Part 14

"Ho, ho, Jess, ye'r sartinly right this time. A club's the only thing a critter like that understands. An' it's jist the same with a lot of people, 'specially men. They understand gentle handlin', soothin' words, an' sich things about as much as that bull does, an' ye know what effect they'd have upon him. There are some critters ye kin elevate by rubbin' gently an' pilin' on the honey, but as fer as I kin see, there's a dang lot of people ye kin handle only one way, an' that's with a thick club. That's the Social Service dope they need."

"For pity's sake, Abner, will you ever stop talking?" his wife asked. "You seem to be wound up and guaranteed to run forever. We're all tired out, and the children are hungry."

"Hungry!" and Abner looked around. "Where kin we find grub fer all these in a place like this? I s'pose the bull ate up everything, did he?"

"The baskets are all right," Mrs. Andrews explained. "We left them in a safe place near the boat."

"Good fer you, Tildy. I'd bank on you every time to look after sich matters. The grub's safe, hurrah! Come on, one an' all, an' let's jine in the feast."

*CHAPTER XXIV*

*EXIT BILLY*

"What in the world's keepin' 'em?"

Abner was standing before the fire he had built on the shore, and supper was all ready. It needed only the arrival of Jess and Royden, and they were long in coming. Belle smiled as she watched Abner and listened to his remarks about people being late for their meals. Mrs. Andrews and the children were already seated on the ground, but Abner would not let them touch a thing until all were present.

"It ain't good manners," he declared, when his wife protested. "We've company fer supper, an' I guess it's the fashion fer 'em allus to be late. I know it was so when I was a kid. Now, I remember once when---"

"Here they come now," one of the boys shouted, with delight.

Abner fixed his eyes sternly upon the lad who had interrupted him.

"Look here, sonny," he began, "don't ye know any better'n that, to speak when ye'r uncle's about begin a story? You need a dose of Social Service, all right. Jess'll have to git busy."

Belle laughed heartily at Abner's words and looks in which the children all joined. They had no fear of him, and were always much delighted when he took any notice of them.

Jess was very animated, and looked prettier than ever so Abner thought, as she and Royden drew near. Her cheeks were flushed, and she merely smiled at her father's bantering words.

"My, this looks good!" she exclaimed, as she sat down by her father's side and examined the supper. "This is something like living."

"This is real Social Service, Jess," Abner remarked. "Ye may use all the elevatin' schemes in the world, but they don't cut no ice unless ye'r under-pinnin' is right, as I told ye once before. Now, the real under-pinnin',' to my way of thinkin', is grub."

"How do you make that out, daddy?" Jess asked, as her father paused to sip his tea.

"How do I make that out? Well, jist try an' ye'll soon find out fer ye'rself. Soap an' water are all right; I daresen't say nuthin' agin' 'em, fer Tildy is here, an' she's great on sich things. But back of soap an' water, an' art an' music, an' all other things ye learnt at the Seminary, there must be grub, or else ye'r Social Service plans'll fall flatter'n did Lawyer Rackshaw the day I stuck the hot end of me cigar into his measely nose. Ho, ho, that was a joke, an' I'll tell yez about it some day. No, ye must have grub as ye'r under-pinnin', Jess, even if ye expect to elevate a pig into a hog."

Billy was the only one who did not seem to be enjoying himself. He ate his supper in silence, and when he was through, he sat a little apart smoking the inevitable cigarette. There was reason for this. Belle would have nothing to do with him. She kept very close to Abner before supper, and talked and chatted with him in the most animated manner. But when Billy tried to divert her attention she told him each time that she was very busy. He was sulky, too, over the way Abner had deceived him in making him believe that he was the hired man. It did not improve his mood when he saw Jess and Royden so happy together. He felt that he had been badly treated, and that his experience with the bull had been planned by Abner and the surveyor. He brooded over these things while the rest laughed and talked, and enjoyed themselves thoroughly.

When it was time to go home, Jess stepped into the canoe, and Royden stood at the bow ready to push it off from the shore. The others were to go in the big flat-bottomed boat, and were already on board, except Abner. He was searching around to see that nothing was left behind before shoving the boat into the water. Billy had taken his seat next to Belle, feeling certain that she could not escape him now. But to his surprise that young lady suddenly stood up and stepped ashore.

"Is there room for me?" she asked Royden, who was now paddling close by.

"Sure," was the reply, as he ran the bow gently upon the beach.

In an instant Belle was aboard, and as the canoe cut through the water, she waved her hand to Billy.

"I hope you will have a nice time," she bantered. "It's great here."

Abner chuckled with delight, and even Mrs. Andrews' face relaxed into a smile, as they realized why she had left them. But Billy was furious. He sprang out of the boat, and ordered Royden to bring back the canoe.

The surveyor paid no attention, however, but paddled steadily away. This angered Billy all the more, and he swore and stamped on the ground in his fury.

"Here, cut that out," Abner commanded. "I'll give ye somethin' to dance fer in real ernest if ye don't. Hustle up an' git on board. I want to be off."

"Go to h--l," was the angry retort. "I'm going to stay here."

Abner was about to leap ashore and administer the chastisement the cur deserved. But he soon changed his mind, while a smile flitted across his face.

"All right," he replied, "stay where ye are. Ye kin be old Robinson Crusoe fer all I care. Good-bye, me beauty, an' pleasant dreams to ye to-night. Ye kin eat the bull if ye'r hungry."

Pushing off the boat, he seized the oars and settled himself down to work. They had gone but a short distance when a yell from Billy fell upon their ears. He was standing upon the shore, frantically waving his arms, and imploring them to return. The cause of his distress was at once apparent, for coming toward him from the rear was the bull, pawing and growling in an angry manner. It had evidently recovered from its fright, and was seeking revenge upon his enemies. It may have been longing for human companionship in his loneliness, though Billy did not fancy the brute's company, no matter how friendly he might prove. He was wild with terror, and his cries increased the nearer the animal approached.

"Oh, hurry back, Abner," Mrs. Andrews implored. "The poor fellow will be killed."

"I'm goin' to stay right here," Abner announced. "If Billy wants to come on board he kin wade. I offered to take him, but he refused. It's up to him now to make the next move."

Billy was not long in doing this. As the bull drew near, and he saw that the boat was not returning, he plunged into the water and waded as fast as he could, casting frightened glances back over his shoulder at his enemy.

"Ye'r doin' fine," Abner encouraged, at which all the children shouted with laughter. It was great sport for them to see the man stumbling and splashing along, and groaning at every step.

"So that's the second bath ye've had to-day," Abner remarked, after Billy had scrambled into the boat. "Guess ye'r hide's cleaner than it's been since ye'r mother tubbed ye. It's a pity the same can't be done to that dirty mouth of yours."

Billy made no reply, but sat shivering on one of the seats.

"Are ye cold?" Abner asked.

"I do feel that way."

"Take the oars, then, an' warm ye'rself up. There's a chilly breeze sprung up, an' ye might catch cold. It 'ud be too bad to lose sich a valuable person. Don't know how the world 'ud wag along."

Reluctantly Billy took Abner's place, and began to row. But he was like a child at the work, and the boat, with no keel, went around and around in a circle.

"Say, where are ye takin' us?" Abner asked. "I'm gittin' dizzy."

"But I can't keep the d--d thing straight," was the reply. "There's something wrong with the boat or with these oars."

"Here, give 'em to me," Abner ordered. "I don't want any more wheels in me head. The fault's not with the oars or the boat, young man, but with you. Now, watch how I do it. My, you'd be great in a race with a dog chasin' its tail, wouldn't ye?"

It did not take long to reach the shore, and all to land. Abner spoke a word to his wife, and she at once left with the children for the house. He remained a few minutes behind with Billy, and when the latter left and headed for the main highway, Abner picked up the remaining basket and walked slowly up through the field. He chuckled several times and twice turned and looked to see how far Billy had gone.

When Abner reached the house he was surprised at the commotion which was taking place in the dooryard. A big truck was standing there, loaded with provisions. It had just arrived and the driver was asking Mrs. Andrews where he should put the stuff. The latter was somewhat bewildered, and was trying to make the man understand that there must have been some mistake, and that the goods could not be intended for them.

"But it's all marked for Abner Andrews, of Ash Point," the man insisted. "There's no mistake about that. I've brought it, and here it's going to stay."

"Very well, then," Mrs. Andrews replied. "Here comes my husband, and you can talk with him."

Abner was greatly astonished at the truck-load of goods and questioned the driver most closely. He could only learn, however, that the supplies had been sent from Dill & McBain, leading grocers of Glucom, and that was all he knew about it.

"It's for you, though, Mr. Andrews," the driver insisted. "I'm certain. I have made no mistake. Mr. Dill himself looked after the stuff, which is unusual for him, and he warned me not to leave it anywhere else."

"It sartinly is queer," and Abner scratched his head in perplexity. "Can't imagine where it all came from. Howsomever, here it is, an' so ye might as well dump it off, while I stow it away. Plenty of room's about the only thing which we have about this place at present."

As the driver unloaded the goods Abner stored them away in the woodhouse adjoining the room fitted up for the children. There were several barrels of flour, sides of ham, slabs of bacon, sugar, rice, and boxes filled with all kinds of things.

When they were at last stored away and the driver had departed, Abner and his wife stood looking at the articles with a puzzled expression upon their faces.

"Well, I'll be blessed if I kin understand this!" Abner exclaimed. "Where de ye s'pose them things have come from?"

"They came from town, all right," Mrs. Andrews replied. "But I'd like to know who sent them. Maybe you'll get a bill later, Abner. You haven't been doing any more of your crazy actions, have you? Are you sure you didn't order these things, thinking you were old man Astor, or some other rich ancestor?"

"Should say not. I don't know no more about 'em than you do, Tildy. It may have been one of me wealthy ancestors, though," he mused. "Ye kin never tell what them spirits are goin' to do next."

"H'm, I guess the spirits who sent all those things are flesh and blood like ourselves, and know how badly off we are. But here comes Belle. She may know something about them."

Belle was alone, and Jess and Royden were nowhere to be seen. She was delighted when she saw the provisions, and her eyes danced.

"Oh, I am so glad they have come," she exclaimed. "You won't have to worry any more now, will you?" and she turned to Abner.

"Worry! How did you know we was worryin'?" Abner asked in amazement.

"Oh, I know a thing or two," and the girl smiled. "I am not altogether blind, even though I am a little giddy at times."

"An' de ye know where them things came from?"

"I have a fairly good idea,"

"Ye have!"

"Why, yes," and again Belle smiled at Abner's astonishment. "I think my father sent them."

"He did! Ye'r father! How in blazes did he know how we was fixed?"

"I write to him, don't I? It was only natural that I should tell him about the boys we have here, and how the people of Glucom acted about that Orphans' Home, wasn't it?"

"Sure, sure. An' ye'r dad didn't send them things out of charity, did he?"

"Charity to the children, of course," was Belle's evasive reply. "He knows how greatly interested I am in the boys, and he sent those things merely to help along the work. My father is fond of doing such things and he wouldn't like it one bit if he knew that I have told on him. If you want to save me from a big scolding don't say anything to him about it. I shall write at once and tell him that they have arrived, and so that will be enough. Now, you must both promise me that you won't say anything to my father about what he has done. You will, won't you?"

As neither Abner nor Mrs. Andrews made any reply, Belle looked keenly into their faces, thinking that perhaps they were offended. Great was her surprise to see tears stealing slowly down Mrs. Andrews' cheeks. She brushed them hurriedly away, but not before Belle had seen her emotion.

"Oh, Mrs. Andrews, I didn't mean to offend you," Belle explained. "I'm afraid I have hurt your feelings. I thought you would understand. I am so sorry."

In reply, Mrs. Andrews threw her arms about the girl's neck, and began to weep, a most unusual thing for her.

"You dear good girl," she sobbed. "You have not offended us. But I am completely overcome by your kindness."

Abner turned his face away and softly hummed, "When Bill Larkins made his money." Belle touched him gently on the arm.

"Are you offended, Mr. Andrews?" she asked.

Abner swung suddenly around, and there was a mistiness in his eyes.

"Offended!" he repeated. "I'm not offended one bit, but I have a queer, creepy feelin', which I haven't had since the first time I saw Jess, when she was put in me arms as a tiny little mite. Why, I nearly blubbered right out, an' me a big strong man at that! Jist think of it!"

"I am so glad that you're not offended," Belle replied. "And if you feel as you say you do, then everything is all right."

"Why, I couldn't help feelin' any other way. Guess them peaceful spirits of mine must be hoverin' round by the appearance of things. Billy didn't think so, though, this afternoon, did he?"

"Oh, I forgot all about that man," and Belle looked around, as if she expected to see him.

"He couldn't have made much impression on ye, eh?" and Abner's eyes twinkled. "He's got it bad, Billy has; but I guess he won't commit suicide yit awhile."

"Where did he go to, anyway?" Belle asked. "He didn't come to the house, did he?"

"Should say not. I had a quiet little interview with him down on the shore. I had a heart to heart talk with him; told him that he was in danger of injurin' the morals of the kids, an' that 'distance lends enchantment,' as old Parson Shaw uster to say."

"Was he willing to go?"

"Willin'! Well, he wasn't overly anxious at first, but he soon changed his mind, let me tell ye that. When he saw that me warlike ancestors were gittin' busy, an' that they were inspirin' me, he more'n took the hint, an' lit out. Ye won't have no more bother with him, Belle. If ye do, jist let me know; that's all ye have to do."

"Thank you, Mr. Andrews," was the reply. "I don't want to see him again. He gives me a creepy feeling, very different from yours, though."

At that moment Jess and Royden appeared, looking very happy and animated. They had enjoyed the afternoon and evening, and Billy's troubles did not in the least mar their pleasure.

*CHAPTER XXV*

*LAFFIN'-GAS*

"Hello, Lost Tribes!" Abner accosted. "What's the matter? Not sick, are ye?"

"Do I look sick?" Zebedee asked, as he took his pipe from his mouth, and glared at his neighbor.

"Well, I can't altogether say that ye have the appearance of dyin'," Abner replied, as he sat down by Zeb's side on the workshop steps. "But ye don't look as spry as a skippin' lamb, an' ye'r face ain't as bright as a shiny mug. What's wrong?"

"Nuthin'."

"H'm, so that's it, eh? It's no wonder ye look glum. Nuthin' wrong! Everythin' runnin' as smooth as molasses in summer time. That's sartinly too bad. Nuthin wrong! What's the nuthin', Zeb?"

"You," was the unexpected reply.

"Me!" Abner exclaimed in astonishment.

"Sure. You're the nuthin', an' it's you that's wrong."

"Thanks fer the compliment, Zeb. 'Tisn't every day I git handed one so free an' easy like. What's started ye? Wife cranky, or is it indigestion ye've got?"

Zebedee did not deign to reply for a few minutes, but pulled steadily at his pipe, and gazed out over the fields.

"Say, Abner," he at length began, "what's the meanin' of ye'r actions, anyway?"

"Actions! What actions?"

"Why, you ought to know. How many customers de ye expect to have?"

"Customers!"

"Sure. Haven't ye started store-keepin'? Didn't I see a big truck at ye'r back door last night, loaded with enough goods to keep a lumber camp fer a month?"

"Oh, I see," and Abner's eyes twinkled with amusement as light began to dawn upon his mind. "Why shouldn't I start store-keepin'?"

"Why? Simply because ye would ruin ye'rself in a few weeks."

"I would, eh?"

"Certainly. Where would ye git the customers, I'd like to know?"

"They'd flock from all parts, of course. Half of Glucom 'ud be here in no time."

"H'm," Zeb sniffed in disgust. "Ye'r mistaken there, Abner. It wouldn't work."

"What'll ye bet?"

"I won't bet. It wouldn't be fair."

"That's not it, Zeb. Ye wouldn't dare to bet, fer ye know ye'd lose."

"Quit ye'r foolin', Abner, an' let's git down to business. Are ye goin' crazy, man, to start store-keepin' in a place like this? Ye can't afford to do sich a thing. If ye have any money to throw away ye'd better keep it fer that trial of yours."

"But I need money, Zeb, an' if I can't git it one way I'll have to try another."

"Well, leave store-keepin' alone."

"I intend to."

"Ye do?"

"Sure. Never thought of it till ye put the notion into me head. It might be a good scheme, though."

"Well, what's all that stuff at your place fer, then?"

"Oh, that's a gift. Belle's dad sent it fer the kids."

"He did!" Zeb's eyes opened wide in amazement.

Abner smiled. He was enjoying himself immensely now.

"It shook ye'r timbers, did it?" he queried. "Thought I was goin' store-keepin'. No, I don't intend to start that at present. I've somethin' else on me mind."

"Ye have? Some more fool-nonsense, I s'pose."

"No, this is the real thing, first class an' up to date. I'm goin' to make money hand-over-fist. Listen to this."

Fumbling in his vest pocket, Abner brought forth a newspaper clipping and unfolded it with great care.

"I cut it from _The Family Herald an' Weekly Star_," he explained. "Read it last night, an' I've been laffin' ever since. Say, it's a great idea, an' struck me all at once, like that ram did Tom Bentley. Ye ought to read _The Herald_, Zeb. It tells ye most everything an' what it doesn't tell isn't worth knowin'."

"Well, fer pity sakes what is it, Abner?"

"Oh, haven't I told ye? Why, I thought I had. Here it is, then. It tells about an old feller who lived thousands of years ago, though I can't make out his name. It's a funny one, an' I never heard of that ancestor of mine before. Kin ye give it the right twist, Zeb?"

"Spell it, Abner. My eyes ain't good, an' me glasses are in the house."

"It's the darndest word I ever sot me eyes on. It goes this way: D-i-o, now that spells Dio. The next is g-e-n; that's gen, all right. The last two letters are e-s, and the hull bunch put together gives us D-i-o-g-e-n-e-s, Dio-genes. Ain't that a whopper, though? I dare say Jess knows the hang of it, but blamed if I do."

"Tut, man, I've heard of that feller before. It's pronounced Diogenes," Zeb explained. "Ye'r not so smart after all, are ye, even though ye do read _The Family Herald_. But what are ye drivin' at, Abner?"

"He's one of me ancestors, ye see, an' it's nice to know the hang of his name. It's a great one, isn't it? Diogenes! Gee! that sounds high class."

"Ancestors be hanged! What good are sich ancient critters, I'd like to know?"

"Look here, Zeb," and Abner looked thoughtfully at his neighbor. "Haven't I been inspired by me ancestors all me life? First the warlike ones overshaddered me, an' then the peaceful spirits hovered round. Now, ain't that so?"

"Wouldn't be surprised at anythin'," Zeb agreed. "Ye seem to have sich a dang lot of ancestors that I don't know which ones ye'r goin' to follow next."

"I sartinly have, Zeb. That's the time ye hit the nail on the head. I try out one bunch, an' when I git tired of them I shift to another. That's why I'm keen on that old feller, what's his name?"

"Diogenes?"

"Yes, that's him, though I guess you'd better do the pronouncin'. It doesn't seem to come handy to me, nohow. Well, I'm much interested in that old feller I've been laffin', as I told ye, ever since I read that piece in _The Family Herald_."

"What did he do that was so funny, Abner?"

"Do! He set the hull world laffin' to split its sides, that's what he did."

"In what way? Fer pity sakes, git on with ye'r yarn."

"Yes, he sartinly did funny things. He lived in a tub, jist think of that. How would you like to have a tub fer a house, Zeb? Wouldn't it be great! There'd be no house-cleanin' days, an' no carpets to beat, an' sich unnecessary things to attend to."

"What did he do in the tub?" Zeb inquired, now becoming much interested.

"What did he clo? Why, he made the hull world laff, of course. Wasn't that enough?"

"But how did he do it, Abner? I don't see anythin' so funny about that. Anybody could set in a tub, couldn't they?"

"Sure. But, ye see, that old feller lived in the tub, ate his meals in it, an' slept there. When folks came to see him he showed 'em his house, kitchen, dinin'-room, parlor an' bedroom, all in one. After they was shown around, so to speak, they nearly all died laffin'. Ye see, they thought he was luney. Then when they stopped laffin' long enough, he up an' says, 'Now jist look at all the things I do not need. It doesn't take much to keep a man goin', does it?' That's what he says."

"I s'pose they thought he was crazy, Abner?"

"Not a bit of it after that. They had more sense. They called him a philosopher, or some sich name, an they all flocked to see him an' to hear his wisdom."

"They did!"

"Sure. They came in crowds, an' though they laffed an' laffed at the queer old feller, they paid attention to what he said. Even the king came to see him."

"Ye don't tell!"

"Yes, Alexander the Great, they called him. He came too, an' he asked the old feller if he could do anythin' fer him. An' what de ye s'pose me ancient ancestor said?"

"I couldn't guess."

"Sure, ye couldn't, an' no one else. Now, you or me, Zeb, would have asked fer a hull lot of things if the King of England came by an' wanted to do somethin' fer us. We would ask him fer some soft government persition, wouldn't we?"

"Most likely we would."

"But that old feller didn't ask fer no sich things. He looked at the king, squinted his eyes a little, an' says he, 'Yes, Alec, ye kin do me a great favor.'"

"'An' what is it?' says the king, soft an' pleasant like, expectin' to be asked fer somethin' great."

"'Ye kin jist stand from between me an' th' sun,' says the old feller. 'Ye'r hidin' the light, an' I feel chilly.' That's what he says to the king."

"And wasn't the king hoppin' mad?" Zeb asked.