visitor - that ever entered its portals._ - -It was thirteen minutes to ten on the following morning when Master -John Rieler of Campion College, second-year high, discovered that he -earnestly desired to be excused from the classroom. It was a very warm -day for September, the sun was shining with midsummer fervor, and John -Rieler, who had spent the vacation on the banks of the Miami—whenever, -that is, he did not happen to be between the banks—felt surging within -him the call of the water. John, a smiling, good-natured native of -Cincinnati, was in summer months apparently more at home in the water -than on the land. One of the anxieties of his parents in vacation time -was to see that he did not swim too much, to the certain danger of his -still unformed constitution. - -For various reasons, connected more or less with the discipline of -Campion College, John had had no swim since his arrival seven days -before. He was filled with a mad desire to kick and splash. And so, at -thirteen minutes to ten, he held up the hand of entreaty, endeavoring at -the same time to look ill and gloomy. - -John had figured out everything. As recess was at ten o’clock, the -teacher would not call him to account for failing to return. The recess -lasted fifteen minutes, giving the boy twenty-eight minutes to go to the -river, take a morning splash and return. Of course, there were risks; -but in John’s mind the risks were well worth taking. - -The boy, on receiving permission, was quick to make his way down the -stairs of the classroom building, and, turning to the back of the small -boys’ department and hugging the wall closely, he reached the shaded -avenue leading from Church Street up to Campion College. Along this -avenue was a cement sidewalk bordered on one side by a line of young -poplars and on the other, below a terrace of some three or four feet, by -another of ancient and umbrageous box-elders. The cement walk was too -conspicuous; the graded road beside it equally so. Master John Rieler, -therefore, wisely chose the abandoned path below; and doubling himself -up, so as to escape the attention of the Brother in the garden, ran -swiftly on. Church Street, leading to the city of Prairie du Chien, was -passed in safety. The worst was over. An open road, really an abandoned -street, left to itself by the march of the city northward, the Chicago, -Milwaukee, and St. Paul track, and then, within a few yards, the bank of -the inviting Mississippi. - -A boat-landing, projecting quite a distance into the river, the property -of the Jesuit Fathers at Campion, was awaiting the daring youth from -which to dive. - -He was at the further end of it in a trice, kicked off his shoes and -stockings, and with the amazing rapidity of small boys when so inclined, -was disrobed in almost the time it takes to tell it. With the slight -delay of making a hurried but fervent sign of the cross, John took a -header, rose, struck out vigorously, and having reached a distance -midway between the landing and Campion Island, threw himself contentedly -on his back and floated in an ecstasy of satisfaction. - -“Ah!” he sighed, “how I wish I could stay right here till dinner time.” - -Presently he turned over quietly, and as his ears rose above the water, -he thought he heard a splash a little above him. Beating with hands and -feet, he raised himself as high as he could out of the water and looked -in the direction whence the sound came. - -Was that a hand—two hands—was it the head of a swimmer? John was -puzzled. Even as he looked, the supposed head seemed to disappear. John -swam towards the spot. As he drew near—there could be no mistake that -time—a human head rose to the surface and almost at once disappeared -again! Frantically John swam forward. As he came close to the place -where the head disappeared, a slight bubbling on the water’s surface -caught his eye. Throwing himself forward with one almost super-human -stroke, John reached down with his foremost hand—the right—and caught -an arm. Up there came to the surface the face of a boy, lips ghastly -blue, face deathly pale, corn-flower blue eyes that opened for a moment -and, even as the tongue gasped out, “Help me, for God’s sake,” closed -again. - -Putting his hand under the body of the unresisting boy, John Rieler made -for the shore. It was an easy rescue. The boy on his arm was unconscious -and John Rieler was as much at home in the water as it is possible for -any creature short of the amphibious to be. - -On getting the boy to land, he lifted him upon the wooden platform of -the pier, turned him on his back, raised him up by the feet, and -satisfied that the strangers lungs were not filled with water, rolled -him over face upward and caught him vigorously on both sides between the -ribs. - -“Stop your tickling, Jock,” came a weak voice. Eyes of blue, much bluer -than the swimming suit of their owner, opened and shut again. - -“Say, you’re not dead, are you?” - -“Of course, I’m dead,” replied the blue-eyed one sitting up. “If I -weren’t, do you think I’d be talking to you?” - -“I—I—thought you were drowned.” - -“Well, I’m not. How did I get here?” - -“I fished you out. You were bobbing up and down there, and I just -managed to get you as you went under for the last time, I suppose. How -do you feel now?” - -“Hungry,” said the other, arising. - -“Who are you anyhow?” - -“I’m Clarence Esmond. Say, I’m starving!” And Clarence took a few steps -with some difficulty. - -John Rieler thought quickly, dressing rapidly as he did so. - -“I’ll tell you what,” he said earnestly. “You come with me till we get -to Campion College. I’d like to bring you in myself; but I don’t see how -I can do it without getting into trouble. Come on now; you’re cold, -aren’t you?” - -“Numb to the bone.” - -“Here take my coat till we get to the College. There—that’ll warm you -up some. Can you run?” - -“I can try.” - -“That’ll warm you some more.” With this John Rieler put his arm about -Clarence and swept him up the shore. - -Clarence was exhausted; but the strong arm of the boy held him securely -and so the twain made their way at a brisk trot. - -“Now, look here,” said Rieler as they reached the end of the street, and -stood within a few feet of the Campion faculty residence, “you give me -that coat; I’m going in by the back way. You walk straight on to where -you see those steps. You go up those steps and ring the bell. The -Brother will come, and you just tell him you’re hungry and you want to -see the Rector. Good-bye. Don’t tell anyone you saw me. My name’s John -Rieler. Now be sure and do just what I tell you and keep mum.” - -“Thank you. I—I can’t talk. Good-bye.” - -When the Brother-porter came to the door in response to the bell a -moment later, he jumped back at sight of the apparition in the blue -swimming suit. - -“_Ach Himmel!_” he exclaimed, clasping his hands. The Brother was not an -Irishman. - -“Please, sir, I’m hungry and I want to see the Rector.” - -“Come—this way.” - -Following his startled and disturbed guide, Clarence was escorted into -the parlor. - -“Sit down while I go for the Rector,” and saying something that sounded -like “_Grosser Gott_,” the Brother left Clarence shivering in a chair -and surveying his new surroundings. - -“Oh, Father Rector,” cried the porter as he opened the President’s door, -“there’s a boy in the parlor who’s hungry and wants to see you.” - -The Reverend Rector, busy with the morning’s mail, raised his head and -said: - -“A new pupil, I suppose.” - -“I—I—think not,” answered the Brother, fidgeting upon his feet. - -“Why, what are you so excited about?” - -“He—he’s dressed only in a swimming suit. It’s blue.” - -“Oh, he is. Well, at any rate,” said the Rector, inscrutable of face, -“he’s brought his trunks along.” - -“No, Father, he’s brought nothing but his swimming suit.” - -“Exactly; he’s brought his trunks along. Think about it, Brother, and -you’ll see I’m right.” - -The good Brother has thought about it many a time since that day. He -does not see it yet. - -When, a few moments later, the President of Campion College stepped into -the parlor, he, too, prepared though he had been, was startled beyond -measure. He did not, however, manifest any sign of his feelings. Long -experience in boarding schools had given him the power of preserving -stoical immobility under circumstances no matter how extraordinary. - -It was not, as he had expected, a boy in a bathing suit that confronted -his gaze, but a creature wrapped from head to foot, Indian-like, in a -table covering, predominantly red, appropriated, as was evident, from -the center-table of the parlor. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - - _In which Clarence relieves the reader of all possible doubts - concerning his ability as a trencherman, and the Reverend Rector - of Campion reads disastrous news._ - -Throwing up the window-shades, the President hurried over to the boy, -who had arisen at his entrance, and took a sharp look at the blue lips -and the pallid face. - -“Sit down,” he said, “and wait till I come back.” - -Father Keenan, who at that time happened to be President of Campion -College, bolted from the room—a most undignified thing for a Rector to -do. On his way out, he detected hanging on a chair in the obscurest -corner of the parlor the dripping “trunks” which were still puzzling the -good porter. That much-perturbed man was standing outside in -anticipation of further orders. - -“Brother, go to the refectory and tell the refectorian to get up a quick -breakfast for a hungry boy. Then go to the clothes-keeper and get a -complete outfit of clothes for a fourteen-year-old and have them in the -parlor inside of ten minutes. If the clothes-keeper says he hasn’t any, -tell him to steal them.” - -The words were not well out of Father Keenan’s mouth when he was dashing -along the corridor. The infirmary was close at hand, and the infirmarian -in his office. - -“Here quick, drink this down,” cried the Rector a moment later, putting -to the young Indian’s mouth a small glass of cognac. - -Clarence swallowed it at a gulp, whereupon while he coughed and choked -and sputtered, the Rector, a veritable Good Samaritan, threw a heavy -overcoat, which he had brought with him, over the flaming table cover. - -“Does it burn?” asked the Rector, referring not to the coat but the -cognac. - -“I—I’m not a regular drinker,” said the youth wrapping the coat about -him and breaking into the ghost of his old smile. - -“This way, now,” continued Father Keenan, catching the boy’s arm; and he -led him into the corridor. - -The boy’s steps were faltering, and the Rector at once, noticing his -weakness, caught him about the waist much as John Rieler had done, and -bundled him into the refectory. - -“This way, Father,” said the refectorian, trying to look as though he -were accustomed to feeding bare-legged boys attired in table-covers and -winter overcoats in summer-time; and the “Squire,” as he was popularly -known among the students of Campion, pointed to a seat in front of which -waited a plate of toast, a juicy bit of beefsteak and a huge slice of -cornbread. - -At sight of the food, Clarence slipped from the Rector’s grasp and fell -unbidden into the seat. - -For the next five minutes he showed that in the matter of eating he was -perfectly able to take care of himself. - -The Rector and the Squire interrupted their observation of the much -occupied youth by gazing at each other now and then and exchanging -smiles of wonder and admiration. - -“If you’re thinking of coming to school here, my boy,” observed the -Rector, when Clarence had disposed of all the beefsteak and most of the -toast and three-fourths of the cornbread, “I fancy we’ll have to board -you on the European plan.” - -Clarence lifted his eyes and smiled in his old way. - -“Excuse haste and an empty stomach,” he said. - -The Rector laughed in a manner most undignified. In fact, he was so -undignified, be it said, that everybody respected him. - -“What makes you so hungry?” he asked. - -“Because I’ve eaten nothing since ten o’clock yesterday morning.” - -“Where on earth have you been?” - -“I was with gypsies till yesterday evening; but I left without taking my -supper.” - -“Who in the world are you?” - -“My name is Clarence Esmond. About a week ago I was over at McGregor—” - -“Halloa!” cried the Rector. “Why, they’re dragging the river for you.” - -“They might as well stop; it’s no use,” said Clarence, taking the last -piece of toast and looking regretfully at the empty beefsteak dish. - -“My, but this is an adventure!” exclaimed the President. “So you’re not -a moist corpse after all.” - -The Squire’s eyes were sticking out of his head. - -“If you were only dead,” he said to Clarence, “you’d be worth a thousand -dollars to me.” - -“I’m sorry I can’t please everybody,” said the youth, taking up the last -slab of cornbread. “Am I expected to apologize for being alive?” - -“Did you sleep last night?” continued the Rector. - -“How could I? I was in the river most of the time.” - -“But the river,” said the Rector, “has a very fine bed.” - -Clarence broke into laughter. - -“Thank you so much, sir,” he said, “I never, never, never enjoyed a meal -so much in all my born days.” - -“You’re welcome,” said Father Keenan. He turned to the wide-eyed squire, -adjuring that thoroughly excited young man to go see whether the -complete outfit of clothing were awaiting Clarence in the parlor. Their -talk was brief; but when Father Keenan turned to address Clarence, the -lad’s head was sunk upon his breast. He was sound asleep. - -“Never mind about those clothes, Squire; or, rather, have them sent over -to the infirmary.” Saying which, Father Keenan took Clarence, including -table-cover and coat, in his arms, and conveyed him to the infirmary, -where, warmly wrapped in a comfortable bed, he slept unbrokenly till -after five o’clock in the afternoon. - -Returning to his room, the Rector took up the morning paper. In -examining the mail, he had, when Clarence’s arrival interrupted him, -noticed the large headlines announcing a dreadful railroad wreck in the -west; a broken bridge, a Pullman sleeper and a passenger car immersed in -a flooded river. Suddenly, as his eyes ran down the list of the missing, -he gasped. - -For there in black type were the names of Mr. Charles Esmond, mining -expert, and wife. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - - _In which Clarence as the guest of Campion College makes an - ineffectual effort to bow out the Bright-eyed Goddess of - Adventure._ - -Father George Keenan, while Clarence slept, was an unusually busy man. -He telephoned, he wrote letters, he sent telegrams. All the machinery of -communication was put into requisition. Within an hour the work of -dragging the water near Pictured Rocks was discontinued; by noontime a -telegram arrived saying that Mr. and Mrs. Esmond were still missing and -were in all probability drowned or burned to death; and early in the -afternoon the proprietor of a hotel in McGregor arrived in person. The -Esmonds had been at his place and had gone, leaving as their address -“The Metropole,” Los Angeles, California. But alas, they had not reached -their proposed destination. - -The hotel man was conducted by the Rector into the infirmary and brought -to the side of the sleeping boy. He was breathing softly, the roses had -returned to his cheeks and his head was pillowed in his right hand. - -“That’s him, all right,” said the hotel keeper after a brief survey. -“I’d know him anywheres. There ain’t many boys around here got such rosy -cheeks and such fair complexions. There ain’t many boys who’ve got such -bright, fluffy hair, and I don’t know a single one who’s got his hair -bobbed the way he has.” - -On returning to his room, Father Keenan opened a special drawer in his -desk and sorted out from a bundle of papers an envelope with a post-mark -indicating that it had reached him several days before. He took out the -letter and read it again. - -“Dear Father Keenan: Probably you don’t remember me. I was a boy with -you at St. Maure’s College—and a very poor boy at that. Other fellows -had pocket money; I had none—most of the time. I hadn’t been there long -when you ‘caught on,’ as we used to say. During the five months we were -together you seemed to know when I needed a nickel or a dime, and, in a -way that was _yours_, you managed to keep me supplied. I say it was -_your_ way, for you got me to take the money as though I were doing you -a favor. The amount you gave me must have been six or seven dollars, all -told; and I really don’t think I had sense enough at the time to -understand how really kind you were. Many years have passed, and the -older I get, the more grateful I feel. Up to a few years ago, I had lost -track of you completely. I didn’t know even that you had become a -Jesuit. Well, Father George, I happened to see in our Catholic paper -last week that you were Rector of Campion College, a boarding school. If -you are one-tenth as kind to the boys under your care as you were to me, -you’ll be just the sort of President needed in such a place. The memory -of our days in St. Maure’s has helped me to live a good life and to -practice my faith, surrounded though I be with enemies of the Church. -There are three Catholic families here in a population of three -thousand. God has blessed me in my business. I have my own home, a -loving wife and five of the nicest children in the State of Missouri. -Also, to speak of things more material, a grain store and a comfortable -bank account. - -“I am sending you with this a check for one hundred dollars, payment on -your loans of pocket money with compound interest, and then some. Of -course, you may do with the money as you please. But if I may make a -suggestion—don’t think me sentimental—it would please me if you were -to put aside forty or fifty dollars of it to help out some poor boy in -the way of clothes, books, and pocket money. - -“In sending you this I do not wish you to consider our account closed. -So long as God continues to bless and prosper me, I intend sending you -from time to time—every quarter, I trust—a like donation. May the -money I send do as much good as you did me. - -“I still remember the old boys of our day affectionately. Nearly all of -them were kind to me. One in particular, a black-haired, -dark-complexioned, mischievous little fellow, who was full of heart, I -can never forget. I never met him but he sent me off supplied with -candy. His name was Tom Playfair. What’s become of him? - -“Pray for me, dear Father George, and especially for my wife, who is an -angel, and our children, who promise to be worthy of their mother. My -love and my gratitude go with this letter. - - “Sincerely and gratefully, - “JOHN S. WILCOX.” - -“Strange!” meditated the Rector. “I just remember Wilcox; but I do _not_ -remember ever having given him a cent. Anyhow, I see my way to spend -that fifty dollars as he suggests. Poor Esmond is an orphan, I fear. -Well, the money goes to him.” - -On getting word at half-past five o’clock that Master Esmond was awake -and calling for food, Father Keenan hastened to the infirmary. - -Clarence, fully dressed in a “purloined” set of clothes, was seated at a -table and vigorously attacking a large slab of cornbread, a dish of -hash, and a plate of pancakes. In the attack, executed with neatness and -dispatch, and in which the youth played no favorites, Clarence had -already aroused the amused admiration of the Brother Infirmarian. - -“How do you do, Father Rector?” cried the boy, rising and bowing. “I -feel able now to tell you that I’m grateful to you beyond words for your -kindness. Your breakfast was the best breakfast ever served, that bed I -slept on the softest, this supper the finest I could get, and the -Brother, who’s been waiting on me as though I were the Prodigal Son is -as kind and hospitable as though he took me for an angel.” - -“Nobody would take you for an angel who saw you eating,” said the big -Brother with a chuckle. - -“How do you feel, my boy?” asked the Rector, as, catching Clarence by -the shoulders, he forced him back into his seat. - -“Feel? I feel like a morning star. I feel like a fighting-cock.” - -“Ready, I suppose, for any sort of adventure?” - -Clarence laid down his knife and fork once more. - -“Adventure! Excuse _me_. I’ve got over that period of my life for good. -No more adventures for me. Only a few days ago I came down the street of -McGregor just crazy for adventure. I called her the bright-eyed goddess. -I actually invoked her. I begged her to get out her finest assortment of -adventures and show me. Well, she did. She got hold of me, and she -didn’t let go till I got to bed here this morning. Oh, no. No more -bright-eyed goddess for me. If I were to see her coming along the -street, I’d duck into a back alley. I’m through with her ladyship for -the rest of my natural life.” - -“Indeed?” said the Rector. - -Clarence was mistaken. The bright-eyed goddess was not done with him -yet. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - - _In which Clarence tells his story and gets the Reverend Rector - to take a hand against the Bright-eyed Goddess._ - -“Suppose,” suggested the College President, as Clarence with a sigh of -satisfaction came to an end of his meal, “you tell us your story.” - -“It is a long one.” - -“Wait till I come back,” implored the Infirmarian. “I want to hear it. -I’ve been infirmarian in boarding college a great many years, but I’ve -never yet seen any sick boy quite so healthy and with such an appetite -as Clarence.” - -“Thank you for the compliment, Brother. I often feel like apologizing -for that appetite of mine.” - -“Clarence,” said the Rector as the Infirmarian went off with the empty -dishes, “have you any relations, besides your father and mother, -living?” - -“Just stacks of them, sir.” - -“Where are they?” - -“There are some in England; a lot of them, on my mother’s side, in -Ireland—and oh, yes, I’ve a cousin and his family in New York.” - -“Do you know the address of any of them?” - -“I really don’t. You know I’ve been at Clermont Academy, a boarding -school in New York State, since I was eleven, and I’ve lost track of all -of them pretty much.” - -“What about your cousin in New York City?” - -“I do not even know where he lives. You see, he just came to this -country from Ireland a month ago. He brought his family along, and they -were still looking for a house when I last saw them three weeks ago.” - -“Anyhow, they’re in New York City?” - -“I think that’s pretty certain.” - -“Very good,” said the Rector, taking out a small memorandum book and -making a note. - -“Well, let’s have that story,” cried the big Infirmarian, as he -re-entered. He was eager as a small boy waiting his turn for the pie to -come down the table. - -Clarence began with his departure from McGregor, the climb up and beyond -Pictured Rocks, his long ride on the river, his encounter with the -gypsies, his friendship for Ben, his long talks and walks with Dora, his -troubles with Pete and his shrewish wife, his frequent swims in the -river. - -“And,” he continued, “when I made up my mind to get away somehow or -other, I was hard as nails; I could swim for any length of time, it -seemed to me, without losing my wind or my strength; and I could eat -like a horse.” - -“We all know that,” said the Infirmarian. - -“And how did you manage to escape?” - -“It came about just the way I wanted. Yesterday afternoon we pitched -camp at a place right opposite a long island. I went in swimming and -began to brag purposely to Ezra about what I could do. I let him know -that I thought I could beat him. As a matter of fact, I really think I -can. Ezra bit. He challenged me to race him to the island. That was just -what I wanted. The old hag, Pete’s wife, came over and cursed me, just -before Ben gave us the signal to go. But I didn’t mind that. Curses, -like chickens, come home to roost, you know. - -“Well, at Ben’s word we plunged into the water, and I kept under till I -thought I’d burst. When I came up, I was some distance down stream; and -all the way over I kept drifting down. Of course, it looked as if it -were not done on purpose—at least I think it did. By the time Ezra was -within a few yards of the island almost straight across from where he -had started, I was away down near the end of the island, almost or quite -half a mile away. Then I began to pretend I was trying to swim upstream -and couldn’t do it. When within five yards or so of the very end of the -island where there were lots of willows and bushes, I started to -splashing wildly as though I had lost my head. I turned towards the -shore, gave one last look, and shouted, ‘Help! help!’ I’ll never forget -what I saw in that moment. In front of the tent, Pete’s wife was -standing with her hands—clawlike old talons—stretched out, palms down, -as though she were trying to force me under water; near the edge of the -river, Dora, in her white dress, was kneeling, and I could guess she was -praying for me.” - -Clarence paused a moment. - -“Do you know,” he said gravely, “I feel now as I felt all last night, as -though her prayers kept with me like an army of little angels. Tennyson -says, ‘More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.’ I -knew the line over a year ago. Now I know the meaning. Anyhow, after -giving that yell for help, I let myself sink and then, under the water, -I got to those willows which I forgot to tell you were partly under -water. It seemed to me as I felt my way from trunk to trunk that I’d -explode if I didn’t get air. I’ve stayed under water many a time; but I -never stayed under so long before. When I did come to the surface, I -came up cautiously, came face upward, so as to get just my eyes, my -mouth, and, because I couldn’t help it, my nose out of water. It was all -right. Between me and the gypsies was that clump of willows and I was in -a little bay surrounded on three sides by trees and bushes. I lay on my -back just long enough to get my breath, and kicked myself down till I -came near the end of the inlet. Then I took a deep breath, and dived so -as to get out beyond the island in the main current. The dive was a -success. When I came up, I lay on my back with only my nose sticking out -of the water and let the current carry me along until it grew dark.” - -“What were the gypsies doing?” asked the Brother Infirmarian. - -“I don’t know. I suppose they took it for granted I was drowned. You -see, I wasn’t such a bad actor, and I did my part all right; and -besides, they are very superstitious and believe that Pete’s wife has -all kinds of power. She told them I was to drown, and that made it -doubly certain to them. From what I know of them, I guess Ben came over -and searched for my body half the night.” - -“And what did you do when the dark came on?” asked the Rector. - -“I reversed myself and began swimming. After a while I got awful chilly; -so I went to the bank and went through all sorts of Delsarte movements -to get warm. This took me from fifteen minutes to half an hour. Then I -went in again and swam and floated till I felt I was freezing. I took to -the shore again, and ran and jumped as long as I could, and that’s the -way it went on the whole night. It was the longest night ever. Every -minute got me hungrier and chillier. I didn’t notice the hunger so much; -but it seems to me that I’d never, never be warm again. Oh, wasn’t I -glad when the dawn came, and didn’t I pray for a hot sun. When the sun -did rise, I saw that I was getting near a big town, and I looked about -for some place to land. Somehow, I couldn’t quite make up my mind.” - -“Why not?” asked the Rector. - -“I didn’t like the way I was dressed. Bathing suits are all right for -the water, but for company—I may be all sorts of an idiot, but I’m not -as nervy as the average summer girl. No decent boy is.” - -“Oh, Lord!” gasped the Rector. - -“I beg your pardon, sir?” - -“Go on, my boy.” - -“Well, I got past the city which, I saw on a sign at a boat landing, was -Prairie du Chien, and—no, not quite past. A little after swimming under -the bridge, I saw a building—a great big building that looked like a -college. It was just beyond the railroad tracks, and it had a beautiful -grove of trees just below the building itself. Right on the shore was a -lot of weeds that had been cut and been lying there long enough to dry. -There was nobody in sight, and so I slipped ashore and covered myself up -in the weeds, and tried to get warm. I was there a long time; and it was -a long time before I began to get anyways warm. Oh, it was delicious -that feeling of warmth coming back slowly but surely. Really, I’d have -gone to sleep, only something else began to go wrong.” - -“Did the jiggers get you?” asked the Brother. - -“No; it wasn’t ants or jiggers or bugs of any kind. It was my little -‘tummy.’ The warmer I got, the hungrier I got. If I had a thousand -dollars then, I’d have handed it over gladly for a hunk of bread. After -a while, I forgot I had ever been cold, but I was famishing. So I threw -off the weeds, put on my bathing suit, and started for that building. I -was afraid of my life of being seen by women-folks, so I crawled and -walked and crawled. It was slow work. Well, anyhow, I got to the fence -leading into those grounds and was just climbing over when down from the -building came running and dancing a whole raft of little girls!” - -“You struck St. Mary’s Academy, a boarding school for girls,” said the -Brother, sympathetically. The Rector’s face was buried in his -handkerchief. He was not weeping. - -“One little devil—Oh, excuse me—one little double-pigtailed, -blue-ribboned thing in the lead saw me and let out a yell. That got me -going, and I jumped off that fence and sprinted for the river at the -rate of one hundred yards in 9-4/5 seconds—at least, that’s what I -thought I was doing, and the screams of all those girls behind me helped -me to keep up my clip to the end. I’m sure they thought I was a -burglar.” - -“Anyhow,” said the Rector consolingly, “they won’t know you again.” - -“I should say not. After this I intend paying visits in regulation -costume. Well, then, I got into the river, clean blown. I was too tired -to swim; so I just lay on my back, and paddled now and then with my -feet. The cold got me again in a few minutes; my teeth began to chatter. -Oh, it was awful. And then—then I swam and afterward began to lose all -feeling, and then I lost consciousness and—I got here.” - -“Oh, most lame and impotent conclusion,” said the Rector eyeing the boy -sharply. “You’ve left something out.” - -“So I have, Father, but I don’t think I have any right to tell the last -part.” - -The Rector looked puzzled. - -“Very well,” he said presently. “Even as it is, it is a wonderful story. -In fact, it’s a twentieth century romance. What was the last name of -that child Dora?” - -“Well, I declare!” said the youth. “It never occurred to me to think she -had another name. All I know is that she came from near Dayton, Ohio. -Oh, what an ass I am.” - -“You might sing that opinion of yourself to the air of ‘My Country, ’tis -of Thee,’” suggested the Infirmarian. “We call it the Siamese national -hymn.” And he warbled slowly and solemnly to the well-known national -air, the words, “O Vatana Siam.” “It will do you lots of good when you -feel rather foolish.” - -Just then, and while Master Clarence began assuring himself in liquid -notes of what an awful ass he was, there came a timid knock at the door. - -“Come in,” cried the Infirmarian. - -“Is Father Rector in there?” came a much agitated voice, as the door -opened a few inches without revealing who was without. - -“Excuse me,” said the Rector, leaving the two to sing as a duet “O -Vatana Siam.” Every note of it and the entire sentiment filled Clarence -with pure joy. - -Despite their long drawn and pathetic warbling, the two within caught -the sounds of earnest voices without. After singing the air with the -self-same words nearly a dozen times, and coming at length to the -invariable ending “_Vatana Siam_” in the enunciation of which Clarence -succeeded in outdoing all his previous efforts, the door suddenly -opened, and the Rector entered, bringing with him, very red and very -confused, Master John Rieler. - -“Behold!” he cried, “your preserver, Clarence!” - -“Whoop!” cried the singer, jumping forward and almost throwing himself -into Rieler’s arms. “You’ve told on yourself, have you?” - -“I had to,” said John, shaking Clarence’s two hands. “When I got back to -class I began to worry. It wasn’t the going out of bounds, and it wasn’t -the swim. I guess that finding of you in the water got on my nerves. I -wasn’t scared at the time; but the more I got thinking of it afterwards, -the more scared I got. It seemed so odd. And then I had a lot to explain -to the teacher, and I couldn’t do it. Anyhow, I couldn’t eat any -supper.” - -“Oh, I say!” protested the Infirmarian, who happened to be well -acquainted with Master Rieler’s efficiency as a trencherman. - -“It’s so, all the same. Honest to goodness!” protested the youth, his -eyes and features expressing depths of astonishment at himself. “I just -actually couldn’t eat.” He paused a minute and added wistfully. “I could -now.” - -The Rector had put on his face of Indian immobility. - -“John Rieler,” he said gravely, “there are two things to be considered -in your conduct this morning. First, there is your going out of bounds -and taking a swim without permission. Secondly, there’s your saving -Clarence Esmond from drowning. For the first, you are to be punished.” - -“Father Rector,” protested John earnestly. “I’ll not do it again. I’ll -never jump bounds any more this year. I missed Holy Communion this -morning, and it was a mistake. Right after supper, only a few minutes -ago, I went to Confession, and I hope I’ll never miss a single day’s -Communion till further notice.” - -“Your punishment,” continued the Rector slowly and impressively— - -“Oh, Father,” broke in Clarence in great alarm. - -“Your punishment,” repeated the Rector, looking severely at Clarence, -“will be not to go in swimming on any account, on any pretext, with or -without companions, from the first of December till the first of April.” - -“All right, Father,” said John, humbly. He was filled with a sense of -the terrible penalty exacted of him till he noticed Clarence’s ecstatic -grin. Then his mind fell to considering the dates, and he grinned also. - -“As for saving Clarence’s life,” the Rector went on, “I don’t see well -how I can reward you properly.” - -“I’m worth one thousand dollars, cold,” said Clarence. - -“Exactly,” said the Rector, “and the fact of your being alive does not -depreciate your value entirely.” - -“No, not entirely,” assented the Brother, as though yielding a point. - -“Anyhow, I should like to reward you, John. Now, is there anything -occurs to you I can do for you?” - -“I’m awful hungry,” said John modestly. - -“Appetite,” observed the Rector, “waits on a good confession. Brother, -can’t you set this boy up to something extra?” - -“Beefsteak and onions, cornbread, buttered toast?” cried the Infirmarian -interrogatively. - -Master Rieler had no need to express himself in words. His face showed -glad assent. - -“Come and join me, Clarence,” begged the hero of the day as he seated -himself later to the “spread.” - -“Thank you; I’ve had a good meal already,” answered Clarence, “but I’ll -take just a little to keep you company.” - -His taking “a little” had such an effect upon the Infirmarian that after -watching Clarence’s performance for a few minutes he could no longer -contain himself. - -“Look here, Clarence! If you go on, you’ll swell up and bust.” - -“I’m not swelling so’s I can notice it,” returned Clarence cheerfully. - -Before leaving, Father Rector said: - -“Now, boys, I’m going to my room, and when you have finished your -supper, I want you, John, to bring Clarence to see me. You will wait for -him outside my door. Then I’m going to see the Prefect of Discipline and -have you excused from studies tonight, so you can show Clarence around.” - -There came a babble of enthusiasm from both boys. - -“And besides, while Clarence is our guest, you, John Rieler, are to be -his host.” - -“Oh, thank you, Father,” said John. - -“Do you mean to say, Father Rector, that I may stay here tonight?” asked -Clarence. - -“Yes, my boy”—here the Rector’s voice and face, despite himself, gave -hint of a great pity; “you are to be my guest till we’ve got everything -fixed to see that you are placed in proper care.” - -“Isn’t he a trump!” cried Clarence as the Rector left. - -“Trump! I should say he is.” - -When Clarence was ushered by the proud young host to the Rector’s room, -he was bade to sit down. - -“Well, Clarence, while you were sleeping, I was quite busy on your case. -The hotel-man from McGregor was here and identified you.” - -“Yes?” - -“Yes, and I’ve sent out for all sorts of information.” - -“But, why don’t you wire my father?” - -“The trouble is, Clarence, we don’t know where he is.” - -“He’s at the Metropole Hotel, Los Angeles,” said Clarence. “The -hotel-man could have told you that.” - -“No, Clarence,” said the Rector trying to speak casually, “the train did -not get there yet.” - -“Was it delayed?” - -“Yes. In fact, there was a bad wreck. Some of the cars tumbled into the -water.” - -“And did anything happen to my mother and father?” - -“I hope not. The only thing, my boy, we know is that they are missing. -Anyhow, they are not listed among the injured or the dead. Here, sit -down and look over this account in the paper.” - -The Rector discreetly placed himself in such a position that he could -not see the boy’s face. Clarence read, and after a few lines could not -go on; tears blinded his eyes. For ten minutes, while the Rector busied -himself writing letters, the boy wept, although making pretense of -reading. - -“This is awful, Father,” Clarence at length said. - -“Have hope, Clarence. God has taken wonderful care of you today.” - -“Indeed, He has.” - -“Trust Him, and keep on hoping. As to all details, leave them to me. If -there’s anything to be found out, I’ll get hold of it. In the meantime, -you are the guest of Campion College. Here’s some change—pocket money. -You know, you’ll have to treat John Rieler. And tomorrow you’ll be -fitted out with what clothes you need. God bless you, my boy.” - -“Father, you’re too good. Say, won’t you bless me—give me a priest’s -blessing—the kind I’ve read about in books.” - -“Certainly, Clarence.” - -The boy fell on his knees, and over him stretched the Rector’s hands in -a fervent benediction. - -As Clarence went down the stairs with John, he said: “Say, John Rieler, -I got some bad news and I felt sick all over. And do you know what -happened? The Rector blessed me, and now I could stand anything.” - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - - _In which Clarence begins to admire Campion College, and becomes - the room-mate of a very remarkable young man, as the sequel will - clearly show._ - -“Do you know where you are going to sleep to-night, Clarence?” asked -John, as the two boys, after a long walk on the Bridgeport road, were -returning to Campion. - -“No; where?” - -“You’re going to have the finest room in the house.” - -“Indeed! Where is it?” - -“You see our new classroom building, don’t you?” - -“It seems to me I do.” - -“Well, they say that’s the finest building of its kind in the West. On -the fourth floor there are twenty-one or twenty-two rooms for a few boys -in the college department. All of those rooms are reasonably large, but -there is one big enough for two. There it is—at the south-eastern -corner. It has a window on the east and two looking south. Two brothers -live in it, Will and John Benton. John hasn’t come back to school yet; -he’s not well—and so Will has it to himself, and to-night you are going -to have John’s bed.” - -“Is Will Benton all right?” - -“All right! Say, he’s in the senior class, and he’s Prefect of the -Sodality, and the best all-round athlete, and the best pitcher on the -college team. All right! He’s the best boy in the college; and he goes -to Communion every day. That’s nothing out of the way here. Lots of our -boys do that. But Will Benton keeps it up in vacation time, too.” - -“That’s funny,” mused Clarence. “In the last few days I’ve begun to meet -Catholics. The first one I met was that little girl, Dora. She began her -kidnaping story by telling me she used to go to Communion every day till -she fell into the hands of the gypsies. Then you yank me out of the -water, and when the Rector says he is going to punish you, up you speak -and tell him you’re going to Communion every day. And now, I suppose -you’re going to bring me up to introduce me to Will Benton, and _he_ -goes to Communion every day.” - -“Yes; we’re going up now, for it’s nearly bedtime. Most of us go to -Communion every day, you know, to help us keep from sin. And it does, -too. A boy who knows he’s going to Communion tomorrow is mighty careful -about what he says and what he listens to.” - -“I am beginning,” said Clarence, “to be quite pleased with the Catholic -Church.” - -“I’m sure the Church,” retorted John, “will be proud and happy to know -it has gained your approbation.” - -“Seriously,” said Clarence, “I’ve changed my ideas completely since I -met Dora. If she’s a specimen of the Catholic Church, I want to join.” - -“What! Aren’t you a Catholic?” - -“No. Who knows but I may be some day?” - -“I thought you were a Catholic all along. Here we are,” continued John, -as they entered the classroom building. “Let’s go up quietly. The boys -are in the study hall now. Say,” he added, gleefully, as they reached -the second story, “look in there; just see what I’m missing.” - -“What a big hall!” exclaimed Clarence. - -“Everything in this building is big,” said John with conscious pride; -“the playroom and the dormitory and the classrooms, and the science -department——they’re all big.” - -“I think,” replied Clarence, “that, from your description, the place -will suit me perfectly. In fact, I’ve a mind to buy it. Name your -price.” - -“For a fellow who arrives at Campion College in a bathing suit and -nothing else, you’ve got the most wonderful nerve. Ah! here we are. This -is your room for the night.” - -“Come in,” said a rumbling voice in answer to John’s knock. - -“I’ve brought him, Will. Here’s the boy who came to College down the -river, Clarence Esmond.” - -“Welcome, Clarence. You’re to be my guest for to-night and so long as -you choose the room is yours. I’ve heard something of your story; in -fact, everybody knows how you got here. I hope you’ll enjoy every minute -of your stay.” - -Will was a ruddy-cheeked young man of fully six feet, with tremendous -shoulders and chest, and a voice that would compete, not without hope of -victory, with a bass drum. His smile alone was enough to win him -friends. - -“Glad to meet you, Will,” said Clarence. “John here has been telling me -all about you. He says you’re Prefect of the Senior Sodality. What does -that mean?” - -“Aren’t you a Catholic?” - -“No.” - -“Well, the Sodality is organized to honor the Blessed Mother of God, by -getting its members to lead a good Catholic life and by doing good -works. The Prefect is the leading officer; and he’s supposed, though it -may not be always the case, to have special love for Mary and to show it -in his life.” - -“By George,” said Clarence, “here it is again. The first Catholic I ever -met to talk with was a little girl with the gypsies, and almost as soon -as she and I got to talking together, she began telling me about the -Blessed Mother and singing her praises.” - -“Was the girl a gypsy?” asked Will. - -“No; she was captured in Ohio during the flood, last May.” - -“Oh; that awful flood!” said Will, his cheerful grin deserting him. “I -lost my little sister in that flood, too.” - -“Are you from Ohio?” - -“Yes, and my sister’s body wasn’t recovered till two weeks after she was -drowned. Well, let’s change the subject. I hate to think of it.” - -Within an hour Will Benton and Clarence had become fast friends. Within -another, the much-wandering youth, satisfied that his adventures were -over, had fallen into a dreamless sleep, little suspecting the amazing -events that the morrow was destined to bring. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - - _In which the Bright-eyed Goddess comes to bat again, and - promises to win the game._ - -A pillow flung by the accurate arm of Will Benton early the following -morning caught the sleeping visitor on the head. - -“Eh, what is it?” cried Clarence, sitting up. - -“It’s sunrise, boy. Just look out that window and see how beautiful the -new-born day can be when it wants to.” - - “‘Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day - Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top.’” - -And as Clarence quoted the well-known lines, he jumped from bed and -slipped quickly into his clothes. - -“You read Shakespeare?” asked Benton, rubbing his eyes. - -“Of course; I’ve been reading him off and on for the last two years. -Say, what comes next?” - -“We have morning prayers and Mass in a few minutes. Would you like to -attend?” - -“I certainly would. Dora explained to me a lot about the Mass.” - -“Dora?” - -“Yes; that was the little girl’s name.” - -“Strange!” murmured Benton. “Well, hurry on now. Here’s a prayer-book -with the parts of the Mass marked out. You may use it, if you wish.” - -Clarence was profoundly impressed by what he saw in the chapel. The -boys—full, in ordinary, of mischief and life—were going about their -devotions in earnest. - -Clarence was seated next to John Rieler. That youth, when he was not -singing lustily with the others, had his face buried in his prayer-book. -Religion, Clarence perceived, entered intimately into the lives of -nearly all these boys. - -He was escorted by Rieler to breakfast, where he inspired much respect -among the boys of the particular table at which he sat by his -workmanlike way of getting through with the dishes served him. - -The morning was devoted to shopping. Attended by the Brother -Infirmarian, Clarence went to the city proper of Prairie du Chien, where -in the course of an hour he was provided with a complete outfit of shoes -and clothing. - -After a hearty dinner, John Rieler brought Clarence out upon the campus. - -“Say!” the youngster said, admiringly, “you ought to send this campus on -east. Lots of our colleges would be willing to buy it. It’s one big -level—acres and acres of it—and all you’ve got to do is to walk out of -your classroom building, and you’re right on it. At the academy I went -to, we used to go around to a good many other schools in the baseball -and the football season; but I must say I never saw a campus anything -near so good as this, and only one or two as handy.” - -“We’re thinking of taking out a patent on it, and we are rather proud of -it. The only thing is that we find it quite hard to live up to such a -fine campus.” - -“Say, this is a funny school,” Clarence remarked. A number of the -smaller boys were now gathered about him. They had heard of his -tremendous swim down the river and of his escape from the gypsies, and -made little attempt to conceal their admiration. In fact—a very unusual -thing—they insisted upon being introduced. - -“What’s funny about our school?” inquired one of the boys when Clarence -had shaken hands with each and all. - -“Why, you study here!” - -“Study! What did you expect?” asked Rieler. “This isn’t exactly a health -resort. All the same, study is no interruption to games. We manage to -get a good deal in during each day.” - -“This is our half holiday and we’re going to have a game of ball at -two,” said a stocky youth with a freckled face and a substantial smile, -“and the shortstop on our team is going down town to have his picture -taken or some such foolishness. Will you help us out?” - -“Delighted,” said Clarence. “I’ve played several positions, but -shortstop is my favorite.” - -Clarence, from the very outset of the game realized that he was the hero -of the hour. Nearly all of the junior division boys not engaged in the -game chose to be spectators. - -Clarence rose to the occasion. The second batter up of the opposing team -sent him a sharp grounder. He captured it on a very ugly bound, whirled -it to the second baseman, who in turn threw it to first. It resulted in -a pretty double play. - -Then the onlooking small boys broke into cheers and yells, making at the -same time lively demonstrations with legs and arms. - -“Gee!” exclaimed an enthusiast near third base. “I hope he’ll stay -here.” - -On coming to bat, Clarence sent a liner over second, and reaching first, -kept right on while the center fielder was throwing the ball in. When, a -moment later, Clarence stole third and came in on an out at first, the -storm of applause broke out again. - -“Take off your hat,” said Rieler to the run-getter. - -“Shucks!” said Clarence. “Say, here comes Will Benton, and he looks -excited.” - -“Hey, Clarence,” shouted Benton as soon as he was within hailing -distance, “Father Rector wants you at once. It’s important and he says -you’re to bring John Rieler along, too.” - -For the first and only time in his life, Master Clarence surrendered his -place in a ball contest willingly. Even Rieler, who next to swimming -loved the national game, called with alacrity for a substitute. - -“Hang baseball,” he said recklessly, as accompanied by Clarence and -Will, he hastened toward the Rector’s room. “We can play that any fine -day. But it’s nice to be with you, Clarence Esmond. I’ve a feeling that -when I’m with you there’s something going to happen.” - -“You may be only half in earnest, Rieler,” said Will Benton; “but the -fact is I’ve got the same feeling myself. My firm belief is that Master -Clarence’s bright-eyed goddess of adventure hasn’t lost her grip on her -young victim yet. She’s got him hoodooed.” - -“See here, you fellows,” remonstrated Clarence, “talk about something -pleasant. What I want is a quiet life.” - -“You’ll get a quiet life—somewhere, some day,” said Benton, “but I’ve a -feeling in my bones that you’re not out of the woods yet.” - -“I feel just that way, too,” added Rieler. - -The Reverend Rector dressed in his street clothes was awaiting them at -the entrance to the faculty building. - -“Ah, Clarence,” he said, “are you ready for another adventure?” - -“Anything but that, Father.” - -“Oh yes, you are.” - -“Never again, Father.” - -“Very well; if that’s the case, we’ll drop it,” and the Rector assumed a -look of disappointment. - -“Drop what, Father?” - -“Nothing much. You know, I’ve had the station agents about the river -line to be on the lookout for that gypsy camp. We’ve got them located, -or at least we know about where they are.” - -“And,” cried Clarence, growing very red, “we’ve got a chance to save -Dora?” - -“That was my idea,” said Father Keenan. “I thought you were interested -in the girl. But of course, if you don’t care for any more -adventures——” - -“Oh, Father, I take it back. I’d lose an arm or a leg—I’d lose anything -to save that poor little child from the hands of Pete.” - -“Ah!” said the Rector, “you really don’t know what you want sometimes. -Now, boys, there’s a machine awaiting us at the side of this house, and -if you would like to go, Rieler——” - -“Like it! I’d not miss it for ten years of my life,” cried Rieler, -ecstatically. - -“And you, Will Benton? We may need your strong arm.” - -“Father Rector, I consider this invitation the greatest privilege you’ve -ever granted me, and goodness knows you’ve been giving me every favor -you could since I came to Campion. Clarence has told me a good deal -about that little girl-saint, and I’d do anything to save her.” - -The four knights-errant had by this time taken their places in the -automobile. Father Keenan gave the chauffeur a few words of instruction, -and with a speed exceeding the limit allowed in any known State, county, -city, or village of the United States the machine shot down Minnesota -Avenue. - -“Now, listen, boys,” said Father Keenan, as they swept past the Bohemian -Catholic Church. “Yesterday, I got the local station agent, who is a -very good friend of mine, to make inquiries northward about any gypsies -who might be seen. Just a few minutes ago he sent me word that a message -had come from Lynxville, to the effect that a party of gypsies had -camped three miles below that village.” - -“What time did he get the message?” asked Clarence. - -“Just at a quarter past two,” said the Rector, “and he sent the news -within fifteen minutes of the gypsies’ arrival there. A friend of his -happened to be automobiling, saw the gypsies pitch tent, and hurried at -once to let him know.” - -“If they camped at two,” said Clarence, “they’ll probably stay for their -noon-day meal, and won’t start off till half past three or four. Can we -get there before then?” - -Father Keenan looked at his watch. - -“I’m afraid not,” he said. “It’s now twenty minutes to three. Who knows? -If our chauffeur keeps up this clip, we may catch them.” - -“And when we do catch ’em,” asked Rieler, “what are we going to do with -’em?” - -“How many men are in the crowd, Clarence?” asked the Rector. - -“Let’s see. There’s Ben, but you needn’t count him. He’ll be with us if -it comes to a row. Then there’s Pete, the leader, his two grown sons, -and Ezra. Just four in all.” - -“I rather think,” said the Rector, “that we can manage things without -getting the sheriff of Lynxville to come to our help with a posse.” - -“Sure thing,” exclaimed John Rieler, his eyes dancing with enthusiasm. -“I’m only sixteen myself, but I’m feeling pretty good, and I would like -to tackle Pete.” - -“I’ve whipped Ezra once,” cried Clarence, forgetting his avowed distaste -for adventure, “and I feel pretty sure I can do it again.” - -“I don’t want to blow,” said the brawny muscular giant who was Prefect -of the Sodality, “but I really think I’d like to tackle those two older -sons of Pete myself.” - -“And where do I come in?” asked the Rector. - -“You’ve got the worst job of all, Father,” said Clarence, grinning. -“You’ll have to take care of Pete’s wife. For myself, I’d as soon fight -a bunch of wild-cats. I think she’s possessed by the devil.” - -“Well, boys,” said the Rector after a moment’s reflection, and with a -certain tone of regret, “I’m not a fighting man. My cloth forbids it. If -possible, we must get Dora without striking a blow.” - -John Rieler sighed like an auto in full speed with the muffler open. - -“We’re going to get Dora anyhow,” pleaded Benton. - -“Oh, yes; we’ll get her, no doubt. Now here’s the way we’ll go about it. -When we arrive at the camp, Clarence and John Rieler and myself will -visit the gypsies. You, Will Benton, will remain in the automobile with -the chauffeur.” - -“Father, won’t you please let me in on this?” pleaded the chauffeur, -opening his mouth for the first time. “If there’s any fighting to be -done, I’d like to have a chance.” - -“But we’re not looking for a fight,” persisted the Rector, who was -clearly on the unpopular side. “Anyhow the three of us will visit the -gypsies, and I’ll do the talking. It is my intention to ask for the -release of Dora, and, if refused, try to scare the gypsies into giving -her up. While I’m talking I’ll take stock of their forces. If I see that -we’ll have to fight for it, I’ll raise my hand—my right hand—so.” - -And the Rector raised a closed hand with the index finger pointing -upward. “That will mean, Benton, that you are to put on all speed for -Lynxville, get the sheriff and one other man without delay. But if I see -my way to getting the girl without a fight, I’ll raise both hands -upwards, and that means that you two are to step out of the machine and -join us.” - -“All right, Father,” said Will. “But I think we can fix things without -any sheriff.” - -During the conversation the machine had been whizzing past hamlet, field -and forest. Not once since leaving Prairie du Chien had their speed -lessened. - -“Now, boys,” said the Rector, after the lapse of several minutes, “we’re -getting pretty near the place. Suppose we keep silent. Go slowly, now, -chauffeur, and make as little noise as possible. And while we’re silent, -let us all say a little prayer that we may succeed.” - -The machine went forward slowly, cautiously. Clarence noticed the lips -of John Rieler moving. Will Benton had removed his hat and sat with head -bowed. Several minutes passed in perfect silence. Then the Rector -touched the chauffeur’s arm. The machine stopped. - -“Look,” whispered the Rector, pointing toward an open space on the -river’s edge. - -All turned eagerly. - -A little tent—Dora’s tent—rose within thirty yards of them; only the -one tent—nothing more. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - - _In which one surprise follows so closely upon the heels of - another that Masters Esmond and Rieler lose power of speech and - Will Benton strikes a blow which will live forever in the - traditions of Campion College._ - -“Follow me—quietly,” whispered Father Keenan to the two boys, -Clarence and John. - -In single file the three threaded their way through the shrubbery. -Suddenly the Rector paused, and put his finger to his lips. - -“Listen,” he said. - -“Ben,” came a clear, sweet voice, “do you believe everything that the -Catholic Church believes and teaches?” - -There was a response pitched so low that the listeners as they pressed -steadily forward failed to hear it. - -“And do you forgive all who have injured you?” - -Clarence thought he could detect Ben’s voice saying—“Yes, yes: I do.” - -“And do you forgive Pete?” - -“Yes, from my heart.” The three were now quite near and the deeper voice -of Ben could clearly be heard. - -“And, Ben,” continued the silvery voice, “you wish to die a Catholic?” - -“I do—I do.” - -“And to be baptized?” - -“Yes, Dora.” - -“You must know, Ben, that when no priest can be had, anyone may, in case -of necessity, baptize. Now, I am going to the river for water; and while -I’m gone tell God that you are sorry for your sins.” - -Suddenly, the flap of the tent was thrown back, and Dora, like some -heavenly apparition, stood revealed. Her face was stained with tears. -For the rest, she was in modesty, in expression in dress—blue and -white—a Child of Mary. - -“Dora,” cried Clarence, no longer able to contain himself. “O, -Clarence,” cried the child throwing herself into his arms. “Pete has -killed Ben. He stabbed him an hour ago, because Ben defended the statue -of our Blessed Mother from Pete and his wife. They were going to burn -it.” - -“Dora,” said Clarence, “there’s a priest here.” And he pointed to Father -Keenan. - -“O, thank God! thank God! He has sent you to prepare Ben,” and the child -threw herself at Father Keenan’s feet, and in all reverence, kissed his -hand. - -The practical Father Keenan, as she did so, took the glass from her -fingers, and handed it to Rieler. - -“Run to the river, John, and get some water.” Then raising Dora kindly, -and throwing his hands above his head, the preconcerted signal, the -Rector hastened into the tent. - -“Dora! Dora!” came a deep voice as the girl was about to follow the -priest. - -Clarence turned. Will Benton, pale as a sheet, his eyes starting from -their sockets, was hastening toward them. He was holding out his arms -toward the girl, amazement and incredulity upon his face. - -Dora turned. An astounding change came at once upon her face at sight of -Will Benton. Pure joy irradiated it. - -“O Will! my dear Brother Will,” she cried; and darting forward threw -herself into his outstretched arms. - -“But,” cried Will, as he caught her up and pressed her to his bosom, -“you were drowned. We buried you.” - -“No, you didn’t, Will. Thanks to our Blessed Mother, I was saved. A -gypsy saved me, Will; and now he’s dying in my tent, dying because he -gave his life to save me from the gypsy leader and to preserve our -Blessed Mother’s statue from insult. Come, Will, let us see him before -he dies.” - -Clarence and John Rieler, grouped together and holding each others -hands, stood stock-still gazing open mouthed. They looked at each other, -as Will and Dora made for the tent, with unutterable awe. Speech was -inadequate; and still linked together they followed the brother and -sister within. - -On Dora’s couch, above him the dear statue for which he had given his -life, lay Ben, the sweat and the pallor of death upon his face. On one -side, his wife was staunching vainly a gash in his side. On the other, -leaned the Rector, talking earnestly in low tones to the dying man. No -king could have been more stately in life than was Ben in his dying -moments. No saint could have been more humble. Crouching in one corner, -wide-eyed and silent, were Ben’s three little children. - -“Are all here?” asked the Rector rising and gazing around. “I want you -all to see Ben baptized.” - -“O dear Ben, we are all here and we all love you,” cried Dora. “And -here’s my brother Will, come to see you, too. Will, Ben has been so good -to me. I love him as though he were another father.” - -The dying man turned dark, wistful eyes to the big brother. - -“Will you forgive me? I love Dora,” he said simply. - -“And I love anyone that is kind to my sister,” boomed forth Will -Benton’s hearty voice. “Your hand, Ben. May God be as good to you as you -have been to her.” - -“Clarence,” cried the dying man, “will you forgive me too. I have been -bad, I am sorry.” - -Clarence essayed to speak, but before he could enunciate a syllable fell -to blubbering. But he caught Ben’s hand and fondled it. - -“I am glad I was stabbed,” said Ben simply, “in trying to save that -statue of the very good woman who was the mother of God, I believe. I -want to be baptized.” - -John Rieler was dabbing his eyes. - -“Let all kneel down,” said the Rector. - -Even the gypsy children, following the example of Dorcas, fell upon -their knees, and then, the priest pouring water on Ben’s head said -solemnly, “I baptize thee in the name of the Father and of the Son and -of the Holy Ghost.” - -Dora slipped over and pressed her lips to the newly regenerated one’s -brow. Dorcas followed the child’s example and, turning to the priest, -said: - -“Father, baptize me and my children.” - -“Not yet, my child,” said Father Keenan. “Wait a little longer, so it -can be done in church. Boys, kneel down, while we say the prayers for -the dying.” - -Suddenly Ben raised his head. - -“Clarence and Dora,” he cried. - -“Yes,” answered both coming to his bedside. - -“Take care of Dorcas, my wife, and my children. Make them good -Catholics.” - -“Yes, Ben,” said Dora. - -“Yes, Ben,” said Clarence. - -“O,” said the poor fellow—poor, that is according to the world’s -standard—“how happy I am. I am ready to——” - -He fell back unconscious. - -The Rector who had taken out his “Excerpts from the Roman Ritual,” -began, at once, the Litany of the Dying. Before the final invocation was -uttered, Ben, the simple, the loving, the repentant, breathed his last. - -“Let all leave the tent,” said Father Keenan, on coming to an end of the -prayers for the dying, “except the wife and the children. Wait for me -without. I will be with you in a few minutes.” - -Dora, weeping freely, caught her big brother’s arm. Clarence and John -followed the two. There was, quite near the river, an avenue formed by -nature, a clear space of nearly a hundred yards in length, bounded on -the river side by willows and cottonwoods with a dense growth of -shrubbery below, on the other by majestic elms. Up and down this court -of nature walked brother and sister followed by the two amazed boys. The -stabbing of Ben, his beautiful death, the reuniting of brother and -sister had come together so closely, one upon the heels of the other, -that Clarence and John were almost speechless. When they did speak, it -was in interjections. - -Will quickly comforted his little sister. His task was, indeed, not so -difficult. News from home, news of the dear ones is to the exile one of -the most engrossing things in the world. And it was all good news. -Everyone was well, business was flourishing; the only sorrow that had -fallen upon the family was the loss of Dora—and that sorrow was now -turned into exquisite joy for Will, as it would be for his parents and -the children when they received the good tidings by wire that very day. - -“And, Will,” said Dora, “I don’t regret all that has happened. It was -bitter to be away from mama and all the dear ones at home; and it was -hard to miss Holy Communion; and I was so afraid of Pete and his wife -all the time; but it’s all over now. Tomorrow, please God, I will go to -Communion once more; and then home, home, home!” - -The child’s eyes shone with joy. They had reached the end of the avenue, -and turning started back. Clarence and John were now in the advance. - -“As likely as not,” said Will, holding his sister’s hand, “father, on -getting the telegram tonight, will take the train at once. I’m sure he -will; and if mother can get away, she will come, too. I’ll wire them on -the road back to Campion. But why, Dora, do you say you’re not sorry for -all that happened?” - -He paused, as he asked this question, directly before a thick clump of -bushes, and, catching Dora’s two hands in his, gazed lovingly and -eagerly into her starry eyes. - -“Because,” answered the girl simply, “I believe I have helped to save -the soul of dear, good, kind Ben. Oh, how happy I was when the priest -poured the water on him and baptized him in the name of the Father and -of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.” - -Will Benton, still gazing into the eyes of his sister, thought he heard -proceeding from the bushes which he was facing a low, sibilant sound. It -was not the hiss of a snake; it was the hiss of hate. His keen eyes -darted from Dora’s and peered into the bushes. In a flash he threw the -girl violently to one side, flinging her to the ground, and with a -spring crashed into the shrubbery. He was not a moment too soon. Behind -the bushes, an immense boulder in his right hand, a man, whose eyes shot -hate and whose features were demon-like with passion, was in the very -act of bringing it down upon the unsuspecting girl’s head. - -It was not a moment too soon: Ben caught the man’s upraised arm and gave -it a wrench which sent the boulder thudding to the earth. That wrenched -arm was never to be used again. A howl of pain arose which was stilled -as suddenly as it began; for, still holding the paralysed arm in his -grasp, Will Benton struck out with his left hand. It was an awful blow. -Its receiver as it struck him under the jaw lost voice, and crumpled to -the earth. - -“Oh!” cried Dora, who had arisen, “it’s Pete.” - -Will Benton drew the girl to his side. - -“I know now,” he exclaimed, “why you feared him. I saw his face for a -second, and there was murder in it, murder and hell.” - -The two boys who, hearing the short-lived scream of the gypsy, had -turned in time to see the memorable blow which had brought Pete to -earth, were gazing in awe at the Prefect of the Sodality. It was -something to be remembered. It was a blow which was to go down in the -traditions of Campion College. For Pete, the murderer of Ben, the -would-be murderer of Dora, never came to face trial. He lingered for -several weeks. But the blow made trial unnecessary. - -“O Will!” cried John Rieler, “how did you manage to see him hiding -there?” - -“He gave himself away,” answered the young giant. “His fury and hatred -got the better of him. When Dora spoke about Ben’s dying a Catholic and -used the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, he couldn’t stand it. -He had his arm raised holding that stone, and was just about to bring it -down on Dora’s head. A hiss escaped him, and I spied him while his arm -was still moving: and—and—I really don’t know how I caught him in -time.” - -Father Keenan arrived at this juncture; and the two boys and Dora all -began explaining at once. Out of the babel he gathered that Pete who, -after stabbing Ben, took flight with his wife and kinsfolk, had -returned—as murderers sometimes do—to find out the result of the -stabbing; how his hatred goaded him on to attempt Dora’s life, and how -the brother with lightning speed had inflicted with his one hand a -wrench, and with the other a blow which no one who had seen them could -ever forget. - -“Dan,” called Father Keenan to the chauffeur, having ascertained that -Pete was alive, “get busy. Bring Pete to the Sheriff at Lynxville; hire -another automobile—a large one for Dorcas and her children. We are -going to bring Ben’s body to Prairie du Chien. I shall go with them. And -come back here as fast as you can. We’ll be ready to start long before -that.” - -The Rector and the chauffeur put the insensible Pete in the tonneau. - -“One moment, Dan,” said Will Benton, who had taken out a pad and written -a few lines. “If Father Rector has no objection, I’d like you to send -this telegram to my father.” Then he read aloud: “Dora alive, well, and -found. She is with me. Hurrah!—Will Benton.” - -“Good for you, Will,” said the Rector. “Your mind works as well as your -fists. Thank you, for reminding me.” - -Before the return of the chauffeur, the Gypsy camp was dismantled, the -tent, converted into a shroud for Ben, the furniture abandoned, and the -precious statue placed in the hands of Dora, who vowed she would keep it -as long as she lived. - -Master John Rieler took little hand in these preparations for departure. -He could not remove his eyes from the giant Prefect of the Sodality. -Will Benton was considered the gentlest boy in attendance at Campion -College. John was bursting to be back and to tell the boys the wonderful -blow he had seen with his own eyes. - -The kind Rector gave all his attention to Dorcas and her children. He -soothed as much as was in his power the awful hours when death is the -family visitant. The machines arrived sooner than they were expected. -The Rector went off first with the sorrowing wife, her children and the -dead. - -John still stood staring wide-eyed at Will Benton; remained thus while -the young man assisted his sister into the machine and followed himself. - -“Oh, it is excellent to have a ‘giant’s strength,’” said Clarence, -catching John’s arm. - -Rieler came to from his trance, and smiled enthusiastically. “Oh, -Crickey!” he answered, “you bet it is.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - - _In which there are a joyful return, a sad duty and a picnic, - ending with a reunion of loved ones._ - -The ride back to Campion College, so far as the boys and Dora were -concerned, was a thing of joy. Dora nestled beside her brother and gazed -her fill of that splendid young man. John Rieler, seated on the other -side, took his share of the gazing; love was in Dora’s eyes; admiration, -deep, unspeakable admiration, in John’s. Occasionally, he put forth a -timid hand to feel the muscle of the strong left arm. - -“Will is a southpaw,” he explained to Clarence, when that watchful youth -happened to catch him in the act. - -“What does he diet on?” asked Clarence seriously. - -But Dora’s admiration was not confined to her big brother. She drew from -the willing lips of Clarence an account of his arrival at Campion -College. In detailing Rieler’s share in the event Clarence waxed so -eloquent that the young water-rat flushed furiously. - -In a word, the little party, very soon resolved itself into a highly -satisfactory mutual admiration society, of which Will Benton, in view of -his recent exploit, was incontrovertibly the uncrowned king. - -“Clarence,” said the giant, “it is owing to you that my sister has been -found. You have put our family under an obligation we shall never -forget.” - -“If John hadn’t fished me out of the river, she’d be with the gypsies -yet,” said Clarence. “Thank John and not me.” - -“And,” said John, “if you hadn’t cranked Pete’s hand and struck out with -your good left arm there wouldn’t be any Dora to save. Thank yourself.” - -“It is Dora that has saved me,” said Clarence. - -“I? How, Clarence?” - -“Well, you got me to thinking right about the Catholic Church. I was -almost ready to join when I left you by the river route. The boys at -Campion—especially John and Will—got me to thinking of it still more. -But when I heard you as we got near your tent, talking to Ben and asking -him if he wanted to be baptized, there seemed to be a sort of explosion -in my brain. When it passed away, I was determined to be a Catholic. All -hesitation was gone. If that Church doesn’t save my soul, nothing can do -it.” - -“Say, Clarence,” said Dora with a smile, “how about that lawyer?” - -“Lawyer?” - -“Yes: you proposed to adopt me. Can’t we find the right man at Prairie -du Chien? Clarence,” exclaimed the child to her brother, “told me one -day at the gypsy camp that he proposed to adopt me, because he had no -sisters of his own.” - -“I’d be delighted,” broke in Will Benton, “to have you as a brother, -Clarence: you have been in very deed, a brother to my little sister. She -told me all about your lively scrap with Ezra. And I’m sure my father -and mother would make our home yours.” - -Clarence, thinking of his own dear ones, struggled hard to keep down his -emotion. His lips quivered. - -“O, I beg pardon!” said Will much confused. “I forgot.” And in a few -words he told Dora of the railroad accident. - -“Clarence,” said Dora, “did you pray to our Blessed Mother for the -safety of your parents?” - -“Yes;” said Clarence humbly: “I thought of what you would do, and so I -prayed to her.” - -“I’ll join with you. And tomorrow, Clarence, I’m going to Communion -again. Oh, I never felt so happy in all my life. I’m going tomorrow.” - -“We’ll all go tomorrow,” added Rieler, “and we’ll all pray for your -parents.” - -And then the four innocents fell to laughing and talking till at length -Campion College was reached. - -Dora at once demanded a confessor; and while John Rieler hastened to do -her bidding, Clarence and her brother brought her to the students’ -chapel. For the first time in four long, long months, Dora had the -privilege of visiting the Blessed Sacrament. Presently a confessor -arrived, the young sinner entered the confessional, and came out within -a few minutes in an almost perceptible aura of peace and joy. - -The President, in the meantime, had returned. He was awaiting them -outside. - -“Well,” he said, “everything has been arranged. Ben is to be buried at -the Bohemian Church tomorrow at seven o’clock. Will Benton, you should -serve; and you may get John Rieler to help you.” - -“Thank you, Father,” cried Will. - -“On Sunday next—the day after—Ben’s wife and children will be received -into the Church. They are now quartered with a friend of mine in the -lower town.” - -Dora grew happier than ever. - -“I want to be received with them, Father,” pleaded Clarence. - -“I can’t grant you that permission, I fear, Clarence. Besides, you need -instruction.” - -“But I’ve had instruction already—at least,” Clarence added, correcting -himself, “I’ve had some. Dora told me a lot, and I’ve done some -reading.” - -“And I’ll teach you enough, Clarence, before Sunday,” said the girl. - -“Well, we’ll see,” said Father Keenan. - -The group, as this conversation went on, was moving slowly towards the -concrete walk which fronts the entire line of the main Campion College -buildings. In the meantime, Master John Rieler had been holding -spellbound nearly every lad of the Junior division with his account of -Dora’s rescue, and of Will Benton’s wrench and blow. As the party then -reached the walk, coincidently with the conclusion of John Rieler’s -exciting narrative, the small boys, detecting their approach, spread out -and, keeping at a respectful distance, devoured with their eyes -Clarence, who swam to Campion; Dora, who lived a gypsy life four months; -and, though his face had been familiar enough, the big Prefect of the -Sodality. It is only fair to state that it was to Will Benton that they -paid the most respectful attention. He was the hero of the hour. The -Rector—a most unusual thing—was hardly considered. - -Dora smiled and waved her hand. - -“Three cheers for the Gypsy Queen,” yelled an enthusiast. They were -given with wild and artless energy. - -“And three cheers for Strong-Arm,” piped another. The cheers were -deafening: Bedlam had broken loose. - -“Let’s run,” said Will to Dora. - -The child took him at his word: and the two darted along the walk, and -tripped up the steps of the middle building. - -The Rector with Clarence caught up with them shortly. - -“Dora,” he said, “we have no place for you here; but there’s a nice -family just north of our residence building who’ll keep you as long as -you’re with us. I’ve sent them word already, and they have prepared a -fine supper—a sort of banquet, for you and Will and Clarence and John -Rieler.” - -“Did I hear my name?” asked John, just then joining the group. - -“Yes, you go to the banquet, too.” - -“Oh,” said John, “this whole thing is like taking candy from a child. -Say, Clarence,” he added in a whisper, “they’ve got a first-class cook -there, and I am hungry.” - -“I feel that way myself,” admitted Clarence. - -“I’ll wager,” said the Rector, his eyes twinkling, “that you two are -talking about the supper.” - -“We just said we were hungry,” explained Rieler. - -“For that matter, I’m famishing myself,” said the Prefect of the -Sodality. - -“And I’m hungry, too,” added Dora. - -“Very good: clear out all of you, and you boys will be back in time for -night prayers.” - -And away they scampered like children—the big fellow, “Strong-Arm,” -leading in the romp. - - * * * * * - -The funeral of the faithful and well-beloved Ben was simple and solemn, -and the mourners fit though few. The Reverend Rector himself offered up -the holy sacrifice of the Mass. Very quietly the simple cortege -proceeded to the Catholic burying ground; and when the last shovelful of -earth was thrown on the coffin Dora stepped forward and laid upon the -mound the flowers such as Ben once joyed to collect and place at the -shrine of “that good woman who was the Mother of God.” - -They were scarcely outside the graveyard, when the Rector addressed -them: - -“You have all had too much of tragedy these last days for your tender -years. Dora is a free agent; Clarence is simply our guest; they have a -right to a holiday. As for you, Will, I give you the day in honor of the -efficiency of your strong arm; and you, John, for saving Clarence.” - -The long faces shortened; eyes dimmed with tears grew bright. A holiday -to the school boys! What trouble, what sorrow can hold its own against a -holiday? - -“I’ve secured a fine motor-boat for you——” - -“I can run a motor all right,” broke in Rieler his face deeply gashed by -a smile. - -“And I suggest,” continued the Rector, “Pictured Rocks and a ride down -the river.” - -“Ah-h-h-h!” gurgled Dora. - -“Oh-h-h-h!” cried Clarence. - -“Say—say,” blurted John, “what about our breakfast? We’ve just been to -Communion, you know, all except Clarence, and he hasn’t eaten yet.” - -“There are some things, John,” observed the Rector, “that you never -forget. However, I haven’t overlooked that particular item either. All -you need do is to run down to the Prairie du Chien boat landing. You’ll -find a man there, John Durkin, the boat-owner, who’s waiting to see that -you get off with everything in good order. Then, John, you motor over to -North McGregor, and bring the party up to Mr. Berry’s hotel. He’s heard -of your wonderful adventures, and you are his breakfast guests.” - -“I took a meal there with my pa,” whispered the radiant Rieler, “when he -came up to see me last year. I’m glad I’m hungry,” he added simply. - -“I should think, John,” observed the Rector, “that you must have that -cause for rejoicing a good many times in the day. After your breakfast, -you must get together provisions enough for a good dinner. The -commissary department will be in charge of Will Benton. Here, Will, are -a few dollars for that purpose. Mr. Berry will help you do the buying.” - -“And I’ll be the cook,” said Dora, skipping about in uncontrollable -glee. - -“The only thing left for me,” said Clarence with his most radiant smile, -“is to be dishwasher. I accept.” - -“Hurry away now,” continued the Rector; and at the words they were all -dashing down the street, Dora in the lead. - -“Last one down is a nigger,” yelled Rieler. - -It should not be accounted to the discredit of that happy lad that he -did not succeed in overtaking the fleet-footed Dora. Not for nothing had -she lived for four months in the open. As a matter of fact Dora retained -her lead—owing, it may be, to the chivalry of Clarence and Will. -Nevertheless, John, despite his efforts, was the last, of which fact all -were careful to remind him till he had succeeded in setting the -motor-boat whirling off toward North McGregor. - -Of that happy morning, of the breakfast at Berry’s hotel, where John -Rieler by his execution regained the prestige he had lost in the race, -of the ride down the river, during which the hills of Iowa threw back in -multiplied echoes happy laughter and gleeful shouts, of the ascent to -the heights above Pictured Rocks, where Dora led the way skippingly, and -paused not for breath till they reached the summit; of the lively -chatter and flying jest; of the tumbles, unnecessary most of them, as -they went down; of the wonderful dinner prepared—gypsy-wise—by Dora at -the gypsy fire set going by Clarence; of the ride down the river till -they paused and surveyed the very place where Clarence’s boat was taken -in tow by “good dear Ben”—of all these things there is a record in the -unwritten book of sheer joy. There never was a jollier, happier party on -the broad bosom of the upper Mississippi. A little joke evoked thrills -of laughter; a good one, an explosion. No pen is adequate to give an -idea of how these pure, innocent and loving hearts laughed and jested -and drank deep of the unpolluted joy of life. - -They turned their boats at sunset homeward; and, as the twilight began -to creep from its hiding place in the East, Clarence begged Dora to sing -them a song of her gypsy exile. - -The clear, pure voice—the sweeter, the more pathetic, doubtless, for -all Dora’s long days of suffering—rose and added its beauty to the -splendors of the dying day. Dora had just finished “Mother Dear, O Pray -for Me,” and at the request of all, was about to begin another hymn, -when Will Benton cried out: - -“Look: there’s a boat making for us from Smith’s Creek. I believe it’s -the Campion.” - -“So it is,” cried Rieler, keen of eye. “And Father Rector’s in it. -And——” - -Suddenly a scream of joy rang from Dora’s throat. - -“Oh! oh!” she cried. “It’s mama and papa!” - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - - _In which John Rieler fails to finish his great speech, and - Clarence is seriously frightened._ - -There were, as the two boats came together, shouts and joyous cries -and a quick interchange of crews. Dora was in the arms of father and -mother. Laughter and tears—the tears of strong emotion—were -intermingled with incoherent sobs. Feelings were beyond the power of -human language. - -It was then, in the midst of all this, that Master John Rieler, filled -with an enthusiasm which could no longer be bottled up, mounted the prow -of the boat, of which he had that day been the happy engineer, and -raising his cap aloft, bellowed at the top of his voice: - -“Three cheers for——” But John did not finish this splendid sentence, -and to this day no one knows for whom he intended the signal honor; for, -happening to wave his cap wildly with these opening words, he lost his -balance, and plumped into the water. - -“Oh!” cried Mr. Benton, pulling off his coat. - -“Stay where you are,” called the grinning Rector. “Don’t hurt Rieler’s -feelings. To go to his help would be less sensible than carrying coals -to Newcastle.” - -John rose just then, and, shaking his locks, smiled graciously at the -crews of the two boats. - -“We don’t want you,” said the Rector. - -“Thank you, Father,” John made grateful answer, and once more sank for a -long, delicious dive. And thus did the youth continue to disport himself -while huggings were renewed and Babel continued beside him. - -“But, Father,” said Will Benton, “what I can’t understand is this! Dora -was lost; after two weeks her body was recovered and she was buried in -her coffin from our church.” - -“You saw the coffin, Will?” - -“Yes, Father.” - -“But did you see Dora in it?” - -“No, Father; you told us she was disfigured and bloated from being so -long in the water; and you said we were not to see her.” - -“Exactly. The facts are these: On one day, fourteen bodies of the flood -victims were recovered. Very soon all were identified except that of a -girl dressed in a white dress with a blue sash. I went to view the body, -and really couldn’t make up my mind whether it was Dora’s, or not. -Everybody insisted that it must be Dora. In the meantime, your mother -was so broken-hearted by anxiety that it looked as if she would lose her -mind. It occurred to me that even the recovery of the body and the Holy -Mass over it would set her at rest, so I took the benefit of the doubt, -and allowed the corpse in white and blue to be buried as though it were -Dora’s. But mind, I never said it was Dora. I allowed the others to do -that without contradicting them; and also my intention in having that -Mass offered was that if Dora were alive, the Mass should go to the poor -abandoned child who took her place.” - -“Do you see,” said Dora, “how good our Blessed Mother is? That little -girl because she was in blue and white got a Mass and Christian burial.” - -“Hey, John Rieler,” called the Rector fifteen minutes later, “haven’t -you had enough swimming yet?” - -“If it’s all the same to you, Father Rector, I’d like to swim home.” -John, while disporting in the water, had taken off his shoes and -thoughtfully aimed them at the head of the admiring and envious -Clarence. - -“It isn’t all the same to me,” responded the Rector. “Here, give me your -hand. Now suppose we start.” - -And as they spun homeward, Dora told her wondering parents the tale of -four months on the open road. - -“And,” concluded the child, “when I think of dear Ben, who died a saint, -and of Dorcas and her children, who join the Church tomorrow, and of -Clarence who is going to join——” - -“You bet I am,” Clarence broke in from the other boat. - -“I can’t say that I am sorry.” - -“To those who love God all things work together unto good,” quoted -Father Keenan. - -“And when I recall,” said Mr. Benton catching Dora by the arms and -beaming with joy and gratitude as he looked upon her radiant face, “how -four months ago, you were pale, anaemic, and sentenced by the doctor to -death within a few months——” - -“What!” gasped Will. - -“Yes; sentenced to death. The doctor said the child had no sort of -constitution.” - -“That doctor was loony,” said Rieler indignantly. “You ought to see her -run. Those fawns you read about in poetry books haven’t anything on -her.” - -“I should say not,” added Clarence no less indignantly. “You should have -seen her skipping up Pictured Rocks Hill. She never lost her wind, never -turned a hair, and she’s as sure-footed as a chamois.” - -“All the same,” said the happy father, “the doctor was right. He was a -specialist and knew his business. He told me to keep her in the open as -much as possible; he told me so the very day before the gypsies ran away -with her. For four months she has lived the life the doctor -prescribed—and lived it, I rather think, more abundantly than had she -lived at home. Now, look at her. She is the picture of health.” - -“She’s the picture of something more than health,” whispered Clarence -into the ear of her big brother. “Do you remember those lines of -Wordsworth: - - “‘And beauty horn of murmuring sound - Shall pass into her face’?” - -“I don’t read much poetry,” admitted Will Benton. - -“Well, I’ve often thought of those lines in regard to Dora, only I make -them read: - - “‘And beauty born of heavenly thought - Hath passed into her face.’ - -Good old Ben said she was an angel. If she isn’t she is, as the -gentlemanly druggists say, ‘something just as good.’” - -“Beware of imitations,” said John Rieler. - -Whereupon to the manifest discomfort of those in the boat, John and -Clarence set playfully to punching each other. - -“Well,” sighed Clarence, as he jumped from the boat at the Campion -landing, “now for a quiet hour before going to bed.” - -“Don’t forget supper,” said John. - -“I don’t; but that is a quiet affair.” - -“All the same,” continued John, “I’m going to keep near you. If anything -happens, I want to be around.” - -Then came Dora with her father and mother to greet Clarence; and the -child, as she introduced him, made such comments on their short but -lovely acquaintance as caused Clarence to blush to the roots of his -hair. - -“Remember, Clarence,” said Mr. Benton, “that our home is yours, day or -night, winter or summer, in any year, in any season. God sent you to our -little girl.” - -“I think,” said Clarence modestly, “that it was, the other way around. -God sent Dora to me. It’s made me—different. Everything I see and hear -now I see and hear from a different angle—and a better one.” - -As they walked up toward the college, Clarence, ably assisted by the -eager John Rieler, pointed out their path of progress toward Campion on -his first arrival. He was at pains to expatiate on John’s delicacy as to -introducing him personally to the Rector. - -“It wasn’t so very wrong, anyhow,” said Rieler. - -“Didn’t God send me to save Clarence from drowning?” - -“Don’t reason that way,” remonstrated Will Benton, whose reputation as a -student of logic was not brilliant only because his prowess on the -athletic field blinded the boys to what were in their eyes less shining -qualities, “Out of evil God draws good; he took occasion of your -breaking the rule to save Clarence’s life.” - -“I’m beginning,” said Clarence solemnly, “to lose all faith in the -bright-eyed goddess of adventure. As Betsy Prigg said of Sairey Gamp’s -Mrs. Harris, I don’t believe there ain’t no sich a person.” - -“What are you talking about now?” asked Rieler. “Who’s Betsy Prigg? -Who’s Sairey Gamp? Who’s Mrs. Harris? The bright-eyed goddess has gone -to your head, and placed a few bats in your belfry.” - -“John Rieler,” said Clarence, “at your age you ought to be ashamed of -yourself. You ought to know your Dickens. Read Martin Chuzzlewit, and -start tonight.” - -“No,” continued Clarence, “I disavow here and now, forever and forever, -the squint-eyed goddess of adventure. I thought I was in her hands; but -now I firmly believe that all along I was in the loving hands of God.” - -Father Keenan, who had preceded the party, was now seen coming down the -steps of the faculty building. He was doing his best to carry off his -Indian immobility of face, but with partial success. - -“Clarence,” he cried, “come here.” - -“Another adventure,” said Rieler. - -Clarence turned deathly pale. Something had happened—something serious. - -“Oh, Father, what is it?” he cried running to the side of the Rector. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - - _In which there is another joyful reunion, and Clarence presents - an important letter to the Rector of Campion College._ - -“Clarence,” said Father Keenan, “there’s good news.” - -“Oh, what is it? Were their lives saved? Were they unhurt?” - -“Just forty miles to the East of the accident your father received a -telegram. It seems there was some mining trouble in the Southwest, and -he was ordered to go there at once. Both your father and mother got off -at a junction and so missed the accident.” - -“Oh, thank God! thank God! And when shall I see them?” - -“Very soon, Clarence. On the very day you arrived here, I sent telegrams -to different cities, and had advertisements inserted in the most -prominent papers in New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Cleveland and -Cincinnati. The ads. read something like this: Any friends or relations -of Clarence Esmond falsely reported drowned are requested to write or -call upon the President of Campion College, Prairie du Chien, Wis.” - -“Did you really do that, Father?” - -“Yes, my boy,” answered the Rector, as the two went up the steps and -proceeded in the direction of the infirmary. “And it seems that in New -York a member of the firm that sent the telegram to your father read the -ad. He at once wired your parents—and—and—” the Rector paused. - -They were standing just outside the parlor, from which came the sound of -voices. - -“_They’re here! They’re here?_” cried Clarence, and burst into the -parlor. - -Father George Keenan considerately waited outside until the first -rapture of reunion should have died away; waited and thought with -gratitude to God of his part in a romance of the upper Mississippi, a -romance of childhood and innocence, and the sure, guiding hand of Divine -Providence. - -The parlor door opened presently, and Clarence came out. - -“Oh, Father Rector, won’t you please come in? Say, Pa, this is the -priest who fed me when I was hungry, clothed me when I was naked, took -me in when I was abandoned, and treated me as if I was a prince in -disguise. Say, Ma, look at him and thank him, if you can. I can’t.” And -Clarence blubbered. - -“Father Keenan,” said Mr. Esmond with quivering lips, “if I should think -of trying to thank you, I should become absolutely dumb. I am helpless; -and to think that you should be the member of an Order I’ve been abusing -all my life.” - -Mrs. Esmond, in turn, took the dismayed Father’s hand, and tried to -speak. She failed; but her eyes spoke the gratitude her tongue could not -utter. - -“Don’t—don’t mention it,” said Father Keenan lamely and with a vivid -blush. “I’m happier than I can say to have done anything for as fine and -as gifted a boy as I have ever met.” - -There came an awkward silence. The Rector was confused beyond measure; -Mrs. Esmond had gathered her boy to her arms, and was fondling him as -she had done when he was a little child. Mr. Esmond was endeavoring with -but ill success to master his burst of emotion. - -“Say, Pa,” cried Clarence, breaking away in excitement. “There’s one -thing I want to say right off. You said I might choose my religion when -I was fourteen. Well, I’ve chosen. I want to be a Catholic.” - -“Certainly, my boy, certainly. I never thought of your joining that -Faith; but you’ll be in good company.” - -“And, Father Rector, may I be baptized?” - -“Of course, Clarence, since your father so kindly consents.” - -“And, Father, will you do it?” - -“Gladly, Clarence.” - -“Good! thank you. Come on,” and Clarence seized his hat. - -“But what’s your hurry, Clarence?” asked Father Keenan, laying a -detaining hand upon the eager neophyte. - -“Isn’t this rather sudden, my boy?” inquired Mr. Esmond. - -“It’s not at all sudden,” Clarence made answer. “I’ve been thinking -about this and preparing for this ever since I met Dora. Do you think I -want to go to bed to-night with original sin and all my life’s -wickedness on my soul when I can get it off in a few minutes? Of course, -I’m in a hurry.” - -“Put your hat down, Clarence,” ordered the Rector. “But I promise you -this: you’ll be baptized and made a child of God and heir of heaven -before you go to bed tonight. And now, Mr. and Mrs. Esmond, I want you -to come out and meet Dora, who did so much for Clarence and whom -Clarence saved from the gypsies; John Rieler, who rescued Clarence from -the river; and Dora’s parents and big brother. For the next hour, we are -going to hold a symposium. Clarence will tell his story from the time he -left McGregor till he took to the river; John Rieler will take up the -theme and tell how he came to make Clarence’s acquaintance; I, myself, -will describe the boy’s first appearance at Campion, and with the help -of Will Benton will tell the tale of our visit to the gypsy camp and -rescue of Dora.” - -As everybody following hard upon introduction insisted upon talking at -once, Father Keenan experienced no little difficulty in carrying out the -proposed program. It was fully an hour before the story—the strange -romance of the upper Mississippi—was clearly unfolded to the wondering -grown folks. - -“I say,” urged Clarence, when the various adventures had been adequately -commented on, “isn’t it time for me to be baptized?” - -“Oh,” said Dora. “Is it all arranged?” - -“Yes, Dora.” - -“And—and—may I be your godmother?” - -“Delighted!” cried the boy. “Nothing could please me better.” - -“You ought to know,” observed John Rieler, “that the Church has erected -an impediment between godmother and godson. If you carry out that -program, you two can never marry.” - -“Marry!” cried Dora, “I’m not to marry. I’m to dedicate my life to -Mary.” - -“Marry!” remonstrated Clarence. “Who ever thought of such a thing? Dora -and I don’t intend to discuss that subject ourselves; and we -don’t”—here he looked severely at John—“care about hearing anyone else -discuss it.” - -“All right, Clarence,” said John, “if that’s the case I want to be -godfather.” - -After supper, Clarence, alone, went to the boys’ chapel, where for -fifteen minutes he prayed and recalled in sorrow all the sins of his -life. Then came Dora, John, Will and the two married couples followed by -Father Keenan; and in the quiet of the evening Clarence Esmond filled -with faith and love received upon his brow the regenerating waters of -baptism and became a faithful child of the true Church. - -On the next morning the three children and Will Benton attended the six -o’clock Mass and together received Holy Communion. - -Clarence frequently during that day pronounced it the happiest day of -his life. - -On Sunday evening Clarence, who had passed most of the time with his -parents, entered Father Keenan’s room. - -“Why, Clarence! How happy you look.” - -“That’s because I’m a hypocrite, Father.” - -“Surely, you haven’t come to bid me good-bye?” - -“Oh, I should hope not, Father.” Here Clarence fumbled in his pocket. -“This is a letter my Pa gave me to bring to you.” - -“So you were godfather for Dorcas and her children!” - -“Yes, Father Rector, and Dora was godmother. Pa says it was awful good -of you to pay the expenses of Ben’s burial and to pay for the board of -Dorcas and her little ones; but he’s going to do the rest. He has an -interest in the ranch in the Southwest, and they need a woman to feed -the men and keep the house. Dorcas gets the position.” - -“Can she hold it?” asked the Rector. - -“Oh, yes! Dora says that Dorcas cooks nicely and is fine at the needle, -and is very neat.” - -“I hope she’ll have a chance to go to church,” continued Father Keenan. - -“There’s a church ten miles from the ranch; and the foreman is a good -Catholic. He is to bring Dorcas every Sunday.” - -“Excellent,” said the Rector. - -“And did you hear about Pete?” asked Clarence. - -“No; how is he?” - -“Pa just got word. It took him thirty-six hours to recover from the blow -that Will Benton gave him. He was unconscious all that time.” - -“Let us hope and pray that God may bring him to repentance,” said the -Rector. - -“The jail doctor says he’ll never do harm again. And, Father, tomorrow -Dorcas goes to Communion; then she’s coming up to bid you good-bye, and -then off she starts to her new work.” - -“Thank God,” said Father Keenan. “And now, Clarence, sit down while I -read your father’s letter.” - -And this is what Father Keenan read: - -“My dear Father Keenan: I am trying to write what I have found it -impossible to say. To borrow the language of my little boy—who, I -believe, borrowed from the words of Christ in the New -Testament—Clarence was hungry and you fed him, naked and you clothed -him, and outcast and you took him in. He was sorrowful and you consoled -him; orphaned, and, at the sacrifice of your precious time, you took the -place of father and mother. He needed, too, someone to take hold of his -complicated situation and you by telegram, telephone, letter and in -every conceivable way unravelled the tangle within a few hours; and in -doing so brought gladness to sad and suffering hearts; in a few hours, -you effected the rescue of his dear little girl friend; and, when we -arrived, had everything in the finest condition imaginable and everybody -happy. In all this you were aided and abetted by that little saint, -Dora—the most wonderful girl I have ever met—by John Rieler, that -paragon of good-nature who saved my boy’s life; and by that prince of -young men, _Strong-Arm_ Benton, which quick performance at the gypsy -camp will never be forgotten by those who hear it told. - -“To have my boy the intimate of Will, Dora and Rieler—the most -wonderful trio one could bring together—I esteem a rare privilege and -an honor. Their friendship is touched with youth, and purity and faith. - -“You will be glad to know, Reverend Father, that, in my opinion, -Clarence is not altogether unworthy of such splendid companions. At -Clermont School in New York, where he attended for three years, he -maintained a reputation for cleanness of speech and delicacy of conduct, -which, among the faculty, made him a marked boy. He was the center of a -group—some seven or eight in number—who had professed and followed out -lofty and lovely ideals. God, I know not why, has been singularly good -to my boy, and kept him from dangers to morals only too common in these -pagan days. - -“The duty of thanking you, of showing you my gratitude, will be with me, -I trust, a life task. I can never forget how when my little boy—a -veritable Dan Cupid up to date—arrived you took him in hand. - -“His entrance into the Church pleases me more, the more I think of it. -When his mother gave up hope of ever seeing Clarence again, it seemed -for a time as though she would lose her mind. She insisted that Clarence -had been taken from her untimely because she had not lived up to the -Catholic Faith, in which, as a child, she was baptized. It was in vain -that I pointed out to her that she had not been brought up a Catholic, -that she was raised a Protestant; that she had been in no way -responsible. She would not be consoled. Finally, with my full -approbation, she promised God that should Clarence be returned to us, -she would once more embrace the Faith of her fathers. She intends to go -to confession and receive Holy Communion before we bid an unwilling -adieu to Campion. She has already called at St. Mary’s Academy and -engaged a splendid nun there to give her a course of instructions. - -“In a short time—by Christmas at the latest—I am going to join the -Church that received Ben and Dorcas with the same arms of welcome as it -receives the princes and potentates of the earth. This, my fixed -determination, is sudden; but for all that, it is none the less firm. It -came to me last night, as I watched the radiant Dora and the reverent -John holding my boy, whose face was aflame with zeal and faith as you, -Father, poured the water of baptism upon his head. - -“And now, Father, I’ve been thinking much of what you did for my boy. -There must be other cases like his—cases of boys being thrown upon -you—not coming in the guise of Cupid, it is true—but coming to you -asking for education, board and books; but without money. In memory, -then, of your kindness to my little boy, I enclose you a check for five -thousand dollars as a fund for a perpetual scholarship to carry year -after year through Campion College some boy whom God has given brains -and ambition, but denied money. And if God continues to bless me in my -enterprises, this will not be the end, by any means, of my help in that -same line. - -“And now, one more matter of business. Clarence is bent on going to -Campion College. He loves the grounds, the buildings, the boys, and, so -far as he knows them, the faculty. His mother and I are almost as -anxious that he should attend your school as he is. We intend to stay -here for a week or ten days to get better acquainted with our dear -little boy—dearer a thousandfold that, having been lost, he is found. -We, therefore, beg of you, Father, as a special favor, to register the -boy at once; but to allow us his company till we leave. His board and -tuition expenses are to begin, of course, from the opening day of -school—two weeks back. Before leaving, I will make you a check to cover -his expenses for the entire year. - -“This is the longest letter I have written since the time I was engaged -to her who is now my wife. It is long because I have been endeavoring, -with poor success, to express my gratitude. But the task is beyond me. -Beyond me, too, is it to express the present happiness of my wife, of -Clarence, of Dora and of - - “Yours with a heart full of gratitude, - “CHARLES ESMOND.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - - _In which everybody is happy, Will Benton is jocose, and - justifies the title of this Romance of the Upper Mississippi._ - -Some few minutes later, Will Benton, who had been summoned, and -Clarence were seated in the Rector’s room. To the two Father Keenan read -first the letter of Wilcox. - -“He was a good fellow,” said Will. “I like people who are grateful.” - -“It was this gift of one hundred dollars,” said Father Keenan, “which -made it so easy for me to fit you up, Clarence, and to see that Ben -received decent interment. But now listen to this.” - -And Father Keenan read the letter of Mr. Charles Esmond. - -When he came to the passage describing Clarence as a “veritable Dan -Cupid up to date,” Will Benton roared with laughter. - -“Why, what’s the matter, Will?” asked the Rector. - -“Did you hear it? He’s Cupid. Oh, goodness, that’s the best yet. -Clarence, you’re Cupid.” And Will Benton laughed more heartily than -ever. - -“It isn’t such a bad joke,” said Clarence critically. - -The Rector then read on to the end. - -“Say,” cried Clarence, “I like that. You do a little kindness to a poor -boy, and after many years he sends you money to do some more kindness to -other boys. You try it out on me, and then my father gets the same idea -and wants you to try it out on somebody else.” - -“Kindness is catching,” said Will Benton, the kindest boy in Campion -College. - -“‘Our echoes roll from soul to soul,’” quoted Clarence, “‘and grow -forever and forever.’” - -“The next thing for you to do, Clarence, is to go over to the -Vice-President’s room and register. Will Benton will take you, and then -he’ll bring you over to the small boys and let them know you are one of -them. After that you are free to go with your parents so long as they -remain.” - -“Thank you, Father; I’ve got everything in the world I want, and I’m as -happy as a big sunflower.” - -On their way to the classroom building there was quite a perceptible -stir among the boys, numbers of whom eyed the two with artless interest. - -“What’s the matter with those boys?” asked Clarence. “What are they -staring about?” - -“I really think,” answered Will Benton, “that they’re staring at me. -John Rieler made such a fuss about the knockout I gave Pete that he’s -got all the little boys crazy. Even a lot of the big boys are stirred up -about it. I’ve been keeping to my room as much as possible these few -days, because I don’t like people to be making a fuss over me.” - -“Say, Will, is this true? I heard that since the fellows heard what you -did to Pete ten boys of the senior division have at last asked to join -the Sodality, when they wouldn’t do it before.” - -“They’d have come in anyhow,” he said. - -The Vice-President was in his room, and promptly registered the happy -Clarence. Then, Will Benton, very nervous, conducted Clarence over to -the small boy’s division. - -At his coming, there was great excitement. The boys came flocking -towards the two, and, in a moment, had them surrounded. - -“Look at his arm”—“Isn’t that a chest for you”—“His Southpaw dished -the gypsy for thirty-six hours”—“He did it just like that”—“That’s -Strong-Arm for you.” These and a thousand exclamations evinced clearly -that Will Benton was still the hero of the hour. - -Will blushed. He was frightened. - -“Speech, Strong-Arm, speech,” cried a shrill-voiced youth. - -“Speech, speech,” volleyed the others. - -And then Will Benton, Strong-Arm, Senior, and Prefect of the Sodality, -made his maiden speech, and cracked his first and only joke. Like most -people who are immensely popular, Will Benton was not given to joking. -He was always smiling, always jolly, always quick to laugh at other’s -witticisms. But as for himself, he was literal, matter of fact, and -serenely serious. - -And the joke he got off on this occasion was really such a little joke. -It wasn’t even original. But the boys who heard it doubled with -laughter, and howled with delight. They thought it was the finest joke -they had ever heard. Most of them continue to think so. They repeated it -to each other, and wrote home about it. They made it a classic in -Campion College, in such wise that it promises to go down to posterity -along with the wrench and the blow which made Will Benton famous and -immortal. On this one joke, Will Benton’s reputation as a humorist will -live. - -Here are the speech and joke: - -“Boys,” he said, holding up his hands. - -All grew silent and eager. - -“Permit me to introduce a new student.” - -Cheers and joyous yelps split the astounded air for full three minutes. -Will Benton held up his hand once more. - -Again fell the expectant silence. - -“Here he is,” cried Benton, his face breaking into smiles, “CUPID OF -CAMPION COLLEGE.” - - THE END. - - - - - - PRINTED BY BENZIGER BROTHERS, NEW YORK - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Punctuation and type-setting errors have been corrected without note. -Hyphenation and archaic spellings have been retained as in the original. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cupid of Campion, by Francis Finn - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CUPID OF CAMPION *** - -***** This file should be named 52583-0.txt or 52583-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/5/8/52583/ - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from -page images generously made available by the Internet -Archive (https://archive.org) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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