"Why not?" said Vinnie, with round eyes.
"A gentleman like him! and a Betterson!" replied Caroline, in a whisper of astonishment and awe.
"Who should have done it?" said Vinnie, trying hard to see the enormity of her offence. "I couldn't very well do it alone; I am sure you couldn't have helped me; and my friend who brought me over, he has done so much for me already that I should have been ashamed to ask him. Besides, he is not here, and I wanted the trunk. Mr. Betterson seems very strong. Has he the rheumatism?"
"O Lavinia! Lavinia!"—and Caroline wrapped her red shawl despairingly about her. "But you will understand Mr. Betterson better by and by. You are quite excusable now. Arthur, dear! what do you want?"
"In her trunt, what she's doin' to dive me, I want it," said the boy, invading the house for that purpose.
"Yes, you shall have it," cried Vinnie, skilfully giving his nose a wipe behind the mother's back (it needed it sadly). "But is your name Arthur? I thought they called you Chokie."
"Chokie is the nickname for Arthur," Lill explained.
Vinnie did not understand how that could be.
"It is the boys' invention; they are full of their nonsense," said Caroline, with a sorrowful head-shake. "It was first Arthur, then Artie, then Artichoke, then Chokie,—you see?"
Vinnie laughed, while her sister went on, in complaining accents,—
"I tell them such things are beneath the dignity of our family; but they will have their fun."
Vinnie took from her trunk a barking dog and a candy meeting-house, which made Chokie forget all about his threatened Fourth-of-July. She also had a pretty worsted scarf of many colors for Lill, and a copy of Mrs. Hemans's Poems—popular in those days—for Cecie.
"For you, sister Caroline," she added, laughing, "I have brought—myself."
"This book is beautiful, and I love poetry so much!" said Cecie, with eyes full of love and gratitude. "But you have brought mother the best present."
"O, you don't know about that!" replied Vinnie.
"Yes, I do," said Cecie, with a smile which seemed to tremble on the verge of tears. And she whispered, as Vinnie bent down and kissed her, "I love you already; we shall all love you so much!"
"Dear Cecie!" murmured Vinnie in the little invalid's ear, "that pays me for coming. I am glad I am here, if only for your sake."
"I dot the bestest pwesents," cried Chokie, sitting on the floor with his treasures. "Don't tome here, Lill; my dod will bite!" He made the little toy squeak violently. "He barks at folks doin' to meetin'. Dim me some pins."
"What do you want of pins?" Vinnie asked, taking some from her dress.
"To make mans and womans doin' to meetin'. One dood bid black pin for the minister," said Chokie.
Vinnie helped him stick up the pins in the floor, and even found the required big black one to head the procession. Then she pointed out the extraordinary fact of the dog being so much larger than the entire congregation; at which even the sad Caroline smiled, over her sick babe. Chokie, however, gloried in the superior size and prowess of the formidable monster.
Lill was delighted with her scarf,—all the more so when she learned that it had been wrought by Vinnie's own hand.
"O Aunt Vinnie!" said Cecie; "will you teach me to do such work? I should enjoy it so much—lying here!"
"With the greatest pleasure, my dear!" exclaimed Vinnie, her heart brimming with hope and joy at sight of the simple happiness her coming had brought.
She then hastened to put on a household dress; while Cecie looked at her book, and Lill sported her scarf, and Chokie earned himself a new nickname,—that of Big-Bellied Ben,—by making a feast of his meeting-house, beginning with the steeple.
Returning from his interview with Mr. Peakslow, Jack drove up on the roadside before the "castle," asked Rufe to hold the horse a minute, and ran to the door to bid Vinnie good by.
"Here, Link!" Rufe called, "stand by this horse!"
"I can't," answered Link from the wood-pile, "I've got to get some wood, to make a fire, to heat some water, to dip the chickens, to loosen their feathers, and then to cook 'em for dinner."
"Never mind the wood and the chickens and feathers! Come along!"
"I guess I will mind, and I guess I won't come along, for you, or anybody, for she asked me to."
"She? Who?"
"Aunt Vinnie; and, I tell you, she's real slick." And Link slashed away at the wood with an axe; for that was the Betterson style,—to saw and split the sticks only as the immediate necessities of the house required.
Rufe might have hitched the horse, but he was not a fellow to give himself any trouble that could well be avoided; and just then he saw Wad coming out of the yard with two pails.
Wad, being cordially invited to stay and hold the horse, also declined, except on condition that Rufe should himself go at once to the spring for water.
"Seems to me you're in a terrible pucker for water!" said Rufe. "Two pails? what's the row, Wad?" For it was the time-honored custom of the boys to put off going for water as long as human patience could endure without it, and never, except in great emergencies, to take two pails.
"She asked me to, and of course I'd go for her," said Wad. "She has gone into that old kitchen, and, I tell you, she'll make things buzz!"
Meanwhile Jack had gone straight to the said kitchen,—much to Mrs. Betterson's dismay,—and found Vinnie in a neat brown dress, with apron on and sleeves pinned up. He thought he had never seen her look so bright and beautiful.
"At work so soon!" he exclaimed.
"The sooner the better," she replied. "Don't look around you; my sister is sick, you know."
"I won't hinder you a minute," Jack said. "I just ran in to tell you the good news about my horse,—though I suppose you've heard that from the boys,—and to say good by,—and one word more!" lowering his voice. "If anything happens,—if it isn't pleasant for you to be here, you know,—there is a home at Mrs. Lanman's; it will be always waiting for you."
"I thank you and Mrs. Lanman very much!" said Vinnie, with a trembling lip. "But I mean to make things pleasant here," a smile breaking through the momentary trouble of her face.
Jack declined an urgent invitation to stay and see what sort of a dinner she could get.
"By the way," he whispered, as she followed him to the door, "who carried in that trunk?" When she told him, he was hugely delighted. "You will get along! Here comes Rufe. Rufus, this is your Aunt Vinnie."
Rufus (who had finally got Chokie to hold the horse's halter) blushed to the roots of his hair at meeting his relative, and finding her so very youthful (I think it has already been said that the aunt was younger than the nephew), and altogether so fresh and charming in her apron and pinned-up sleeves.
She smilingly gave him her hand, which he took rather awkwardly, and said,—
"How d' 'e do, Aunt Lavinia. I suppose I must call you aunt."
"Call me just Vinnie; the idea of my being aunt to young men like you!"
There was a little constraint on both sides, which Link relieved by pushing between them with a big armful of wood.
"Well, good by," said Jack. "She will need a little looking after, Rufus; see that she doesn't work too hard."
"You are not going to work hard for us!" said Rufus, with some feeling, after Jack was gone.
"That depends," Vinnie replied. "You can make things easy for me, as I am sure you will."
"Of course; just let me know if they don't go right. Call on Link or Wad for anything; make 'em stand round."
Vinnie smiled at Rufe's willingness to have his brothers brought into the line of discipline.
"They are both helping me now. But I find there are no potatoes in the house, and I've been wondering who would get them. Lill says they are to be dug in the field, and that she digs them sometimes; but that seems too bad!"
"That's when Wad and Link—there's no need of her—I don't believe in girls digging potatoes!" Rufe stammered.
"O, but you know," cried Lill, "sometimes we shouldn't have any potatoes for dinner if I didn't go and dig them! I don't care, only it's such hard work!"
Vinnie looked admiringly at the bright, brave little girl. Rufe colored redder than ever, and said,—
"Don't you, now, do such a thing! Only let me know in season what's wanted; I'll be after those boys with a sharp stick!"
Vinnie couldn't help laughing.
"So, when we're going to want a handful of wood, a pail of water, or a basket of potatoes, I am to go for you, and you will go for the boys, and drive them up with your sharp stick! I don't think I shall like that. Wouldn't it be better for you to see that there are always potatoes in the bin, and wood in the box, and other things on hand that you know will be needed?"
It was perhaps quite as much her winning way as the good sense of this appeal which made it irresistible.
"Of course it would be better! I'll get you a basket of potatoes now, and some green corn, and I'll look out for the water and wood."
"O, thank you!" said Vinnie. "That will make things so much easier and pleasanter for all of us!"
The potatoes and corn were got with a cheerful alacrity which quite astonished Rufe's mother and sisters.
The inertia of a large body being thus overcome, that well-known property of matter tended to keep Rufus still in motion; and while Vinnie, with Lill's help, was getting the dinner ready, he might have been seen approaching the wood-pile with an eye to business.
"See here, Wad! This wood is pretty dry now; don't you think it had better be cut up and got in before there comes a rain?"
"Yes, s'pose 't would be a good idea."
"We ought to be ashamed," Rufe went on, "to have her calling for a handful of wood every time it's wanted, or going out to hack a little for herself, if we're not around; for she'll do it."
"I s'pose so," Wad assented. "Why don't you go to work and cut it up? I'll sit down on a log and whittle, and keep you company."
"Pshaw! don't talk that way. I'll go to work at it if you will. Come! Will you saw, or split?"
Wad laughed, and said he would split,—perhaps because the sawing must be done first.
"This saw is in a frightful condition!" Rufe said, stopping to breathe after sawing a few sticks.
"So is this axe; look at the edge! It's too dull even to split with," said Wad. "A small boy might ride to mill on it without suffering any very great inconvenience."
"If father would only file and set this saw, I'd help you grind the axe," said Rufe.
The paternal Betterson was just then returning from a little walk about his estate. As he approached, hat in hand, wiping his noble forehead, under the shade of the oaks, Rufe addressed him.
"We've got to have wood in the house; now she's come, it won't do to get it by little driblets, and have her waiting for it and worrying about it. I'll saw it, if you'll only set the saw; you know how, and I don't; we'll do the hard work if you'll furnish a little of your skill."
Rufe knew how to appeal to the paternal vanity. The idea of furnishing, not labor, but skill, flattered my lord.
"Ah! let me look at the saw. And bring me the file. And set out the shave-horse. I'll show you how the thing is done."
When Link, who in the mean while had been dressing the prairie chickens behind the house, came round and saw his pompous papa sitting under an oak-tree, astride the "shave-horse," filing away at the saw held in its clumsy jaws, and Wad turning the grindstone close by, while Rufe held on the axe, he ran into the house laughing.
"Mother! just look out there! Father and Rufe and Wad all at work at once! Guess the world's coming to an end!"
"I hope some of our troubles are coming to an end," sighed poor Mrs. Betterson, who sat nursing her babe with a bottle. "It's all owing to her. A new broom sweeps clean. She brings a very good influence; but I can't hope it will last."
"O mother!" said Cecie, from her lounge, "don't say that. I am sure it will last; she is so good! You'll do all you can for her, won't you, Link?"
"I bet!" was Link's laconic response. "If they only will, too, for there ain't much fun in doing chores while father and Rufe and Wad are just loafing round."
He hastened to Vinnie with his chickens.
"Just look out there once! All at it! Ain't it fun?"
It was fun to Vinnie, indeed.
The dinner, though late that day, was unusually sumptuous, and Betterson and his boys brought to it keen appetites from their work. Vinnie's cooking received merited praise, and the most cordial good-will prevailed. Even little Chokie, soiling face and fingers with a "drum-stick" he was gnawing, lisped out his commendation of the repast.
"I wish Aunt Vinnie would be here forever, and div us dood victuals."
"I second the motion!" cried Link, sucking a "wish-bone," and then setting it astride his nose,—"to dry," as he said.
"One would think we never had anything fit to eat before," said Mrs. Betterson; while my lord looked flushed and frowning over his frayed stock.
"You know, mother," said Lill, "I never could cook prairie chickens. And you haven't been well enough to, since the boys began to shoot them."
"Lincoln," said Mrs. Betterson, "remove that unsightly object from your nose! Have you forgotten your manners?"
"He never had any!" exclaimed Rufe, snatching the wish-bone from its perch.
"Here! give that back! I'm going to keep it, and wish with Cecie bimeby, and we're both going to wish that Aunt Vinnie had come here a year ago—that is—I mean—pshaw!" said Link, whose ideas were getting rather mixed.
Poor Mrs. Betterson complained a great deal to her sister that afternoon of the impossibility of keeping up the style and manners of the family in that new country.
Vinnie—who sat holding the baby by Cecie's lounge—asked why the family had chosen that new country.
"Mr. Betterson had been unfortunate in business at the East, and it was thought best that he should try Illinois," was Caroline's way of stating that after her husband had run through two small fortunes which had fallen to him, and exhausted the patience of relatives upon whom he was constantly calling for help, a wealthy uncle had purchased this farm for him, and placed him on it to be rid of him.
"I should think you might sell the farm and move away," said Vinnie.
"There are certain obstacles," replied Caroline; the said uncle, knowing that Lord could not keep property from flying away, having shrewdly tied this down by means of a mortgage.
"One thing," Caroline continued, "I have always regretted. A considerable sum of money fell to Mr. Betterson after we came here; and he—wisely, we thought at the time, but unfortunately, as it proved—put it into this house. We expected to have a large part of it left; but the cost of building was such that all was absorbed before the house was finished."
Such was Caroline's account of the manner in which the "castle" came to be built. Vinnie was amazed at the foolish vanity and improvidence of the lord of it; but she only said,—
"There seems to be a great deal of unused room in the house; I should think you might let that, and a part of the farm, to another family."
Caroline smiled pityingly.
"Lavinia dear, you don't understand. We could never think of taking another family into our house, for the sake of money! though it might be well to let the farm. Besides, there is really one more in the family than you see. I think I haven't yet spoken to you of Radcliff,—my husband's nephew."
"You mentioned such a person in your letter to me," replied Vinnie.
"Ah, yes; when I was giving some of the reasons why we had never had you come and live with us. Well off as we were at one time,—and are now in prospect, if not in actual appearance,—we could not very well take you as a child into our family, if we took Radcliff. He was early left an orphan, and it was thought best by the connections that he should be brought up by my husband. I assure you, Lavinia, that nobody but a Betterson should ever have been allowed to take your place in our family."
Vinnie pictured to herself a youth of precious qualities and great promise, and asked,—
"Where is Radcliff now?"
"He is not with us just at present. He is of age, and his own master; and though we make a home for him, he's away a good deal."
"What is his business?"
"He has no fixed pursuit. He is, in short, a gentleman at large."
"What supports him?"
"He receives a limited allowance from our relatives on the Betterson side," said Caroline, pleased with the interest her sister seemed to take in the illustrious youth. "He is not so stylish a man as my husband, by any means; my husband is a Betterson of the Bettersons. But Radcliff has the blood, and is very aristocratic in his tastes."
Caroline enlarged upon this delightful theme, until Cecie (who seemed to weary of it) exclaimed,—
"O mother, do see how Aunt Vinnie soothes the baby!"
Indeed, it seemed as if the puny thing must have felt the flood of warmth and love from Vinnie's heart bathing its little life.
That afternoon Rufe and Wad sawed and split the wood, and Link (with Chokie's powerful assistance) carried it into an unfinished room behind the kitchen,—sometimes called the "back-room," and sometimes the "lumber-room,"—and corded it up against the wall. An imposing pile it was, of which the young architect was justly proud, no such sight ever having been seen in that house before.
Every ten or fifteen minutes he called Vinnie or Lill to see how the pile grew; and at last he insisted on bringing Cecie, and letting her be astonished.
Cecie was only too glad of any little diversion. She could walk with a good deal of assistance; Vinnie almost lifted the poor girl in her loving arms; Link supported her on the other side; and so they bore her to the back-room, where she leaned affectionately on Vinnie, while Link stood aside and pointed proudly at his wood-pile.
"We never could get him to bring in a stick of wood before, without teasing or scolding him," said Lill.
"This is different; there's some fun in this," said Link. "Rufe and Wad have been at work like sixty; and we wanted to see how big a pile we could make."
All praised the performance; and Mrs. Betterson so far forgot herself as to say she felt rich now, with so much nice, dry, split wood in the house.
"But what a remark," she added immediately, turning to Vinnie, "for one of our family to make!"
"I was never so proud of my brothers!" said Cecie. "If I was only well enough, how I should like to help pile up that wood!"
"Dear Cecie!" cried Vinnie, embracing her, "I wish you were well enough! And I hope you will be some time."
The wood was all disposed of that afternoon, and the boys concluded that they had had a pretty good time over it.
"Now we can loaf for a whole week, and make a business of it," said Wad.
"There's one more job that ought to be done," said Rufe. "That potato-patch. We can't keep the pigs out of it, and it's time the potatoes were dug."
"I s'pose so," said Wad. "Wish we had a hired man."
"It isn't much of a job," said Rufe. "And we don't want to be seen loafing round, now she's here."
"We can go up in the woods and loaf," said Wad.
"Don't talk silly," said Rufe. "Come, I'll go at the potatoes to-morrow, if you will. We'll dig, and make Link pick 'em up."
"I was going to shoot some more prairie chickens to-morrow. We've no other meat for dinner."
"We'll get father to shoot them. Come, Wad, what do you say?"
Wad declined to commit himself to an enterprise requiring so large an outlay of bone and muscle. All Rufe could get from him was a promise to "sleep on the potatoes" and say what he thought of them in morning.
The next morning accordingly, before the cattle were turned out of the yard, Rufe said,—
"Shall we yoke up the steers and take the wagon down into the potato-patch? We can be as long as we please filling it."
"Yes, we may as well take it down there and leave it," Wad assented; and the steers were yoked accordingly.
Lord Betterson was not surprised to see the wagon go to the potato-patch, where he thought it might as well stay during the rest of the season, as anywhere else. But he was surprised afterward to see the three boys—or perhaps we should say four, for Chokie was of the party—start off with their hoes and baskets.
"We are going to let you shoot the prairie chickens this forenoon," said Rufe. "You'll find the gun and ammunition all ready, in the back-room. We are going at the potatoes."
Link went ahead and pulled the tops, and afterward picked up the potatoes, filling the baskets, which his brothers helped him carry off and empty into the wagon-box; while Chokie dug holes in the black loam to his heart's content.
"We might have had a noble crop here," said Rufe, "if it hadn't been for the weeds and pigs. Wad, we mustn't let the weeds get the start of us so another year. And we'll do some repairs on the fences this fall. I'm ashamed of 'em!"
A doctor from North Mills came once a week to visit Cecie and the sick mother and baby. One afternoon he brought in his chaise a saddle and bridle, which he said a young fellow would call for in a day or two. The boys laughed as they put the saddle away; they knew who the young fellow was, and they hoped he would have a chance to use it.
Snowfoot's week was up the next forenoon; and at about ten o'clock Jack, accompanied by Lion, and carrying a double-barrelled fowling-piece, with which he had shot a brace of prairie hens by the way, walked into the Betterson door-yard.
He found the boys at the lower end of the house, with the steers and wagon.
"What's the news?" he asked.
"The news with us is, that we're out of rainwater," Rufe replied.
"I should think so," said Jack, looking into a dry hogshead which stood under the eaves-spout.
"It's too much of a bother to bring all our water by the pailful. So we are going to fill these things at the river and make the steers haul 'em."
There were three wash-tubs and a barrel, which the boys were putting up on the bottom boards of the wagon-box, from which the sides had been removed.
Jack was pleased with this appearance of enterprise; he also noticed with satisfaction that the yard had been cleared up since he last saw it.
He asked about Vinnie, and learned from the looks and answers the boys gave him that she was popular.
"Your saddle came yesterday," said Wad; "so I s'pose you expect to ride home."
"I feel rather inclined that way. How is our friend Peakslow?"
"Don't know; he went to Chicago, and he hasn't got back."
"Hasn't got back!" said Jack, astonished. "That's mean business!"
He smothered his vexation, however, and told the boys that he would go with them to the river, after he had spoken with Vinnie.
Entering the house, he was still more surprised at the changes which had taken place since his last visit.
"Her coming has been the greatest blessing!" said Caroline, detaining him in the sitting-room. "We are all better,—the doctor noticed it yesterday; Cecie and baby and I are all better. Lavinia dear will see you presently; I think she is just taking some bread out of the oven."
"Let me go into the kitchen—she won't mind me," said Jack.
Vinnie, rosy-red from her baking, met him at the door. He had been very anxious about her since he left her there; but a glance showed him that all had gone well.
"You have survived!" he said.
"Yes, indeed!" she replied. "I told you I would make things pleasant here."
"The boys like you, I see."
"And I like them. They do all they can for me. Rufus even helped me about the washing,—pounded and wrung out the clothes. You must stay to dinner to-day."
"I think I may have to," said Jack; "for my horse hasn't come back from Chicago yet, and I don't mean to go home without him."
When he went out he found the boys waiting, and accepted a seat with Wad and Link on a board placed across two of the tubs. Rufe walked by the cattle's horns; while in the third tub sat Chokie.
"You can't sit in that tub going back, you know," said Link.
"Yes, I can! I will!" And Chokie clung fast to the handles.
"O, well, you can if you want to, I suppose!" said Link; "but it will be full of water."
They passed the potato-patch (Jack smiled to see that the potatoes had been dug), crossed a strip of meadow-land below, and then rounded a bend in the river, in the direction of a deep place the boys knew.
"I always hate to ride after oxen,—they go so tormented slow!" said Link. "Why don't somebody invent a wagon to go by steam?"
"Did you ever see a wagon go by water?" Jack asked.
"No, nor anybody else!"
"I have," said Jack. "I know a man in this county who has one."
"What man? I'd go five miles to see one!"
"You can see one without going so far. The man is your father, and this is the wagon. It is going by water now."
"By water—yes! By the river!" said Link, amused and vexed.
"Link," said Jack, "do you remember that little joke of yours about the boys stopping the leak in the boat? Well, we are even now."
Rufe backed the hind-wheels of the wagon into the river, over the deep place, and asked Wad which he would do,—dip the water and pass it up by the pailful, or stay in the wagon and receive it.
"Whoever dips it up has to stand in the river above his knees," said Wad; "and I don't mean to get wet to-day."
"Very well; stay in the wagon, then. You'll get as wet as I shall; for I'm going to pull off my shoes and roll up my trousers. Chokie, you keep in that tub, just where you are, till the tub is wanted. Link, you'd better go into the river with me, and dip the pails, while I pass 'em up to Wad."
"I never can keep my trousers-legs rolled up, and I ain't going to get wet," said Link. Then, whispering to Jack: "There's leeches in this river; they get right into a fellow's flesh and suck his blood like sixty."
Wad proposed to begin with the barrel, and to have Link stand at the end of the wagon, receive the pails, pass them to him, and pass them back to Rufe empty.
"Why not move the barrel to the end of the wagon, and fill it about two thirds full, and then move it back again? I'll help you do that," said Link.
"All right; I'll fill the barrel and one of the tubs; then you shall fill the other two tubs."
Link agreed to this; while Jack smiled to hear so much talk about doing so small a thing.
Rufe went in bare-legged, and stood on the edge of the deep hole, where the water was hardly up to his knees. Much as he disliked, ordinarily, to set about any work, he was strong and active when once roused; and the pails of water went up on the wagon about as fast as Wad cared to take them.
"Hullo! Don't slop so! You're wetting my feet!" cried Wad.
"I can't keep from spilling a drop once in a while. You might have taken off your shoes and rolled up your trousers as I did."
The barrel was soon two thirds full, and Wad called upon Link to help him move it forward. Link left his seat by Jack's side, and walked back to the rear of the wagon. Wad, as we know, was already there. So was the barrel of water, standing just back of the rear axletree. So also was a fresh pail of water, which Rufe had placed at the extreme end, because Wad was not ready to take it.
At that moment the oxen, hungry for fresh grass, and having nipped all within reach of their noses, started up a little. Jack, thinking to prevent mischief by running to their heads, leaped from the front of the wagon.
This abrupt removal of weight from one end, and large increase of avoirdupois at the other, produced a natural but very surprising result. Chokie in his tub, though at the long end of the beam, so to speak (the rear axletree being the fulcrum), was not heavy enough to counterbalance two brothers and a barrel of water at the short end.
He suddenly felt himself rising in the air, and sliding with the empty tubs. His brothers at the same moment felt themselves sinking and pitching. There was a chorus of shrieks, as they made a desperate effort to save themselves. Too late; the wagon-bottom reared, and away went barrel, boys, tubs, everything.
The oxen, starting at the alarm, helped to precipitate the catastrophe. Fortunately, Jack was at hand to stop them, or the dismantled wagon might have gone flying across the lot, even fast enough to suit Link's notion of speed.
Rufe made one quick effort to prevent the boards from tipping up, then leaped aside, while the discharged load shot past him.
Chokie, screaming, held fast to the sides of his tub with both hands. Wad, intending to jump, plunged into the deepest part of the river. Link made a snatch at the barrel, and, playing at leap-frog over it (very unwillingly), went headlong into the deep hole.
Chokie met with a wonderfully good fortune; his tub was launched so neatly, and ballasted so nicely by him sitting in the bottom, that it shipped but a splash of water, and he floated away, unhurt and scarcely wet at all, amidst the general ruin.
The wagon-boards, relieved of their load, tumbled back upon the wheels. To add to the confusion, Lion barked furiously.
Jack, frightened at first, finally began to laugh, when he saw Chokie sailing away, under full scream, and Wad and Link scrambling out of the water.
"So you were the fellows that were not going to get wet!" cried Rufe. "Pick out your barrel and empty tubs, while I catch Chokie!"
The river, even in the deepest place, was not very deep; and Wad and Link came wading out, blowing water from their mouths, flirting water from their hair, and shaking water from their rescued hats, in a way that made Rufe (after he had stranded Chokie in his tub) roll upon the grass in convulsions.
"Laugh, then!" cried Wad in a rage; "I'll give you something to laugh at!" And, catching up a tub partly filled with water, he rushed with it to take wet vengeance on his dry brother.
Before Rufe, helpless with laughter, could move to defend himself, tub, water, and Wad, all together, were upon him,—the tub capsizing over his head and shoulders, Wad tumbling upon the tub, and the water running out in little rivulets below.
Rufe was pretty wet, but still laughing, when he crawled out, like a snail from under his shell, and got upon his feet, clutching the tub to hurl it at Wad, who fled.
"You are the only one who has got any dry fun out of this scrape!" Rufe said, trying to brush the water out of his neck and breast.
His words were addressed to Jack, and they proved more strictly true than he intended; for just then Chokie, trying to get out of his stranded tub, tipped it over, and went out of it, upon his hands and knees, into the river. By the time he was pulled out and set upon dry ground, the boys were all pretty good-natured.
"How about those leeches, Link? Did you find any?" said Jack.
"I'm too dizzy yet, to think about leeches," replied Link. "I turned a somerset out of that wagon so quick, I could see the patch on the seat of my trousers!"
"I thought I was going through to China," said Wad, "and expected, when I came up, to see men with pigtails."
He stood on the edge of the water, holding another tub for Rufe, if he should come too near.
"Quit your nonsense now!" cried Rufe, "and hand up that barrel."
"I'll quit if you will,—as the poultry-thief said when the old gobbler chased him. 'Quit, quit!' says the turkey. 'Quit your ownself!' says the thief. And I'm just of his way of thinking," said Wad.
"Well! help me put this wagon into shape," said Rufe. "Then we'll fill our tubs and barrel without any more fooling."
The wagon-boards were replaced and loaded without any further accident. The well-filled tubs were set one upon another, and Wad stood holding them; while Link, having placed the board seat over the barrel of water, sat upon it. They found it a pretty sloppy ride; but they could laugh defiance at a little water now. Chokie, it need hardly be said, did not ride in a tub of water, but walked between Jack and Rufe beside the oxen.
"Hullo!" cried Link from his perch, as the wagon passed the potato-patch, "there comes Peakslow down the road through the woods,—just turning the corner for home!"
Jack started with sudden excitement.
"Can you see his team?"
"Yes; one of the horses looks like yours; and he has an extra horse led behind."
Jack ran up to the road to get a look, and came laughing back to the house, where the boys and their load of water had by that time arrived.
"He is driving my horse, and leading one of his own. I am going to get my bridle, and call on him."
"You'll come back to dinner?" said Rufe.
"Yes, if you'll have my prairie chickens cooked."
And, leaving the boys to astonish the family with their wet clothes, Jack, with the bridle on his arm, walked down the road.
Just as he was entering Peakslow's yard, he met Mr. Wiggett coming out with his arms full of brown-paper parcels.
"Mr. Wiggett! glad to see you!"
"Same to yourself," replied the old man. "Got my arms full o' this yer stuff, or I'd shake hands. I've a lot more o' comforts for wife and young uns in the wagon; but I thought I'd lug along suthin, or they wouldn't be glad to see me."
"Is it all right about the horse?"
"I 'low it's all right."
"Is Peakslow up to any trick?"
"Nary, as I kin diskiver; and I pumped him, tew, right smart, a-comin' over the perairie."
"Did he have much trouble getting back his horse?"
"Not sich a dog-goned sight. Truckman's a straightfor'ard, honest chap. Says he guv eighty dollars for your hoss; thinks he had him of the thief himself; and 'lows he knows the rascal. He stuck out a little at fust, and you should 'a' heard Peakslow talk tew him! 'Twas ekal to gwine to preachin'."
"What did he say?"
"Said none but a fool or a scoundrel would ca'c'late he could hang ontew a piece o' prop'ty that had been stole, or traded for what had been stole. Talked, of course, just t' other way from what he did when he talked to you. Truckman didn't mind his gab, but when he was satisfied the hoss he put away had been stole, he guv up Peakslow's, and the fifteen dollars to boot. Now, how in the name of seven kingdoms Peakslow's gwine to turn it about to make anything more, beats all my understandin'!"
Jack thanked the old man warmly for the interest he had taken in the affair, and asked how he could pay him for his trouble.
"I haven't looked for no pay," replied the old man. "But one thing I should like to have ye dew for me, if ever ye come my way agin with yer compass. My woman guv me right smart of her jaw for forgittin' it when ye was thar before. She wants a noon-mark on our kitchen floor."
"All right," said Jack. "She shall have it."
The old man went on with his bundles, while Jack entered Peakslow's yard.
Peakslow, who was unharnessing his team, with the help of two stout boys, looked up and said, in a tone which he meant should be friendly,——
"How are ye? On hand, I see," with a grim smile at the bridle.
"I was on hand a little before you were," replied Jack. "Your week was up an hour ago. Though I don't care about that. You've got your horse, I see."
"That's the main thing I went for; course I've got him. Here's a paper, with the truckman's name wrote on 't; he wants you to come and see him when you go to town, pervided he don't come to see you fust."
"Did he say anything about a bridle and a blanket that were on the horse when he was stolen?"
"He's got 'em," Peakslow coolly replied; "but as no reward was offered for anything but the hoss, I didn't take 'em."
Jack didn't quite see the logic of this remark.
"Never mind; they are trifles," he said. "It's glory enough for one while, to get my horse again. I've a bridle here for him; I'll slip it on, Zeph, if you'll slip yours off."
"You can slip your bridle on that hoss, and take him away, when you've fulfilled the conditions; not before," said Peakslow.
"What conditions? You don't pretend to claim my horse now you've got your own back?"
"I've got a claim on him," Peakslow replied. "Here's your own handbill for it. Twenty Dollars Reward! I've got back your hoss for ye, and I demand the reward."
This, then, after all, was the quirk in Peakslow's head. The boys grinned. Jack was astounded.
"Peakslow," he exclaimed indignantly, "you know that's an absurd claim! You didn't find my horse and deliver him to me; I found him in your hands, and you even refused to give him up! The truckman has a better claim for the reward than you have, for he had him first; and then I don't see but the thief himself has a prior claim to either."
"You talk like a fool!" said Peakslow.
"You act like a fool and a knave!" Jack retorted, in a sudden blaze. "I won't have any more words with you. Sue for the reward, if you think you can get it. I'm just going to take my horse!"
"Not till the reward is paid, if I live!" said Peakslow, his black eyes sparkling. "Zeph, step and hand out the old gun!"
Very pale, with the bridle dangling from his arm, and Lion walking dejectedly by his side (the sympathetic dog always knew when his master was in trouble), Jack returned to the "castle."
Lord Betterson, meeting him in the door-yard, touched his hat and bowed.
"Where—is—your—quadruped?" he asked, with a cool, deliberate politeness, which fell upon Jack's mood like drops of water on red-hot steel.
"That villain! he claims the reward for him! But I never'll pay it in the world!"
Betterson smiled and said, "Ah! Peakslow! Highly characteristic!"
"He threatened to shoot me!"
"Very likely. He has threatened to shoot me, on one or two occasions. I said, 'Shoot!'" (Jack wondered whether he said it with that condescending smile and gracious gesture.) "It isn't agreeable to have dealings with a person who talks of shooting his fellow-men; but I imagine there's no danger, if you keep cool."
"I couldn't keep cool," said Jack. "I got as mad as he was. I could have shot him."
"That, my friend," Lord Betterson replied, with a wave of the hand, "was an error,—quite natural, but still an error. You stay to dinner?"
"Thank you, I have promised myself that pleasure."
Jack was ashamed of having given way to his anger; and he determined from that moment, whatever happened, to keep calm.
As he threw his useless bridle down, and left Lion to guard it, he saw Wad starting off with a pail, and asked where he was going.
"For water," said Wad.
"More water? I should think you all had enough for one day!"
"Yes, for the outer man," drawled Wad. "Where's your horse?"
"I concluded to let Peakslow keep him a little longer. He seemed willing to; and I am not ready to ride home. May I go with you?"
"Glad to have ye," said Wad.
They walked a little way along the road toward Peakslow's house, then entered the woodland, descended into a little ravine, and, on the slope beyond, found a spring of running water in the shade of an oak grove.
Jack was not inclined to talk of Snowfoot, but he had a good deal to say about the spring.
"Why, this is charming! What a clear basin of water! Is it always running over?"
"Always, even in the driest season. We first noticed that little stream trickling down into the ravine; and that's about all there was to be seen, till Rufe and I hollowed out this basin."
"Why don't you come here with your wagon and tubs, instead of going to the river?"
"There's no good way to get in here with a wagon; and, besides, we can't dip up more than two or three pailfuls at a time,—then we must wait for the spring to fill."
"You could sink a barrel," said Jack, "and always have that full, to start upon. Now dip your pail, and let's see how long it takes for the basin to fill."
The experiment was tried, and Jack grew quite enthusiastic over the result.
"See! how fast the water comes in! I say, Wad, you've got something valuable here."
"Yes," said Wad. "I only wish the house had been built somewhere near. This is part of the land Peakslow pretended to claim. The swing, where Cecie got hurt, is in the grove, just up here."
The place was so cool and pleasant that Jack let Wad return alone with the water, and walked about the spring and the swing, and up into the woods beyond, calming his inward excitement, until dinner-time.
At table he gave a humorous account of his late interview with Peakslow.
"He was so very cordial in his request that I should leave Snowfoot, that I couldn't well refuse,—though I did decline to trouble him, till he brought out a double-barrelled argument,—stub twist, percussion lock,—which finally persuaded me. He is one of the most urgent men I ever saw," added Jack, mashing his potato.
Vinnie smiled, while the others laughed; but her eyes were full of anxiety, as they beamed on Jack.
"Isn't it possible," she said, "to meet such arguments with kindness? I didn't think there was a man so bad that he couldn't be influenced by reason and good-will."
"It might rain reasons on Peakslow, forty days and forty nights,—he would shed 'em, as a duck does water," Jack replied. "Isn't it so, Mr. Betterson?"
"I have certainly found him impervious," said my lord.
"I might have stopped to argue with him, and threaten him with the law and costs of court, and perhaps have settled the matter for five or ten dollars. But the truth is," Jack confessed, "I lost patience and temper. I am not going to have any more words with him. Now let's drop Peakslow, and speak of something more important. That spring over in your woods, Mr. Betterson,—I've been looking at it. Is it soft water?" (Jack lifted a glass and sipped it;) "as good for washing as it is for the table?"
"It is excellent water for any purpose," said Mr. Betterson. "There is only one fault in that spring,—it is too far off."
"We are going to move the house up there, so as to have it handy," said Link.
"That is one of my young friend's jokes," said Jack. "But, seriously, Mr. Betterson, instead of moving the house to the spring, why don't you bring the spring to the house?"
"How do you mean? It doesn't seem quite—ah—practicable, to move a spring that way."
"I don't mean the spring itself, of course, but the water. You might have that running, a constant stream, in your kitchen or back-room."
"I apprehend your drift," said Betterson, helping Jack to a piece of prairie chicken. "You mean, bring it in pipes."
"Thank you. Precisely."
"But I apprehend a difficulty; it is not easy to make water run up hill."
Jack smiled, and blushed a little, at Betterson's polite condescension in making this mild objection.
"Water running down hill may force itself up another hill, if confined in pipes, I think you will concede."
"Most assuredly. But it will not rise again higher than its source. And the spring is lower than we are,—lower than our kitchen sink."
"I don't quite see that," replied Jack, with the air of a candid inquirer. "I have been over the ground, and it didn't strike me so."
"It certainly looks to be several feet lower," said Betterson; and the boys agreed with him.
"We generally speak of going down to the spring," said Rufe. "We go down the road, then down the bank of the ravine, and then a little way up the other bank. I don't know how we can tell just how much lower it is. We can't see the spring from the house."
"If I had my instruments here, I could tell you which is lower, and how much lower, pretty soon. While I am waiting for Snowfoot, (I can't go home, you know, without Snowfoot!) I may, perhaps, do a bit of engineering, as it is."
The boys got around Jack after dinner, and asked him about that bit of engineering.
"In the first place," said Jack, standing outside the door, and looking over toward the spring, hidden by intervening bushes on a ridge, "we must have a water-level, and I think I can make one. Get me a piece of shingle, or any thin strip of wood. And I shall want a pail of water."
A shingle brought, Jack cut it so that it would float freely in the pail; and, having taken two thin strips of equal length from the sides, he set them up near each end, like the masts of a boy's boat.
"Now, this is our level," he said; "and these masts are the sights. To see that they are exact, we will look across them at some object, then turn the level end for end, and look across them again; if the range is the same both ways, then our sights are right, are they not? But I see we must lay a couple of sticks across the pail, to hold our level still while we are using it."
The boys were much interested; and Link said he didn't see what anybody wanted of a better level than that.