I got into my best stride and the boy knowing I was surefooted paid no attention to me.
His poor mind was busy with himself I guessed, as I heard unhappy, un-youthful groans coming from him. The boy was very young. It would have been better if he had been spared such a sad experience, and yet being such a bull-headed youth maybe he had to have a hard run before he could settle down to a good working gait.
In trotting to and fro on this road with Dallas, I had got to know it quite well, that is within a few miles of the house. My rider was planning to take me further than my acquaintance went, but I was not planning to be taken.
After a short open stretch with a magnificent view of the moonlit lake we entered on a long strip of woodland. Fine old hardwood trees bordered the roadside. The moon lighted this strip with difficulty and one tree looked pretty much like another. It would be hard for my rider to distinguish landmarks and here I intended to deceive him.
So just as we were one mile deep in the hardwoods I had a dizzy spell. I flatter myself I did it quite nicely. I went round and round as if my head were reeling. Then I staggered.
Now love for animals was such second nature to these young Deverings that the lad forgot himself for a time. He sprang off my back, jerked up my head, pulled down an eyelid and looked at my wildly rolling eyes. Then he passed his hands all over me.
By this time I had quite recovered. I nuzzled him gratefully, and with quite an affectionate tap he mounted me again, his attention on me not on the road.
Didn't I gallop now! My sickness was all gone and the reassured lad did just as I wished him to—he fell right back again into his dismal reverie, never dreaming that his young face was set toward his nice warm bed on the veranda, and his back was toward the big cold world that is so unkind to homeless boys.
CHAPTER XXII BACK TO THE HOME STABLE
Wasn't I a happy pony! but alas! what should I do when I was found out.
"I don't care, I don't care," I thought as I pounded along on shoes of joy. "If he flogs me, I'll have blind staggers fit to beat the band. Home and master! Home and young master! I've fooled you, laddie—my master's cousin isn't going to hurt himself when I'm round."
All too quickly, as I pursued my way feeling like a bird on free and careless wing, I tried to catch my bit in my teeth. I had had a frightful jerk. I was found out.
Then I heard a cry of dismay, "That's King of the Glen!"
Now these clever young ones had names for their favourite trees, and unhappily this lad had recognised this monarch of a beechwood grove who had been unkind enough to grow with one of his roots sticking out toward the road like a huge boot, thereby spoiling my otherwise perfect plan.
The boy was sawing my tender mouth and secure in the knowledge that he was alone with me with only wild animals or birds for listeners he was yelling, "Turn round, you little brute!"
I threw a terrible dizzy fit then I began to buck, having once for fun taken lessons from a western pony.
The lad got his young toes out of the stirrups pretty quick, and stood watching me. His poor mount was staggering now, then grovelling in the dust.
He made a step forward, then retreated. How could he beat a pony that was on its back with four legs in the air?
"'Pon my word, you little villain," he screamed, "you're shamming. I'd like to thrash the life out of you!"
"Would you!" I whinnied shrilly, and leaping to my feet I cut along toward home.
Wasn't he a mad boy! I was really sorry for him. Here he was in a forest in the dead of night, no one near but a naughty pony who had played him the mischievous trick of bringing him a mile nearer home than he thought he was.
He was done for now. He couldn't walk to the Lake of Bays. With a fast pony he could have made the daylight boat, and left for parts unknown. Now he could be caught and taken shamefully home, or—he glanced about him.
He could hide in the woods and tramp over the mountain to a railway back of it.
But what of me? He bawled at me to come back, and shook both fists at me as I stood roguishly eyeing him from a safe distance.
"You young demon!" he howled, "You're capable of playing bloodhound as well as fox. You'd lead a searching party right to me. I'd like to kill you," and he began fumbling about in the dust for a stone to throw at me.
It was too good a road to have stones. His father had seen to that, so he had to give up his attempt to discipline me.
He flung himself down on a grassy bank under the pitying outstretched arms of the old King of the Glen who loved him.
Poor, poor lad! I was more and more sorry for him, but I kept my distance.
What was to be my next move? Ah! fortune favours the bold pony. I shut my eyes delightedly. Over my hot head blew the lovely cool spirit wind. The old Highlander was after the boy. He was cleverer than I. My care would be shifted to his furry shoulders.
The wolf cub was with him, racing along spirit-wise through his beloved forest, and hard on his heels came a living thing who paid no attention to me but threw himself on the suffering boy.
It was Guardie, the collie. How he licked his young master and prostrated himself before him as if to say, "Do return home with us. We all love you. Girlie would have come but she had to stay with our charges."
The boy could not help being touched by this display of affection, especially as the Highlander was bending over him and willing good thoughts into his mind.
He broke down and sobbed like a baby. "Mother! Dad!" he cried, and he stretched out his pleading arms toward his dear home.
Hark! what was that coming on the night wind? Guardie pricked his ears, and the Highlander with his lovely Scotch smile waved a hand toward his wolf pet and away they went, melting into the shadows of the wood. The boy did not need them any longer.
"Pound! Pound! Gallop! Gallop!"—I heard it, I knew those gaits. Patsie McSquirrel and Backwoods Beauty were on the trail too and they were not alone.
Thank the stars that shine over erring boys, and the bright Lady Moon who had shone in the mother's face till she woke her up. The runaway would be royally escorted home.
Soon he too heard the sound of hoofs on the hard road and sprang up.
There he stood in a shaft of moonlight—a poor young bewildered boy figure looking distractedly up at the two dear parents bending down over him from their big horses.
He threw his hand in the air, and turning his back on them pressed his face against the trunk of the old King of the Glen.
Before Mr. Devering could spring from his horse his wife was beside her boy.
Her cry rang through the wood, "My darling, my darling, why did you run away from me?"
Then she pulled his head round and, brushing back his hair, stood looking deep into his eyes.
"Mother!" he stammered, "if you are my mother."
She turned an alarmed face to her husband. "Jim—what madness is this?"
Mr. Devering shook his head. He stood with arms folded, looking in a most puzzled way at his child.
"I—I was told to-day," gulped poor Big Chief, "that I am an adopted child."
Mrs. Devering laughed shrilly. "Good gracious! am I dreaming?"
I took a few steps nearer. The little woman was terribly upset. I had never seen her lose self-control before. Not his mother? Why every drop of blood in her body proclaimed this boy to be her son.
The lad was completely bewildered. "Tell me," he cried, "am I, am I really your son? Is that my father?"
"If he is not your father than he is not my husband," she exclaimed.
"Tell me truly," begged the boy, "did you not pick me out of the gutter? Am I not a nobody?"
The two grown persons saw that the boy was in deadly earnest, and I think they were relieved for his running away had given them a terrible shock.
"What would convince you, my poor darling?" asked Mrs. Devering.
"Tell me whether you have an adopted child."
She looked at her husband. "Shall we tell him?"
He nodded his head.
"We have, my own darling, but not you, oh! not you, our first-born."
"Who is it, Mother?"
She hesitated.
"Tell him," said Mr. Devering quietly.
"It's—it's," her head drooped. "We did not wish you to know. Oh! who could have been cruel enough to enlighten you?"
"Is it little Big Wig?" asked the boy.
"No, no," said his mother. "Not my baby."
"Is it Dovey?"
"No, not my little Dovey."
"Then it's Champ."
"My boy Champ—oh! never. My dear, he was born in his grandmother's house."
"Then it's Sojer."
The guesses were narrowing down. Mrs. Devering paused an instant, then she said in a low voice, "Sojer—the boy who is the image of my dead father. Oh! no, Sojer is your own brother."
"Then," said the boy, "if it's not me, it's Cassowary."
"Yes, yes," she said slowly, and nodding her head many times, "it's our dear Cassowary."
Big Chief gave a great cry, then he broke away from his mother and launched himself at his father so violently that he almost knocked the poor man over.
"Oh! Dad, Dad, I'm a happy boy. I was most dead. I thought I'd jump into the Lake of Bays if I missed the boat."
The tears were running down Mrs. Devering's cheeks too. She sat on the bank her head against the stout body of the old King of the Glen whose arms were waving happily, though there was not a breath of wind. Her eyes were closed, her lips moving.
I have seen some touching scenes in my life but never anything that moved me more than this midnight meeting between the parents and their boy in this deep dark wood.
Mr. Devering stood saying nothing, his arms just wrapped round his son as if he would protect him for all time from a cruel world.
Mrs. Devering was the first to recover herself. She sprang up and came to her husband and child.
"Who has made you suffer like this?" she said sharply. "I want to know."
The boy would not tell her, but her husband said, "I know. I noticed signs of suffering about another child to-night."
"Who was it?" she asked. "Do tell me. I saw nothing."
The Lady Moon was now bathing us in soft and almost warm moonlight, and I could see Mr. Devering's eyebrows contract ever so little. "It was Cassowary," he said in a low voice.
"I assure you she was never more composed and quiet," said Mrs. Devering quickly. "She seemed perfectly happy."
Big Chief said nothing, but he gave his father a glance that meant they thought alike.
"Was it Cassowary that drove you from your home?" asked Mrs. Devering.
Big Chief, whose young face was as shining and contented as if he would never be sorry again, said, "No, she did not drive me. I came of my own accord."
"But she was the one to tell you that she thought you were an adopted child?"
Big Chief said nothing, and his mother went on, "After all I have done for her!"
"She is only a child," said Mr. Devering, and he looked appealingly at his son.
Big Chief then did a beautiful thing. "Mother," he said, "I would not like a brother or sister of mine to go through what I've gone through to-night. Cassowary must never know."
"Certainly not," said Mrs. Devering hastily. "I just wished to know who is responsible for this."
"Who is she?" asked Big Chief softly.
"The daughter of my first cousin who married in the West. After your birth, your Dad and I spent two years with her on her husband's ranch. My cousin was frantic with grief at having to die and leave her baby. She got me to take it and bring it up as my own, begging me never to let her know she was an adopted child until she came of age. Can't you see that she is different from the rest of you?"
The boy shook his head. "She looks like you, Mother."
"A family resemblance—but her actions, her walk and her manner—there is Indian blood in her veins, splendid blood too. Her great-grandmother was the daughter of a noted chief. Many Old Countrymen married squaws in early Canadian days."
"Oh!" said the boy, "so that is why she puts her foot down so straight."
His young voice was so comical as he said this, that both parents burst out laughing.
It broke the nervous strain, and Mrs. Devering said in a matter-of-fact voice, "I think we would better all get home."
I stirred a little as I stood beside the big horses, and Mr. Devering's eye fell on me.
"Boy," he said, "how did you happen to take this little fellow to-night?"
"He put himself in my way," said Big Chief, "and Attaboy had gone lame."
"He isn't lame now," said his father.
Big Chief put up a hand and rumpled his hair. "You know horses better than I do, Dad. Will you examine the little brute, and see if there is anything the matter with him?"
I demurely put up with a thorough examination carried on by aid of an electric torch and the moonlight.
Finally Mr. Devering said, "Sound in wind and limb, I should say—lead him past."
He watched me carefully as I went before him, then he said, "His stride is direct and rapid, and he displays boldness and courage. Now let him meet me."
The boy wheeled me round, then brought me back.
"He's been fooling you probably," said Mr. Devering. "He's clever enough for it. Just what did he do?"
"Had colic or blind staggers, turned me right about face, ran toward home like an arrow, then when I pulled him he bucked and I 'most came a cropper."
Mr. Devering's jolly laugh rang through the silent woods. "Oh! my boy, you backed the wrong pony to-night."
Patsie and Beauty, who had taken part in this reunion most sympathetically, now took a few steps forward and placed themselves one on each side of me as if to say, "He's all right."
"You old rogue," said Mr. Devering to me, "this was a put-up job on your part, and I believe you talked it over with these horses. Some persons would say, 'Natural liking of a pony for his stable'—I say, 'Natural instinct of a petted creature to stand by his benefactors.'"
This was so pleasing to me that I walked to him and began to bite pleasantly at his coat buttons that were all in the wrong holes. What a hurry he must have been in when he dressed.
"Pony," said Mrs. Devering suddenly, "did you bring my boy back to me?"
I stared into her flushed face, then I pawed the dusty road very softly, once, twice, thrice.
"Y, E, S," she said, "You beauty!" and she threw her arms round my neck. "You'll never go out of this family as long as I live."
"But he's Dallas' pony," said Big Chief in some dismay.
"Then we'll adopt Dallas," she said good-humouredly. "Come home now, my boy. Oh! how happy I am!" and she sprang as gracefully to her saddle as a circus lady.
Big Chief mounted me soberly.
This was a different boy from the one that had flung himself on my back so desperately an hour before. Oh! what a delighted pony I was, and how joyfully Guardie barked as he ran beside me.
Trot, trot, gallop, gallop, we all went along the road revelling in the lovely moonbeams sent down to us by the Gracious Lady in the sky.
The birds and the beasts could all go to sleep again, and what a good gossip they would have the next day about the doings of the Deverings in the beech-wood.
When we got to the farm, Mrs. Devering with her own hands made me one of the best mashes I ever tasted, and as I ate it gratefully I thought about my young master. Big Chief, after having had this shock of his young life, would probably settle down to be a good boy, but I did not want him to outshine my beloved Dallas.
These young Deverings all had headstrong pushing ways and clever brains, but not one of them could compare with my lad. Oh! for his star to rise and shine, and I nodded myself to sleep, and dreamed that on the back of my master I floated right up into the air to Lady Moon who said to him, "Welcome, best-beloved of Earth Children!"
CHAPTER XXIII MY MASTER LOSES GROUND
All the next day Big Chief was very languid and quiet. No boy could go through such an experience as his of the night before and not feel after-effects.
Keeping close to his father or mother, he talked little, but the children all saw that something had happened to him, and eyed him curiously.
During the afternoon when he offered to help Big Wig mend his top, the child said in astonishment, "Big Chief, you ith nith to-day."
The big boy said nothing, but blushed furiously, and Cassowary, who was sitting reading near-by, put down her book and stared at him with narrowed eyes. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but at that instant Mrs. Devering and my young master come out of the house, their hands full of pictures.
"Old daguerreotypes and photographs," said Mrs. Devering, "Dallas has been helping me look over some treasures in the attic. Do you wish to see these—they're interesting?" and she tumbled the contents of her hands into Cassowary's lap.
The girl picked up the uppermost photograph, and Dallas looking over her shoulder said, "I just howled when I saw that, Cousin—it looks like a Big Chief of a hundred years ago."
"Who is it?" asked Cassowary shortly.
"Your father's grandfather," said Mrs. Devering. "He was a stocky sturdy old man, wilful when a boy, but leading a fine life later on."
Big Chief eagerly examined the picture, then he gave Cassowary a strange glance.
The girl had remarkable self-control—at times.
"Big Chief," she said coolly, "it's you, even to the droop in the left eyelid."
"All the Deverings have that," said her mother quickly.
"But Big Chief doesn't show it as much outside the picture as in it," said Cassowary; "hold up your head, brother."
He did as she told him and she stared straight in his eyes. Then she turned to Mrs. Devering. "Mother, I was horrid to Big Chief yesterday."
"I know all about it," said the lady softly, "the main thing is—are you sorry?"
"I am," she said shortly.
"And I was rotten to Dallas," said Big Chief.
"And are you sorry?" asked Mrs. Devering.
"You bet I am," he replied feelingly.
"And you, Dallas, in this confession time," said Mrs. Devering, "have you anything to repent of?"
My young master hung his head too. "I told a lie," he said, "and I'd vowed solemnly that I'd never tell another."
"What kind of a lie?" asked his aunt.
"A dream lie—I was lying on the grass thinking of the awful mistake I'd made when we were target shooting—I 'most blew a hen's head off, you know——"
"Indeed!"
"And Champ came running along and asked if I'd seen Uncle, and I said 'No,' and I had. He had passed me a few minutes before and in my dreaming I forgot it."
"But that is not serious," said Mrs. Devering.
"It might have been. It was just after that automobile accident in front of the Talkers, and the man was bleeding and they wanted Uncle quick. Suppose the man had died," and Dallas shuddered.
"My poor boy," said Mrs. Devering, "what are we going to do about you!"
Dallas smiled a queer little smile. "Aunt Bretta, I'm going to repeat some lines I found in a book on the table," and he began,
"I think Cassowary wrote those lines about me," he said turning to her. "Did you?"
The girl was blushing. "I didn't intend you to see them, Cousin."
"They will do me good," he said, and folding them up he put them in his pocket.
While they all sat there looking very solemn, Mr. Devering came swinging down the hill, a small axe stuck in his belt.
"Where have you been, Jim?" asked his wife.
"Clearing the trail to Merry-Tongue Lake. It's a bit grown over since last season. The Good Americans will soon be here. What's the matter with you all?"
"Been confessing our faults," said Cassowary gloomily.
"And now for penance," said her father. "En-route for the fire warden's. Horseback or ponyback. He has some Hearne's salmon for our supper, just come down from Hudson Bay by hydroplane."
"I can't go," said Mrs. Devering, "the Settlement Club meets here to sew."
"Then will you lend your Beauty to Dallas?" said her husband. "He has not been on horseback yet."
I got up from the lawn where I had been lying, and came toward the veranda.
Big Chief caressed me. "Don't you be jealous, you kid pony," he said. "No one can forget you. Come right up on the veranda. I'm going to give you the freedom of the house. Here, Mother, let me take those pictures. I'll carry them back to the attic for you. They have done their good work," he added in a low voice as he passed her.
Then this nice boy took me right upstairs, past the company bedrooms and into the attic.
"All that we have is yours, Prince," he said. "You rendered the House of Devering a great service last night. I'll never forget it."
"Oh! the funny boy," and I curled my lip in amusement as I followed him downstairs. One thing was sure, he was going to be a better boy from this out.
My master was waiting for me, and took me with him to the stable, where I watched him mounting with some fear the tall horse who seemed like a giraffe compared with me.
Champ, Dovey and Sojer came racing down the hill and joined the merry riding party. The children all took to the woods at intervals through the day, making dashes up to Merry-Tongue River brawling over its stones, or sauntering along the cool green depths of the trails, or scrambling over the grassy pastures on the hillside after wild raspberries or gooseberries, and always with some pet creatures at their heels.
To-day it had been Drunkard going on three legs, Barklo scampering gaily along, and Constancy hipping after him for she had vowed to do everything her dog friend did.
They all began to follow the riding party and I trotted a little way down the road after them until I met Big Chief cantering back on Attaboy.
He passed me without speaking. His poor face was quite convulsed, and I felt sure, and honored the lad for it, that he could not without emotion pass the scene of his adventure last night. He was going back to help his mother pass cakes and tea to the score of women who gathered every week in the big living room to have a little social time together.
Well, he would get over his trouble and be more of a help to his parents for it, and I thought happily about him as I trotted down the road to see how some of the neighbourhood boys were getting on with their baseball game. They were having a most exciting time, judging by their yells, and I was just about to cross the road and go up to watch them when I heard in a faint little voice, "Take care, brother."
I looked down and there was an old brownish backed toad all puffed out with fright as he painfully dragged himself along in the grass by the side of the road.
"What's the matter, brother?" I asked.
"You 'most stepped on me. I'm too tired to hop out of anybody's way."
"Why you're Hoppy Go-Slow, the children's pet," I said. "I know you by that scar on your rough skin. What's happened to you?"
He settled back on his hind legs and sighed heavily. "I was kidnapped!"
I couldn't help laughing. This matter of kidnapping seemed to be in the air of this place. But it was one thing to take away a handsome boy, and another to carry off a warty old toad.
"It was no laughing matter for me," said Hoppy crossly. "Suppose you lived in a snug hole away back of the big rocks in Mrs. Devering's fernery—would you like to be snatched away and taken to live in an ugly dirty place?"
"Indeed I wouldn't," I said. "I love a pretty home. I beg your pardon for laughing. Do tell me your adventures."
"It was that lazy Joe Gentles that kidnapped me," he said; "by my warts! I'd like to punish him."
"Joe Gentles—the guide who lives in that lonely house near the dam?" I asked.
"Yes—what can you expect of a man that sticks his house away off from the rest of the settlement? He could have had land up here. I think he likes to be alone so he can loaf. Hardly anyone asks him to take them in the bush now."
"How did a brainy old toad like you happen to let a man like Gentles get ahead of you?"
"I came out of my snug home night before last for my supper. The best worms are up back of the barn——"
I began to laugh again. "Oh! excuse me, Hoppy, but I saw you the other evening with a long worm held in your jaws by the middle. It was curling itself frantically about your head. Then it disappeared like a streak of lightning. How can you swallow those crawly things?"
"They are very important things!" he said indignantly. "Worms are more necessary even than ponies to this old earth of ours. I have to eat them alive. I can't touch dead stuff. I try to kill them quickly, but sometimes they protest like the one you saw."
"Well!" I said, "What about Joe?"
"He came sauntering up to the barn, but none of the men were there to have a gossip. Then his eye fell on me and he popped me into his pocket, saying, 'Neighbour Devering has enough life on his farm. You come home and catch grubs in my garden.'"
"What a mean thing to do," I said.
"Wasn't I mad!" continued Hoppy. "I caused acrid stuff to come out of the pores of my skin. I thought I'd make his pocket smelly."
"He wouldn't care," I said. "He's a dirty-looking fellow."
"He's the worst man in the settlement," said the toad, "and when he put me in his neglected garden I only waited for his back to be turned to go round to every creature on the place and tell them what I thought of him. Then I hopped 'way up here and I'm most dead."
"I never thought about toads loving their homes," I said, "but why shouldn't they?"
"My little home is so snug," he said feelingly. "When I go in every winter and draw the soft earth after me, I feel like a king. Toads have feelings as well as human beings. I'd just like to see that man's face when all his livestock leaves him. Only the old grey mare refused to come. She said, 'He's my master and though he's a bad one I can't run away.'"
"What a pity he is not as kind as the Deverings," I said.
"The Deverings are fine," said Hoppy, "except that they don't pet us toads quite enough."
"Hoppy," I said rebukingly, "I've seen the children tickling your back with a grass blade many times, and you shut your eyes with pleasure."
"Mr. Devering never tickles me," he said complainingly.
"He's a busy man."
"I'd like to run a race with him at catching flies," he said. "I bet I would beat him."
"I bet you would," I said.
"And he never told me," Hoppy went on, "that he knows we toads have the homing instinct as strong as Mrs. Talker's pigeons have. Only our poor old toes can't go as fast as their wings even though some of them are half webbed."
"My young master knows about toads," I said: "I heard him telling little Big Wig all about your habits the other day."
"Your young master is beloved by every toad and frog on this farm," said Hoppy. "He never steps on us, he never chases us, he won't let any boy kill us."
"He has sense, that boy has," I replied in a gratified voice.
"He has a good heart," said Hoppy, "which is the most important thing in toad or man—— Good-bye, I'm going to bed," and he began to take his few last imperfect leaps in the direction of the fernery, while I feeling sleepy lay down and had a nap.
An hour later I ran on to the ball ground, and when I got near was shocked to hear a sound of quarrelling in a near-by potato field.
This was terrible and I did not understand it for my young master and Champ were usually the best of friends. Champ in his muddy blue overalls was just tramping away calling back insulting remarks to his cousin over his shoulder.
My heart died within me as I heard the word "Liar!" Had Dallas been romancing again?
My young master was plunging about the sandy soil crushing potato tops under his angry feet. He never wore overalls and the neck of his coloured shirt was open, showing a chest quite nice and brown. His fists were clenched, and he was ejaculating furious words. He rarely cried now; he had toughened more in a few weeks than any boy I ever saw.
"It's all true," he shouted after Champ. "Don't I come from Boston? What do you know anyway up here in this back of beyond place?"
"You Yankee liar!" Champ yelled at him, then he ran like a fox for my infuriated young master was throwing clods of earth after him.
I guessed that the quarrel was Canada versus my own country and I pressed close to my master. We would have to stand together.
He picked up his hoe and put it over his shoulder. Then he sprang on my back and I trotted up the road.
Alas! Where were his dreams of keeping the two countries together?
"Prince Fetlar," he said as we jogged along, "I hate that Champ."
I playfully turned my head and made a nip at his muddy shoe.
"You're the best friend I have," he said affectionately. "You never pitch into me—I'd like to kill Champ."
Then he gave a cry and leaped to the road. The unfortunate Champ was sitting on the grass his face pale as death.
Their quarrel forgotten Dallas took him by the shoulder and shook him. "Open your eyes! What's the matter?"
Champ murmured something about gooseberries and milk and quietly fainted in his arms.
Was my young master happy? By no means. With his own face white he laid Champ on the grass, ran to the lake for water, dashed it on his cousin's forehead and was just about to give the farm call for help when Mr. Devering came up the road on Patsie.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Oh! Uncle—our dear Champ has fainted," said Dallas most anxiously.
Mr. Devering jumped down and took his son's hand in his. Then he turned to Dallas. "Did you notice how much dinner our dear Champ ate?"
"No, Uncle," said my master.
"Enough for two men," said Mr. Devering.
"And we've had wild gooseberries and cherries since," said Dallas, "and some pie a man gave us."
"And hoed in the sun," said Mr. Devering. "Hello! he's waking up. Hey! Champ, we'll put you on Prince Fetlar. You musn't walk after fainting. Poor old tummy, does it feel unhappy?"
Champ smiled feebly and put out a hand to Dallas.
Then wasn't I glad to hear my noble young master say firmly, "I told him a lie. I believe that upset him."
Mr. Devering shook his head. "Oh! you boys!" he said as he hoisted Champ on my back. "There's nothing to equal you except girls."
"I've got to have a talk with you, Uncle," said my young master in great agitation. "I vowed I wouldn't tell another story and I've told six in three days. What are we going to do—what are we going to do?"
"Don't fret, lad," said Mr. Devering quietly. "I've got a sure cure this time for you."
"Tell it to me, oh! please, Uncle, tell it to me," said the boy.
"Not now, Nephew. We must be alone. Come for a stroll after dinner to-morrow. Ride Patsie to the stable, will you? I'm going to walk beside Champ."
CHAPTER XXIV THE MOTHER MYSTERY
What was Mr. Devering going to tell the boy I wondered. I kept close to the family during dinner the next day, and immediately afterward Dallas hurried to his uncle and the two went sauntering up the road, I, of course, in close attendance.
Mr. Devering seemed in no hurry to begin his communication. He strolled along looking at the lake and the sky and presently he said, "Those are fine Lombardy poplars in front of the Talkers."
"Yes, Uncle," said Dallas eagerly.
"Do you see that one with the queer curve in it?" asked Mr. Devering.
"Yes, I do."
"Someone struck it a cruel blow in youth," said Mr. Devering, "and it has given Mr. Talker more trouble than all the rest of the trees put together. 'Cut it down,' everybody said but me. 'Grapple with it,' I said, and he bandaged and propped and pulled until finally it had only that slight twist in it. He's quite proud of it and calls it his prodigal tree."
"Lots of things get hurt when they're young," said Dallas.
"Yes, boy, that's true."
"Bolshy is one, and I am another," said Dallas, going as easily along the mind path his uncle wished to lead him as his stout brown shoes went along the grassy path by the lake. "Uncle, can't you get the twist out of me? You're stronger than I am."
"Lad," said Mr. Devering enthusiastically, "we're going to get that twist out without leaving a curve."
"How, Uncle Jim? Oh! how will you do it?"
"I'll give the young tree such a shock that it will toss up its head to the sky in order to know what is going to happen to it."
"Uncle, if you don't speak soon I think I'll go crazy," said my poor young master.
"Your mother loved trees," said Mr. Devering musingly. "I know she is glad that you have changed in your feeling toward them."
"They're green brothers and sisters," said Dallas, "and when winter comes they will be nice old grandmothers and grandfathers. Uncle, I belong to the wild things. I don't want to live in a city. What shall I do?"
"Keep on brothering the trees. Your father is like you. He, too, loves the country and God's free unpolluted air."
"My father loves the country," repeated the boy in amazement. "I never knew that."
"He never had time to tell you. He was too busy chasing the almighty dollar. Now he has lifted his eyes to the hills. He will never live in a city again."
Dallas stopped short. "Is my father coming to live here?"
"No, lad—have you no woods and fields in your own country?"
The boy was intensely excited. "If my father lives in the country," he said slowly, "I can have Prince Fetlar with me all the time," and he threw his arm over my neck. "Also I can have a cow and hens and a dog or two. Oh! what a beautiful blow! Is that what is to shock me into telling the truth?"
"No, my boy—it is something about your mother."
"My mother, my mother," repeated the boy passionately. "Oh! if she had only lived. What could we not have done, my father and I?"
"Did you ever hear of departed ones coming back to earth?" asked Mr. Devering softly.
My young master wrinkled his eyebrows. "Sometimes," he said; "sometimes, Uncle, I think I see misty shapes in the clouds or in moonlight. It pleases me. I am not afraid. I have even imagined a lady in a long flowing cloak. Something stretches out like arms. I think it is my mother. Then I dream of her, always so pleasantly—Oh! how can boys ever be cross to their mothers?"
"My lad," said his uncle dreamily, "if you think of your mother in that way she is not dead. She may come back to you."
"What do you mean?" asked the boy in a puzzled voice.
"A great man has said that when we speak or think of our dead they live again. I believe that you will see your mother some day."
"What is it you are trying to tell me?" asked the boy.
"Will you haunt these beloved woods between here and the Mountain?" asked Mr. Devering mysteriously. "Will you and Prince Fetlar haunt them, and at the end of a week tell me what you see? Say nothing to any other person. You must come alone. You will not be afraid?"
"Afraid, no," said the boy almost with scorn. "All that is past, but what shall I see and hear? Oh! tell me."
"I can tell you no more save this," said Mr. Devering, shaking his head. "You must not soil your lips by falsehood. Your mother told stories when a child. Later on with all her faults she grew to hate a lie. If you are ever to be happy in her presence you must speak the truth and nothing but the truth, and you must not dream, although you will be on a dream quest. Do you understand that, my boy?"
"If I can see my mother," said my young master earnestly, "I shall never tell a lie again. It would be too ungrateful. I am in earnest this time. I swear it."
Mr. Devering was satisfied now and his face glowed as he looked at the boy.
Then taking him by the arm, they both set their faces toward the sawmill in the woods.
I always liked to go there. The ripping and tearing of the wood and the strong smell of sawdust and the jolly young men, who were all trained singers brought from other places at quite an expense by Mr. Devering, made it seem like a visit to a concert hall in the woods.
We heard a sweet tenor voice ringing out as we got near.