Part 28

“No, he is not,” came the answer, “and we are very uneasy about him.”

The plotters did not explain themselves, but turned away, more heart-sick than before. Suppose that he should wander off, and be found dead some time afterwards, would not they be held guilty? Would not they be goaded by remorse to the end of their days? Or suppose that he should follow the slighted schoolboy’s bent, run away to sea, and never be heard of again for twenty years.

Stephen was so distressed that he actually said to his fellow-sufferers: “Boys, if he would only come back, I wouldn’t tease him about getting married. I intended to tease him about it for months; but I won’t now, if he will only come back; I won’t, not a bit!”

Stephen was a boy of boys; and for him to say that was to express his contrition in the strongest possible terms.

_Chapter XXXIX._

REPENTANT PLOTTERS.--THE HEROES RE-UNITED.

The discomfited plotters were forced into a confession of all their deeds for the past few days, and a party headed by Mr. Fitz-Williams set out to scour the country for the missing boy. Then, contrite and woebegone, the evildoers slunk into their respective homes, there to receive what punishment their outraged parents should see fit to inflict.

It is not best to enter into details; it would be too harrowing. It is sufficient to say that when their weary heads at length sought their pillows, sleep refused to come to their relief, and such a night of torture few of them ever passed.

“If it wouldn’t make us appear guiltier than we are,” Henry said, with feverishly bright eyes, “you and I would pack up, too, Will, and run away, and travel all around the world.”

As Henry did not deign to state how this might be accomplished, we are left to infer that he had an idea of a flying-machine in his mind.

Stephen and Charles wore out the night in wondering what they should do with themselves if sent to prison. The former resolved that he would undermine the prison foundations with his jack-knife, and make his escape to Robinson Crusoe’s island.

“There I shall spend my life,” he sighed heroically, “thinking of Marmaduke. Robinson lived alone twenty-eight years; I’m only sixteen, I shall probably live alone about sixty years, if the cannibals don’t catch me and eat me up.”

Poor dreamer! He was not sufficiently well versed in geography to know that Robinson Crusoe’s island is not now so desirable a place to play the hermit in as it was in the seventeenth century.

George, who was of an inquisitive disposition, finally left his bed, broke into the lumber-room of his ancestral home, and after diligent search, found a bulky tome, which, years before, had been consigned to that dreary region as being more learned than intelligible. This tome was entitled “Every Man his own Lawyer.”

With this prize he returned to his bedroom, muttering, “Now I shall see just what the law can do to us boys, and all about the whole business, and what we ought to do and say.”

After an hour’s careful study of this neglected “Mine of Wealth,” the Sage let it slip out of his hands, and tumbled into bed again, muttering: “Yes, one of us is guilty of the crime of arson. That is very clear. All of us are liable to be sent to prison. That is pretty clear. As I make it out, the sentence ranges between six months and a hundred years. Which will the judge conclude we deserve, six or one hundred? Oh, well, it will be hideous to live in a prison at all, for there will be no books there!”

According to the Sage’s notions, the worst fate that could possibly overtake him would be to be deprived of his books.

“But, O dear,” he pursued, “I should be willing to give up all my books if Marmaduke could be found.”

Morning dawned on the reformed plotters with mocking serenity. There could be no enjoyment for them while such a cloud of mystery hung over their companion’s fate.

The searchers were not so successful on this occasion as when they used to rove over land and sea for Will and his companions; not the slightest clew to Marmaduke’s whereabouts being found.

The news of the preceding day’s doings was already known throughout the neighborhood, and the boys were spoken of in no flattering terms. Those villagers whose phraseology was refined, called them “whimsical juveniles, wise beyond their years;” while those villagers whose phraseology was terse and expressive, brutally gave them Greek and Japanese nick-names for the Evil One.

As the hour of dinner approached, a grim-visaged man, who looked like the descendant of a long line of executioners and muleteers, so grave and stern were his features, called on each one of the five boys who had had an interview with Mr. Stolz, and delivered to each one a formidable envelope that bore the impress of the Law, and a single glance at which was sufficient to freeze one’s blood. Having done this, the “minion of the law,” as the terrified boys supposed he was, left the village at a round pace, looking less and less grave with every step. Reader, this person was a bosom-friend of B. F. Stolz’s, disguised with a lawyer’s neck-tie, hat, and cane, or cudgel.

Fearfully the awe-inspiring seals were broken, and the legal missives were found to run as follows:

“Having observed a party of urchins prowling around my place up stream, and having, by the merest accident, learned the contents of a certain ‘letter’ written by a certain William, I was so long-headed as to put this and that together; and I resolved to make myself acquainted with what was going on. Accordingly, I watched, and waited, and hovered lovingly near you, when you knew it not. I discovered your plot. Last night I was hidden away up-stairs, within earshot, prepared to spring among you suddenly as a ghost, when I had an unexpected meeting with Jim. The rest I believe you know. Don’t be at all alarmed about the fire; Jim alone is responsible for that; I will take no further notice of the affair. I wished to punish you, however, and hit on this little plan. Whether I have succeeded or not, you yourselves know best. If you were kept awake by uneasiness last night as much as I was by laughter, I am more than indemnified for the loss of ‘Nobody’s House.’

“In the matter of Marmaduke, I believe he is keeping house in the big barn on the road to----. I have already notified his parents of this. To the Rescue, O ye Heroes!

“I have the honor, your excellencies, to sign myself your humble servant.

“B. F. STOLZ.”

This Stolz was a remarkable man--almost a genius. Professionally a farmer, he was wholly taken up with the pastime of playing practical jokes. No subject, no person, was too exalted to escape him; and, as his letter proves, he stooped to play off his tricks on even boys! In this instance he had actually spied on them, and let them make free with his house, intending to electrify them as a hobgoblin when they should have worked themselves up to a proper pitch of excitement.

But, like every one else concerned in this scheme, he himself was a sufferer.

The boys were relieved. No more haunting fears of being sent to penitentiary; no more ingenious speculations as to how they should occupy themselves there. Better than all else, they had news of Marmaduke.

When Marmaduke discovered the imposition, and fled, he was almost beside himself with grief, horror, and anger. It seemed to him that boys who could deliberately contrive and execute so base a scheme must be exceedingly depraved--cruel, and lost to all sense of honor. It seemed to him, in short, that they were worse than they were. After having been duped so completely by them, he could not endure the thought of ever seeing them again, and so resolved to abandon his country.

Poor Marmaduke! He was of a sensitive temperament, and believed that his heartless school-fellows would ridicule him for evermore.

He wandered on till he came to a large and empty barn, and then it occurred to him that it would be proper for him, as an exile, to take up his quarters in it for a short time. He reasoned, also, that if he should be looked for, it would be well to keep hidden till the search was over, when he could continue his flight towards the sea-coast, or any other place, in peace and safety.

“I am resolved that they shall not take me,” he said in himself, “for I could not survive another attack from those boys. No, I shall wander off to some happy land, where my merit will be appreciated. Then I shall set to work, become rich and famous, and after long years have passed I shall return for a few days to my insulting countrymen, _a great man_! _Then_ people that think it is hardly worth while to say ‘good-day’ to me now, will be glad to catch a glimpse of me from behind a window-curtain; and that horrible old woman that says _I_ look a little like her _son_, the _carter_, will discover that the _Governor of the State_ looks just like _me_! Then those boys--they will be men then--will remember that I used to be Marmaduke, that they used to sit in the same seat with me, and that they used to study out of my books sometimes; and they will come around me, humble and cringing, and try to get me to recognize them. But I won’t recognize them--by even a look or a turn!”

Full of his future triumph and of his most original manner of slighting his persecutors, Marmaduke effected an entry into the old barn in a very burglarious way, not at all compatible with his dignity. To speak plainly, he picked the lock with a pair of tweezers, which he had used a few hours previous for a different, a very different purpose.

Here he spent the night, dozing, fuming against his school-fellows, and speculating on his future glory; while his nearly distracted parent was dragging ponds, snappishly replying to the impertinent questions of curious old women, sending little boys and big men hither and thither on a fool’s errand, and goading sleepy knights of the telegraph almost to frenzy.

Next morning as Mr. Stolz was passing the old barn, he fancied he heard strange sounds within. He slid off his horse, warily drew near, and looking through a knot-hole, discovered the missing boy lying on the floor, holding quiet converse with himself, as he matured his plans for the future.

Stolz hurried back to his horse, almost beside himself with laughter, and thinking that the boys’ plot was most sublimely ridiculous.

Just as the dreamer was in the midst of composing an elaborate letter of farewell to his mother, his sterner parent appeared on the scene, and poor Marmaduke’s trip to “some happy land” was postponed indefinitely.

Strange as it may at first seem, Marmaduke was more pleased to return home than he cared to acknowledge. Life as an exile in a gloomy old barn was decidedly monotonous; and his curiosity as to who the prisoner represented by Sauterelle could be, was becoming excited. It was a mystery which he must fathom.

His poor mother and his remorseful companions welcomed him with heart-felt joy; and twenty-four hours after he and Henry first met, they were debating--with considerable constraint, it is true--whether there is more fun in fishing with a spear than with a pole and line.

Such is life--among school-boys.

What effect did this have on the tricksters, in a moral point of view? Only a slight one, certainly not a lasting one. Though shocked and conscience-smitten for a time, they were soon as reckless and perverse as ever; and the lesson their suffering should have taught them was unheeded.

Considering the leniency with which Mr. Stolz treated them, they should have felt grateful towards him. On the contrary, whenever this practical joker hove in sight on his goggle-eyed old charger, instead of advancing to touch their hats to him respectfully, they regarded him with such deep-seated rancour that they invariably jumped over the handiest fence, and strolled off somewhere through the fields.

The gossiping villagers had a new subject of comment, and they took delight in jeering at the “French lords,” as they insultingly called the ex-plotters. For that reason it was dangerous, as long as the holidays lasted, to say anything to them about France or Frenchmen; and Stephen fell into such a habit of looking furious that his left eye was permanently injured.

As for Henry, he became so home-sick and heart-sick that, after a visit of only ten days, he packed his valise and returned.

_Chapter XL._

THE HEROES FIGURE AS HUNTERS.

Perhaps the reader may think that while the seven heroes were together, instead of packing Henry, the seventh (observe the comma immediately after Henry; observe, also, that it is not written Henry VII.), off home, it would have been better to relate a few more of their exploits. Not so. In imposing on Marmaduke, each one was guilty of a breach of trust, so that it would not be right to have them appear with such a stain on their reputation. As for Jim, he premeditated villainy; and in good romances no villain can long be regarded as a hero--unless he happens to be a highwayman, and it would be preposterous to attempt to have Jim play the highwayman. Now, the intention is to write this story on a moral basis; therefore, a few years are suffered to elapse, and they are supposed to reform in that time.

Marmaduke did no wrong, so that his history might be continued, without doubt. But this story could not go on, unless all the boys, Jim included, were in it.

Suppose, therefore, that six years have passed since the burning of “Nobody’s House.” The boys, now men, are still alive, and in good health and spirits. How they have spent those six years is not difficult to imagine. All of them regularly attended school till they were big and awkward, when most of them were sent to a university, to complete their education.

It was originally the intention to relate some thrilling incidents that took place while they were students; but being too lazy to collect sufficient scientific facts to do so with effect, that intention was reluctantly given up.

Gentle reader, if you are ever at a loss for something to sigh about, just think what you have missed in not reading how four sophomores barely escaped blowing themselves and a leaky steamboat up into the clouds, fancying that they understood the _theory_ of working a steam-engine. To torture you still further, imagine, also, a scene in which a learned professor’s “focus cannon” mysteriously, unadvisedly, and to the heroes’ amazement and horror, shot a ball into a pair of glass globes, which the affectionate students were about to present to him.

It was autumn; and the seven young men, heroes still, were preparing to journey far northward, to hunt deer, or whatever else their bullets might chance to strike.

Will and Henry prevailed on Uncle Dick to accompany them--greatly to the satisfaction of the elders, who fondly hoped he would keep a fatherly eye on the reckless hunters, and prevent them from destroying themselves.

Fully equipped, the party of eight set out for the “happy hunting grounds,” firm in the resolution to kill all the game still remaining in the great northwest. If plenty of ammunition and fire-arms would avail, then certainly they should bring home a great supply of animal food.

But whether the fourfooted creatures of the forest were forewarned that a band of mighty hunters was on the war-trail, and fled from their sylvan haunts, or whether they obstinately remained, and bade defiance to the Nimrods’ balls, is a mooted point, which the intensely interested reader may set at rest as he pleases.

Having arrived at the outskirts of a growing settlement, close to a genuine forest, the eight hunters fell to work, and soon built an uncomfortable and unsafe little shanty.

“This will be life in earnest,” Charles observed joyously.

The young ladies of his native village politely spoke of him as “Mr. Growler;” but his moustache was still so white that we should not be justified in so honoring him.

“Yes; this is the artless life our forefathers lived;” said Marmaduke, poetical as ever.

“No,” corrected Stephen, “our forefathers didn’t range through the forest with Castile soap in their bundles and charms dangling on their watch chains.”

“Come, now, considering that you smuggled the soap into Marmaduke’s pack, you are rather hard on him,” said Will.

“Oh, I smuggled it there for my own use as well as for his,” Stephen explained.

This proves that Steve was as fond as ever of monkey tricks.

Of course the hunters were to depend on what they killed in the chase for food; and so, as soon as they were fairly settled, Will and Henry set out to shoot something that would make a delicious stew for dinner.

All at once a strange, shadowy form was espied by Will, lurking in the edge of the wood; and without a moment’s hesitation he raised his gun and fired. Now, at home, Will was considered an excellent marksman; therefore, Henry, who was beside him, was not surprised to see that, whatever the animal might be, it was stone dead.

They hurried to the fallen prey, and were almost as much disappointed as the small boy is when he finds that his fish-hook has captured a demonstrative crab instead of a good-natured chub.

“Well,” the destroyer said, with a grim smile, “I have done what Steve has often tried to do, but never did--_I have slain a grimalkin_!”

“Cats have no business to prowl around here, and they deserve to be shot, though we haven’t come all this distance to shoot them,” Henry said peevishly. “But let us hide this hoary fellow; for if Steve should hear of it, he might be tempted to box it up and send it home as your first deer.”

It would not be worth while to give the weary and fruitless tramp the cousins took; it is sufficient to say that they shot nothing that a civilized cook would take pride in preparing for the table. At last Henry was fortunate enough to disable a brace of woodcocks, and after an exciting chase they secured them, and then returned to their quarters.

Next morning the entire party went hunting, resolved to kill something. They penetrated far into the forest, talking as freely as if they were in a desert or on the ocean. Consequently, they did not see much game.

“Hist!” Mr. Lawrence suddenly exclaimed. “What enormous beast is that yonder?”

“It’s a bear?” Will cried with rapture. “A genuine bear!”

“Are there bears here, in this part of the world?” Jim asked uneasily. “Did we come to hunt bears?”

“Of course we did; of course there are;” Henry said with disgust. “Jim, I wish our good old professor could have you among his students. There would be virgin soil, and you would make an apt student, I am sure.”

“Yes, it is a bear,” George said emphatically. “A large bear, and probably a ferocious one. There is the true bearish head, thick and heavy; the cropped ears; the thick snout; and the long shaggy coat. It is larger than even the one in the museum, isn’t it, Henry?”

Henry thought it was.

“I see the very place to plant a fatal shot,” George hinted.

“Plant it, then,” Steve growled.

George, eager to slay the monster, fired quickly.

The smoke cleared away, and there lay the bear, in exactly the same position.

“It is stone-dead, surely enough!” Will said, as though surprised.

“No; I fancied I saw it move a little,” Mr. Lawrence said.

“Then let us all fire a round of balls into it,” Steve suggested.

“I won’t have it riddled with shot!” George said angrily. “I saw just where to hit it, and I hit it there, and it’s dead.”

But his wish was disregarded, and some of the hunters cowardly fired. Then they advanced cautiously, still fearing that the bear might have life enough in him to give battle. But the “bearish head” was not raised; the “thick snout” was not dilated.

Steve, who was ahead, suddenly gasped out a plaintive “Oh.” Then the others also saw. The sun shone through the trees, and left a peculiar shadow on the grass and brushwood. That was the bear.

“Let us clap this bear into the museum,” Stephen presently observed.

The disgusted hunters concluded to separate, and meet at a certain time and place, if they didn’t get lost or eaten up.

Will wandered off alone, and shot scores of useful birds and animals--not useful to him, as a hunter, but useful in the economy of nature. But after one shot had been thus thrown away, a yell of anger and terror rang through the forest, and with his heart beating time to his footsteps, Will hurried in the direction of that yell.

He soon came up to a man, sitting on a fallen tree, distorting his features, and nursing his finger in his mouth, with a gurgling noise, peculiar to a sobbing school-boy trying to soothe the pain inflicted by a hasty-tempered wasp.

“Hello, there!” cried this man. “Did you shoot that bullet?”

“Yes, I have just discharged my gun,” Will answered. “Did--did it hit you, sir? If so, I am extremely sorry, for, I assure you, I had no intention--”

“That’ll do!” broke in the wounded man, removing his finger for a moment. “It is plain enough that _you_ are no hunter,” contemptuously. “A genuine hunter doesn’t go cracking around like a boy with a pop-gun, nor talk like as if he was writing to the post-master general. But, I say, do you know what you have done? You have smashed my little finger!”

“What? Are you really hurt? Did the ball strike your finger?”

“Of course it did,” angrily; “and it’ll be the dearest bullet you ever bought! I tell you, I’m sick of having city chaps tearing through our woods, and scaring the deer and things, and if they keep it up much longer, the whole population’ll be shot off. Oh, cracky, but my finger smarts! I was never shot before.”

“Let me see your wound,” Will said.

But the “child of nature” showed no disposition to let Will examine his injured member, and Will was both amused and relieved to hear him make the following observation: “No, it ain’t so much the finger that troubles me; it’ll soon heal; but I had a bully good silver ring on it, that I found in an old dust-heap, and that there bullet has busted it.”

Then the shooter stepped up to the rustic, saying: “Come, I must see your finger. If it is badly hurt I will bind it up for you; I have the materials all ready in my pockets.”

“Well, _you_ are quite right in carrying rags, and salve, and thread, and pins, and soft cotton, and strings, and such trash, always stuffed in your pockets, for you look like as if you might blow your head off any minute,” the wounded man insultingly said, as he got a nearer view of Will.

Without further delay he submitted his finger to Will’s examination. Will presently observed: “I think your strong silver ring saved the finger, if not the entire hand, from a severe wound, as the bullet struck its ornamental carvings and then glanced. In a day or so your finger will be as sound as ever. Well, I’m sorry I hurt you, but I must be off. Good-day.”

“Now, just wait a minute,” said the man with the silver ring. “You don’t know how much I think of a good ring. I’m a very affectionate feller, and as there’s nothing else for me to take to, I think a heap of a good ring. And this one’s ruined and busted now. It may be ever so long before I can get as good a one--and you made fun of it, too! I say, what did you say about ‘carvings.’”

“But the ring saved your hand,” Will persisted.

“I don’t say nothing about that; but your bullet has spoilt my ring, and I mean to have the worth of it. Do you understand that? I ask for the worth of it.”

“Certainly; how much is your ring worth?”

“Eh? Well, I don’t know; it was a pretty valuable ring. How high will you go?”

Poor Will was becoming tired. He longed to leave the barbarian’s company, and was fumbling in his pocket for a small gold piece that was there, when a rustling in the underwood drew his attention.

“Wumblers! There’ll be another bullet here next! Whoop! here comes another hunter full drive! Oh! cracky, there’s buck after him! Lemme see your gun, and I’ll show you how to knock ’em over.”