Part 4

When the horse so nimbly cleared the fence, Will’s feet were torn out of the stirrup, and he was thrown violently off the animal’s back. As he lay sprawling on the ground, he looked as little like a hero as can be imagined. As may be supposed, however, when he struggled to his feet he was as sound as ever. On casting a glance around him, he found himself in a field of ripe grain, through which the riderless pony was rushing madly.

Perhaps a good romancer, regardless of reason and effect, would have made the boy “heroically” stick to his horse through thick and thin. But a more careful romancer, like a good physician, would have an eye to the boy’s system and feelings, and not suffer him to be tortured any longer.

Will carefully rubbed the dirt off his clothes with the palm of his trembling right hand, while his eyes darted fierce glances at the gaping and grinning juveniles outside of the fence, and despairing glances at his horse within the field. This nice operation consumed three minutes, and might have consumed many more; but a man who was at hand flew to the rescue.

A blustering old harvester, the man who worked the field, saw the forlorn young cavalier standing dejectedly by the fence, and the frolicsome pony plunging through the ripe grain, and straightway fumed with awful indignation. His first proceeding was to catch and stop the pony, after which he turned his attention to Will. Will advanced a step or so to meet the puffing farmer and the quaking horse, and was about to mumble his thanks, when the farmer snappishly cut him short, crying hoarsely:

“You miserable scamp! How dare you jump into my fields like this? See, will you, what damage your beast has done!”

“But, sir,” said Will, “it is not my fault at all; it is an accident. The pony ran away with me, as you yourself can see.”

“Accident? What have I to do with your accidents? Don’t you know better than to ride runaway horses? Don’t you----”

“Course he don’t; don’t know beans;” yelled one of the little gamins, encouraged by the farmer’s bullying words to speak his mind. Or perhaps he thought to win favor with the farmer by reviling the hapless horseman.

“Course,” chimed in the one who lost and found the most jack-knives. “Course, what business did he want to git on to a runaway horse for anyway?”

“I wish I had a horse, too,” whined the most “ingenuous” one.

“Guess he ain’t--”

“Stop that!” thundered the farmer. “Stop that, and get away from this!”

The little coves snatched up their jack-knives, but did not stop to look for their pins, and darted off without a word. They ran a few yards and then squatted in the shade of another fence corner.

The incensed farmer, also, meekly followed by Will leading the horse, moved farther up the border of the field.

When they halted, Will a second time said it was all an accident.

“Accident or not, I’ll put the law on your track, I will you awful sneak! See here, how old are you!”

“I shall be fifteen in September,” said Will, with boyish eagerness to appear as old as possible.

“I didn’t ask how old you would be in the future, nor how young you were in the past,” snapped the furrow-faced chuff.

Will always kept a careful account of his age, and consequently was able to answer promptly: “My age, then, is fourteen years, ten months, and seven days.”

“Very good,” said the farmer. “Well, I am only calculating,” he added slowly and coolly, “whether you are old enough to be sent to jail.”

Doubtless, the hard-hearted wretch expected to see Will blanch at this implied threat. But, if so, he was wofully disappointed, Will having his own motives for maintaining his equanimity.

“You shall be punished, that is certain,” continued the farmer. “Come along, now; don’t stand there like a stationary scarecrow; come along.”

Even as the violent old fellow spoke, he made a movement to seize Will by the coat-collar. But this was more than human nature could bear; and with a nimbleness that defied capture, Will sprang back, stood his ground within nine feet of his persecutor, and began boldly:

“If you mean for me to leave this field, sir, I am quite willing to do it; but it is not necessary for you to be so rough with me. Because my horse jumped over the fence and trampled the grain a little, you needn’t treat me like a convict. You yourself have trampled nearly as much as my horse; and the whole put together doesn’t amount to much.”

“Stop there!” cried the farmer. “I was obliged to tramp the grain to catch your horse. I didn’t wait for _you_ to do it,” insultingly.

“Yes, sir,” Will said humbly, “my head was bumped pretty hard. My father will settle your account, but if you would like to put me into prison, don’t let my youth interfere with that.”

Meanwhile, Will was leading his pony towards a gate in the fence, which he reached as he finished speaking.

The farmer, who followed close behind, said sharply, “You are a pretty fellow to use such language as all this to me; and it is only a waste of breath for you to speak at all. According to you, it was great bravery to jump my fences and rush through my oats; but the law will think otherwise, and as certainly as I live, you shall be clapped into prison, or else pay whatever sum I may choose to fine you. I swear it.”

“That is only what I can expect,” Will said resignedly.

“Oh, you think I am not in earnest, perhaps, but you will soon find that I mean exactly what I say. What’s your name?” he asked, abruptly and uneasily, as if struck with a sudden suspicion.

“William Lawrence.”

The questioner was literally stupified. A look of dismay overspread his grim visage, and he stared helplessly at Will, as if the boy had been metamorphosed into a devouring monster.

For a full minute the jurist was mute, and when he did speak, meekness had entirely taken the place of bravado. “You’ll excuse my little jest, won’t you, Mr. Lawrence? It is a shabby trick to joke so seriously, I know; but it was only an idle joke, and doesn’t signify anything. I _was_ some vexed to see the horse racing through the grain, but only for an instant. How thankful we ought to be that you escaped unhurt! To be sure, it was rather venturesome for me to rush forward and stop the furious horse,” he said, guilefully, “but that is nothing compared with your gallantry in keeping your seat so heroically. In fact, Mr. Lawrence, I may say, without flattery, that you are a real hero, and that this agile little pony of yours is the most spirited that I ever saw. Indeed, he’s worth his weight in gold! Why, he vaulted over this fence like--like--like a bird!”

In spite of himself, Will, nearly laughed at this labored simile. But he was a strange boy, and enjoyed the faculty of suppressing his laughter till he pleased to discharge it. Then he would laugh so uproariously that whoever chanced to overhear him took him for a merry lunatic.

But there were other considerations why Will did not laugh at the suppliant joker. In his turn he was astonished, astonished at the reckless indifference with which the man could lie. But he was not to be cajoled so easily; boy though he was, such oratory made no impression on him, and he continued unmoved, even when deferentially addressed as “Mr. Lawrence.”

Seeing that Will made no reply, the depraved wretch pursued in the following strain: “I should like you not to mention this joke of mine, for already I have the name of being an incorrigible practical joker. Besides,” subtilely, “you would not like the boys to taunt you about this runaway.”

“Oh, I think I saw several boys looking at me as I flew along,” Will, replied carelessly, “and before this they must know all about the runaway. Very likely the little boys that moved up towards the village have spread the news, and perhaps they have told the beginning of your joke,” artlessly. “At any rate, I must tell my father of this capital joke, Mr. Jackson, for he likes nothing better than a good joke.”

The farmer now began to suspect that Will was nearly as shrewd as he himself; and seeing how useless it was to palm off his threats as a little joke, he abruptly took a different course, and said, with marked and significant emphasis, “See here, Mr. Lawrence, I do not wish to frighten you; but promise not to mention this, and I will let the matter drop.”

Will believed that he, also, could use emphasis, and said, with what he meant to be great significance: “You have not frightened me, Mr. Jackson, because I knew you as soon as you came up to me. It isn’t worth while for me to promise anything, for there is my father climbing the fence up near the little boys, and they’re speaking to him. This way, pa,” the poor boy shouted, with exultant and heartfelt thankfulness.

Mr. Jackson looked hopelessly in the direction pointed out by Will, and muttered doggedly, “Baffled by a boy! He didn’t believe in that kind of a joke, eh! Yes, that’s where I overshot the mark.”

How it was that Mr. Lawrence so seasonably hove in sight will be explained further on. The writer, in common with all staunch romancers, bears a rooted and virulent hatred to villains, and wishes to dismiss this one as soon as possible, though he (this villain) is to appear again in the next chapter.

Mr. Jackson blanched when Will gave his name, but now he grew black, and seemed to be overwhelmed with consternation. He felt too cowardly even to run away.

Mr. Lawrence soon joined them, and his first question was, “Will, are you hurt?”

“Only a very little, pa,” said Will.

“How thankful I am for that!” Mr. Lawrence exclaimed fervently. “You must have had a narrow escape, however.”

“A very narrow escape,” Mr. Jackson echoed tremulously.

Mr. Lawrence, assured of his son’s safety, now directed his attention to the farmer. “Well, Mr. Jackson,” he said suddenly, “what seems to be the matter?”

This blunt question so unsettled the practical joker’s mind that he faltered, and at last said, with much emotion: “Matter, Mr. Lawrence?--Why, it, it was--you see--I mean, he came,--that is, the horse--the horse--the horse, the horse, the horse, the horse----”

Seeing that the embarrassed man was likely to continue repeating these two words till delirium set in, or till his tongue whizzed equal to the fly-wheel of a powerful steam-engine, Will cut him short by saying, with pardonable spite: “Pa, he’s trying to tell you that he wants pay for the damage that _Go It_ did.”

To many persons this might have been unintelligible, but not so to Mr. Lawrence. Gathering a hint from the little boys’ gibberish, at a single glance he had taken in all that had happened, and knowing the violence of Jackson’s temper, he could guess at what had passed between him and Will.

“Let us have a settlement, Mr. Jackson,” he said.

The farmer seemed to have lost his wits; he could not carry it high, as he had done with Will. Mistaking the tone in which Mr. Lawrence spoke, and impelled by a guilty conscience, he dropped on his knees and said pleadingly, “Oh, don’t turn us all out; don’t turn us all out! Don’t sue me; I’ll--I’ll pay all the rent!”

Further comment is needless; the reader will now readily understand why Mr. Jackson’s roughness gave place to humbleness and wheedling when he heard Will’s name, and why he so dreaded an interview with Mr. Lawrence.

The latter gentleman spoke kindly to the supplicant. “Come, come, Jackson,” he said, “don’t behave like that. In this free country you shouldn’t play the spaniel to any man. I promise that I will not bring an action yet; I will grant you one more chance. But come to the house to-morrow, and we can talk over the matter at leisure. Don’t explain; I see just what has happened to my headlong boy: but so long as he is not hurt, I am satisfied. As you hardly know him, I can, from your looks and his, figure the scene you have had. Now, I don’t like him to be abused by--but no; never mind that; it can be pocketed. As for the actual damage done, I think you will admit that ten dollars will settle your claims, and I am going to pay it to you.”

Mr. Jackson gathered himself up, looking crestfallen and foolish, and was so penetrated with gratitude that he refused the money, till forced to receive it. According to Mr. Lawrence’s notions the man would now be induced to make strenuous exertions to pay all that he owed.

Father, son, and pony, now started for home. Having made their way out of the gate into the road, Will found the forlorn little gamins, hungering for even a glimpse of the frolicsome leaper, still lingering in their second position. Poor little fellows, they had not ventured even to climb the fence. They knew Mr. Jackson--and Mr. Jackson knew them. They cast reverent glances at Go It, but they beheld Will as one might behold a traveller returned in safety from a voyage to the planets.

“I’ll bet he ketched it!” muttered a light-legged member of the group, with a chuckle that disclosed he spoke from bitter experience. “Won’t the rest of ’em wish they’d seen this show!”

The horse Mr. Lawrence had ridden was tied near these urchins. Both mounted him, and then, leading the runaway and headstrong horse, the picturesque cavalcade set off.

“Pa,” said Will, “I’m sorry this happened, and that you had to pay out that money.”

“No, Will: say nothing about that. I blame myself for letting you mount the half-broken nag; I should have had more prudence. But tell me how it all was, and just what Jackson said to you.”

Will did so; and in the recital he waxed so eloquent that the rogue was set forth in his true colors, and appeared so frightful a monster that Will himself shivered with horror.

Mr. Lawrence groaned, but, with great presence of mind, said instantly: “Don’t shake so, Will, or you will lose your balance. Oh, if I had known this sooner, I should have done differently! But it is too late now to punish the unprincipled wretch.”

The reader, perhaps, is curious to know how it was that Mr. Lawrence arrived so opportunely. When too late to call him back, he saw that Will was utterly unable to manage the pony. Not stopping to answer any questions, he hastened to the stable, threw himself on the fastest horse, and gave chase. Will, of course, was far in advance, but Mr. Lawrence easily ran him down, and found him in Jackson’s field, as related.

Mr. Jackson made his appearance at the time appointed; and although he brought only a part of the rent due, his deportment was so humble and respectful; his promises were so fair and encouraging; and his apologies were so ingenious, yet in reality so hollow and ridiculous, that Mr. Lawrence’s indignation was softened; and the wretch was heard and dismissed with a mock and stiff politeness that galled him.

Mr. Lawrence was very forbearing with such of his tenants as were hard pressed; but this man’s threats to Will had provoked him extremely, and now, as he brooded over his wrongs, he determined, as soon as the change could be effected, to lease the farm to a more honorable man.

When a romancer reaches the colophon of his book, he is the most virtuous of men, the most impartial of judges, parcelling out reward and judgment with superhuman justice. Now, according to the laws of romance, Mr. Jackson, in cutting that field of oats, ought to be thrown from his reaping machine, and so cruelly mangled that his most implacable foe would melt into tears of anguish.

But, alas! it cannot be, as unkind fate compels us to bring him once more before the reader.

_Chapter VI._

STEVE’S RETALIATION.

The news of this, Will’s latest exploit, spread among the village boys, and reached Steve’s ears. This worthy felt sorry for Will--so sorry that a bright idea struck him.

“Here’s a fine chance to show Will how much I think of him!” he mused radiantly. “Yes, I’ll get a whole gang of us boys together, and we’ll swoop down on the old villain, and we’ll do it! Oh! what roaring fun it will be! I guess it’ll teach the old loon to leave honest boys alone!”

Steve began to work with a will, and soon mustered a squad of idle and saucy little wretches, who sported Guy Fawkes’ head-pieces, and were not overstocked with either virtue or clothing. Nevertheless, their apparel had at least one merit--it could be slipped on or stripped off in a trice.

Moonlight would be too bright for his dark schemes, and he waited impatiently for a starlight night. Three days passed with unheard of slowness. Then Steve convoked a council of his satellites; and after having enjoined a promise of secrecy, he laid bare his plot in all its details, and asked if they would stand by him.

“Guess we will!” they chorused, mad with delight; and Steve needed no further assurance of their co-operation and fidelity.

About seven o’clock this worthy young avenger set out, his “gang” at his heels, and one of the heroes who had seen Will taken over Jackson’s fence bringing up the rear. This warlike company had no drums, but their fast-beating hearts served instead; and they marched intrepidly onward, measuring three miles an hour. Some were burdened with sundry stout cords, ropes and straps; others were sweating under armfuls of pine and cedar boughs, which Steve had gathered that afternoon; one lank stripling was poising a couple of wooden levers on his grimy palms; Stephen himself was freighted with a clumsy engine, which he fondly imagined was a piece of wondrous mechanism--in fact, one of the six mechanical powers.

Having left the village, they struck out for a pasturage about a mile and a half to the right. Captain Stephen directed his forces to march in single file. In vain: they were but raw levies, and in spite of all his discipline, would persist in straggling or in huddling together. But in good time they drew up at the seat of war, with every regiment intact, and eager to engage the enemy.

As the atrocities they practiced there are unworthy of the most abandoned renegate, it would be more seemly to lay aside martial idioms,--particularly, as we do not wish to commit ourself,--and speak of them as Steve’s minions.

They peered warily--perhaps, _quakingly_--to the right and left, but not seeing any bugbears, human or otherwise, they boldly and jauntily flung themselves over the fence of the pasture field.

Steve advanced a few steps, then halted, laid his burden gently on the ground, and whistled a sigh of relief. His followers threw down their burdens; and, after having ejected a great deal of spittle--purposely on their hands, accidently on the ground,--they raised a grating “ye-oh-heave ’er,” that reminded the “mournful whip-poor-will” of a rooster’s first crow. Now they were ready to go to work.

In front of them was an old well; disused, perfectly dry, and partly filled with rubbish. The top was covered with two layers of bulky and heavy planks, so that the well was safe. Notwithstanding the number of workers, it was no easy task to remove these planks; but the avenger and his “gang” griped their handspikes, and toiled, groaned, and puffed with a will.

What is toil to a boy when mischief is on foot? In play there are no difficulties that a boy cannot surmount. Ah! if he would only do his duty as willingly and efficiently as he builds a dam, how much happier he and others would be!

As soon as the planks were removed, the boughs were dropped one by one, so evenly that they formed a soft couch, only twenty feet from the mouth of the well.

Then Steve took up the engine he had constructed, and set it up over the well. This engine was neither more nor less than a thick and roundish bar of tough wood, with each end playing in the apex of a rude and frail scalene triangle. To impart strength and dignity to this contrivance, the triangles were connected at their base by a long and stout fork-handle; but whether this fork-handle served to keep the triangles apart or to hold them together, Steve did not know. A triangle was placed on each side of the wells mouth, over which the bar and fork-handle directly passed. Steve pinned his triangles fast to the ground, but finding them still unsteady, he had them propped with the planks. Then he announced that it was ready for use. The bar revolved, it is true; but somewhat reluctantly, and, alas! it wobbled!

We have said that Steve considered his contrivance one of the six mechanical powers. Let us examine it further and see if he was right. It might have been intended for the wheel and axle; but, if so, it lacked the wheel. Or perhaps it was the pulley, with an extremely elongated wheelless axle, the triangles taking the place of the block.

“Now, boys,” said the deviser of this novel engine, “see what comes from knowing science! I learnt how to make this from George’s Philosophy. It tells you all about powerful mechanics--no, mechanics powerful--no,--well, I guess it’s all one in meaning. Now let us go to work.”

With a Zulu holloa they rushed towards a couple of donkeys that were grazing peaceably in the inclosure.

It will not require a particularly long-headed reader to guess that these boys were trespassing on Mr. Jackson’s domains, or that the avenger sought to retaliate on him by means of the innocent donkeys.

Steve endeavored to ward off the stings of conscience by telling himself that he was avenging Will; while in reality he was indulging his love of fun and mischief. His warty and freckle-faced followers were actuated by the same motive.

They surrounded the donkey nearest them, resolved to take it prisoner. After a violent conflict and four or five barked and bruised shins,--for the beast was agile, as well as headstrong, and resented this nocturnal abduction,--the seizure was effected, and Stephen adroitly slipped on a halter. While some tugged at this halter, others pushed warily and perhaps bootlessly; still others noisily threatened; one entreated; but, in compliance with their leaders instructions, none belabored. The school-boy avenger did not wish the poor animal to suffer “more than was necessary!”

In a short time the donkey was brought close to the abandoned well. Then the cords, straps, and ropes were picked up, and so securely bound on the poor animal that it was utterly helpless, and at the mercy of Steve’s youthful desperadoes. This was a hazardous attempt, considering all things; but again, what does a properly organized boy care for danger, when bent on mischief?

Stephen, weltering in sweat and already smarting from blisters and bruises, then called a halt and addressed his “accomplices” in the following approved strain: “Well, boys, we’ve nearly done it! Oh! won’t Mr. Jackson be mad when he finds his donkey in the well! Won’t he dance and holler! I know it’s a scurvy trick; but then he is so scurvy a man, it serves him just right. I guess he won’t know what to say to himself when he sees the ass here! At any rate, it will take him all the forenoon to get him out!”

Gentle reader, please to observe how rich that harangue is in notes of exclamation, and ask yourself if they were not invented as a safety-valve for the emotions of overjoyed schoolboys and bloody-minded or weak-headed romancers.

While speaking, Steve had run his hands into the pockets of his most serviceable garment. He now drew his hands out of those pockets and took up a strong rope, one end of which he made fast to the donkey, and the other end he passed over the bar of his engine. Then, the rest helping him, the donkey was slowly and carefully lowered into the well. Poor beast, how foully it was degraded!

Then those wicked boys laughed--laughed till the tears came.

All but Steve. He could not laugh. The core of an apple that he had eaten seven years before rose in his throat and choked him--him! the most uproarious and unconscionable laugher in the village!