Jack the Hunchback: A Story of Adventure on the Coast of Maine

This aroused Aunt Nancy to a sense of the situation as nothing else could have done, for the thought that anything around her might be suffering would always cause her to forget herself, and she followed Jack, who had lifted Louis to the cow's back to give him a ride.

It was a sort of triumphal procession which halted at the pasture bars in order that Aunt Nancy might inspect more closely her new pet.

"Seems wrong to say anything disparaging of poor old crumple-horn after she has served me faithfully for so many years, but I must confess this cow looks as if she might be a better milker."

"I'll bet she's the best in town," Jack replied enthusiastically, as he pulled clover for the gentle animal to eat.

"Not quite that, Jack dear, for Deacon Downs has a Jersey that leads everything."

"At any rate his cow can't be as kind as this one."

"That may be," Aunt Nancy replied meditatively as she kissed the fawn colored nose. "I do really think we couldn't have found a better substitute for poor old crumple-horn."

Then the animal was examined critically, without a single flaw having been found, and not until half an hour was spent in this manner could she be allowed to enter the pasture.

Aunt Nancy thought it her duty to see Mrs. Souders at the earliest opportunity in order to thank her for the gift, and decided to do so on the following morning when the breakfast dishes had been cleared away.

Jack went to clean the stall in the barn for the new cow's occupancy, and was working industriously when he fancied he heard a cry of distress coming from the direction of the duck pond.

His first thought was that Louis had strayed again, but on looking out, both he and the little woman were seen under the big oak, apparently as happy and contented as well could be.

Believing he had been deceived by his fancy, he resumed the work, but only to stop an instant later as the cries sounded more distinct.

This time there could be no mistake, and he ran toward Aunt Nancy as he asked, —

"Do you hear that noise? I'm goin' to see what it means."

As he went rapidly across the fields without waiting for a reply, the little woman followed him, but her pace was slow because of having the baby in her arms.

The cries continued almost incessantly, and by them Jack was guided to a clump of large trees standing near one end of the pond within a few yards of the spot where Louis had been set adrift on the raft.

It was not necessary to search long for the sufferer.

Lying on the ground, held firmly down by a huge limb of a tree which had fallen across his breast in such a manner that he could not use his arms, was Bill Dean.

His face was pale, whether from pain or fear Jack had no means of ascertaining, for the boy did not wait to be questioned, but cried piteously, —

"O Hunchie, help me outer this scrape an' I won't ever play tricks on you agin!"

This promise was not necessary to enlist Jack's sympathy.

It was a boy in agony and not an enemy he saw before him; the only question in his mind was how the rescue could be effected.

"Lay still, an' I'll do the best I can; but it may hurt a little more when I try to lift the limb."

Kneeling that he might get his shoulder under one end of the heavy branch, Jack tried to raise it, but in vain.

He was making the second effort, Bill moaning piteously meanwhile, when Aunt Nancy arrived, and she, like Jack, thought only of relieving suffering.

"Where are you hurt, William?" she asked anxiously.

"I don't know, but it seems as if the ache was all over my body."

"How did the accident happen?"

"I was choppin' this limb off to build a new raft, an' it fell on me."

"Can you lift it, Jack dear?"

"I'm afraid not; it's terribly heavy."

"Let me help you."

The two strained and tugged all to no purpose, when, as he paused to regain his breath and wipe the perspiration from his face, Jack said, —

"I could cut away part of it if I had an axe."

"Mine is around here somewhere," Bill said with a groan.

Jack soon found the tool, and, working very cautiously lest he should cause the sufferer yet more pain, chopped here and there to remove the larger twigs, while Aunt Nancy bathed Bill's pale face with her handkerchief wetted in the pond.

It required nearly half an hour of the most fatiguing labor to perform the task, and then Jack said as he threw down the axe, —

"When I lift on this end you must try to pull him out, Aunt Nancy."

The first attempt was a failure, but at the second the little woman succeeded, and Bill was drawn from his uncomfortable position looking decidedly the worse for wear.

"Can you stand up?" Aunt Nancy asked solicitously as she brushed the dirt from Bill's hands, and little Louis patted his cheek to show he wished to take some part in the rescue, even though it only was to display sympathy.

"I'll try," Master Dean said meekly, and, with the aid of Aunt Nancy and Jack, the sorrowful looking bully arose to his feet.

It was positive the bones of his legs were not broken, for he stood erect without difficulty, and, this having been ascertained, Aunt Nancy proceeded to make a careful examination of his arms and chest.

"I do not believe you are seriously injured, William," she said with a sigh of relief. "There can be no doubt but that you will be very lame for a few days; you must bear with it, and thank your Father it is no worse."

"My father didn't have anything to do with it. He'd given me Jesse if he knowed I was here cuttin' down the tree."

"I mean your Father in heaven, William, who watches over even the sparrow's fall."

Bill looked rather shamefaced at having made such a mistake, and said as he turned half away from his rescuers, —

"I told Hunchie I wouldn't bother him any more if he'd help me out, an' I'm goin' to stick to my promise."

"It would have been much better if you had arrived at that conclusion before you were in need of assistance," Aunt Nancy replied gravely. "One should do right because it is his duty, and not as a reward to others."

"What's the matter now?" Bill asked in surprise. "Do you want me to keep on roughin' it into him?"

"Certainly not, and I am glad you made the promise. What I meant was that it would have been better had you done so because you wished to."

"But I didn't till now."

"We won't speak of it further now. Go home and ask your mother to rub the bruises with liniment. When you feel inclined I would like to have you come to see Jack and me."

"I ain't goin' 'round to be preached at," Bill replied in his old defiant tone. "There was enough of that at camp meetin' to last a feller a month."

"I did not see you at the services."

"Once I had to go when mother caught me jest as the bell was ringin', an' its the last time I'll get in the same box."

Aunt Nancy shook her head sadly.

She was discouraged, but not so much as to give up the struggle, for it was her intention to renew it again at a more "convenient season."

"We had best go back, Jack dear, and William will come to-morrow to tell us how he feels.

"I ain't so sure 'bout that, if you're goin' to stuff a feller with a lot of sabbath-school talk," Bill said sulkily, as he picked up the axe and started across the fields without further thanks to his kind friends.

"He doesn't seem like a very good boy at heart," Aunt Nancy said sadly, as she raised Louis in her arms; "but we must not judge by outward appearances. I almost feel condemned for saying anything when my own sin has not been atoned for. My mind would be much easier if I had seen Mr. Pratt at the meeting."

"It won't take long to fix that," Jack replied, noting with sorrow the look of pain which had come over the little woman's face. "It will do jest as well if I go there an' tell him what you wanted to say."

"But then you would be where they could easily carry you to the poor farm."

"Well, s'posen they did, what would that 'mount to side of makin' you feel good? Besides, don't you believe Mr. Souders could make them let me out?"

"Perhaps he might; I never thought of that."

"I'll leave here to-morrow mornin', an' by night be there."

"Bless your heart, child, I would never think of letting you walk that long distance. If we should make up our minds that it was best to go, and I wish I could have the strength to say it, you'd ride in the cars."

"Why not decide now?"

"Because, Jack dear, it nearly breaks my heart to think there is a possibility of being obliged to give you up."

"Well, s'posen we go home an' talk the thing over some other time," Jack said with an assumption of cheerfulness which was far from natural.

He had suddenly conceived a plan by which the little woman could be relieved without the pain of deciding that it should be so, and there was no more than sufficient time to put it into execution.

Aunt Nancy walked back to the house in a meditative mood, Jack talking about the cow and kindred topics to prevent her mind from dwelling upon the dreaded subject.

He at once set about doing the chores in an unusually careful manner when they arrived home.

A large quantity of wood was brought into the kitchen, an extra amount of water drawn, and the cow given a generous lunch of clover after she had been driven into the stable.

"Why do you do so much unnecessary work, Jack dear?" Aunt Nancy asked. "There will be nothing left for morning, and it is bad to have 'idle hands.'"

"I may as well fix everything now, for you know what you said about puttin' off till to-morrow. Say, Aunt Nancy, would you lend me a lead pencil an' a piece of paper?"

"Of course, my child. Are you going to write a letter?"

"Yes, Aunt Nancy, an' you shall see it in the mornin'."

"Better sit down at the kitchen table. If writing is as much of a task for you as it is for me, you'll need every possible convenience."

"I had rather do it in my room, for you see I don't know very much about such things, an' it'll come mighty hard, but you won't care if it don't look very nice, will you?"

"Certainly not, my child. It could only annoy me because I have not taken advantage of our leisure time to teach you the little I know."

"You are always blamin' yourself, Aunt Nancy, an' I don't like to hear it. I wouldn't let anybody else talk that way about you."

For reply the little woman patted the boy on the cheek, and then proposed the nightly search for burglars be made.

After the evening devotions Aunt Nancy gave Jack the articles he had asked for, and was considerably surprised by the warmth of the boy's good-night salute.

Once in his room, Jack set about what was for him a formidable task, and it was late before he completed the following: —

"DEAR AUNT NANCY I AM GOIN TO SEA THE FARMER & TELL HIM YOU R SORRY IF I DONT COME BACK U WILL NO WHERE I AM BUT DONT FEL BAD FOUR I LUV U. I CARNT STOP TO MILK

"JACK DUDLEY URE JACK DEAR."

When this had been done Jack looked around the little room as if taking leave of all it contained, wiped a suspicious moisture from his eyes, and then dressed, but with his shoes in his hands, crept softly down the stairs.

The ticking of the clock sounded strangely loud and unnatural; the silence, save for this clicking noise, was oppressive, and he felt as if he was about to commit some crime against the woman who had befriended him.

"It's got to be done, an' I mustn't stand here worryin' about it, or I might back out," he said to himself.

It was necessary he should think of Aunt Nancy's self accusations and sorrow before he could nerve himself to raise the window.

He took this method of departing rather than by the door, for he feared the little woman would be alarmed on learning she had remained in the house a portion of the night without every place of egress being securely fastened.

Once outside he gazed around several moments, taking in all the details of the place where he had spent so many pleasant days, and then, putting on his shoes, he started up the lane with a heart so heavy it seemed a positive burden.

The moon shone faintly through the clouds; the night wind murmured mournfully among the trees, and before him could dimly be seen the road he believed led him to the paupers' home by way of Mr. Pratt's house.

Chapter XXI

STARTLING INFORMATION

Realizing that he had a long walk before him, Jack continued on at a steady pace keeping ever in mind the good he hoped to accomplish.

He did not dare dwell upon the possible ending to the journey lest he should grow faint-hearted, but tried to persuade himself there would be some way by which he might escape the threatened ignominy.

By starting at midnight, he expected to arrive at Scarborough early in the day, and then, in case Farmer Pratt did not attempt to detain him, it would be possible to return to the farm before sunset.

It was not believed he would meet any travellers at that hour, and the loneliness, when the shadows danced to and fro athwart the road like fairy-land monsters, was so great as to make him repent ever having attempted the undertaking.

As the curtain of night was slowly removed, and the heralds of the coming morn appeared in the sky, his drooping spirits revived.

He listened with interest to the sounds which proclaimed that day was awakening. The birds in their leafy homes began to discuss the propriety of going out in search of the "early worm." The frogs from the watery dwellings called to their children that it was time to be up and doing unless they wanted to remain tadpoles forever, and the wind which came "out of the sea" whispered: Awake! it is the day.

The leaves bowed and courtesied, the waving grasses bent yet lower their heads, the flowers brought out their sweetest perfumes, and all nature was quivering with excitement because the kindly sun was about to show himself once more.

Then as the first golden rays of light shot across the sky and the birds burst forth into song, Jack felt a certain sense of relief. The words which he had heard Aunt Nancy speak so often came to his mind, and he repeated over and over again, understanding the meaning better than ever before, —

"He doeth all things well."

It was but a little past eight o'clock when he turned the corner which led to Farmer Pratt's house, and the first person he saw was none other than Master Tom.

"Hello! Where'd you come from?" that young gentleman cried in surprise.

"Down the road a bit."

"Why didn't you git back before? Father's been lookin' almost everywhere for you an' the baby."

"Is he still huntin'?"

"No, he gave it up as a bad job a good while ago, for there's no chance of gettin' the reward now."

"The reward?" Jack asked in surprise.

"Yes; you see the baby's mother went away from Portland, an' father don't allow there's anybody in town who cares very much about it after so long a time."

"Louis' mother in Portland?" Jack cried, rapidly growing bewildered.

"Of course; father went in to see her after he made up his mind you'd gone away; but she wasn't there, so he said it would pay him better to 'tend to the farm instead of runnin' 'round after you fellers."

Jack's eyes were opened wide with astonishment, and Tom began to think the hunchback had taken leave of his senses.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked sharply, and Jack replied slowly, —

"I can't make out how Mrs. Littlefield happened to be in Portland when the last I saw of her was on the 'Atlanta.' Why, the ship was goin' to Bremen!"

"She come inside the breakwater after you went adrift. It's all in the papers father's got."

"Why didn't you tell me about it?" Jack asked reproachfully.

"How could I when we didn't know where you was? Me an' father hunted all 'round, but couldn't find hide nor hair of either you or the baby."

"Was your father tryin' to send us back to Mrs. Littlefield?"

"Sure, 'cause he wanted to earn the reward."

"An' I've been keepin' out of his way when I might have given Louis back to his mother long ago!" Jack cried in dismay.

"You oughter knowed better."

"How could I when he'd threatened to send us to the poor farm?"

"But he didn't."

"He told Aunt Nancy so."

"Who's she?"

"A lady we've been livin' with. Say, Tom, have you got the papers that tell about Mrs. Littlefield huntin' for us?"

"There's a whole slat of 'em down to the house. Father spent more'n twenty cents buyin' whatever had anything in it about you."

"Will you give me one?"

"Of course. I know they ain't any good, for I heard him say he'd thrown away jest so much money on the pesky things."

"Let's go right down an' get one," Jack cried excitedly as he tried to quicken Tom's movements by pulling at his arm.

Master Pratt was not a boy who could be hurried; he objected to moving quickly upon any occasion, however important, and said irritably, —

"Don't yank a feller 'round so; if I go back now I'm afraid father'll be there an' set me to work."

"I'll help you if he does."

"A feller like you wouldn't 'mount to much haulin' rock-weed," Tom said scornfully.

"But I'll help as much as I can. Do go, Tom; only think what it means to Louis! His mother will soon find him if I can take one of the papers back to Aunt Nancy."

"How do you make that out?"

"She'd see where to write to Mrs. Littlefield, an' that would settle the whole thing."

"Well, I'll go," Master Pratt said with an air such as he fancied a martyr should wear; "but it's goin' to be mighty hard if I'm set to work after gettin' so far away from home."

Jack hurried him along as fast as possible, which at the best was a slow pace, and, on arriving at the Pratt farm, Tom reconnoitred several minutes, determined not to enter the house if his father was on the premises.

Mr. Pratt was nowhere to be seen, and Tom whispered, —

"You stay here while I run in an' get it. Mother may be mad if she sees you hangin' 'round after father has blowed us up so much for lettin' you go away."

Jack hid himself behind a clump of hollyhocks, and in a few moments Tom came back with two papers which showed signs of having been subjected to hard usage.

"Put 'em in your pocket, an' let's skip."

Jack was about to act upon this suggestion when it suddenly occurred to him that, in the excitement caused by learning Louis' mother was searching for her child, he had forgotten the reason for his visit.

"I've got to see your father before I leave," he said.

"What for? He won't be very pleasant after losin' all the money the captain's wife was willin' to pay."

"I can't help that. I'm here with a message from Aunt Nancy, an' it must be delivered."

"I guess you'll find him down in the potato patch, but I ain't fool enough to go with you. Hurry up, an' I'll see you on the road, for I reckon you count on goin' back to that Aunt Nancy."

"Of course, an' I must be there as soon as possible."

Tom pointed out the location of the field, and Jack started across the ploughed land feeling very light at heart, because it now seemed probable Louis would soon find his mother.

Farmer Pratt was not aware he had a visitor until Jack had approached within a couple of yards, and said in a voice which was decidedly shaky, —

"Good mornin', sir."

"Hello! It's you, eh?"

"Yes, sir," Jack replied, as if believing the gentleman wished for an answer.

"Well, you young scoundrel, what have you to say for yourself after cheatin' me out of one hundred dollars? Answer me that, you misshapen villain!"

"I didn't cheat you, sir."

"Don't contradict me, you miserable cripple, or as sure's my name's Nathan Pratt I'll strike you with this hoe!"

Jack started back in alarm as the farmer raised the tool, and then, hoping to bring the interview to a speedy close, said timidly, —

"I came here, sir, to tell you that Aunt Nancy is awful sorry she acted a lie when you were at the house huntin' for us. She can't be easy in her mind till she's confessed, an' as she couldn't walk so far I've come in her place."

"Is that the little woman up on the Saco road with a couple of curls an' a mighty sharp tongue?"

"She's got two curls."

"I know her! So she lied to me, eh?"

"Not exactly, sir, for you didn't ask straight out if we were there; but she's awful good and thinks by not tellin' everything it was the same as a lie, so I come over here to tell you she's sorry."

"So she ought to be, the vixen! The idea of a little drop of vinegar like her keepin' that baby away from his mother!"

"Did you know, then, that Louis' mother was huntin' for him?"

"Of course I did, or else why would I have gone gallivantin' 'round the country lookin' for him?"

"Then why didn't you tell her? She'd been only too glad to hear from Mrs. Littlefield, but you made her believe we'd got to be took to the poor farm."

The farmer glared at Jack for an instant, and then it flashed across his mind that the cause of his losing the reward was the lie he told to Aunt Nancy.

This was not a consoling thought to one who had mourned so deeply over the loss of the prospective money as had Mr. Pratt, and the only relief he could find was in scolding Jack.

The cripple listened to his angry words a few seconds, and then, knowing no good could come of waiting, said as he walked away, —

"I only came over here to tell you Aunt Nancy was sorry, an' there's no need of stayin' any longer after you know it."

"I'll have her arrested for swindlin' me outer that money!"

"She didn't do anything of the kind, an' it's all your own fault you lost it," Jack cried, emboldened by the knowledge that he was at a safe distance from the angry man.

The farmer shook his fist at the cripple in impotent rage, and Jack hurried out to the road where Tom was waiting to receive him.

"What was goin' on down there?" Master Pratt asked eagerly. "I heard him hollerin' awful."

"It wasn't much. Your father was kinder mad, but I guess he'll get over it pretty soon."

"I hope so, for he's been scoldin' about losin' the money ever since he first saw the papers. Where are you goin' now?"

"Home."

"Why don't you hold on a while an' get rested?"

"It won't do to stop; Aunt Nancy'll be worryin' about me, an', besides, we've got to send a letter to Louis' mother right away."

Tom insisted that after the service he had rendered it would be nothing more than a friendly act for the cripple to remain and chat a while, but Jack would listen to nothing of the kind.

Despite his weariness he set out on the return journey at once, but with a lighter heart than when he left Aunt Nancy's home.

It was dark when he came down the lane and found the little woman sitting under the old oak.

"O Jack dear!" she cried in tones of mingled joy and surprise. "It's really you, and that hard-hearted farmer didn't send you to the poor farm. But perhaps you couldn't find him," she added as the thought occurred to her.

"Yes I did, an' I told him you was sorry."

Then Jack related the incidents of his journey, reserving until the last the startling news which promised to restore Louis to his parents' arms.

Aunt Nancy alternately laughed and cried when she heard the story, and at its conclusion said, —

"What a lesson that should be to us, Jack dear. If I hadn't acted the lie Louis would have seen his mother just so much sooner, and I have been the means of making the poor woman's heart ache longer than was necessary. You thought it wasn't a sin because I didn't speak the words which formed the falsehood, and yet you can now see that increased trouble has been brought about by it."

"But Mr. Pratt told a reg'lar lie."

"That doesn't excuse me in the slightest. If every person in the world spoke falsely I couldn't plead that it gave me a right to do so. But come into the house and get something to eat. You must be nearly famished as well as tired."

"A slice of bread and butter wouldn't taste bad. Where's Louis?"

"I put him to bed an hour ago," the little woman replied as she led the way in. "After I set the table I'll read the papers you brought so we can find out what's to be done to let that poor woman know where her baby is."

Jack insisted there was no reason why the table should be laid for him, but Aunt Nancy would not listen to his proposition of taking the food in his hands.