by Morgan Scott
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE BLIND FUGITIVE.
Ben was startled. “Dead,” he cried, aghast—“Uncle Asher dead?”
“Yes,” answered Jerry, sitting on the edge of the bed, “he was took offsudden, Ben. He didn’t live much more’n an hour after he was struckdown. It was apoplexy or something like that. The doctor, he couldn’tdo anything. Uncle, he never spoke but once, and that was just beforehe went. Of course I was awful scat, Ben, but I was in the room, and Iheard him whispering my name. I went to the bed and felt for his hands.One of them didn’t have any strength, and it was stone cold. The otherwas cold, too, but I felt it grip my wrist, and then, sort of husky andchoky, Uncle Asher said, ‘The will, it’s in’—and that was all. He neverfinished; he couldn’t. I don’t believe it was ten minutes after thatwhen they told me he was gone.”
Ben seemed to be stupefied by the intelligence of this tragedy. “UncleAsher dead!” he repeated, apparently finding it difficult to comprehendthe situation. “He was good to you, wasn’t he, Jerry?”
“Always. He wouldn’t talk about you, Ben; all he’d say was that nobodyknowed what had become of you. But he was good to me, and he said I’dalways be taken care of.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ben simply, brushing away the tears which welled intohis eyes. “As long as he was good to you, I don’t mind what he thoughtabout me, for I suppose he had reasons to believe I was bad.”
“I wanted to tell you all about it when we met back there on the road,”said Jerry; “but I thought perhaps it wasn’t best to talk too muchbefore other people. I was afraid to talk, Ben, and I’ve got goodreasons to be afraid. Listen, Ben; I ran away.”
“You—you what?” gasped the older lad in great astonishment.
“I ran away, Ben. I didn’t even wait till the funeral was over.”
“What made you do that?”
“Because—because they were going to send me off to some institution forpoor and helpless children. I heard them talking about it, the doctorand the lawyer and one or two of the neighbors. They didn’t know Iheard them, but I couldn’t help listening. The lawyer had come, and hesaid he’d drawn up Uncle Asher’s will four years ago. It was in asafety deposit vault at the bank. I heard him telling that there wasn’tno provision made for me in that will. Something was left to thehousekeeper and one or two distant relatives, and all the rest went tobenevolent institutions; I was left out.
“Of course I thought of you, Ben, the very first thing, and I wanted tolet you know; but there wasn’t nobody who could tell me where you were.It was pretty hard to think mebbe I’d be shut up in some institutionand kept there and never, never find you again. When I thought aboutthat all alone in my room I got desperate, Ben. All that was left to mewas my little dog, Pilot, that uncle had bought for me and trained tolead me round; and I was afraid they’d take Pilot away from me, too. Sothat night I packed up a few things, and took the violin Uncle Asherhad given me, and took Pilot, and we stole out of the house and ranaway.
“I told Pilot just what I was going to do, and, honest and true, Ibelieve he understood what I said. I told him Uncle Asher was gone, andthat if we didn’t run away mebbe folks would separate us and wecouldn’t be together no more. He’d never been outside that town before,Ben, but when we took to the road in the night he just kept goingstraight ahead without once trying to turn back. Needn’t nobody evertell me some dogs don’t understand as much as human folks.
“I’d took along some bread and doughnuts out of the pantry, and, whenit come morning and I could feel the sun shining, we had breakfast sideof a little brook, after which we crept into the bushes and hid all daylong. I heard people going by on the road, but I told Pilot to keepstill, and he minded. There was enough food left for supper, and thenext night we tramped it again all night long, stopping only two orthree times to rest. In the morning I had breakfast off some apples Ifound in an orchard. Pilot he left me, and I thought mebbe he’ddeserted for good, and I guess I cried, Ben; but he hadn’t gone far,and after a while he come back with an old bone he’d found, and thatserved him for breakfast. We got into a shed and slept there till itwas dark and we could travel some more.”
“Oh, Jerry,” cried Ben sympathetically—“oh, Jerry, it must have beenterrible!” He seated himself beside the blind lad, about whoseshoulders his arm was tenderly flung. The little dog, half dozing onthe floor, rolled a contented, satisfied eye toward them and closed itagain.
“I can’t tell you all we did and all we went through, Ben,” the blindlad continued; “but we managed to get along somehow, though I wasalways scat for fear they’d catch me and take me back. I played on theviolin and sometimes I sang, and Jerry he would sit up on his haunchesand beg, and people gave us some money. That’s how we were able to liveand buy food.”
“It was a marvel you were not caught, Jerry. Perhaps no one searchedfor you.”
“Oh, yes, they did,” declared the blind boy quickly—“yes, they did,Ben. It was three nights ago I was stopping at a house in a littlevillage where some kind folks agreed to put me up when I heard somebodyknocking at the door. It gave me a start, and I listened. I heard a mantalking to the man of the house, and he was asking about me. Hedescribed me—a little blind boy with a fiddle and a dog. I hadn’tundressed for bed, and that was lucky. I called Pilot softly, andsomehow we got down the back stairs and out of the house before theycame up to that room to look for me. Again we tramped it all nightlong, though it was awful cold and I shivered and almost froze everytime we stopped to rest. Everywhere I went I asked for you, and I keptpraying to find you, Ben, though it didn’t seem that there was anychance. I guess, though, that prayer was heard.”
“It was, Jerry; it must have been. Something led you to me, andsomething guarded you from capture until you had found me.”
“But what if they find me now, Ben—what can we do?”
The older lad meditated a moment. “I can take care of you, Jerry,” hesaid. “I’m strong, and I can work. I’ll have to give up school for atime and find work again.”
“But you know, Ben—you know they think you’re bad. They might separateus on that account. I’m sure they would.”
“And only for Bern Hayden,” exclaimed Ben bitterly, “I’d never havesuch a reputation! We’ll do the best we can, Jerry; don’t you worry.Fortune has seemed to favor me here in Oakdale, and I feel sureeverything is bound to come out all right in the end. We won’t beseparated, little brother; we’ll stick together.”
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