CHAPTER XXXV

AT MR. CHATFORD’S GATE.

“HOW strange it seems,” said Mrs. Pipkin that morning, “not to have Jack around! I don’t believe I should have missed any one of you so much. Somehow I can’t get used to his being away; can you, Mrs. Chatford?”

A tear quivered in Mrs. Chatford’s eye as she replied, “I can’t be reconciled to his going in the way he did. I feel that we are responsible for the boy’s future; and if he had died I could hardly have mourned for him more than I do!”

This conversation took place at the breakfast-table, and it did not seem to help the appetites of those who heard it. The deacon shoved back his chair with a dissatisfied look; for it was an uncomfortable subject to him, firmly as he believed himself justified in withdrawing from Jack his sympathy and support.

“I’m so glad he got away!” said little Kate; “but I’m afraid they’ll catch him again!”

“Not much danger of that,” remarked Mr. Pipkin, rising slowly from the table. “A boy smart enough to do what he done yisterday, can keep clear of the clutches of the constables if he’s a mind to. I’ll resk Jack! I’d be willin’ to bet—By hokey!” he exclaimed in astonishment, looking from the window.

“What is it, Pip?” cried Moses.

“I’ve lost my bet ’fore I made it! Jack!”

“Jack!” repeated several voices at once; and there was a general rush to the windows. Annie Felton’s face flushed, while Phin’s turned suddenly pale. “Jack, and Sellick with him!” said the deacon, unpleasantly surprised. “I hoped—Couldn’t the boy keep out of the way! See what they want.”

Meanwhile Sellick, with Jack by his side in the buggy in which they began their ride the day before, had driven up to the gate and turned about.

“Hullo!” cried Moses, going out to them.

“Hullo back agin,” replied Sellick. “Fine morning. How’s the folks? Good morning, Mis’ Chatford.”

“I can’t say I’m glad to see you!” exclaimed the good woman from the door. “Poor boy! how does it happen?”

“Jack took such a shine to me yisterday,” laughed Sellick, “he couldn’t bear the separation; so he come of his own accord to renew the acquaintance this morning,—or last evening,—which was it, Jack?”

“O Jack! did you give yourself up?” cried Annie Felton, alarmed to think he might have been led by her advice to take an unwise step, until the sight of his beaming countenance reassured her.

“He’s too modest to say so, but that’s jest it,” Sellick answered for him. “I took him yisterday, and he took me this morning—by surprise. I’ve hardly got my breath yit. Bright boy, Jack! honest boy! Says he has done nothing he ought to go to jail for, but if we want to put him in jail, we can; and I vow I don’t know but what that’s the right view to take on ’t!”

“O Jack! is this so?” said Mrs. Chatford, hurrying to the side of the buggy, and seizing both the boy’s hands, while she looked up earnestly in his face.

“Yes,” replied Jack, smiling frankly, yet with quivering lips and misty eyes. “After talking with Annie last night,”—casting a glance of affectionate gratitude at the schoolmistress,—“I concluded I had been foolish. I didn’t know what I wanted to run away for. If I have done wrong, why, I’m willing to suffer for it. I know I’ve been wrong in some things. The idea of finding so much money, and then of having it taken from me, made me wild; I wasn’t myself; but I guess I’m all right now, and I hope you’ll forgive me,” he said, winking away a tear or two.

“Bless you, dear boy! what have I to forgive?” said Mrs. Chatford, while tears ran down her own upturned face.

“After all you had done for me, to think that I could be so cross and sullen to you and to everybody, because Squire Peternot had wronged me; and then to have such thoughts,—I can’t tell you what bad thoughts I have had!” Jack exclaimed, beginning to choke a little. “But they are gone now, I hope. I’m just going to take what comes, and make the best of it.”

“That is right! O Jack, I am so glad to hear you talk so! If you can go to jail in this spirit, it will do you no harm. I shall think more of you and hope more for you than ever! So will all your friends.—Phineas, come here, and tell your father to come!”

“Well, Jack! caught, after all, are you?” said Mr. Chatford, walking slowly towards the gate.

“No, sir, not caught; Mr. Sellick won’t say I’ve been caught,” replied Jack.

“No, I don’t take no credit to myself,” said Sellick; “Jack’s here of his own free will, or he wouldn’t be here.” And he told the story of Jack’s stay in the barn the night before, and his sudden appearance in the cow-yard that morning.

“I think _you_’ll be satisfied with him now,” added Mrs. Chatford; “for he has come of his own accord to make acknowledgments, and to ask our forgiveness.”

“I’m heartily glad to hear it!” said the deacon, astonished and gratified. “As I said before, his falsehood about Phineas, and his standing out so about it, seemed to me worse than anything else. I rejoice if he has owned up.”

“I’m ready to own everything that I’ve done wrong; but that is different. I wasn’t going to say anything about it; but if Mrs. Chatford meant that, when she said I had come to make acknowledgments, why, she is mistaken. I spoke nothing but the truth about Phineas, and you’ll know it some day, and then, maybe, you’ll be sorry for having accused me of lying!” Jack struggled hard to control his feelings, but now, having said this, he began to cry.

“Phineas! I told Phineas to come here,” said Mrs. Chatford, “and now where has he gone?”

“I saw him sneaking off to the barn,” said Mr. Pipkin. “He don’t seem to hanker arter a meetin’ with Jack, dono why!”

Mrs. Chatford was agitated; and the deacon appeared strangely disturbed.

“It hurt me worse than anything,” Jack resumed, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, “to have you think I would try to get out of a scrape by flinging the blame on to anybody else, and then lying about it. And that’s the hardest part for me to get over. But it’s natural you should think so. I don’t blame you. I can wait for you to find out the truth; you will some time. I’ve no ill-will against Phin, either; but I don’t want to see him or have anything to do with him. So don’t call him. I know just what he would say.”

“Well, well!” said the deacon, walking up and down the path in great trouble of mind. “No doubt, no doubt! You _may_ be honest. It’s a strange misunderstanding! I hope it _will_ be explained some day.” But it was plain to see that the good man’s prejudice against the boy was far from being overcome.

Meanwhile Moses went to the barn to find Phineas.

“What are ye sneaking off here for?” he cried. “Why don’t you go and see Jack, and own up to your lie about him? It’s your best way now.”

“Hain’t told any lie!” muttered Phineas. “Come out here to watch Lion, fear he’d get away.”

“You sha’n’t have that excuse any longer!” exclaimed the indignant Moses. “It’s too bad to keep the poor brute chained in this way!” And, pushing his brother scornfully aside, he loosed the dog. “Bellow, will you? great baby!—Clear, Lion!”

Lion “cleared”; and in ten seconds, darting past Mr. Chatford, and almost knocking Mr. Pipkin over as he encountered that gentleman standing by the gate, he leaped up on the buggy-wheel, whining, and wagging his tail, and struggling to reach his young master.

Jack reached down, and patted the large, noble head, received the caresses of the eager, affectionate tongue, and dropped a tear upon the canine nose.

“Tell Phin he needn’t keep him chained; I sha’n’t steal him,” he said.

“Fine fellow!” said Sellick; “good dog! If you come and work for me,”—in a low tone to Jack,—“bring your dog with you; I’ll keep him.”

“Peternot ought to hear to reason!” exclaimed the deacon. “Jack, why don’t you give up the money?”

“I don’t care for the money; I’d as soon give it up as not,” Jack replied, very truly. “But I don’t know where it is.” He checked a natural impulse to go on and repeat Aunt Patsy’s story. Jack was shrewd, and he did not believe that a revelation of what he knew of the spurious character of the coin would have the least effect in softening the squire’s mind towards him. On the contrary, some advantage might yet be gained by keeping the secret.

“I suppose the Huswick boys have got it,” said Mr. Chatford. “The squire had a warrant out yesterday for Cub and Hank; that’s a fact, ain’t it, Sellick?”

“I’ll say this much,” replied the constable,—“arter Jack give us the slip, we did make a call on our neighbor Huswick, and found Cub and Hank had cut stick. I never told anybody I had a warrant. You may infer what you please.”

“Does Peternot know Jack has given himself up?”

“I see the hired man as we drove by; he said the squire was tending prayers. Good old man, the squire; has prayers in his family morning and evening. I told the man to tell him; so he knows by this time. He’ll be waiting to see his young friend. And now, if you’ll hand out that little trunk you told me you had ready for him yesterday, we’ll be moving on.”

Mrs. Chatford talked earnestly with her husband aside.

“I don’t know what to do or think!” said the deacon. “I’ll see the squire again. He _must_ hear to reason!” And he walked hurriedly away towards Peternot’s house.