CHAPTER IX.

THE ALARM.

It must be confessed that Jack was not at all eager to face the alleged burglars.

He knew very well that if there were no more than two he would stand a slim chance of driving them away, and even one good sized man might make it very uncomfortable for him.

Had he been left to follow his own inclinations, the outer door would not have been opened, but he knew Aunt Nancy depended upon him for protection, and he must make a reputation for courage or be disgraced in her eyes.

The sky was overcast with clouds, and Jack could not distinguish objects ten paces away as he stepped on to the broad stone in front of the door.

He heard the key turn in the lock behind him, and this was sufficient to tell him he need not expect any assistance from the little woman inside.

Grasping the carving knife firmly, he moved forward slowly in the direction of the shed, and saw a shadowy form dart around the corner of the building.

Then another, or the same one, returned, approached Jack, and stooped over as if in the act of placing something on the ground.

An instant later the shadow had disappeared, and Jack saw before him a thin line of sparks, apparently coming from the solid earth, but not sufficiently large to cast any light.

Quite naturally Jack's first thought was that the miscreants were trying to set the buildings on fire, and he ran forward to extinguish what seemed ready to burst into a flame, when there was a muffled report, the ground appeared to be a mass of coals, while at the same time a soft, sticky substance was thrown in a shower upon him.

Jack leaped back in surprise and alarm, and as he did so struck his foot against some obstruction with sufficient power to throw him headlong.

The explosion, the sudden glare of light, and the shower of he knew not what, all served to bewilder the boy to such an extent that for the moment it seemed as if the same force which caused the report had knocked him down.

The first idea which came into his mind was that he had been shot, for he remembered having heard that the victim does not feel pain for some time after a bullet enters his body, and the sticky substance on his face he thought must be blood.

"That Bill Dean meant what he said, an' has commenced drivin' me out of town," he muttered to himself, making not the slightest effort to rise, because he believed it impossible to do so.

The silence was almost oppressive after the loud report.

Jack could hear nothing to denote that there was any one in the vicinity, and was feeling of his limbs to ascertain the amount of injury done, when a shrill, tremulous voice from the doorway cried,--

"Jack! Jack dear! Are you hurt much?"

"I'm afraid I'm shot. It seems as if I was bleedin' dreadful!"

"Wait till I can light the lantern, my poor boy"; and the door was closed and locked again.

By this time Jack had fully persuaded himself he was seriously wounded, and wondered how long it would be before the pain came.

Two minutes later Aunt Nancy, partially dressed and with an odd little lantern in her hand, emerged very cautiously from the house.

The fear Jack might be fatally injured was greater than that of the supposed burglars. Her desire to aid others conquered her timidity, and the only thought was to bring relief as speedily as possible.

"Mercy on us! What a dreadful thing!" Aunt Nancy exclaimed as she arrived at the place where Jack was lying at full length on the ground. "Tell me where you are hurt, my poor child."

"I don't know; but it seems as if somethin' tough must have happened, for I'm bleedin' terribly."

The little woman knelt by his side, and held the lantern up until its rays illumined the boy's face.

"I can't see any blood, Jack dear; but you seem to be literally covered with something yellow."

The boy passed his hand over his face, scraping off the supposed sanguinary fluid, and examined it carefully by aid of the light.

Then he leaped to his feet very quickly, looking both ashamed and angry.

"It's some kind of a trick Bill Dean's gang have been playing!" he cried, and at that instant from behind the barn came a shout of derision, followed by hearty laughter.

"Oh, I wish I was strong enough to flog those wicked wretches!" Aunt Nancy said, her eyes filling with tears of vexation.

Jack made no reply.

He had taken the lantern from her hand, and was searching carefully in the immediate vicinity.

It was not long before he and Aunt Nancy decided that the yellow substance was the seeds and pulp of a pumpkin, and Jack said, as he picked up several pieces of red paper,--

"Now I know what it means. Those fellers have dug the inside out of a pumpkin, and put into it a big firecracker. They waited until I came near the shed before lighting it, an', of course, when the thing exploded it sent the stuff flyin'."

"Thank goodness it was no worse!" the little woman added, and Jack burst into a hearty laugh.

Despite the suffering caused by fear, the idea that he had been scared almost into dying by an exploded pumpkin was comical in the extreme, and his mirth was not checked until Aunt Nancy asked quite sharply,--

"What on earth are you laughing at?"

"To think how frightened we got about nothing."

"I'm sure it was a good deal. Here we've been forced out of our beds at this hour of the night, believing burglars were around, and then scared nearly to death because it appeared as if you were wounded, all on account of those terrible boys who wanted to have some sport!"

"It can't be helped now, an' the sooner you get into the house the less will be the chances of your taking cold," Jack replied, checking his mirth with difficulty as he saw how angry Aunt Nancy really was.

Although it was a practical joke which had caused a great deal of mental anxiety for a short time, he could not look upon it otherwise than as funny, except when he realized that this was the first step taken to drive him out of the town.

The little woman insisted on examining the interior of the shed to learn if the boys had done any further mischief, and they found fragments of pumpkin and paper, showing that the "infernal machine" had been constructed there.

Nothing appeared to have been disturbed, and the two who had been so unceremoniously awakened returned to the house after the pulp was scraped with a chip from Jack's face, hair, and clothing.

It was a long time before the boy could induce slumber to visit his eyelids again that night, but he finally succeeded with such good effect that he did not awaken until the noise Aunt Nancy made while building the fire aroused him.

Dressing hurriedly, he went downstairs in time to do a portion of the work, and when the milk was brought into the house after old crumple horn had been driven to pasture, Aunt Nancy asked,--

"Do you think you could take care of Louis a little while this forenoon?"

"Of course I can. Are you going visitin'?"

"Yes; I intend to see if something can't be done to prevent those wretched boys from carrying on in this manner."

"But, Aunt Nancy--"

"Now don't say a word, Jack dear. Things were very much like this last summer when I hired a boy from Portland, and no one can tell what might have happened if he hadn't run away. I know it is wrong to get angry, but I can't help it. Seems to me I am growing more wicked every day; yesterday I just the same as told a lie, and last night I did not control my angry passions."

"But, Aunt Nancy--"

"Don't try to argue with me, or I shall get worse. I am going to see Mr. Dean at once, and you must keep house till I come back."

Louis's guardian realized that words would be worse than useless at such a time, and he wisely refrained from speaking, while Aunt Nancy, as if trying hard to keep her temper within bounds, did the morning work in ominous silence.

When the last duty had been performed, she directed Jack to take the baby out under the old oak, and then disappeared for half an hour or more, at the end of which time she reappeared dressed with scrupulous neatness, but in the quaintest of fashions.

"I sha'n't be away more than an hour; and if any of those boys show themselves, be sure to go into the house with Louis at once."

Saying this, she walked swiftly down the lane, and Jack muttered to himself as she turned the corner into the main road,--

"I'm mighty sorry she's bent on anything of the kind, for I'm certain there'll be trouble for me come out of it."

Fortunately nothing occurred to cause alarm during the little woman's absence.

Jack amused the baby, split more kindlings and piled them up in the shed, being thus occupied when Aunt Nancy returned, looking mildly triumphant.

"There!" she said in a tone of satisfaction as she seated herself beneath the old oak and fanned her heated face with a tiny pocket-handkerchief, "I did control my temper, and I don't think the Dean boy will trouble either of us again."

"Did you tell his father?"

"I gave him a full account of all which had been done, both this summer and last. Mr. Dean has promised me nothing of the kind shall ever happen again, and we are free from that annoyance."

Jack thought, but did not venture to put it into words, that Bill Dean would not give up the struggle so easily, and felt convinced there was yet more serious trouble in store for him before the summer came to an end.

"Do you know, Jack dear, I would give almost anything in the world if I hadn't told a lie to Mr. Pratt. We should have stood our ground, and defied him to take you and the baby away, rather than commit a sin."

"But I can't see that you were so very wicked, Aunt Nancy. He would have carried us off in spite of anything you could say, an' I'm sure you didn't tell a lie."

"It is on my conscience just the same, Jack dear, and I shall never feel easy in mind," the little woman replied with a long-drawn sigh.

Jack was really distressed because Aunt Nancy should regret so deeply what was done in his behalf; but he could think of nothing consoling to say, since she insisted on believing a downright falsehood had been told.

"I am also to be condemned for having given way to my temper; but those boys do try it so severely it is very difficult to remember that he who 'rules his spirit is better than he who taketh a city.'"

Jack looked up in bewilderment.

He did not understand the application of the quotation, and the remark about taking a city mystified him.

Aunt Nancy was so intent on her own sad thoughts that she paid no attention to his perplexity, and after a long silence entered the house, returning a few moments later in her home costume, which the boy thought more becoming than the antiquated finery she had been arrayed in for the call on Bill Dean's father.

The little woman did not give Jack the details of her visit to Mr. Dean; but he felt more confident than ever that it was an ill-advised move, so far as his own peace was concerned, and but a little time was to elapse before this was to be proven.

"I believe I will send a line to Brother Abner now," Aunt Nancy suddenly said. "It is time he learned what has happened; and since we have no pressing work on hand, you can mind the baby. It isn't as easy for me to write letters as it used to be. I need a long while in which to compose my thoughts."

Then the little woman set about the task, and it could be seen it was a hard one by the manner in which she began.

Watching through the open window, Jack saw her bring pens, paper, and ink from her chamber to the kitchen, and then nibble at the end of her penholder as if to derive inspiration from that source.

Had it been some weighty document of state she could not have been more particular, and fully two hours were spent before the labor was completed.

"Took me a long while, didn't it?" she asked on coming into the yard once more. "I believe I've told Abner the whole story, and we'll soon know if the baby's parents are yet alive."

"Shall I carry it to the post-office?"

"Mercy! no. It is in Treat's store, and I couldn't think of letting you take that long walk again to-day."

"It won't hurt me a bit."

"You must stay here quietly with me, and to-morrow perhaps you shall go. There is plenty of time, and who knows if Abner is home now; he's a master hand at gadding about, which accounts for his being so poor. I've always told him that 'a rolling stone gathers no moss,' but he laughs it off by saying he doesn't want to be moss-grown."