by Morgan Scott
CHAPTER VIII.
A RIFT.
Ben came down quietly through the grove behind the house, slipped roundto the ell door and ascended to his bare room without being observed byany one about the place. It did not take him long again to draw out hisbattered trunk and pack it with his few possessions.
He then found before him an unpleasant duty from which he shrank; Mrs.Jones must again be told that he was going away.
It is not remarkable that he hesitated over this, or that as theshadows once more thickened in that room he sat for a long time on histrunk, his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, gazingblankly at the one leaden window.
To his ears came the sound of wheels, which seemed to stop before thehouse. A few minutes later Jimmy’s voice called from the foot of thestairs:
“Ben, Ben, you up there?”
He opened the door. “What’s wanted, Jimmy?”
“I didn’t know you was home,” said the lame boy, in some surprise. “Ididn’t see y’u come, an’ I was watchin’. They’s somebody down herewants to see y’u.”
“Wants to see me?” he exclaimed, unable to repress a feeling ofapprehension. “Who is it?”
“It’s Roger Eliot,” answered the boy below, “an’ he’s jest got a dandyhoss an’ carriage. He said you must be here, but I didn’t think y’uwas.”
“Roger Eliot!” muttered Ben, descending at once. “What can he want?”
“I dunno,” admitted Jimmy, limping after him as he left the house. “Hejest tole me to tell y’u to come out.”
“Hello, Stone!” called Roger from the carriage in front of the gate.“Come, get in here and take a little drive with me.”
Greatly surprised by this invitation, Ben hesitated until the boy inthe carriage repeated his words urgently, but with a touch of thatcommand which had made him a leader among the boys of the village andcaptain of the football team.
“I—I haven’t much time,” faltered Stone; but he wonderingly took hisplace at Roger’s side and was whirled away, regretfully watched byJimmy, who hung on the sagging gate and stared after the carriage untilit turned the corner under the street-light opposite the post office.
In front of the post office Chub Tuttle was munching peanuts andtelling Sile Crane and Sleuth Piper of the wonderful manner in whichStone had defended Amy Eliot from Tige Fletcher’s dogs. He had reachedthe most thrilling portion of the tale when the carriage containingRoger and Ben turned the corner.
“Jinks!” exclaimed Crane. “There he is naow with Roger. Where d’yous’pose they’re going?”
“The mystery is easily solved,” declared Piper at once. “My deductionof the case is as follows: Eliot has a sister; this sister is attackedby the vicious dogs of one Fletcher; Stone rushes to her defense; hebeats off the said dogs and kills one of them; the before-mentionedEliot takes his before-mentioned sister home; he relates to his folkshow she was rescued from dire peril and a fearful fate by thebefore-mentioned Stone; at once her parents wish to see and thank thesaid Stone; Roger is dispatched post haste for the hero of thethrilling and deadly struggle; said hero is carried off in triumph tothe palatial residence of the before-mentioned parents. I’ll stake myprofessional reputation on the correctness of the deduction.”
“Guess you’re right, Sleuth,” said Chub. “Roger thinks an awful lot ofhis sister, and he choked and couldn’t seem to find words to say whenhe tried to thank Stone.”
“Say,” drawled Crane, “perhaps this Stone ain’t such an awful badfeller after all. Jack Walker tol’ me he pitched into Hunk Rollinshammer an’ tongs ’cause Hunk was plaguing Jimmy Jones, and he said hewas a-going to tell the professor the whole business. Bern Hayden ispretty top-lofty, and he’s down on Stone for somethin’, so he wants todrive Stone outer the school. I tell you fellers right here that Ihope, by Jinks! that Stone don’t go.”
“’Sh!” hissed Sleuth mysteriously, glancing all around, as if fearfulof being overheard. “Draw back from this bright glare of light, wherewe may be spied upon by watchful and suspicious eyes.”
When they had followed him into the shadow at the corner of thebuilding and he had peered and listened some moments, he drew themclose together and, in a low, hoarse voice, declared:
“It is perfectly apparent to my trained observation that there is morein this case than appears on the surface. I have struck a scent, whichI am working up. I pledge you both to secrecy; betray me at your peril.Between Hayden and Stone there is a deadly and terrible feud. Sometimein the dark and hidden past a great wrong was committed. I feel it myduty to solve the problem and right the wrong. I shall know neitherrest nor sleep until my task is accomplished and justice is done.”
“Well,” said Sile, in his quaint, drawling way, “you may git allfiredtired an’ sleepy, Sleuth; but I agree with Chub in thinkin’ it prittylikely Roger is a-takin’ Stone up to his haouse.”
The boys were right in this conviction, although Ben did not suspectwhither he was being carried until they were passing the Methodistchurch and approaching Roger’s home.
“I am taking you to dinner,” said Roger, in answer to Ben’squestioning. “Mother asked me to bring you in order that she may thankyou for your brave defense of Amy against old Fletcher’s dogs; andfather wishes to see you, too.”
Ben was filled with sudden consternation.
“Oh, say, Eliot,” he exclaimed, “I can’t go there!”
“Why not, old man? My mother is an invalid, you know, and she can’tcome to you. It will be a pleasure to her to meet you, and she has fewenough pleasures in life.”
“But—but,” stammered Ben, remembering that Urian Eliot was known to beOakdale’s richest man and lived in the finest house in the village, “Iam not prepared—my clothes——”
“Nonsense!” heartily returned Roger. “You will find us plain people whodo not go in for ceremony and style. Your clothes are all right. Justyou be easy and make yourself at home.”
Little did Roger know of his companion’s inward quaking andapprehension, but it seemed too late to get out of it then, and Stonewas compelled to face the ordeal.
A stableman took charge of the horse and carriage, and they were met atthe door by Amy Eliot, who had been watching for them.
“Here he is, Sis,” said Roger. “I captured him and brought him offwithout letting him know what was up, or I’d never got him here.”
Amy shyly, yet impulsively, took Ben’s hand.
“You were so good to come and save me from those dreadful dogs!” shesaid. “I was nearly frightened to death. I know they would have eatenme up.”
As Ben’s chained tongue was seeking to free itself a stout, square,bald-headed, florid man, with a square-trimmed tuft of iron-graywhiskers on his chin, appeared in the doorway of a lighted room off thehall, and a healthy, hearty voice cried:
“So this is the hero! Well, well, my boy, give me your hand! I’ve heardall about it from Roger and Amy. And you actually killed old Fletcher’sbig dog with a club! Remarkable! Amazing! For that alone you deserve avote of thanks from every respectable, peaceable citizen of this town.But we owe you the heaviest debt. Our Amy would have been mangled bythose miserable beasts but for your promptness and courage. Lots ofboys would have hesitated about facing those dogs.”
“This is my father, Stone,” said Roger, as Urian Eliot was earnestlyshaking the confused lad’s hand.
Ben managed huskily to murmur that he was glad to meet Mr. Eliot.
From the adjoining room a woman’s low, pleasant voice called:
“Why don’t you bring him in? Have you forgotten me?”
“No, mother,” answered Roger, taking Ben’s cap from his hand andhanging it on the hall tree.
“No, indeed!” declared Mr. Eliot, as he led the boy into a handsomeroom, where there were long shelves of books, and great comfortableleather-covered chairs, and costly Turkish rugs on the hardwood floor,with a wood fire burning cheerfully in an open f
ireplace, and a frail,sweet-faced woman sitting amid piled-up cushions in an invalid’s chairnear a table, on which stood a shaded lamp and lay many books andmagazines. “Here he is, mother.”
“Yes, here he is, mother,” said Roger, smiling that rare, slow smile ofhis, which illumined his face and made it seem peculiarly attractiveand generous; “but I’m sure I’d never made a success of it in bringinghim if I had told him what I wanted in the first place.”
“My dear boy,” said Mrs. Eliot, taking Ben’s hand in both her own thinhands, “mere words are quite incapable of expressing my feelings, but Iwish I might somehow make you know how deeply grateful I am to you foryour noble and heroic action in saving my helpless little girl fromthose cruel dogs.”
At the sound of her voice Ben was moved, and the touch of her handsthrilled him. Her tender, patient eyes gazed deep into his, and thatlook alone was a thousand times more expressive of her gratitude thanall the words in the language, though chosen by a master speaker. Hethought of his own kind, long-suffering mother, now at rest, and therewas a mist in his eyes.
“Believe me,” he managed to say, “I didn’t do it for thanks, and I——”
“I am sure you didn’t,” she interrupted. “You did it just because itwas the most natural thing for a brave boy like you to do.”
It was quite astonishing to him to have any one regard him as brave andnoble, for all his life until now everybody had seemed to look on himas something quite the opposite; and, in spite of what he had done, hecould not help thinking he did not deserve to be treated so kindly andshown so much gratitude.
“Sit down, Stone, old man,” invited Roger, pushing up a chair.
“Yes, sit down,” urged Mrs. Eliot. “I want to talk with you.”
In a short time she made him feel quite at ease, which also seemedsurprising when he thought of it; for to him, accustomed to poverty allhis life, that library was like a room in a palace. And these peoplewere such as circumstances and experience had led him to believe wouldfeel themselves in every way his superiors, yet they had apparentlyreceived him as their equal and made no show of holding themselves farabove him.
Urian Eliot, who stood on the hearth-rug, with his back to the fire andhis hands behind him, joined freely in the conversation, and Ben couldnot help wondering if this was really the rich mill-owner whom thegreater number of the people of Oakdale regarded with an air of awe. Hewas very free and easy and plain-spoken, yet he had the reputation ofbeing a hard business man, close-fisted to the point of penuriousnessin all his dealings.
Amy came and stood close beside Ben, while Roger sat on the broad armof a chair, gravely satisfied in his demeanor.
They talked of many things, and there was no suggestion of idlecuriosity on the part of Mrs. Eliot when she questioned the visitorabout himself.
Ben told of his home with Jacob Baldwin, an unsuccessful farmer, wholived some ten miles from Oakdale, explaining how he had done his bestto carry on the little farm while Mr. Baldwin was down with rheumatism,how he had planned and saved to get money to attend school, and how hehad finally set by a small sum that he believed was sufficient to carryhim through a term at the academy by strict economy.
Listening to this, Urian Eliot nodded repeatedly and rubbed his squarehands behind his broad back with an atmosphere of satisfaction. Whenthe boy had finished, Mr. Eliot surprised him by saying:
“That’s the right sort of stuff—it’s the kind that real men are madeof. I like it. I was a poor boy myself, and I had a pretty hard time ofit cutting cordwood and hoop-poles in winter and working wherever Icould earn a dollar in summer; but I stuck to it, and I managed to pullthrough all right. You stick to it, my boy, and you’ll win. I admireyour grit.”
Such complimentary words from a man like Urian Eliot meant a greatdeal, and they sent a glow over Ben. For the time he forgot the cloudhanging over him, forgot Bernard Hayden and the blighting past, forgotthat he was an outcast who could never again cross the threshold ofOakdale academy save to face disgrace and expulsion.
Finally dinner was announced, and Roger carefully wheeled his mother inher chair from the library to the dining room, while Urian Eliotfollowed, offering advice and calling to Ben to come.
Amy’s little hand stole into Ben’s, and she pressed close to his side,looking up at him.
“I’m going to sit by you,” she said. “I like you, Ben. I think you’rejust the best and bravest fellow in the world—except Roger,” shefinished, as an afterthought.
It was a happy hour for Ben.
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