“What do you mean by that, you loafer?” demanded Peter, his eyes blazing with anger.
“To stop your fun, if that's what you call it.”
“I've a good mind to give you a thrashing.”
Gilbert put himself in a position of defense.
“Sail in, if you want to!” he responded.
“Help me, Simon!” said Peter. “You grab his legs, and I'll upset him.”
Simon, who, though younger, was braver than Peter, without hesitation followed directions. He threw himself on the ground and grasped Gilbert by the legs, while Peter, doubling up his fists, made a rush at his enemy. But Gilbert, swiftly eluding Simon, struck out with his right arm, and Peter, unprepared for so forcible a defense, tumbled over on his back, and Simon ran to his assistance.
Gilbert put himself on guard, expecting a second attack; but Peter apparently thought it wiser to fight with his tongue.
“You rascal!” he shrieked, almost foaming at the mouth; “I'll have you arrested.”
“What for?” asked Gilbert, coolly.
“For flying at me like a--a tiger, and trying to kill me.”
Gilbert laughed at this curious version of things.
“I thought it was you who flew at me,” he said.
“What business had you to interfere with me?”
“I'll do it again unless you give up firing stones at the cat.”
“I'll do it as long as I like.”
“She's gone!” said Simon.
The boys looked up into the tree, and could see nothing of puss. She had taken the opportunity, when her assailant was otherwise occupied, to make good her escape.
“I'm glad of it!” said Gilbert. “Good- morning, boys! When we meet again, I hope you will be more creditably employed.”
“You don't get off so easy, you loafer,” said Peter, who saw the village constable approaching. “Here, Mr. Rogers, I want you to arrest this boy.”
Constable Rogers, who was a stout, broad- shouldered man, nearly six feet in height, turned from one to the other, and asked: “What has he done?”
“He knocked me over. I want him arrested for assault and battery.”
“And what did you do?”
“I? I didn't do anything.”
“That is rather strange. Young man, what is your name?”
“Gilbert Vance.”
“You don't live in this town?”
“No; I live in Warren.”
“What made you attack Peter?”
“Because he flew at me, and I had to defend myself.”
“Is this so, Simon? You saw all that happened.”
“Ye--es,” admitted Simon, unwillingly.
“That puts a different face on the matter. I don't see how I can arrest this boy. He had a right to defend himself.”
“He came up and abused me--the loafer,” said Peter.
“That was the reason you went at him?”
“Yes.”
“Have you anything to say?” asked the constable, addressing Gilbert.
“Yes, sir; when I came up I saw this boy firing stones at a cat, who had taken refuge in that tree over there. He had just hit her, and had picked up a larger stone to fire when I ordered him to drop it.”
“It was no business of yours,” muttered Peter.
“I made it my business, and will again.”
“Did the cat have a white spot on her forehead?” asked the constable.
“Yes, sir.”
“And was mouse colored?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why, it's my little girl's cat. She would be heartbroken if the cat were seriously hurt. You young rascal!” he continued, turning suddenly upon Peter, and shaking him vigorously. “Let me catch you at this business again, and I'll give you such a warming that you'll never want to touch another cat.”
“Let me go!” cried the terrified boy. “I didn't know it was your cat.”
“It would have been just as bad if it had been somebody else's cat. I ve a great mind to put you in the lockup.”
“Oh, don't, please don't, Mr. Rogers!” implored Peter, quite panic-stricken.
“Will you promise never to stone another cat?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then go about your business.”
Peter lost no time, but scuttled up the street with his companion.
“I am much obliged to you for protecting Flora's cat,” then said the constable to Gilbert.
“You are quite welcome, sir. I won't see any animal abused if I can help it.”
“You are right there.”
“Wasn't that boy Peter Cook?”
“Yes. Don't you know him?”
“No; but I know his stepbrother, Carl.”
“A different sort of boy! Have you come to visit him?”
“No; he is visiting me. In fact, he has left home, because he could not stand his step- mother's ill-treatment, and I have come to see his father in his behalf.”
“He has had an uncomfortable home. Dr. Crawford is an invalid, and very much under the influence of his wife, who seems to have a spite against Carl, and is devoted to that young cub to whom you have given a lesson. Does Carl want to come back?”
“No; he wants to strike out for himself, but I told him it was no more than right that he should receive some help from his father.”
“That is true enough. For nearly all the doctor's money came to him through Carl's mother.”
“I am afraid Peter and his mother won't give me a very cordial welcome after what has happened this morning. I wish I could see the doctor alone.”
“So you can, for there he is coming up the street.”
Gilbert looked in the direction indicated, and his glance fell on a thin, fragile-looking man, evidently an invalid, with a weak, undecided face, who was slowly approaching.
The boy advanced to meet him, and, taking off his hat, asked politely: “Is this Dr. Crawford?”
CHAPTER IV.
AN IMPORTANT CONFERENCE.
DR. CRAWFORD stopped short, and eyed Gilbert attentively.
“I don't know you,” he said, in a querulous tone.
“I am a schoolmate of your son, Carl. My name is Gilbert Vance.”
“If you have come to see my son you will be disappointed. He has treated me in a shameful manner. He left home yesterday morning, and I don't know where he is.”
“I can tell you, sir. He is staying--for a day or two--at my father's house.”
“Where is that?” asked Dr. Crawford, his manner showing that he was confused.
“In Warren, thirteen miles from here.”
“I know the town. What induced him to go to your house? Have you encouraged him to leave home?” inquired Dr. Crawford, with a look of displeasure.
“No, sir. It was only by chance that I met him a mile from our home. I induced him to stay overnight.”
“Did you bring me any message from him?” “No, sir, except that he is going to strike out for himself, as he thinks his home an unhappy one.”
“That is his own fault. He has had enough to eat and enough to wear. He has had as comfortable a home as yourself.”
“I don't doubt that, but he complains that his stepmother is continually finding fault with him, and scolding him.”
“He provokes her to do it. He is a headstrong, obstinate boy.”
“He never had that reputation at school, sir. We all liked him.”
“I suppose you mean to imply that I am in fault?” said the doctor, warmly.
“I don't think you know how badly Mrs. Crawford treats Carl, sir.”
“Of course, of course. That is always said of a stepmother.”
“Not always, sir. I have a stepmother myself, and no own mother could treat me better.”
“You are probably a better boy.”
“I can't accept the compliment. I hope you'll excuse me saying it, Dr. Crawford, but if my stepmother treated me as Carl says Mrs. Crawford treats him I wouldn't stay in the house an
other day.”
“Really, this is very annoying,” said Dr. Crawford, irritably. “Have you come here from Warren to say this?”
“No, sir, not entirely.”
“Perhaps Carl wants me to receive him back. I will do so if he promises to obey his stepmother.”
“That he won't do, I am sure.”
“Then what is the object of your visit?”
“To say that Carl wants and intends to earn his own living. But it is hard for a boy of his age, who has never worked, to earn enough at first to pay for his board and clothes. He asks, or, rather, I ask for him, that you will allow him a small sum, say three or four dollars a week, which is considerably less than he must cost you at home, for a time until he gets on his feet.”
“I don't know,” said Dr. Crawford, in a vacillating tone. “I don't think Mrs. Crawford would approve this.”
“It seems to me you are the one to decide, as Carl is your own son. Peter must cost you a good deal more.”
“Do you know Peter?”
“I have met him,” answered Gilbert, with a slight smile.
“I don't know what to say. You may be right. Peter does cost me more.”
“And Carl is entitled to be treated as well as he.”
“I think I ought to speak to Mrs. Crawford about it. And, by the way, I nearly forgot to say that she charges Carl with taking money from her bureau drawer before he went away. It was a large sum, too--twenty-five dollars.”
“That is false!” exclaimed Gilbert, indignantly. “I am surprised that you should believe such a thing of your own son.”
“Mrs. Crawford says she has proof,” said the doctor, hesitating.
“Then what has he done with the money? I know that he has but thirty-seven cents with him at this time, and he only left home yesterday. If the money has really been taken, I think I know who took it.”
“Who?”
“Peter Cook. He looks mean enough for anything.”
“What right have you to speak so of Peter?”
“Because I caught him stoning a cat this morning. He would have killed the poor thing if I had not interfered. I consider that worse than taking money.”
“I--I don't know what to say. I can't agree to anything till I have spoken with Mrs. Crawford. Did you say that Carl had but thirty seven cents?”
“Yes, sir; I presume you don't want him to starve?”
“No, of course not. He is my son, though he has behaved badly. Here, give him that!” and Dr. Crawford drew a ten-dollar bill from his wallet, and handed it to Gilbert
“Thank you, sir. This money will be very useful. Besides, it will show Carl that his father is not wholly indifferent to him.”
“Of course not. Who says that I am a bad father?” asked Dr. Crawford, peevishly.
“I don't think, sir, there would be any difficulty between you and Carl if you had not married again.”
“Carl has no right to vex Mrs. Crawford. Besides, he can't agree with Peter.”
“Is that his fault or Peter's?” asked Gilbert, significantly.
“I am not acquainted with the circumstances, but Mrs. Crawford says that Carl is always bullying Peter.”
“He never bullied anyone at school.”
“Is there anything, else you want?”
“Yes, sir; Carl only took away a little underclothing in a gripsack. He would like his woolen clothes put in his trunk, and to have it sent----”
“Where?”
“Perhaps it had better be sent to my house. There are one or two things in his room also that he asked me to get.”
“Why didn't he come himself?”
“Because he thought it would be unpleasant for him to meet Mrs. Crawford. They would be sure to quarrel.”
“Well, perhaps he is right,” said Dr. Crawford, with an air of relief. “About the allowance, I shall have to consult my wife. Will you come with me to the house?”
“Yes, sir; I should like to have the matter settled to-day, so that Carl will know what to depend upon.”
Gilbert rather dreaded the interview he was likely to have with Mrs. Crawford; but he was acting for Carl, and his feelings of friendship were strong.
So he walked beside Dr. Crawford till they reached the tasteful dwelling occupied as a residence by Carl and his father.
“How happy Carl could he here, if he had a stepmother like mine,” Gilbert thought.
They went up to the front door, which was opened for them by a servant.
“Jane, is Mrs. Crawford in?” asked the doctor.
“No, sir; not just now. She went to the village to do some shopping.”
“Is Peter in?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you will have to wait till they return.”
“Can't I go up to Carl's room and be packing his things?”
“Yes, I think you may. I don't think Mrs. Crawford would object.”
“Good heavens! Hasn't the man a mind of his own?” thought Gilbert.
“Jane, you may show this young gentleman up to Master Carl's room, and give him the key of his trunk. He is going to pack his clothes.”
“When is Master Carl coming back?” asked Jane.
“I--I don't know. I think he will be away for a time.”
“I wish it was Peter instead of him,” said Jane, in a low voice, only audible to Gilbert.
She showed Gilbert the way upstairs, while the doctor went to his study.
“Are you a friend of Master Carl's?” asked Jane, as soon as they were alone.
“Yes, Jane.”
“And where is he?”
“At my house.”
“Is he goin' to stay there?”
“For a short time. He wants to go out into the world and make his own living.”
“And no wonder--poor boy! It's hard times he had here.”
“Didn't Mrs. Crawford treat him well?” asked Gilbert, with curiosity
“Is it trate him well? She was a-jawin' an' a-jawin' him from mornin' till night. Ugh, but she's an ugly cr'atur'!”
“How about Peter?”
“He's just as bad--the m'anest bye I iver set eyes on. It would do me good to see him flogged.”
She chatted a little longer with Gilbert, helping him to find Carl's clothes, when suddenly a shrill voice was heard calling her from below.
“Shure, it's the madam!” said Jane, shrugging her shoulders. “I expect she's in a temper;” and she rose from her knees and hurried downstairs.
CHAPTER V.
CARL'S STEPMOTHER.
FIVE minutes later, as Gilbert was closing the trunk, Jane reappeared.
“The doctor and Mrs. Crawford would like to see you downstairs,” she said.
Gilbert followed Jane into the library, where Dr. Crawford and his wife were seated. He looked with interest at the woman who had made home so disagreeable to Carl, and was instantly prejudiced against her. She was light complexioned, with very light-brown hair, cold, gray eyes, and a disagreeable expression which seemed natural to her.
“My dear,” said the doctor, “this is the young man who has come from Carl.”
Mrs. Crawford surveyed Gilbert with an expression by no means friendly.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Gilbert Vance.”
“Did Carl Crawford send you here?”
“No; I volunteered to come.”
“Did he tell you that he was disobedient and disrespectful to me?”
“No; he told me that you treated him so badly that he was unwilling to live in the same house with you,” answered Gilbert, boldly.
“Well, upon my word!” exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, fanning herself vigorously. “Dr. Crawford, did you hear that?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you think of it?”
“Well, I think you may have been too hard upon Carl.”
“Too hard? Why, then, did he not treat me respectfully? This boy seems inclined to be impertinent.”
“I answered
your questions, madam,” said Gilbert, coldly.
“I suppose you side with your friend Carl?”
“I certainly do.”
Mrs. Crawford bit her lip.
“What is the object of your coming? Does Carl wish to return?”
“I thought Dr. Crawford might have told you.”
“Carl wants his clothes sent to him,” said the doctor. “He only carried a few with him.”
“I shall not consent to it. He deserves no favors at our hands.”
This was too much even for Dr. Crawford.
“You go too far, Mrs. Crawford,” he said. “I am sensible of the boy's faults, but I certainly will not allow his clothes to be withheld from him.”
“Oh, well! spoil him if you choose!” said the lady, sullenly. “Take his part against your wife!”
“I have never done that, but I will not allow him to be defrauded of his clothes.”
“I have no more to say,” said Mrs. Crawford, her eyes snapping. She was clearly mortified at her failure to carry her point.
“Do you wish the trunk to be sent to your house?” asked the doctor.
“Yes, sir; I have packed the clothes and locked the trunk.”
“I should like to examine it before it goes,” put in Mrs. Crawford, spitefully.
“Why?”
“To make sure that nothing has been put in that does not belong to Carl.”
“Do you mean to accuse me of stealing, madam?” demanded Gilbert, indignantly.
Mrs. Crawford tossed her head.
“I don't know anything about you,” she replied.
“Dr. Crawford, am I to open the trunk?” asked Gilbert.
“No,” answered the doctor, with unwonted decision.
“I hate that boy! He has twice subjected me to mortification,” thought Mrs. Crawford.
“You know very well,” she said, turning to her husband, “that I have grounds for my request. I blush to mention it, but I have reason to believe that your son took a wallet containing twenty-five dollars from my bureau drawer.”
“I deny it!” said Gilbert.
“What do you know about it, I should like to ask?” sneered Mrs. Crawford.
“I know that Carl is an honorable boy, incapable of theft, and at this moment has but thirty-seven cents in his possession.”
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