Billy now came up bearing the big tin cup again.
“About time he had the second dose, I reckon, Doc?” he asked Arthur, and upon that worthy nodding his head in the affirmative the good-natured cook guided the drinking vessel to the lips of the repentant boy lying there.
He drank every drop of the contents, and seemed to relish it amazingly.
“You’re all so good to me, fellows!” he said, after draining the cup to the very dregs. “It’s almost like getting back home again to meet Oakvale boys up here, and my own brother Gus among the lot. I guess it must have been my good angel that guided me to this place, where I knew we’d find shelter; for I thought father’s loggers would be working here, and I might get a job on the sly, till I could communicate with my mother. Oh! I’ll never stop being thankful it’s all come out as it has.”
“There’s something I ought to tell you, Sam,” remarked Gus, a little later, after some of the excitement had worn away, and they could manage to sit or lie around enjoying the cheery fire, and thanking their lucky stars, as Billy said, that the fates allowed them to be so comfortable when it was getting bitter cold outside with a shift of wind into the northwest.
The prodigal looked anxious upon hearing his brother say that.
“Nothing bad, I hope, Gus?” he observed.
“You must settle that with yourself,” the other replied, “after you’ve heard what I say. But, Sam, I’ve got some reason to believe father is beginning to feel sorry for what he did years ago. You know he’s got an iron will, and even mother is afraid to stir him up. But just the other day something happened that made me think he’s breaking down.”
“Tell me, Gus, please tell me!” urged Sam, eagerly.
“Why, it happened this way, you see,” resumed the other, quickly. “I was passing the door of the library and chanced to look in just in time to see father put something down in the corner of the big secretary that stands there, you remember, Sam. He started to blow his nose, too, and turned his back on me; but I give you my word, Sam, when I saw him a few minutes later his eyes were red!”
“Oh!” exclaimed Sam, with his face as tense as it could well be.
“That made me mighty curious, I tell you,” Gus went on to say, “and when I had a half-decent chance I just slipped into the library and looked to see what it was father had been staring at when I startled him. Sam, would you believe it, I found that little picture of you there, that mother had in a gilt frame, and kept on the parlor mantel up to the time you went away!”
Sam gave a low bubbling cry. He was evidently greatly shaken by this intelligence, the very first news he had received to show that, after all, the suffering had not fallen to himself and his mother alone.
“So that’s one reason why mother, when she heard that you had been seen here, and were sick, sent me up to find you, because we both believe father is weakening. He isn’t the same man he used to be, Sam. His shoulders are bowed these days, and he hasn’t much to say to anybody. He was always a proud man, you remember, and I guess he hates to admit that he was harsh and unforgiving when he sent you away from home; but I do honestly believe, Sam, he’s near the turning point now. A little thing would make him break down.”
Hugh could not help feeling pleased. Indeed, looking backward to many things that had happened in his past he could not think of any that gave him greater reason for thankfulness than the fact of his agreeing to accompany Gus on what to some might have seemed like a wild-goose errand into these woods.
“We expect to stay up here a few days, you see, Sam,” he explained, as they sat there and talked of many things that interested them all. “By the time we’re ready to fold up our blankets and start in the big seven-passenger car back home, you’ll be fit to travel. By then you can have made your plans, just what you expect to do, though the chief thing, I expect, will be to meet that good mother of yours, and fill her brave heart with new hope.”
“I tell you, Hugh, and the rest of you good fellows,” said Sam, “the minutes are going to drag like lead to me till the time comes when I can feel her arms about my neck again. Oh! none of you can ever understand what it means to a fellow to know that thousands of miles, yes, and something worse than that even, stands between him and his mother. How many nights I’ve dreamed I saw her, only to wake up and realize the terrible truth! A stronger hand than my own has guided me here, I honestly and truly believe.”
“Oh! I nearly forgot something else I meant to tell you, Sam!” exclaimed Gus just then, “not that it’s a matter of any particular importance, you see, but then, Mr. Jones, the post master, called me into his office to show it to me, and ask if I knew whether you expected to be back home soon. You see, he knows a little about what happened years ago, though few people in Oakvale do.”
“Why, what did he have to show you that was for me?” asked Sam, apparently puzzled to understand it all.
“It was a letter that had come by registered mail,” explained Gus, smiling fondly at his brother.
“For me, do you mean?” demanded the other.
“Yes, and from Alaska, too,” he was told. “I already knew that you had been seen near the camp up here, but I didn’t want to tell Mr. Jones that. So I just said it was possible you might be dropping in to sign for that letter yourself before a great while, if so, would he hold it for you, which he said he would, and gave me to understand he meant to keep it quiet.”
“A letter registered, and from Alaska,” Sam went on to say as though to himself. “That’s a queer thing. Few people up there knew that I came from Oakvale in this far Eastern State. I wonder who could have sent it?”
“Oh! as a scout,” Gus proudly told him, “who has been taught the value of observing things, I made sure to notice that up in the corner there was a printed slip that read this way: ‘Jenkins and Pratt, Attorneys, Nome, Alaska.’ Now, may be that’ll give you a clue to the senders, Sam.”
“It certainly does, Gus, thanks to your scout tactics,” the other quickly responded. “That was the name of the law firm I employed while fighting for my title to that mine that swamped me. I wonder what they are writing to me about. The chances are, though, they find they didn’t charge me enough for their services, and this is an extra bill they want me to pay.”
“Oh! perhaps they’re sending you some good news, Sam!” suggested Gus, as a sudden wild hope possessed him. “It would be just like it to have things take a turn up there, and that mine come back to you again.”
“No such good luck, I’m afraid,” remarked Sam, shaking his head skeptically. “I’ve been up against hard luck all my life, you see. Everything goes crooked with a fellow who’s gone and made a mess of his prospects like I did.”
“But you’ve reached the turn of the lane, Sam, you see,” ventured the other. “From now on things are going to right-about face, and be just the opposite from what they used to strike you. Once the tide of good luck sets in there’s no telling what will happen. Say what you will, I’m going to hope it’s that way.”
They sat there and talked for a long time afterwards. Indeed all of them were so excited that it was with considerable difficulty that Hugh could coax them to consider going to bed.
Before they retired he had some of the wood that had been taken into the cabin placed conveniently so that when any one chanced to awaken during the night it would be a simple matter to step over and cast a log on the fire. There would apparently be more or less need of extra warmth in the bunk-house before dawn came, what with the storm changing its course and bringing the bitter breath of winter out of the great Northwest.
They were short in blankets, but then Hugh expected to make himself comfortable with some of the bags they had found in the place, left behind by the loggers, as well as some extra clothes he had along with him. Sam had been given Hugh’s covering, and Gus would have forced the scout master to accept his blanket only he found himself up against a wall of adamant when he tried that sort of thing. In some matters Hugh could be very stubborn.
“This is an old story for me, Gus,” the scout master had told him convincingly, as he shook his head and pushed the proffered blanket back into the other’s hands. “In fact, to tell you the truth, I rather enjoy being put to the test this way, and having to hustle for bed clothes. I’ll keep warm enough, never fear; and besides, we mean to have a fire all night, so there you are. Thanks just the same, but it’s impossible, Gus. So stow yourself away in one of the bunks closest to the fire, and go to sleep happier than you’ve been this many a day.”
“I guess I will, Hugh,” admitted Gus, smiling at the other with eyes that sparkled as though they contained dewdrops, “because I’ll be dreaming of her, and how glad she’ll be when she knows I’ve succeeded in the mission she entrusted to my hands, thanks to the help of my chums.”
“Yes,” said the scout master, with a hand on the shoulder of Gus, “and depend on it, old fellow, before many moons pass by I’m going to see to it that your name is written on the Roll of Honor they keep at scout headquarters for all those who save human life at the risk of their own. You’re entitled to wear a medal on your coat for what you’ve done this night, if any of us won the honor.” And doubtless Gus Merrivale would sleep all the sounder that night on account of knowing that the ambition he had so long cherished above all other scout aims was in a fair way of being realized at last.
The last thing before crawling under his blanket, Arthur, the “seasoned weather-sharp” of the troop, had called the attention of his mates to the fact that, just as he had predicted, the wind was commencing to come out of the Northwest, so that the rain that had been blown so wildly before the gale had already, no doubt, commenced to turn into sleet.
“We’re going to have the queerest Thanksgiving ever heard of in this section of the country,” Arthur had said. “Mark my words if it doesn’t change into a regular baby blizzard. Oakvale fellows won’t want to bother much with any football this year, if I know what’s what.”
All night long the wind whistled and moaned, and even howled at times around the corners of the bunk-house. Inside, it was fairly cheerful, for many times did Hugh get up and renew the fire which ate up the fuel at an alarming rate, as always happens when the wind blows at a gale. Finally, when morning came, and there were heard sounds to indicate that some of the sleepers had awakened, the place felt pretty cold. That was remedied, however, after the fire had been built up so that it fairly roared.
No sooner was Gus up than he went to where his brother lay.
“How are you feeling, Sam?” he asked, upon discovering that the other was awake.
“I hardly know yet,” came the reply. “I reckon I’ll be weak for a short spell, but that doctor of yours has done me heaps of good, and you can wager I’m bound to pull through all right. I’ve got a new lease of life, Gus, since you told me what you did about father. I’m crazy to see mother, and little baby sister Amy, too.”
Gus laughed. He was feeling ever so much more light-hearted himself, now that things had turned out so well.
“You forget that nearly five years have gone past since you were home, Sam,” he went on to say. “Amy isn’t a baby any longer, but the prettiest little girl the sun ever shone on. Wait till you see her, that’s all. She’s as sweet as she is pretty, which is the best part of it all. We worship her as if she might be a fairy queen in our house.”
Sam thereupon gave a half groan.
“I guess it goes without saying,” he remarked, sadly, “that all the badness in the Merrivale family was concentrated in me. Oh! how bitterly I’ve repented some of the mean things I did in those wild days; and nearly broke my mother’s heart. I’ve tried again and again to lay all the blame on father for being so strict; but, Gus, I know just as well as anything that I was at fault, too. But I’m going to make it all up, if I live long enough.”
Breakfast was eaten amidst considerable merriment. Everybody seemed to be quite cheerful, considering the fact that they were snowbound on the one great day of the fall which all true Americans celebrate at home or abroad, the Thanksgiving handed down from the Pilgrim Fathers.
“There’s something that’s bothering me,” remarked Billy, “and that’s grub!”
“What about it?” demanded Arthur. “So far as I can see it’s just prime, and as good as anything we ever packed into camp. Please put a couple of pieces of that bacon on my pannikin, will you, Hugh? It certainly goes to the spot. I never smell bacon or ham cooking at home but what my mind goes out to camp life. They seem, as Billy here would say, intimately connected.”
“Oh! the quality is gilt-edged,” the fat scout hastened to admit. “It’s the quantity that’s bothering me. Look what a hole we’ve made already in our stack, will you? Where will we be three days from now, tell me?”
Hugh laughed at hearing this complaint, because it was not the first time by any means that he had listened to Billy holding forth along similar lines.
“Oh! no use borrowing trouble, Billy,” he said, consolingly. “Don’t cross a bridge before you come to it, as lots of people do. There are several remedies to your disease. If necessary we can cut our outing short and speed back home in the big auto. Then again, if we conclude to stay, a couple of us can scour the country around this section, and visit several farm houses, where money will talk, and buy all the eggs and chickens we want. It’s all right, Billy, make your mind up to that.”
As the morning advanced none of them cared to stay outdoors more than was absolutely necessary, so keen was the wind. One by one they took turns wielding the camp ax, and bringing in stacks of wood.
Billy, remembering the day, laid out quite an extensive menu for Thanksgiving dinner, nor did he have any trouble about finding plenty of recruits ready to assist in peeling potatoes and doing the other chores.
“I did hope,” he announced, when asking their opinion of his intended bill of fare, “that somebody’d be smart enough to bag a plump gobbler. It would have been a splendid thing to grace the head of the table. But let’s be thankful we’ve got what might be called the poor man’s turkey—pork. That half ham is going to take the place of the National bird for this once. First time, though, since I was knee-high to a duck that I haven’t eaten real turkey on Thanksgiving.”
“There must always be a first time, Billy,” was Arthur’s consoling remark.
They put in most of the morning getting ready for the dinner. Billy fairly outdid all his previous efforts along the line of preparing a grand feast. He had looked ahead when laying in his stock of edibles, as was apparent when the meal finally was placed on the table.
The bill of fare Billy had written out and placed beside every tin pannikin was as follows:
Who cared because there was no table cloth, and that the dishes were of tin or granite or aluminum? What did it matter if the supply was so limited that often during the meal some one had to scurry over and do a little dishwashing before he could take the next course?
The ham was unbeatable, the fish just prime, the vegetables as “good as mother herself could have prepared them,” so they all admitted, and even the pumpkin pies that dear old Billy had smuggled into camp so carefully without any of the others knowing about it, came through in pretty good shape. The fact that they were broken a little mattered nothing to those boys who ate and ate until they could only look helplessly at one another, and wonder how under the sun they could ever dream of wanting anything more for forty-eight hours.
Perhaps that was one of the biggest events in Casey’s whole life. It must have been many a year since he had filled himself with such a choice collection of good things. Possibly it brought back memories that had almost faded from the mind of the old tramp, for to be sure he had once been a boy, and lived upon a farm. During the remainder of that whole day Casey was unusually quiet. When Sam asked him if he felt ill he shook his head and grinned, and simply said he was resurrecting dead recollections that he had never thought would rise again to haunt him.
Hugh only hoped they might continue to pester the old chap until finally he decided to give up this wandering life, and go back to see if any of his own kindred were still alive.
Casey did not intend going to town with them. They could guess why, for he as much as admitted that in times past he had been guilty of appropriating certain things to which he had no legal claim; and there was always a haunting fear in the mind of the old tramp that he was going to be jailed for these petty acts.
Sam was improving rapidly. Indeed, the fact was, it would have been most singular if such had not proved to be the case—with those merry fellows in his company to keep him laughing much of the time, so that his troubles fell from him very much as water does from a duck’s back.
Occasionally during that day he and Gus and Hugh talked matters over. Something in the shape of a plan of campaign was arranged, whereby Sam might in good time meet his devoted mother, and something be done looking toward a reconciliation with the stern father. So Sam declared, when night again drew near, that he believed he was far along the road to full recovery.
The rest of their stay in the lumber camp passed away without any further remarkable occurrence. It seemed as though after that big blow the weather had cleared for a long spell, although remaining quite cold. Hugh took the gun and did a little hunting just to please the insistent Billy, who was still clamorous for a turkey, and would not be happy until they had at least done their part toward procuring one.
Sure enough Hugh did succeed in bagging a gobbler, and as it turned out to be a young and tender bird they did enjoy a turkey dinner after all. Better late than never, as Billy told them, after he had succeeded in roasting the turkey by means of a rude spit before the fire, which had to be turned from time to time until Billy’s arms ached and his round face rivalled the setting sun in color.
But it was a feast none of them would ever forget, and that repaid all those who had had a share in getting it up, as well as “putting it down.”
The morning finally came when they had planned to return to town. It was Tuesday, and while another holiday still remained before school would convene, Hugh thought it might be as well they got home, as there would be certain things needing attention, as well as a meeting of the scouts scheduled for that night.
Casey was mighty sorry to see the boys making preparations for departure. That period would always remain as one of the happy times in the life of the old tramp. He privately informed Hugh, to whom he had taken a great fancy, that he was almost persuaded to look up his people, and see if he could spend his last days in a civilized way; and it can be put down as certain that Hugh applauded his determination and urged him not to change his mind.
They left all their provisions with Casey, though the supply was not very bountiful. When the car started off, with the scouts cheering like mad, Sam with the rest, Casey stood there in the doorway waving his greasy old hat after them, and apparently quite moved.
As we will have no further occasion to mention him again, it may be said here, in passing, that several months afterwards Hugh did actually receive a letter from the man, telling him that he had now reformed, was living with his married daughter, who had forgiven him freely, and that he still saw a chance to make an honest living at his old trade of a cooper; so that it seemed as though another besides Sam had profited by the Thanksgiving outing taken by Hugh and his chums up to the deserted lumber camp of the Merrivales.
Hugh had arranged to take Sam home with him. He felt sure that after his mother learned the whole story she would be only too well pleased to have a hand in bringing about a reconciliation between the erring and repentant boy and his stern father.
Gus had explained that he meant to tell his mother everything; and in some way an arrangement would be made whereby Mrs. Merrivale might call at Hugh’s house to see the boy who had been in her mind and heart these five long years.
All of the boys were feeling in fine spirits. They believed they had enjoyed the trip immensely, and felt many times repaid for what little trouble they had gone to. Indeed, Hugh, Arthur and Billy told Gus how glad they were he had thought to ask them to accompany him on his singular mission.
“We’ve had a bully good time!” Billy had said, and his eyes glistened as if fond memories of that groaning Thanksgiving table still haunted him.
“I ought to be satisfied,” asserted Arthur, “since my two patients came out with flying colors. Sam here declares he hasn’t felt so well for a long time.”
“Which is only the truth,” the person referred to declared vehemently. “I’m just as hearty as ever, and I will say that Arthur here is the best doctor I’ve run across in all my wanderings.”
“Perhaps the only one in the bargain,” laughed Arthur, jokingly. “Makes me think of the little fellow who came home from school one day and boastingly said to his daddy: ‘I’m next to the head of my class now, father!’ And after he had been complimented on his smartness, and I guess received some pennies in the bargain, the father happened to think to ask him how many there were in his class, when he said: ‘Oh! me and a wee lassie.’ But I’m head, foot and the whole shooting match.”
The old car broke down a few times on the way home, necessitating considerable repairing on the part of Gus, assisted by those of his mates who knew something about mending a tire or pottering with balky machinery.
Instead of arriving at Oakvale by noon they were many miles away when the sun drew near the zenith, a fact that began to give poor Billy, always in fear of starving to death, cause for uneasiness.
It happened, however, that there was a friendly haven close by in the shape of a prosperous farmer’s home, and upon their applying for “first aid to the injured” they were immediately asked to come back in an hour and have dinner with the family, hired man and all.
So as Billy admitted, “Heaven tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,” and they did not have to go hungry the rest of the day. Things would have to be pretty serious for a party of lively lads like those scouts, with money in their pockets, to want for a meal when in a semi-civilized section of country.
It was at evening that they finally came to the home town. In fact, the lights had already commenced to spring up, and Billy could catch the odor of many suppers cooking as soon as they began to pass houses on the outskirts, a fact he hastened to announce to his comrades after his usual way.
Sam and Hugh were first of all let out at the latter’s cottage home, and the brothers parted with a hearty shake of the hand. Gus was as happy a boy as could well be found when he alighted in his own yard after dropping the other fellows at their respective homes. He only feared he might arouse the suspicions of his father by an unusual flow of spirits. He also knew that an anxious mother was waiting up there behind those curtains in her bedroom to hear the report he was bringing back with him.
Just as Hugh had anticipated, his mother, while surprised at seeing Sam (for she was one of the few who knew the real reason for his absence from home), only too gladly agreed to do everything possible for the young fellow. Her heart went out to that other mother who had so long mourned for her boy, not knowing whether he might be living or dead.
“You shall stay with us until it is all settled, Sam,” she told him, looking straight into his eyes as though able to read his firm resolution there. “Anything we can do to help bring about a happy ending, you may be sure will be freely done. No one need know you are here, and you have changed so much that you could walk about the town without a soul recognizing you.”
She did even more than this, for Sam’s clothes were anything but nice after the wandering life he had led. Gus had given Hugh some money which his mother placed in his keeping for the purpose of buying Sam a new outfit, if, indeed, it turned out that the sick hobo up at the lumber camp were the missing one.
So Mrs. Hardin took Hugh out after supper, as he was about the same build as Sam. Some of the shops kept open up to nine o’clock these evenings, since there was a feeling in the air that Christmas was coming before a great while, and night shoppers had begun to be numerous.
It was an easy matter for them to select such clothes as they considered Sam should have, outfitting him completely from hat to shoes, as well as undergarments calculated to withstand the winter cold, socks, handkerchiefs, shirts, collars, gloves and even neckties.
After they came back home they sat up quite late, for Sam wanted to tell something of his life during the years he had been gone. Hugh’s gentle mother did not wish to hear about his temptations, and the many times he fell, but encouraged him to speak of his resolution to make a man of himself, when up there in the mines of Alaska.
So Sam told all about his sudden rise to fortune, his high hopes of coming back wealthy, when his folks would be proud of him, and then the dismal drop when it was apparently proven that, after all, his title to the valuable mining property that had promised so much was founded on a “fluke,” so that he had to hand it over to another claimant.
“And it galls me,” he told them bitterly, “to think that after almost reaching the top of my ambition I’m come back home only a forlorn tramp, just because I couldn’t stay away from mother any longer. It’s broken my pride down, that’s one thing, and I’m ready to eat humble pie.”
“And, Sam,” Mrs. Hardin told him, “perhaps that’s why it was ordained by a Higher Power than your will that things should happen in this way. You were coming home to show your father that you had succeeded. You would have, perhaps, put on airs in your pride of having accomplished something big. Now you have had a lesson, and if a reconciliation does take place, both you and your father will meet on the common ground of humility. I am glad it’s happened as it has, Sam; and some day you will see the reason for my saying this. I am a mother, and I know what is in the heart of the one who has never ceased to love you through good and evil report.”
So Sam Merrivale took a warm bath that night, and for the first time in years found himself between clean sheets, in the guest chamber of the Hardins. It must have been a revelation to the reformed tramp, and strengthened his resolution to hereafter lead a life above reproach. Like a good many other young fellows, Sam had had to learn his lesson through bitterness of spirit. He told himself scores of times that nothing could ever tempt him to go back to that life of wandering and wretchedness, even though his father continued to hold out against him. Gus had confided to his brother what their mother meant to do if her first plan failed; and that there was an uncle in a city who would take him in and give him a place in his store.
Perhaps after Sam finally got to sleep he had happy dreams. Certain it was that when Mrs. Hardin came into the dining-room on the next morning from her duties of superintending the preparations for breakfast she could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the fine looking young fellow with a touch of red in his hollow cheeks, and a flash of conscious assurance in his eyes, who greeted her by kissing her on the cheek in a most respectful fashion.
It had been planned that, circumstances permitting, Mrs. Merrivale would call that afternoon to meet Sam. Meanwhile, the young fellow, feeling more or less curiosity to see what changes had taken place in the old home town since his leaving five years back, strolled forth for a walk.
“No danger of anybody guessing who I am,” he had laughingly told Hugh’s mother, “because I’ve changed a whole lot, and look ten years older. The life I’ve led has been a hard one. So I’ll just walk about, and perhaps take a look at home from a safe distance.”
And Mrs. Hardin did not dissuade him, because she knew only too well that the boy’s heart was hungering for a view of his mother. A glimpse of her would do him good.
It chanced that Hugh had gone over to Billy’s house on some errand. Here he found both Arthur and Billy, who had dropped in to talk over their recent outing and wipe out certain indebtedness on their part with regard to expenses incurred on the trip.
After this had been all settled up Billy made a proposition.
“I’ve got an errand up the road, fellows,” was what he said. “Why not keep me company, and on the way back we’ll see if the ice is strong enough on Danforth’s pond for skating. I know some of you are fairly wild to get going on runners again, and I wouldn’t mind it myself, since I’ve found my arnica bottle, and got the same handy.”
So it came about that, having finished the errand Billy had mentioned, the four chums left the main road, and struck into another that ran close by the big pond.
“I can see some children playing on the ice,” remarked Billy, presently. “It strikes me that’s pretty dangerous business when the water was so warm before the recent cold snap that the ice can’t be very thick as yet. Listen! you can hear it crack whenever they start to run.”
“Oh! new ice always does that, you must remember, Billy,” said Hugh. “Like you, I don’t think it’s exactly safe for children to be playing here, and not an older fellow around to do anything if one of the kiddies did break in. We’d better hustle along and warn them to get off the ice until it’s been tested.”
“Oh, look!” cried Billy. “There’s one little girl starting out as if she had been dared by her companions. It’s that sister of Gus Merrivale, too, the prettiest child in Oakvale, everybody says. Get a move on, boys! We ought to be handy in case anything did happen, which I hope won’t—oh! my stars! she’s fallen in, boys!”
Hugh was already starting to run at top speed, with the others at his heels. Unfortunately, they were still at some distance from the pond where the child could be seen struggling in the water, and despite their good intentions, possibly the scouts might have arrived too late to be of any real help.
But Hugh’s heart beat high with hope, for he had seen a figure swiftly rushing over the thin ice, the very rapidity of his passage preventing his breaking in before he arrived near the hole. Hugh had also recognized the suit of clothes worn by this person as the one he and his mother had purchased on the night before!
Yes, it was Sam Merrivale, who, on walking around to see the well-remembered old pond, had arrived to be just in time to rush to the rescue of his own little sister.
They saw him go crashing in as the thin ice gave way under his weight, but that cry of joy welling from Hugh’s lips told that Sam had attained his object.
“He’s got her all right, boys!” he gasped, as he still ran like wildfire toward the spot, for he knew very well there would have to be some further help for Sam if the young fellow was to be saved from breaking the ice all the way to the shore of the pond, holding his burden above the water.
Hugh knew just how to go about it. He had already noticed an old boat close by, and with the help of his chums he pushed this ahead of him. Billy had been ordered to stay ashore because his weight would be sure to cause trouble; besides, three of them ought to be enough to propel that boat along in order to reach Sam and Amy.
The thin ice crackled and swayed, but as the weight was now distributed over a greater surface it did not give way immediately. When the crash did come the boys had poles with which to push, and in this way, after scrambling into the boat, soon reached the spot where Sam was treading water valiantly, hugging the precious form of little Amy, whom perhaps he had recognized, to his breast.
They soon had the child safe, and Sam told them to push to the shore, as he could hang on behind. Hugh, though, made sure to keep a firm grip on the swimmer, because he realized that the water was very cold, and also remembered that Sam had only lately been quite sick and weak.
Making desperate efforts, the boys managed to gain the shore at last, where the group of crying children had gathered to meet them, also Billy. Hugh for the first time noticed that a big touring car had swung along the road and stopped. He felt a thrill upon recognizing the three who were now springing from the automobile, for one of them was Gus Merrivale, yes, and the man and woman coming back of him as fast as they could run were his parents.
Surely a strange Fate had interposed to bring about such a situation. No fellow could ever have dreamed of planning so happy an ending to all the troubles that had beset the Merrivale family.
The mother had already recognized the child as her own darling, and she snatched little Amy from the arms of her dripping rescuer. Hugh and the others stood there riveted to the spot, and waiting for what was going to happen next, for Gus was tugging at his mother’s dress, and saying something, though so excited he could hardly speak intelligently.
Then they saw Mrs. Merrivale turn and stare into the face of the young man to whom she owed her darling’s life. She hastily handed Amy over to her husband, and threw her arms around the neck of Sam, regardless of his soaking condition, while they could all hear her joyous cries:
“It’s our boy Sam, don’t you see, Nelson; oh! to-day he has wiped out all the bitter past, please Heaven. My boy! My boy!”
Things moved swiftly after that, and presently Hugh felt ready to fairly hug himself when he saw that Mr. Merrivale had handed back the little girl to her mother and was wringing Sam’s hand heartily.
The stern man was very much overcome, just as might be expected. He had not known whether his erring boy were dead or yet in the land of the living, and to have Sam thus suddenly bob up, and prove to be a hero, staggered Mr. Merrivale greatly.
Hugh knew it was all right when he heard the gentleman say earnestly:
“Both of us were in the wrong, my boy. I confess it to you now. But from this time on we will begin all over again. Your old room is waiting for you, Sam. Believe me, I shall be well pleased to see you in your accustomed place at table once more.”
Which words told the observing scout master that while most people believed Mr. Merrivale to be a stern and proud man, he may have been suffering even more than his own wife realized.
So they hurried to the car, where the drenched ones were bundled up in all the robes that were handy, after which Gus headed for home at a fast clip. Hugh felt a little anxious about Sam, remembering that the young fellow had been seriously sick lately; but for all that he and his chums were fairly bubbling over with joy as they made for town again.
Billy seemed to be tremendously tickled at the way things had turned out. Every now and then he would nudge Hugh in the ribs, to say something like this:
“Will you oblige me, partner? Then give me a good hard pinch please, right here in the thigh where it’s going to do the most good. Ouch! but that did sting though; and say, I guess I’m awake after all. You see I had begun to be afraid I was asleep and dreaming all these fine things. But Sam did jump in and save the little girl all right, didn’t he? And that was decent of his dad to tell him the old score had been wiped out as if it had never been. Hugh, if I wasn’t in this car along with all the rest crowded together I’d feel like letting out a big whoop, I’m that chock full of enthusiasm.”
Thereupon the scout master begged him to restrain his bubbling spirits until another and more propitious time.
“We’re going to strike the outskirts of the town right away, Billy,” was what he told the scout chum, “and if you started to cheering it might be some folks might think you had gone looney. You wouldn’t want a certain pretty girl I could name to hear such a report of you, I’m sure.”
That sort of counsel caused Billy Worth to change his mind. Nevertheless the whole party looked so excited, and what with the two boys being so bundled up in fur wraps, all sorts of wonderful stories soon drifted like magic around town. In good time, of course, everybody would learn what a strange thing had happened; and how Sam Merrivale, the runaway son, had come back as poor as Job’s turkey, yet able to show himself a hero by risking his own life to save that of his precious little sister.
Sam did not seem to feel any ill effects from his cold immersion in the icy waters of the pond. Perhaps his heart was beating so happily that it kept away the germs of pneumonia and like ills; at any rate he dropped in that afternoon to thank Mrs. Hardin most heartily for all she and her boy had done.
“Everything is working just fine over at our house,” was the report Sam brought with him. “Father has made me tell him everything I’ve done, and I didn’t spare myself one whit either. And would you believe it, he says he’s glad I lost that mine, because if I’d come home feeling that I’d done something great, the chances are we never would have come to understand each other as we do now. I expect to go into business a little later, after I’ve picked up some more flesh; and I give you my solemn word, Mrs. Hardin, I’m going to make good, if grim determination can do it.”
“I believe you will succeed, Sam,” she told him simply, “because you’ve had a lesson that is going to last you the rest of your life. I’m pleased also to know Hugh had a hand in helping to bring about this happy ending of all your trouble. Just because I have been so blessed in my own little family is no reason I cannot sympathize with others who have had deep troubles. And no one will be prouder of the success you expect to win than your mother, Sam.”
Thus it appeared that everything had come out splendidly, “just like the ending of a fairy story,” as Billy said.
It was on the following day that Hugh, meeting Gus and his brother on the street while on the way home from school early in the afternoon, happened to think of something.
“I wonder now, Gus,” he remarked, “if in all this excitement you’ve chanced to remember that registered letter Mr. Jones told you about?”
“Well, I’m glad you spoke of it, Hugh,” Gus hastened to reply, “because to tell you the honest truth so much has been going on every minute at our house that for one I forgot all about that letter. So did Sam here, because he’s never mentioned it. Let’s all walk over to the post office now, and he can get his delayed mail.”
“Oh! I’m not overcurious about it,” remarked Sam. “It’s probably only a few lines from my lawyers up in Nome telling how they neglected to charge me for some item, and asking me to remit. Well, they’ll have to wait until I get to earning some money, because just now I’ve only got the five dollars mother gave me.”
When the letter was produced Sam was rather surprised at its size. His hands, too, trembled a little as he started to carefully open the envelope; but then his recent weakness might explain that.
Hugh and Gus watched him as he started to read. Suddenly Sam gave vent to a whoop that must have rather astonished some of those good people of Oakvale who chanced to be in the post office just then.
“Bully! Well, what do you think of that?” he exclaimed, his old Western cowboy instincts causing him to snatch off his felt hat and slap it against his leg with a vim.
“What is it, Sam; tell us, please?” begged the now equally excited Gus.