CHAPTER XXII
A BOY'S BARGAIN
It was some days before the children were tired of talking over Ben'sbirthday party; for it was a great event in their small world; but,gradually, newer pleasures came to occupy their minds, and they began toplan the nutting frolics which always followed the early frosts. Whilewaiting for Jack to open the chestnut burrs, they varied the monotony ofschool life by a lively scrimmage long known as "the wood-pile fight."
The girls liked to play in the half-empty shed, and the boys, merely forthe fun of teasing, declared that they should not, so blocked up thedoorway as fast as the girls cleared it. Seeing that the squabble was amerry one, and the exercise better for all than lounging in the sun orreading in school during recess, Teacher did not interfere, and thebarrier rose and fell almost as regularly as the tide.
It would be difficult to say which side worked the harder; for the boyswent before school began to build up the barricade, and the girls stayedafter lessons were over to pull down the last one made in afternoonrecess. They had their play-time first; and, while the boys waitedinside, they heard the shouts of the girls, the banging of the wood, andthe final crash, as the well-packed pile went down. Then, as the lassiescame in, rosy, breathless, and triumphant, the lads rushed out to manthe breach, and labor gallantly till all was as tight as hard blowscould make it.
So the battle raged, and bruised knuckles, splinters in fingers, tornclothes, and rubbed shoes, were the only wounds received, while a greatdeal of fun was had out of the maltreated logs, and a lasting peacesecured between two of the boys.
When the party was safely over, Sam began to fall into his old way oftormenting Ben by calling names, as it cost no exertion to invent tryingspeeches, and slyly utter them when most likely to annoy. Ben bore it aswell as he could; but fortune favored him at last, as it usually doesthe patient, and he was able to make his own terms with his tormentor.
When the girls demolished the wood-pile, they performed a jubilee choruson combs, and tin kettles, played like tambourines; the boys celebratedtheir victories with shrill whistles, and a drum accompaniment withfists on the shed walls. Billy brought his drum, and this was such anaddition that Sam hunted up an old one of his little brother's, in orderthat he might join the drum corps. He had no sticks, however, and,casting about in his mind for a good substitute for the genuine thing,bethought him of bulrushes.
"Those will do first-rate, and there are lots in the ma'sh, if I canonly get 'em," he said to himself, and turned off from the road on hisway home to get a supply.
Now, this marsh was a treacherous spot, and the tragic story was told ofa cow who got in there and sank till nothing was visible but a pair ofhorns above the mud, which suffocated the unwary beast. For this reasonit was called "Cowslip Marsh," the wags said, though it was generallybelieved to be so named for the yellow flowers which grew there in greatprofusion in the spring.
Sam had seen Ben hop nimbly from one tuft of grass to another when hewent to gather cowslips for Betty, and the stout boy thought he could dothe same. Two or three heavy jumps landed him, not among the bulrushes,as he had hoped, but in a pool of muddy water, where he sank up to hismiddle with alarming rapidity. Much scared, he tried to wade out, butcould only flounder to a tussock of grass, and cling there, while heendeavored to kick his legs free. He got them out, but struggled in vainto coil them up or to hoist his heavy body upon the very small island inthis sea of mud. Down they splashed again; and Sam gave a dismal groanas he thought of the leeches and water-snakes which might be lying inwait below. Visions of the lost cow also flashed across his agitatedmind, and he gave a despairing shout very like a distracted "Moo!"
Few people passed along the lane, and the sun was setting, so theprospect of a night in the marsh nerved Sam to make a frantic plungetoward the bulrush island, which was nearer than the mainland, andlooked firmer than any tussock round him. But he failed to reach thishaven of rest, and was forced to stop at an old stump which stuck up,looking very like the moss-grown horns of the "dear departed." Roostinghere, Sam began to shout for aid in every key possible to the humanvoice. Such hoots and howls, whistles and roars, never woke the echoesof the lonely marsh before, or scared the portly frog who resided therein calm seclusion.
He hardly expected any reply but the astonished "Caw!" of the crow, whosat upon a fence watching him with gloomy interest; and when a cheerful"Hullo, there!" sounded from the lane, he was so grateful that tears ofjoy rolled down his fat cheeks.
"Come on! I'm in the ma'sh. Lend a hand and get me out!" bawled Sam,anxiously waiting for his deliverer to appear, for he could only see ahat bobbing along behind the hazel-bushes that fringed the lane.
Steps crashed through the bushes, and then over the wall came an activefigure, at the sight of which Sam was almost ready to dive out of sight,for, of all possible boys, who should it be but Ben, the last person inthe world whom he would like to have see him in his present pitifulplight.
"Is it you, Sam? Well, you are in a nice fix!" and Ben's eyes began totwinkle with mischievous merriment, as well they might, for Samcertainly was a spectacle to convulse the soberest person. Perchedunsteadily on the gnarled stump, with his muddy legs drawn up, hisdismal face splashed with mud, and the whole lower half of his body asblack as if he had been dipped in an inkstand, he presented such acomically doleful object that Ben danced about, laughing like a naughtywill-o'-the-wisp who, having led a traveller astray then fell to jeeringat him.
"Stop that, or I'll knock your head off!" roared Sam, in a rage.
"Come on and do it; I give you leave," answered Ben, sparring awayderisively as the other tottered on his perch, and was forced to holdtight lest he should tumble off.
"Don't laugh, there 's a good chap, but fish me out somehow, or I shallget my death sitting here all wet and cold," whined Sam, changing histune, and feeling bitterly that Ben had the upper hand now.
Ben felt it also; and, though a very good-natured boy, could not resistthe temptation to enjoy this advantage for a moment at least.
"I won't laugh if I can help it; only you do look so like a fat,speckled frog, I may not be able to hold in. I'll pull you out prettysoon; but first I'm going to talk to you, Sam," said Ben, sobering downas he took a seat on the little point of land nearest the strandedSamuel.
"Hurry up, then; I'm as stiff as a board now, and it's no fun sittinghere on this knotty old thing," growled Sam, with a discontented squirm.
"Dare say not, but 'it is good for you,' as you say when you rap me overthe head. Look here, I've got you in a tight place, and I don't mean tohelp you a bit till you promise to let me alone. Now then!" and Ben'sface grew stern with his remembered wrongs as he grimly eyed hisdiscomfited foe.
"I'll promise fast enough if you won't tell anyone about this," answeredSam, surveying himself and his surroundings with great disgust.
"I shall do as I like about that."
"Then I won't promise a thing! I'm not going to have the whole schoollaughing at me," protested Sam, who hated to be ridiculed even more thanBen did.
"Very well; good-night!" and Ben walked off with his hands in hispockets as coolly as if the bog was Sam's favorite retreat.
"Hold on, don't be in such a hurry!" shouted Sam, seeing little hope ofrescue if he let this chance go.
"All right!" and back came Ben, ready for further negotiations.
"I'll promise not to plague you, if you'll promise not to tell on me.Is that what you want?"
"Now I come to think of it, there is one thing more. I like to make agood bargain when I begin," said Ben, with a shrewd air. "You mustpromise to keep Mose quiet, too. He follows your lead, and if you tellhim to stop it he will. If I was big enough, I'd make you hold yourtongues. I ain't, so we'll try this way."
"Yes, Yes, I'll see to Mose. Now, bring on a rail, there's a goodfellow. I've got a horrid cramp in my legs," began Sam, thinking he hadbought help dearly, yet admiring Ben's cleverness in making the most ofhis chance.
Ben brought the
rail, but, just as he was about to lay it from themain-land to the nearest tussock, he stopped, saying, with the naughtytwinkle in his black eyes again, "One more little thing must be settledfirst, and then I'll get you ashore. Promise you won't plague the girlseither, 'specially Bab and Betty. You pull their hair, and they don'tlike it."
"Don't neither! Wouldn't touch that Bab for a dollar; she scratches andbites like a mad cat," was Sam's sulky reply.
"Glad of it; she can take care of herself. Betty can't; and if youtouch one of her pig-tails I'll up and tell right out how I found yousnivelling in the ma'sh like a great baby. So now!" and Ben emphasizedhis threat with a blow of the suspended rail which splashed the waterover poor Sam, quenching his last spark of resistance.
"Stop! I will!--I will!"
"True as you live and breathe!" demanded Ben, sternly binding him by themost solemn oath he knew.
"True as I live and breathe," echoed Sam, dolefully relinquishing hisfavorite pastime of pulling Betty's braids and asking if she was athome.
"I'll come over there and crook fingers on the bargain," said Ben,settling the rail and running over it to the tuft, then bridging anotherpool and crossing again till he came to the stump.
"I never thought of that way," said Sam, watching him with much inwardchagrin at his own failure.
"I should think you'd written 'Look before you leap,' in your copy-bookoften enough to get the idea into your stupid head. Come, crook,"commanded Ben, leaning forward with extended little finger. Samobediently performed the ceremony, and then Ben sat astride one of thehorns of the stump while the muddy Crusoe went slowly across the railfrom point to point till he landed safely on the shore, when he turnedabout and asked with an ungrateful jeer,--
"Now what's going to become of you, old Look-before-you-leap?"
"Mud turtles can only sit on a stump and bawl till they are taken off,but frogs have legs worth something, and are not afraid of a littlewater," answered Ben, hopping away in an opposite direction, since thepools between him and Sam were too wide for even his lively legs.
Sam waddled off to the brook in the lane to rinse the mud from hisnether man before facing his mother, and was just wringing himself outwhen Ben came up, breathless but good natured, for he felt that he hadmade an excellent bargain for himself and friends.
"Better wash your face; it's as speckled as a tiger-lily. Here's myhandkerchief if yours is wet," he said, pulling out a dingy articlewhich had evidently already done service as a towel.
"Don't want it," muttered Sam, gruffly, as he poured the water out ofhis muddy shoes.
"I was taught to say 'Thanky' when folks got me out of scrapes. Butyou never had much bringing up, though you do 'live in a house with agambrel roof,'" retorted Ben, sarcastically quoting Sam's frequentboast; then he walked off, much disgusted with the ingratitude of man.
Sam forgot his manners, but he remembered his promise, and kept it sowell that all the school wondered. No one could guess the secret ofBen's power over him, though it was evident that he had gained it insome sudden way, for at the least sign of Sam's former tricks Ben wouldcrook his little finger and wag it warningly, or call out "Bulrushes!"and Sam subsided with reluctant submission, to the great amazement ofhis mates. When asked what it meant, Sa, turned sulky; but Ben had muchfun out of it, assuring the other boys that those were the signs andpassword of a secret society to which he and Sam belonged, and promisedto tell them all about it if Sam would give him leave, which, of course,he would not.
This mystery, and the vain endeavors to find it out caused a lull in thewar of the wood-pile, and before any new game was invented somethinghappened which gave the children plenty to talk about for a time.
A week after the secret alliance was formed, Ben ran in one evening witha letter for Miss Celia. He found her enjoying the cheery blaze of thepine-cones the little girls had picked up for her, and Bab and Betty satin the small chairs rocking luxuriously as they took turns to throw onthe pretty fuel. Miss Celia turned quickly to receive the expectedletter, glanced at the writing, post-mark and stamp, with an air ofdelighted surprise, then clasped it close in both hands, saying, as shehurried out of the room,--
"He has come! he has come! Now you may tell them, Thorny."
"Tell its what? asked Bab, pricking up her cars at once.
"Oh, it's only that George has come, and I suppose we shall go and getmarried right away," answered Thorny, rubbing his hands as if he enjoyedthe prospect.
"Are you going to be married? asked Betty, so soberly that the boysshouted, and Thorny, with difficulty composed himself sufficiently toexplain.
"No, child, not just yet; but sister is, and I must go and see that allis done up ship-shape, and bring you home some wedding-cake. Ben willtake care of you while I'm gone."
"When shall you go?" asked Bab, beginning to long for her share of cake.
"To-morrow, I guess. Celia has been packed and ready for a week. Weagreed to meet George in New York, and be married as soon as he got hisbest clothes unpacked. We are men of our word, and off we go. Won't itbe fun?"
"But when will you come back again?" questioned Betty, looking anxious.
"Don't know. Sister wants to come soon, but I'd rather have ourhoneymoon somewhere else,--Niagara, Newfoundland, West Point, or theRocky Mountains," said Thorny, mentioning a few of the places he mostdesired to see.
"Do you like him?" asked Ben, very naturally wondering if the new masterwould approve of the young man-of-all-work.
"Don't I? George is regularly jolly; though now he's a minister, perhapshe'll stiffen up and turn sober. Won't it be a shame if he does?" andThorny looked alarmed at the thought of losing his congenial friend.
"Tell about him; Miss Celia said you might", put in Bab, whoseexperience of "jolly" ministers had been small.
"Oh, there isn't much about it. We met in Switzerland going up MountSt. Bernard in a storm, and--"
"Where the good dogs live?" inquired Betty, hoping they would come intothe story.
"Yes; we spent the night up there, and George gave us his room; thehouse was so full, and he wouldn't let me go down a steep place where Iwanted to, and Celia thought he'd saved my life, and was very good tohim. Then we kept meeting, and the first thing I knew she went and wasengaged to him. I didn't care, only she would come home so he might goon studying hard and get through quick. That was a year ago, and lastwinter we were in New York at uncle's; and then, in the spring, I wassick, and we came here, and that's all."
"Shall you live here always when you come back? asked Bab, as Thornypaused for breath.
"Celia wants to. I shall go to college, so I don't mind. George isgoing to help the old minister here and see how he likes it. I'm tostudy with him, and if he is as pleasant as he used to be we shall havecapital times,--see if we don't."
"I wonder if he will want me round," said Ben, feeling no desire to be atramp again.
"I do, so you needn't fret about that, my hearty," answered Thorny, witha resounding slap on the shoulder which reassured Ben more than anypromises.
"I'd like to see a live wedding, then we could play it with our dolls.I've got a nice piece of mosquito netting for a veil, and Belinda'swhite dress is clean. Do you s'pose Miss Celia will ask us to hers?"said Betty to Bab, as the boys began to discuss St. Bernard dogs withSpirit.
"I wish I could, dears," answered a voice behind them; and there wasMiss Celia, looking so happy that the little girls wondered what theletter could have said to give her such bright eyes and smiling lips. "Ishall not be gone long, or be a bit changed when I come back, to liveamong you years I hope, for I am fond of the old place now, and mean itshall be home," she added, caressing the yellow heads as if they weredear to her.
"Oh, goody!" cried Bab, while Betty whispered with both arms round MissCelia,--
"I don't think we could bear to have anybody else come here to live."
"It is very pleasant to hear you say that, and I mean to make othersfeel so, if I can. I have been trying a little t
his summer, but when Icome back I shall go to work in earnest to be a good minister's wife,and you must help me."
"We will," promised both children, ready for any thing except preachingin the high pulpit.
Then Miss Celia turned to Ben, saying, in the respectful way that alwaysmade him feel at least twenty-five,--
"We shall be off to-morrow, and I leave you in charge. Go on just as ifwe were here, and be sure nothing will be changed as far as you areconcerned when we come back."
Ben's face beamed at that; but the only way he could express his reliefwas by making such a blaze in honor of the occasion that he nearlyroasted the company.
Next morning, the brother and sister slipped quietly away, and thechildren hurried to school, eager to tell the great news that "MissCelia and Thorny had gone to be married, and were coming back to livehere for ever and ever."
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