"Thou hast always some compliment to pay thyself, young Scratch-face!" said another of the men. "By my faith, if thou—"
"I suppose that barn is safe?" interrupted Issakoff.
"Ay, we could keep a wild bull in it," replied a big burly man who was shaggy enough for a bear. "It's as strong as a prison."
"'What became of that boy?" inquired Issakoff. "There 'was' a boy, wasn't there?"
At this mention of himself, "that boy" cowered to the earth for a minute or two, but he could hear the reply in the spy's voice.
"Yes, I think there was a boy, but he doesn't count; he was quite small, and I dare say he was drowned."
"We'll hope so," rejoined Issakoff. "Now, brothers, pass the bottles round. No need to keep sober to-night. The raft is ours, the men are safe, and if there is any fuss to-morrow, I shall lodge information in the next town and say I caught them carrying off my property, and so I took their raft for compensation. So now, my children, let us drink to the song of the dying 'Swan,' and to-morrow the 'Swan' will be dead!" And Yefraim Issakoff lifted his glass high in air, and laughed loud and long.
CHAPTER XI
Loosing the Bonds
SERGEY waited and watched until, overcome with vodki fumes, all the men were lying round helpless, and many of them snoring. Not till then did he feel it safe to give up his anxious peering in at the window and steal down to the shed. Very slowly and softly he drew back the bolt, making no noise.
"It is I—Sergey," he whispered. "Here is my knife! Let me cut your bonds. Be very still and come quickly down to the bank. The 'Swan' is there quite safe."
Chafing their stiff and swollen arms, the four men stole out of the shed and followed the lad down to the river. There was the "Swan" untouched. So secure in his possession of it had Issakoff felt himself that he had not removed even a single thing from the cabin.
In fear and trembling, in such haste as they could combine with absence of noise, they got on board, and loosed the raft from her moorings. And as they pushed off with the boat-hook into mid-stream, the old skipper sobbed like a child, and his sons cried too for company.
But Sergey was too happy for tears; he was overcome with thankfulness. Kneeling down bareheaded on the deck, he poured out his prayer out of a full, glad heart.
"O dear, kind Lord," he said, "it is quite true what we have heard—that
Thou deliverest those that look unto Thee; for lo, Thou hast delivered
us as Thou didst Thy servant Daniel in the lion's den, and the three
Hebrew youths in the fiery furnace, and St. Peter in the prison, and
David from the giant. And now, good God, we thank and bless Thee, that
here we are before Thee, under Thine open sky, and on our dear raft
once more. Watch over us still, we pray; protect us all the way, and
teach us to love Thee better and to trust Thee wholly. Forgive us all
our sins, and make us truly Thy children, for Christ's sake."
"Amen," said four husky men's voices.
And the lad, opening his eyes, saw Ivan and his sons all reverently kneeling, and realised that it had been given him to voice a prayer for them all.
"And now," said Sergey, "I am sure you must be needing food, as I am myself. So I go to prepare supper," and he vanished into the cabin.
The next place they came to was a large straggling village, and here they bought butter and vegetables, and Ivan called on the chief man there, related the adventure of the night before, and begged him to telegraph back at once to the town so that the authorities should take measures to prevent such a thing happening again.
"For," he added, "we have other rafts following shortly, and unless safety be assured to us, we must make formal complaint at the capital, and have proper inquiry, and Issakoff and his men put under arrest."
At this, the elder of the village promised to attend to everything, and made a note of the name and the address of the owner of the saw-mill.
And now the raft was once more ready to start, and Kostia was just going to push off when a woman, accompanied by a girl of about Sergey's age, hurried down to the water's edge.
"Stop a minute—only a minute!" she cried. "I want to ask a question."
"Quick, then, Matushka," said Ivan; "we must be off at once."
"I will not keep thee long," pleaded the stranger. "Tell me, please, whence comes thy raft?"
"From far up the river—a place in the forest called Glynoi-Liess," replied Ivan.
"Hast thou," asked the woman, "ever met thereabouts a man called Abram Kapoostin?"
"Again that abhorred name!" rapped out the old man impatiently. "Of course, yes, my good woman, I know him—more's the pity! For there are some kinds of knowledge that we should be better without."
"Hear my reason for asking," said the woman. "Years ago now a man came to this village one day with a child—his little daughter."
At this, Sergey eagerly turned his head and listened.
"I had a small shop in the village," the woman went on, "and he came in and bought a loaf and some kringles on a string, and then said, 'Good Matushka, might I leave my little girl with you just while I make a call or two on business? I will return in an hour.'
"'Thou must tell me thy name first,' I said.
"'I am Abram Kapoostin,' he answered, 'and this is my little daughter, Dunia. My wife is dead, and I am going to try and make a new home somewhere up the river.'
"'Very well,' I said, 'leave the child then, if thou wilt, but leave also that bundle thou hast on thine arm. It will be safe here, and would only cumber thee in thy visits.'
"So, very unwillingly, and with a hateful look on his ugly face, he handed me the bundle, after first taking from it some things and stuffing them into his pockets. Then, with not so much as a 'thank you,' he went his way, and from that day to this I have never seen him again. Believe me, this is the truth!"
"Believe thee? Of course!" cried Ivan. "I know the man well enough, and he is a walking lie. Is this his child? A nice girl, and, thank God, not like her father in face!"
"I love her and would not part from her," said the woman, "but my health has failed, and I can no longer work for our living. A married sister would have me live with her, but she will not have Dunia, and I know not what to do with her."
"But," said Ivan, "thou wouldst not send her back to her father, surely?"
"And, besides," put in Kostia, "he is no longer at Glynoi-Liess, and we know not where he is."
"Why not take her to her mother?" spoke up Sergey. "She is not so very far off, only at Krasnoi-Puil with the Kierayoffs, Number 10 Black Street."
The old skipper turned round in astonishment. "And pray, whence hast thou learnt all this, Sergey?" said he.
"Ach, Batiuska," said Kostia, "all this happened while I was skipper. We will tell thee about it presently."
"Good! Then now we can start. Do thou, good Matushka, take the girl to her mother at Krasnoi-Puil, so shall all be well. And now, farewell!"
The rest of the voyage was through more civilised regions, and no serious mishaps befell the "Swan." Once the raft was nearly run down by a steamer. And on another occasion, while moored to the bank, she was suddenly boarded for a moment by a runaway horse. But it only touched its flying hoofs to the deck, and splashed wildly into the water on the other side, and as the crew was in the cabin at supper, no one was hurt.
The remainder of the journey along the waterway was tedious and uninteresting, and the little party of five was glad enough to reach their destination—one of the larger cities—and to consign their raft to its rightful owner. As soon as they had done this, they began to make tracks for home, and left all together by the first cargo boat that was going a few miles upstream.
CHAPTER XII
Homeward Bound
NOTHING of any moment happened to the raftsmen and their cook-boy till they reached Krasnoi-Puil, where they had landed Olga Kapoostin. There they would have a day to wait before a cargo boat called that would take them up the stream.
So while the young men called on their friends, Ivan and Sergey went exploring in search of Number 10, Black Street. And as they neared the house, they saw, standing out in a small garden, and washing clothes in a huge tub, Olga Kapoostin, looking very well and happy, while near her, wringing out soapsuds over another tub, previous to rinsing in the river, was a pretty girl of thirteen, her short flaxen hair curling all over her little head like a boy's.
"Ach, Tiotia! Tiotia Olga!" cried Sergey, running and throwing his arms round his Aunt's neck.
"And here, too, dear boy, is thy cousin Dunia," said Olga. "It is thanks to thee, they tell me, that I have my girl again. Thou hast no sister, Sergey, let Dunia be one to thee! For are not cousins next best to sisters?"
Then while the children roamed away together, Olga told old Ivan her story. And he vowed, in his righteous indignation, that when he reached home, Abram Kapoostin should not go unpunished.
Just as they were parting, Olga said, "As thou goest up the river, kind Ivan, alighting here and there, wilt thou, in thy goodness, ask those whom thou dost meet, if they can tell thee where is my young brother Appolon—Appolon Gorlieff? He was footman when last I heard of him, in a nobleman's house on a big estate farther up the river. But I have no news of him for a long time."
Sergey, near enough now to hear the name, listened intently. But, for the sake of his promise to the chief of the robbers, he dare not ask a question which might involve his telling the story of his visit to the bandits' stronghold that night.
"I cannot but fear," said Olga, "that he may have got into bad company, or been ill in hospital. I dread lest something untoward should have befallen him."
"I will make all possible inquiry, and will let thee know," said Ivan. "The footmen of the great houses are well known in the towns near, as they are often sent thither on errands."
"The gentleman and lady whose servant he was," replied Olga, "are Count Yevgen Orloffsky, and his wife, the lady Elena."
Here was another connecting-link in the chain of Sergey's strange story!
His hitherto uneventful life in the village had merged in a series of experiences fitting into one another like those little boxes he had often seen—a dozen in a set of graduated sizes, cleverly made by some of the peasant toy-makers in villages not far from his home.
Before the returning crew of the "Swan" left Krasnoi-Puil, another of their own rafts, on its way down the river, called there for provisions, and brought astonishing news.
Abram Kapoostin had been caught breaking into a house some twenty versts from Glynoi-Liess. And he and two others had been arrested and sent in chains to one of the larger towns for trial.
"Matvey Philipitch told him," said Sergey, "that God would one day hinder him in his wicked work, and see—it is turning out even as he said! But oh, I am glad and thankful that he will not be in Glynoi-Liess when I get there. The air will be purer for his absence. But didst thou learn, Ivan, who my uncle's prison companions were?"
"One was a big, fine-looking fellow, they tell me," replied the skipper; "he was more educated than most, and should have known better. He was outdoor steward; a sort of under-manager on a large estate, and instead of protecting his master's property, he robbed him and others too."
"Without doubt my captain of the bandits!" said Sergey to himself. "I only hope Appolon is not one of the three taken, or poor Tiotia Olga will break her heart."
But he kept silence about these matters now, as he had done hitherto, for one of the lessons the boy had learned was to hold his tongue.
When the returning crew of the "Swan" arrived at the big town where Sergey had met Count Yevgen and his lady, the boy would have liked to walk about and look round as he had done before. But the little steamer was going on in an hour's time, so Ivan and the rest of the crew contented themselves with talking to their acquaintances on the quay.
But Sergey, knowing nobody, was standing apart, when some one came up behind and said—
"Canst thou tell me, boy, how soon this steamer leaves? I have to fetch a box of goods from a store in the town, and I would know if there be time to get it."
Sergey turned, the answer upon his lips, and found himself face to face with a young man whose eyes and forehead and voice he remembered at once. But this face was beardless; surely it had worn a beard once.
"Can it be thou, Appolon?" he said.
"And thou art the little Sergey!"
Then in a frightened whisper the young man added: "For God's sake, betray me not! Since that night we both know of, I have repented and have forsaken my evil ways. That night when I was witness of thy courage, I said to myself, 'If God can give a mere child grace to refuse to be wicked, He can surely give it also to a man, if that man asks Him.'"
"And did the man ask Him?"
"He did, and was heard, and strength came. I left the company there and then, and never returned."
Then, leaving the boy glad at heart, he went to get the box, and returning, heard all about his sister, and promised to write to her.
From place to place, sometimes tramping for a dozen versts or more, at others travelling by barge or cargo steamer, the crew went homeward, and on arrival at Glynoi-Liess the whole party received the warmest of welcomes.
And best of all was it to Sergey to be told by Matvey Philipitch and his wife Christina that from that time they would be his parents, and their home should be his.
And when he told them the story of his adventures during his life on the raft, Matvey said, "Little son, many lessons, doubtless, hast thou learnt in these last months, but methinks the greatest and most precious of all are these: 'First—A thing is always possible if it be duty;' and 'secondly—Out of evil God will surely bring good to all who trust in Him.'"
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