The Second Chance

by Nellie L. McClung

  CHAPTER XXI

  FROZEN WHEAT

  For them 'at's here in airliest infant stages, It's a hard world; For them 'at gets the knocks of boyhood's ages, It's a mean world; For them 'at nothin's good enough they're gittin', It's a bad world; For them 'at learns at last what's right and fittin', It's a good world.

  _----James Whitcomb Riley._

  THE summer was over, and the harvest, a great, bountiful harvest, wasgathered in. The industrious hum of the threshing-machine was heardfrom many quarters, and the roads were dotted thick with teamsbringing in the grain to the elevators.

  In the quiet field on the hillside, where the spruce trees, straightand stiff, stand like faithful sentinels, the grass that had grownover Bill Cavers's grave was now sere and gray; only the hardypansies were green still and gay with blossoms, mute emblems of thelove that never faileth.

  Mrs. Cavers and Libby Anne were still living on the rented farm.After Bill's death the neighbours, with true Western generosity, hadagreed among themselves to harvest the crop for her. The season hadbeen so favourable that her share of the crop would be a considerableamount.

  It was a typical autumn day in middle September. The golden andpurple flowers of the fall bespangled the roadside--wild sunflowers,brown-centred gaillardia, wild sage, and goldenrod. The bright blueof the cloudless sky set off the rich tints of autumn. The stubblefields still bore the golden-yellow tinge of the harvest, andalthough the maple leaves were fast disappearing before the lustywinds of autumn, the poplars, yellow and rust-coloured, stillflickered gaily, the wild rosehaws and frost-touched milkweed stillgave a dash of colour to the shrubbery on the river-bank.

  There had been an early frost that fall, which had caught the latewheat, and now the grain which was brought into the elevators had tobe closely graded. The temptation to "plug" the wheat was strong, andso much of it was being done that the elevator men were suspicious ofevery one.

  Young Tom Steadman was weighing wheat in the Farmers' Elevator whilethe busy time was on, and although there was no outward hostilitybetween him and Bud Perkins, still his was too small a nature toforget the thrashing that Bud had given him at the school two yearsago, and, according to Tom's code of ethics, it would be a very fineway to get even if he could catch Bud selling "plugged" wheat.

  The first load that Bud brought in Tom asked him if he had pluggedit. Bud replied quite hotly that he had not.

  "I suppose," said Tom, "you stopped all that since you joined theChurch."

  Bud's face flushed, but he controlled his temper and answered: "Yes,that's what stopped me, and I'm not ashamed to say so."

  The manager of the elevator, who was present, looked at him insurprise. "Were you ever caught?" he asked.

  "No," said Bud; "I was not."

  "Well, then, you're a fool to ever admit that you did it," he saidseverely.

  "I can't help that," Bud said. "I am not going to lie about it."

  "Well, it makes people suspicious of you to know you ever did it,that's all," Mr. Johnston said.

  "You are welcome to watch me. I am not asking you to take my word forit," Bud replied.

  "You're a queer lad," said the elevator man.

  Bud's wheat was closely examined, and found to be of uniform quality.

  The wheat went up to the dollar mark and Thomas Perkins decided torush his in to the elevator at once. He stayed at home himself andfilled the bags while Bud did the marketing.

  All went well for a week. Contrary to his own words about beingsuspicious of Bud, the elevator "boss" was, in his own mind,confident of the boy's honesty.

  One day, just as Bud's second last bag was thrown in, young Steadmangave a cry of delight, and picked out a handful. Number II Northernwas the grading that Bud had been getting all the week. YoungSteadman showed it triumphantly to the elevator "boss" who examinedit closely. _It was frozen wheat!_

  Bud was gathering up his bags when the elevator man called him over.

  "Look at that," he said, holding the wheat before him.

  Bud looked at it incredulously. "That's not mine," he said.

  Young Steadman's eyes were on him exultingly. He had got even atlast, he thought.

  "We'll have to see about this, Bud," the elevator man said sternly.

  The other bag was emptied, and Bud saw with his own eyes that themiddle of the bag was filled with frozen wheat! He turned dizzy withshame and rage. The machinery in the elevator with its deafening,thump-thump-thump, seemed to be beating into his brain. He leanedagainst the wall, pale and trembling.

  The same instinct which prompted Tom Steadman when he hit Libby AnneCavers prompted him now. "I thought you said you wouldn't do such athing since you joined the Church," he said, with an expression ofshocked virtue.

  Bud's cup of bitterness was overflowing, and at first he did notnotice what had been said.

  Tom took his silence to mean that he might with safety say more. "Iguess you're not as honest as you'd like to have people think, andjoinin' the Church didn't do you so much good after all."

  Bud came to himself with a rush then, and young Tom Steadman wentspinning across the floor with the blood spurting from his nose.

  * * *

  Bud was fined ten dollars for assault, and of course it became knownin a few hours that the cause of the trouble was that Bud had beencaught selling frozen wheat in the middle of his bags.

  Through it all Bud made no word of defence. No one knew how bitterwas the sting of disgrace in the boy's soul or how he suffered. Whenhe went home that afternoon there was a stormy scene. "I told you Iwould not sell 'plugged' wheat," he said to his father, raging withthe memory of it, "and, without letting me know, you put it in andmade me out a thief and a liar."

  The old man moistened his lips. "Say, Buddie," he said, "it was toobad you hit young Steadman; he's an overgrown slab of a boy, and Idon't mind you lickin' him, but they'll take the 'law' on ye everytime; and ten dollars was a terrible fine. Maybe they'd have let youoff with five if you'd coaxed them."

  "Coax!" said Bud, scornfully. "I wouldn't coax them. What do I careabout the money, anyway? That's not what I'm kicking about."

  "Oh, Buddie, you are a reckless young scamp to let ten dollars go inone snort, and then say you don't care."

  With an angry exclamation Bud turned away.

  * * *

  The next time Bud went to Millford Mrs. Burrell saw him passing thehouse and called him in. She had heard an account of the affair fromthe wife of the elevator "boss," and had told it to Mr. Burrell, whopromptly declared he did not believe it, whereupon Mrs. Burrell grewindignant. Did he doubt Mrs. Johnston's word?

  Mr. Burrell cautioned her not to speak of it to any one, and went outat once to see Bud. Mr. Burrell had only been gone a few minutes whenBud himself came driving past the house. Mrs. Burrell told herselfthat Providence had put Bud in her way. Mrs. Burrell blamedProvidence for many things quite unjustly. "Come in, Bud," she calledfrom the door; "I want to see you."

  Bud knew the minister's wife but slightly; he had seen her at theservices in the schoolhouse. He had intended going in to see Mr.Burrell, for he felt that he must tell some one that he was notguilty, and he felt that the minister was the one whose opinion hemost valued. So he went in gladly, hoping that Mr. Burrell might bethere.

  "Now, Bud," Mrs. Burrell began, with her severest air, "I am sorry tosay what I have to say, but it's all for your own good, and it reallyhurts me to say it."

  "Don't say it then!" burst from the boy's white lips; he was too soreto stand any more.

  "I must say it, Bud," she went on, as conscientious in her cruelty asQueen Mary. "You have done very wrong, and you must repent. I couldnot sleep a wink last night, thinking of it, and Mr. Burrell didthink so much of, you, too."

  "_Did_ think!" Bud inferred from the heavy emphasis that Mr.Burrell's regard was all past, and he hid his face so that she mightnot see how deeply she had hurt him.

  "But you are young yet, and your life is all before you, a
nd you mustrepent and begin all over again. 'While the lamp of life holds out toburn, the vilest sinner may return.' You must pray for strength, soyou won't be tempted to be dishonest again, and you really shouldapologize to young Mr. Steadman. Mrs. Johnston says his face is verysore."

  Bud looked up quickly and said with flashing eyes: "I'm glad of that.I wish I had smashed him again--the pup!"

  Then Mrs. Burrell was shocked utterly. "My dear boy," she said, "I amafraid your heart is very hard and wicked. Mr. Burrell thought youwere soundly converted, too, but you seem to be really rebelliousagainst God, who is kinder and better than any earthly parent. Thisis a matter for earnest and agonizing prayer."

  Bud stood up and looked at her with eyes that flamed with anger.Unfortunately Bud, like Martha, was entirely lacking in humour;otherwise his heart would have been saved many a cruel hurt. "I don'twant your prayers," he said, when he could control himself.

  Something in the boy's face touched Mrs. Burrell's heart with pity."Perhaps I've been wrong," she said. "I do make mistakes sometimes. Imay have made one now."

  "You certainly have," he said, as he took his hat and left the house.

  Mrs. Burrell watched him going down the path with his long, swingingstride, and her heart was strangely troubled. She had a convictionthat she had done no good, and perhaps had done a great deal of harm."When I try to do good, evil comes of it," she said sorrowfully, andthen she went to her own room and prayed; and it was an earnest andagonizing prayer, too; though very different from the prayer she hadin mind when she spoke to Bud, for the burden of it all was this,that God would in some way overrule all her mistakes for good, andnot let the boy suffer because of any word of hers.

  She continued to plead until her heart found peace in the thoughtthat has comforted so many of us in our sore need, that perhaps whenHe sees the faulty, crooked lines we are drawing, the Great Surveyorwill, in His mercy, put in for us, here and there, the correctionlines.

  * * *

  When Bud drove home that night his thoughts were far too bitter for aboy of eighteen. A sense of injustice was poisoning the fountains ofhis heart, and so, when he met Mr. Burrell, he felt he could stand nomore. The whole world was against him now, he thought, and he wouldlet them see he didn't care. He would never tell any one now aboutthe wheat. He would never give away his father; but he would leaveMillford right straight, leave it for ever, so when Mr. Burrell drewin his horse to speak to him, Bud turned his head and drove rapidlyaway. Mr. Burrell went home very sad about it all, wondering if Budwere really guilty, but determined to stand by him just the same.

  When he got home Mrs. Burrell told him about her interview with Bud.She was thoroughly repentant now, and tearfully declared that sheknew now she had been very unwise.

  Mr. Burrell drove back that night to see Bud, but he was too late,for Bud had gone.

  * * *

  Arriving at his home, Bud stabled his horses, and then went into thehouse. His father was filling bags in the granary, but Bud felt thathe could not bear to see him. He went to his own room and hurriedlychanged his clothes. He had only one thought--to get away--to getaway where no one knew him. In the last few hours the whole world hadchanged for him--that Mr. Burrell should so easily believe him guiltyhad overflowed his cup of bitterness.

  A red and silver scripture text, in the form of a shield, hung on hisbedroom wall; Martha had given it to him, some time ago, and it hadoften brought him comfort and inspiration.

  "He is able to deliver you," it said.

  Bud read it now scornfully, and with a sudden impulse tore it downand crushed it in his hands. "There's nothing in it," the boy criedbitterly.

  He went out to the pasture and whistled to his pacing colt, whichcame to him at once. The boy laid his head on the colt's velvet neckand patted it lovingly.

  "I'll come back for you, Bunko," he said. "You're mine, anyway."

  The colt rubbed his head against Bud's arm.

  Across the ravine, where the fringed blue gentian looked up from thesere grass, the cows were grazing, and Bud, from habit, went for themand brought them up to the bars.

  The sun was setting when Bud reached the Cavers's house, for he couldnot go without saying good-bye to Libby Anne. She was driving theirtwo cows in from a straw stack, and called gaily to him when she sawhim coming.

  "I've come to say good-bye, Lib," said Bud simply.

  "Where are you going?" she asked.

  "I don't know--anywhere to get away from here." Then he told her whathad happened.

  "I'm glad you took a smash at Tom Steadman," she said, her big eyesflashing, when he had finished. Then suddenly she began to cry. "Idon't want you to go," she sobbed. "You won't ever come back; I won'tsee you ever again."

  "Don't say that, Libby," Bud cried in real distress--she looked solittle and pale in her black dress--"I will come back some time, andI won't forget my little girl. You're my girl, you know, Lib."

  "I'm your girl all right," the child said unsteadily. "But I want youto stay. I can't make up things like Pearl and Mary Watson can--I cando some pretendin' games pretty good now, but I can't pretend aboutyou--I'll know you're gone all the time, Bud," and she caught herbreath in a quivering sob.

  Then Bud lifted the little girl in his arms and kissed her over andover again.

  "Don't cry, Libby," he said. "I'm going away to make lots of money,and you mustn't fret. Every night I want you to say to yourself: 'I'mBud's girl, and he won't forget me;' and whenever you get lonely ordownhearted, just say that. Now Libby Anne, tell me who you are."

  "I'm Bud's girl, all right," she answered gravely.

  The sun had gone down in a crimson haze, and a misty tendernessseemed to brood over the world. The September evening was so full ofpeace and beauty with its muffled tinkle of cowbells and the softsong of the whippoorwill that came at intervals from the maple bushon Oak Creek, it was hard to believe that there were troubled heartsanywhere.

  The hoarse whistle of a long freight train on the C. P. R. boomedharshly through the quiet air. "I must go, Lib," said Bud.

  Libby Anne stood looking after him as he went quickly down the road.The evening twilight soon hid him from her sight, but she stilllooked down the winding road until it dipped down in the valley ofOak Creek.

  Suddenly from the river-bank came the weird cry of a prairie wolf,and Libby Anne, turning with a shudder, ran home in the gatheringdusk.