CHAPTER IX.
LOST AND FOUND.
The summer days passed very quickly and happily for Bert at Maplebank,especially after the surprising revelation of the love and tendernessthat underlay his grandfather's stern exterior. No one did more for hiscomfort or happiness than his grandmother, and he loved her accordinglywith the whole strength of his young heart. She was so slight and frail,and walked with such slow, gentle steps, that the thought of being herprotector and helper often came into his mind and caused him to put on amore erect, important bearing as he walked beside her in the garden, orthrough the orchard where the apples were already beginning to givepromise of the coming ripeness.
Mrs. Stewart manifested her love for her grandson in one way that made agreat impression upon Bert. She would take him over to the dairy, in itscool place beneath the trees, and, selecting the cooler with thethickest cream upon it, would skim off a teaspoonful into a large spoonthat was already half filled with new oatmeal, and then pour theluscious mixture into the open mouth waiting expectantly beside her.
"Is not that fine, Bertie boy?" she would say, patting himaffectionately upon the head; and Bert, his mouth literally too full forutterance, would try to look the thanks he could not speak.
Maplebank had many strange visitors. It stood a little way back from thejunction of three roads, and the Squire's hospitality to wayfarers beingunbounded, the consequence was that rarely did a night pass without oneor more finding a bed in some corner of the kitchen. Sometimes it wouldbe a shipwrecked sailor, slowly finding his way on foot to the nearestshipping port. Sometimes a young lad with pack on back, setting out toseek his fortune at the capital, or in the States beyond. Again it wouldbe a travelling tinker, or tailor, or cobbler, plying his trade fromhouse to house, and thereby making an honest living.
But the most frequent visitors of all--real nuisances, though, theyoften made themselves--were the poor, simple folk, of whom a number ofboth sexes roamed ceaselessly about. Not far from Maplebank was what thebetter class called a "straglash district"--that is, a settlementcomposed of a number of people who had by constant intermarriage, andpoor living, caused insanity of a mild type to be woefully common.Almost every family had its idiot boy or girl, and these poor creatures,being, as a rule, perfectly harmless, were suffered to go at large, andwere generally well treated by the neighbours, upon whose kindness theywere continually trespassing.
The best known of them at the time of Bert's visit, was one called"Crazy Colin," a strange being, half wild, half civilised, with theframe of an athlete, and the mind of a child. Although more than thirtyyears of age, he had never shown much more sense than a two-year-oldbaby. He even talked in a queer gibberish, such as was suitable to thatstage of childhood. Everybody was kind to him. His clothes and his foodwere given him. As for a roof, he needed none in summer save when itstormed, and in winter he found refuge among his own people. His chiefdelight was roaming the woods and fields, talking vigorously to himselfin his own language, and waving a long ash staff that was rarely out ofhis hands. He would thus spend whole days in apparent content, returningonly when the pangs of hunger could be borne no longer.
Bert took a great deal of interest in these "straglash" people, andespecially in Crazy Colin, who was a frequent visitor at the Squire'skitchen, for Mrs. Stewart never refused him a generous bowl of porridgeand milk, or a huge slice of bread and butter. At first he was not alittle afraid of Crazy Colin. But soon he got accustomed to him, andthen, boy-like, presuming upon acquaintance, began to tease him a bitwhen he would come in for a "bite and sup." More than once the idiot'seyes flashed dangerously at Bert's prank; but, fool though he was, hehad sense enough to understand that any outbreak would mean his promptexpulsion and banishment, and so he would restrain himself. Onememorable day, however, when Bert least expected or invited it, thedemon of insanity broke loose in a manner that might have had seriousconsequences.
It was on a Sunday. The whole family had gone off to church, exceptBert, who had been left at home in the charge of the cook. She was astrapping big Scotch lassie, and very fond of Bert. About an hour afterthe family left, Crazy Colin sauntered along and took his seat in thekitchen. Neither Kitty nor Bert was by any means pleased to see him, butthey thought it better to keep their feelings to themselves. Bert,indeed, made some effort to be entertaining, but Crazy Colin seemed inrather a sulky mood, an unusual thing for him, so Bert soon gave it up,and went off into the garden.
The roses were blooming beautifully there, and he picked several beforereturning to the kitchen. When he came back, he found the unwelcomevisitor alone, Kitty having gone into the other part of the house. Hewas sitting beside the table with his head bent forward upon his hands,apparently in deep dejection. Upon the table was a large knife whichKitty had just been using in preparing the meat for dinner. Thinking itwould please poor Colin, Bert selected the finest rose in his bunch andhanded it to him, moving off toward the door leading into the hall ashe did so. Colin lifted his head and grasped the rose rudely. As his bighand closed upon it, a thorn that hid under the white petals pierceddeep into the ball of his thumb. In an instant the sleeping demon ofinsanity awoke. With eyes blazing and frame trembling with fury, hesprang to his feet, seized the knife, and with a hoarse, inarticulateshout, turned upon Bert, who, paralysed with terror, stood rooted to thespot half-way between the idiot and the door. It was a moment ofimminent peril, but ere Crazy Colin could reach the boy, his hoarse crywas echoed by a shrill shriek from behind Bert, and two stout armsencircling him, bore him off through the door and up the stairs, pausingnot until Squire Stewart's bedroom was gained and the door locked fast.Then depositing her burden upon the floor, brave, big Kitty threwherself into a chair, exclaiming, breathlessly:
"Thank God, Master Bert, we're safe now. The creature darsen't come upthose stairs."
And Kitty was right; for although Crazy Colin raged and stormed up anddown the hall, striking the wall with the knife, and talking in hiswild, unintelligible way, he did not attempt to set foot upon thestairs. Presently he became perfectly quiet.
"Has he gone away, Kitty?" asked Bert, eagerly, speaking for the firsttime. "He's not making any noise now."
Kitty stepped softly to the door, and putting her ear to the crack,listened intently for a minute.
"There's not a sound of him, Master Bert. Please God, he's gone, but wehadn't better go out of the room until the folks come home. He may bewaiting in the kitchen."
And so they stayed, keeping one another company through the long hoursof the morning and afternoon until at last the welcome sound of wheelscrushing the gravel told that the carriage had returned, and they mightleave their refuge.
The indignation of Squire Stewart when he heard what had occurred was asight to behold. Sunday though it was, he burst forth into anunrestrained display of his wrath, and had the cause of it venturedalong at the time, he certainly would have been in danger of bodilyinjury.
"The miserable trash!" stormed the Squire. "Not one of them shall everdarken my threshold again. Hech! that's what comes of being kind to suchobjects. They take you to be as big fools as themselves, and actaccordingly. The constable shall lay his grip on that loon so sure as Iam a Stewart."
There were more reasons for the Squire's wrath, too, than the frightCrazy Colin had given Bert and Kitty, for no dinner awaited the hungrychurch-goers, and rejoiced as they all were at the happy escape of thetwo who had been left at home, that was in itself an insufficientsubstitute for a warm, well-cooked dinner. But Kitty, of course, couldnot be blamed, and there was nothing to be done but to make the best ofthe situation, and satisfy their hunger upon such odds and ends as thelarder afforded.
As for poor Crazy Colin, whether by some subtle instinct on coming tohimself he realised how gravely he had offended, or whether in some wayor other he got a hint of the Squire's threats, cannot be said. Certainit was, that he did not present himself at Maplebank for many daysafter, and then he came under circumstances, which not only secured himcomplete for
giveness, but made him an actual hero, for the time, and wonhim a big place in the hearts of both Bert and his mother.
Although Bert had been forbidden to leave the homestead, unless incompany with some grown-up person, he had on several occasions forgottenthis injunction, in the ardour of his play, but never so completely ason the day that, tempted by Charlie Chisholm, the most reckless, daringyoungster in the neighbourhood, he went away off into the back-lands, asthe woods beyond the hill pasture were called, in search of an eagle'snest, which the unveracious Charlie assured him was to be seen high upin a certain dead monarch of the forest.
It was a beautiful afternoon, toward the end of August, when Bert, hisimagination fired by the thought of obtaining a young eagle, Charliehaving assured him that this was entirely possible, broke through allrestraints, and went off with his tempter. Unseen by any of thehousehold, as it happened, they passed through the milk yard, climbedthe hill, hastened across the pasture, dotted with the feeding cows, andsoon were lost to sight in the woods that fringed the line of settlementon both sides of the valley, and farther on widened into the greatforest that was traversed only by the woodsman and the hunter.
On and on they went, until at length Bert was tired out. "Aren't we farenough now, Charlie?" he asked, plaintively, throwing himself down upona fallen tree to rest a little.
"Not quite, Bert; but we'll soon be," answered Charlie. "Let's take arest, and then go ahead," he added, following Bert's example.
Having rested a few minutes, Charlie sprang up saying:
"Come along, Bert; or we'll never get there." And somewhat reluctantlythe latter obeyed. Deeper and deeper into the forest they made theirway, Charlie going, ahead confidently, and Bert following doubtfully;for he was already beginning to repent of his rashness, and wish that hewas home again.
Presently Charlie showed signs of being uncertain as to the right route.He would turn first to the right and then to the left, peering eagerlyahead, as if hoping to come upon the big dead tree at any moment.Finally he stopped altogether.
"See here, Bert; I guess we're on the wrong track," said he, coolly."I've missed the tree somehow, and it's getting late, so we'd bettermake for home. We'll have a try some other day."
Poor little Bert, by this time thoroughly weary, was only too glad toturn homeward, and the relief at doing this gave him new strength for awhile. But it did not last very long, and soon, footsore and exhausted,he dropped down upon a bank of moss, and burst into tears.
"Oh, Charlie, I wish we were home," he sobbed. "I'm so tired, andhungry, too."
Charlie did not know just what to do. It was getting on toward sundown;he had quite lost his way, and might be a good while finding it again,and he felt pretty well tired himself. But he put on a brave face andtried to be very cheerful, as he said:
"Don't cry, Bert. Cheer up, my boy, and we'll soon get home."
It was all very well to say "cheer up," but it was another thing to doit. As for getting home soon, if there were no other way for Bert to gethome than by walking the whole way, there was little chance of hissleeping in his own bed that night.
How thoroughly miserable he did feel! His conscience, his legs, and hisstomach, were all paining him at once. He bitterly repented of hisdisobedience, and vowed he would never err in the same way again. Butthat, while it was all very right and proper, did not help him homeward.
At length Charlie grew desperate. He had no idea of spending the nightin the woods if he could possibly help it, so he proposed a plan toBert:
"See here, Bert," said he, "you're too played out to walk any more. Now,I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll run home as fast as I can, and saddlethe old mare and bring her here, and then we'll ride back againtogether. What do you say?"
"Oh, don't leave me here alone?" pleaded Bert. "I'll be awfullyfrightened."
"Chut! Bert. There's nothing to frighten you but some old crows. Stayjust where you are, and I'll be back inside of an hour." And withoutwaiting to argue the point, Charlie dashed off into the woods in thedirection he thought nearest home; while Bert, after crying out in vainfor him to come back, buried his face in the moss and gave himself up totears.
One hour, two hours, three hours passed, and still Bert was alone. Thesun had set, the gloaming well-nigh passed, and the shadows of nightdrew near. All kinds of queer noises fell upon his ear, filling him withacute terror. He dared not move from the spot upon which Charlie hadleft him, but sat there, crouched up close against a tree, tremblingwith fear in every nerve. At intervals he would break out into vehementcrying, and then he would be silent again. Presently the darknessenveloped him, and still no succour came.
Meantime, there had been much anxiety at Maplebank. On Bert's beingmissed, diligent inquiry was made as to his whereabouts, and at length,after much questioning, some one was found who had seen him, in companywith Charlie Chisholm, going up through the hill pasture toward thewoods. When Mrs. Lloyd heard who his companion was, her anxietyincreased, for she well knew what a reckless, adventurous little fellowCharlie was, and she determined that search should be made for the boysat once. But in this she was delayed by Uncle Alec and the men being offat a distance, and not returning until supper time. So soon as they didget back, and heard of Bert's disappearance, they swallowed theirsupper, and all started without delay to hunt him up.
The dusk had come before the men--headed by Uncle Alec, and followed, asfar as the foot of the hill, by the old Squire--got well started ontheir search; but they were half-a-dozen in number, and all knew thecountry pretty well, so that the prospect of their finding the lost boysoon seemed bright enough.
Yet the dusk deepened into darkness, and hour after hour passed--hoursof intense anxiety and earnest prayer on the part of the mother andothers at Maplebank--without any token of success.
Mrs. Lloyd was not naturally a nervous woman, but who could blame her ifher feelings refused control when her darling boy was thus exposed todangers, the extent of which none could tell.
The Squire did his best to cheer her in his bluff blunt way:
"Tut! tut! Kate. Don't worry so. The child's just fallen asleepsomewhere. He'll be found as soon as it's light. There's nothing to harmhim in those woods."
Mrs. Lloyd tried hard to persuade herself that there wasn't, but allkinds of vague terrors filled her mind, and refused to be allayed.
At length, as it drew toward midnight, a step was heard approaching, andthe anxious watchers rushed eagerly to the door, hoping for good news.But it was only one of the men, returning according to arrangement tosee if Bert had been found, and if not to set forth again along some newline of search. After a little interval another came, and then another,until all had returned, Uncle Alec being the last, and still no news ofBert.
They were bidden to take some rest and refreshment before going back into the woods. While they were sitting in the kitchen, Uncle Alec, whowas exceedingly fond of Bert, and felt more concerned about him than hecared to show, having no appetite for food, went off toward the red gatewith no definite purpose except that he could not keep still.
Presently the still midnight air was startled with a joyful "Hurrah!"followed close by a shout of "Bert's all right--he's here," that broughtthe people in the house tumbling pell-mell against each other intheir haste to reach the door and see what it all meant.
"Crazy Colin strode up the road, bearing Bert high uponhis shoulder."--_Page 79._]
The light from the kitchen streamed out upon the road, making a broadluminous path, up which the next moment strode Crazy Colin, bearing Berthigh upon his broad shoulders, while his swarthy countenance fairlyshone with a smile of pride and satisfaction that clearly showed he didnot need Uncle Alec's enthusiastic clappings on the back, and hearty"Well done, Colin! You're a trump!" to make him understand theimportance of what he had done.
The two were at once surrounded by the overjoyed family. After givingher darling one passionate hug, Mrs. Lloyd took both of Crazy Colin'shands in hers, and, looking up into his beaming face, said, w
ith a deepsincerity even his dull brain could not fail to appreciate: "God blessyou, Colin. I cannot thank you enough, but I'll be your friend forlife;" while the Squire, having blown his nose very vigorously on hisred silk handkerchief, grasped Colin by the arm, dragged him into thehouse, and ordered that the best the larder could produce should beplaced before him at once. It was a happy scene, and no one enjoyed itmore than did Crazy Colin himself.
The exact details of the rescue of Bert were never fully ascertained;for, of course, poor Colin could not make them known, his range ofexpression being limited to his mere personal wants, and Bert himselfbeing able to tell no more than that while lying at the foot of thetree, and crying pretty vigorously, he heard a rustling among the treesthat sent a chill of terror through him, and then the sound of CrazyColin's talk with himself, which he recognised instantly. Forgetting allabout the fright Colin had given him a few days before, he shouted outhis name. Colin came to him at once, and seeming to understand thesituation at a glance, picked him up in his strong arms, flung him overhis shoulder, and strode off toward Maplebank with him as though he werea mere feather-weight and not a sturdy boy. Dark as it was, Colin neverhesitated, nor paused, except now and then to rest a moment, until hereached the red gate where Uncle Alec met him, and welcomed him sowarmly.
Mrs. Lloyd did not think it wise nor necessary to say very much to Bertabout his disobedience. If ever there was a contrite, humbled boy, itwas he. He had learned a lesson that he would be long in forgetting. Asfor his tempter, Charlie Chisholm, he did not turn up until the nextmorning, having lost himself completely in his endeavour to get home;and it was only after many hours of wandering he found his way to anoutlying cabin of the backwoods settlement, where he was given shelterfor the night.
Bert Lloyd's Boyhood: A Story from Nova Scotia Page 10