Chapter VII: Part 7

"I've had them ever since I was a child."

"'Specially when there's work to be done. Ye'r not alone in that. Hop in now," he ordered, when the canoe had been launched.

Abner paddled, while Royden sat in the bottom of the canoe. Billy persisted in sitting well up on the bow, notwithstanding Abner's warning.

"Ye might tumble off there," he told him. "This is not a scow nor an ocean liner ye'r in now, but a cranky canoe, an' ye kin never tell what might happen."

"De ye think I'm a kid?" Billy indignantly asked. "I'm all right here. You get a hustle on, and never mind me."

Abner made no reply, though a peculiar expression appeared in his eyes. He paddled with long steady strokes, and looked straight ahead. It was a beautiful day, and only a gentle ripple ruffled the surface of the river. It took but a few minutes to cross the channel, and then they were in shallow water in the midst of eel-grass, broad water-lily leaves, snags and half-sunken logs.

Billy was deliberately smoking a cigarette, with an air of bored indifference. Suddenly the canoe struck a partly submerged root, which tilted it dangerously to the right. The force of the impact sent Billy backwards, and with a yell of fright he plunged headlong into the water. He was up again in an instant, spluttering and trying to disentangle himself from the eel-grass, which was entwined about his face and neck. The canoe by now was several yards away, and as Billy endeavored to walk, he not only sank ankle deep in the soft, yielding mud, but several times he stumbled and almost fell over a sunken log or root.

"Hello, what are ye doin' out there?" Abner asked in apparent surprise. "Fishin' fer clams? There ain't none there."

"D--n you," was the angry reply. "You know what I'm doing. It was all your fault. You struck that log on purpose."

"What log? Did we strike a log?" and Abner appealed to Royden.

"I didn't see any," was the laughing reply. "But Billy says we did, and he evidently knows from the look of things."

By this time the unfortunate man had struggled to the side of the canoe.

"Be keerful, now, how ye board this craft," Abner warned.

"I've a good mind to dump you both into the water," was the retort.

"Try it on, young man, if ye want to stay down in that mud till ye stop bubblin'."

With considerable difficulty Lansing was helped on board, and once more the canoe sped forward.

"Look at my clothes," Billy whined. "What a mess they are in!"

"Oh, they'll soon dry out," Abner comforted. "When ye git ashore ye kin jist set in the sun, an' them duds'll he dry in no time. Then ye kin roll over a log, an' they'll he ironed an' ye'r pants creased quicker an' better than they could at any landry."

"But this mud won't come off, though," and Billy mournfully viewed several big daubs on his white trousers.

"Not if ye rub it. Jist let it dry, an' then it'll brush off without hardly a stain. It's somethin' like scandal, mud is. Rub it when it's wet, an', Lord, it makes an awful mess! But jist leave it alone fer a while, an' it'll disappear, an' ye'll scarcely know it was there. That's what old Parson Shaw uster say, an' it's true, fer I've tried it. But here we are at the island."

*CHAPTER XXIII*

*RESCUED*

"Where in thunder kin they be!"

Abner and Royden were standing on the bank of the shore looking up and down in an effort to locate the berry pickers. They had been over the island, and had now come back to where Billy was lying upon the sand. Not a sign of the women and children could they see, and Abner was somewhat anxious.

"Surely the spooks haven't carried 'em off," he continued. "I've heard people tell about strange sights an' noises in this place, but I allus laffed at 'em. Mebbe they was right, though."

Royden was standing upon a rock looking keenly down river.

"Do you suppose they're in that old barn out on that stretch of lowland?" he asked.

"What would they be doin' there?" Abner enquired, as he, too, turned his face in that direction.

"Perhaps they've gone in out of the sun. Children like to play in old barns. I did, anyway, when I was a kid."

The barn to which Royden referred was on a narrow strip of marsh land, which ran for some distance out into the river. Hay was stored here until it could be hauled to the mainland in winter. It was an old weather-beaten building, and had been much battered by the flowing ice in the great spring rush.

"Surely they wouldn't be in a place like that," Abner mused, as he stood looking at the barn. "But ye kin never tell what notions women an' kids'll take, so it's jist as well to investigate."

Royden at once offered to go, but Abner detained him.

"Look here, young man, you've done enough trampin' fer a while. Let that lazy feller down there go. I guess his clothes are dry by this time. If they ain't, then a little touch of this breeze'll finish the job."

Billy, however, was loth to go, and said that he didn't feel well. He preferred to stay where he was.

"Sick, are ye?" and Abner turned suddenly upon him. "Well, it's fer the good of ye'r health that I'm askin' ye to take this little jant. If ye stay here ye'll be a darn sight sicker than ye are at present, let me tell ye that."

Something about Abner's voice and manner made Billy realise that he must obey. Slowly he rose to his feet and stretched himself.

"Confound it all!" he growled. "Why can't a fellow have a minute's peace!"

"Peace! Peace!" Abner roared, now thoroughly disgusted. "I'll give ye a kind of peace ye ain't lookin' fer, an' that'll be a piece of me boot. That's the only kind the likes of you understand. Hustle along there now, an' don't dilly-dally."

The two men watched Billy as he sauntered leisurely along the shore, picking his way among the stones.

"Well, if that don't beat the Dutch!" Abner exclaimed. "I wonder what the Lord was thinkin' of when he made sich a critter."

"He must be fond of making that kind, though," Royden replied. "He has a long list to His credit."

Abner pulled out his pipe, filled and lighted it. He then stretched himself out upon the ground in such a position that he could keep his eye upon Billy, who was now some distance away.

"Come to think of it," he began, "I don't believe the Lord is altogether to blame fer sich articles that walk on two legs an' call themselves men. He intended that they should be all right, an' gave them their own free will. But seems to me that that critter's ancestors, let the sap run out of the tree, an' there's mighty little left to work with. Zeb was right when he said that all the Social Service in the world won't do more'n elevate a pig into a hog. Jess will come to see that, too, as sure as guns."

"Is Miss Andrews as keen as ever on Social Service?" Royden asked.

"Jist as keen," Abner replied. "But she's got her hands full now with them kids. That's one reason why I'm willin' to keep 'em. Jess an' Belle are mighty interested in 'em, an' that's a great deal to me an' Tildy. But jist look at that feller; he ain't to the barn yit. I wonder how long he intends to hang around. I don't want him, an' I'm dang sure Belle doesn't, either. How de ye s'pose we kin git clear of him?"

"Can't you think of some way?" Royden asked, with a twinkle in his eyes. "If you should behave to him like you did to me the first day we met, I don't believe Billy would remain long."

"I was pretty het up that day I took the gun to ye," Abner acknowledged. "But it didn't work. Ye was too much fer me, all right, an' I ain't ashamed to confess it. Why, most chaps would have hollered, an' made no end of a fuss. But you was dead game, an' that put me off me reckonin'."

Before Royden could reply a yell of terror fell upon their ears. Startled, they both sprang to their feet, and looked anxiously in the direction from which the sound came. And as they did so, they saw Billy coming toward them with great leaps, followed by an animal which they at once recognized as an infuriated bull.

"Good Lord!" Abner ejaculated. "Where in thunder did that critter come from? Why, I know. It's Pete Slocum's. He said he was goin' to put it on the island, as he couldn't keep it in the pasture. I fergot all about it, blamed if I didn't."

"Billy will be killed," Royden exclaimed, much excited.

"Not at the rate he's runnin' now," was the reply. "Did ye ever see anythin' like it? Why, the grass must be hot under his feet. I didn't know he had sich speed aboard. Look at that fer jumps! An' listen to his yells. He'll have lockjaw if he isn't keerful."

It certainly was a wild run Billy was making, with the bull in close pursuit. Notwithstanding Abner's apparent amusement, he was really concerned, and was about to rush forward, though he was sure he could not reach the youth in time to be of any assistance, as he had no weapon with which to fight the bull. He was on the point of starting, anyway, when he noticed that Billy was making straight for a clump of birch trees standing low on the bank of the island.

"Good fer him!" he exclaimed. "He's some sense left yit."

"Will he make it, do you think?" Royden almost breathlessly asked.

"Make it? Sure. If that feller makes heaven as sartin as he'll make that tree, he'll be all right, though I guess he won't make it as fast. Look at that! Why, he went up it like a cat. He's safe, all right, now," and Abner breathed a sigh of relief. "Gee whittaker! He's a wonder when a bull's after him."

"What shall we do?" Royden asked. "We can't leave him there, and the bull doesn't seem inclined to go away. Look how he's roaring around that tree and tearing up the ground."

"We'll fix that critter, all right," Abner replied. "Let's git a couple of hand-spikes. Wish to goodness I'd brought me axe along."

Searching among the drift-wood, they soon found two stout sticks.

"I guess these'll do," Abner remarked, as he tested them over a log. "Now fer some fun."

Royden could not see much fun in the undertaking, though he followed his companion without a word. Making their way as speedily as possible along the shore, they at length came near enough for the bull to observe their presence. He stopped pawing for a few seconds, and stared angrily at the intruders. Then his right fore hoof again tore up the turf, and his roars became more furious than ever.

Abner now seemed in his element. His eyes glowed with the light of battle, and, grasping his stick firmly with both hands, he rushed forward.

"Come on, me beauty," he challenged. "I'll make ye roar."

And the bull did come. With a toss of its great head, and another angry bellow, it charged upon the two men. Seeing it coming, Abner slowed down, and was about to stop, when in an instant his foot caught on a root, and before he could recover himself he had fallen headlong upon the ground. The bull was now almost upon him, and in another second its horns would have pierced the prostrate man's body, but as the brute lowered its head for a great thrust, Royden dealt him a staggering blow right across the forehead, which brought him to his knees. Before he could recover, a second blow followed, which caused him to plunge heavily and fall headlong upon the ground, tearing up as he did so long strips of turf with his powerful horns.

By this time Abner was on his feet, angry at himself for falling, and ready to have revenge upon the animal. Seizing his stick, which he had dropped, he thrust it into the bull's side.

"Git up, ye brute," he cried. "Ye'll have better manners next time, all right. Git up, I say. Take that, an' that, an' that, ye divil."

So fierce were the thrusts that the half-stunned animal bellowed with increased vigor, and with a great effort scrambled to his feet, where he stood for a few seconds shaking his head, while his eyes glowed like red-hot coals. With Royden standing before him ready to administer another blow, and Abner goring his side and yelling words of defiance, the brute became completely bewildered. A nameless terror seized him, and with a peculiar growl of rage and fear, he attempted to escape. He staggered from side to side for a few yards, but presently he started on a run, which shortly developed into a mad gallop, as if all the fiends in the world were after him.

"Ye've forgot somethin'," Abner shouted. "Come back an' git the change."

The bull kept on with his headlong flight, dashed into the woods, and disappeared from view. They could hear him crashing his way among the trees as he sped onward. Farther and farther he went, the sounds of his flight growing fainter and fainter, until at last they could no longer be heard.

"Guess he's gone fer good," and Abner breathed a deep sigh. "He'll have somethin' to think over fer a while. Mebbe he'll let folks alone after this. But, jiminey! He nearly fixed me, all right."

"It was a close call," Royden replied. "He was almost upon you."

"I wonder where I'd been now," Abner mused, "if you hadn't brought him to his knees. I expect to sprout me final wings some day, but, hang it all, I didn't think I'd come so close to doin' it so soon, an' on this island at that. But, then, one never knows what to expect next, as Tom Bentley said when his big ram butted him clean through the barn-door. I'm mighty obliged to ye, young man, fer gittin' me out of that scrap, an' I shan't fergit it soon, either."

Seeing that the danger was past, Billy climbed down from the tree and came over to where the two men were standing. He was angry, and he did not mince matters.

"Look here," he began, "what did you mean by sending me to that barn when you knew that devil was there? That's the reason you wouldn't go yourselves. A pretty mess you got me into, didn't you?"

"Keep cool, young man," Abner advised. "Don't blame anyone, fer I didn't know that critter was here. But seems to me you was the best one to go, even if we had known."

"Why is that, I'd like to know?"

"'Cause that face of yours would stop anythin', even a bull."

"But it didn't, you fool," was the angry retort.

"No, sartinly not, fer ye never gave the critter a chance to look at it. If ye had, it would have busted itself runnin' the other way."

"Well, I'm done with this whole shooting match," Billy declared. "I've had enough to do me the rest of my life. I shall report you to your boss, for I'm d---- sure that was a put-up job, and nothing else."

"All right, me hearty, report all ye like, an' the sooner ye go the better. When I was a kid we ginerally handed out somethin' interestin' to the chap that told tales on others. He was put down as a baby an' the fellers didn't have much use fer him, let me tell ya that."

"Do you mean to say that I'm a baby?" Billy demanded.

"Well, not altogether, as fer as size an' tongue goes, at any rate. But, my, how ye'r parents must have loved ye to let ye grow up. If they could only have seen ye when ye was sprintin' in front of that bull, an' climbin' that tree, I'm sure they'd have been mighty proud of ye. But, hello, what in the deuce is all this?"

Angry though he was, Billy was compelled to turn in the direction Abner was looking. Coming across the marsh were the berry pickers, lined out in single file, like Indians on the march. Mrs. Andrews led, followed by the five children, with Belle and Jess bringing up in the rear. As they approached it was plainly evident that they were tired and greatly excited.

"Well, where in time did yez all drop from?" Abner demanded, as they at last rounded up in front of him.

"From that barn, of course," his wife impatiently replied. "Where else did you think we had come from?"

"Chased in there by that bull, eh? Well, it was mighty lucky ye had sich a place to flee to, let me tell ye that."

"Oh, daddy, it was awful!" Jess exclaimed. "We just got there in the nick of time when that terrible creature came after us."

As Jess uttered the word 'daddy' Billy gave a great start and looked keenly at Abner. His face grew suddenly pale, and his body trembled. He began to understand something now which he had never suspected. He hardly knew what to do.

"Did ye see the fight?" Abner asked. "We settled that critter, all right. But I'm mighty disapp'inted, Jess."

"What at, daddy?"

"That ye didn't try some of ye'r Social Service dope upon that brute."

"Social Service on a creature like that!"

"Sure. That's what it's fer, so ye've told me. To elevate things, lift 'em up, so to speak."

"But we couldn't do anything with an animal like that," Jess explained. "A stick is the only way you can handle such a beast."

"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.

"Mad! Not a bit of it. He grinned, an' went away. I bet ye'r boots he told his wife about it, an' they both had a good laff, the first they'd had, I reckon, fer a long time. Ye see, it did 'em good. That's what they needed to cheer 'em up. An' look here, Zeb, that's what people need to-day. If they'd laff more they'd feel a darned sight better, let me tell ye that. You'd feel better ye'rself, Zeb."

"I feel better, already, Abner," was the reply. "I'm jist holdin' me sides to keep from splittin', ye'r story was so funny."

"H'm, I guess if ye saw an' heard me when I was real funny ye'd be tied up in a knot in no time. If the spirits of me humorous ancestors got busy there'd be somethin' doin' worth while. An' they're really needed. It 'ud do people a world of good if they could be affected jist fer a day by them wonderful spirits."

"What are ye talkin' about, anyway, Abner? What could the spirits of ye'r ancestors do?"

"Do? Why, they could cure all kinds of diseases, an make people well an' strong."

"Fiddlesticks! Ye'r talkin' nonsense, Abner. How could they do sich things?"

"With laffin'-gas, that's how."

"Laffin'-gas?"

"Sure. Ye see, people don't laff enough. They go round with faces as long as Miss Julie Tomkins' tongue an' that's some length, skiddy-me-shins if it ain't. Most of the folks ye meet now-a-days look as if they was about dyin', or had lost their best friends. They need to be stimulated by a good laff once in a while. It 'ud help their digesters an' make life more pleasant."

"An' so ye think ye'r ancestors could make people laff, do ye?" Zeb enquired.

"Sartin! They'll work through me, an' I feel 'em gittin' busy jist now. They've given me the power, an' I'm ready to try it upon anybody. Anythin' wrong with you, Zeb? Tooth-ache, stummick-ache, heart-ache, boils, or any dang thing ye might mention. I'm a specialist on all."

"Good Lord, no!" Zeb exclaimed. "I know enough of ye'r spirit-movin' business, Abner. Try it on someone else, but I warn ye to leave me alone unless ye want an ache that all ye'r spirits combined couldn't cure."

"There now, don't git cranky an' sassy, Zeb. It was only fer ye'r welfare that I offered me services. But if ye won't accept 'em then I'll have to try it on others."

"An' de ye think people would come to be treated by you?"

"Why not? They want to be cured, don't they?"

"I s'pose they do, most of 'em at any rate. But they prefer to go to someone who knows what he's talkin' about."

"An' de ye think I don't know? De ye imagine I'm jist spoutin' to hear meself?"

"I wouldn't like to say that, Abner. But people wouldn't come to you. They'd laff at you an' call ye a fool."

"Let 'em call me whatever they like, Zeb. But they'd laff, an' that's jist what they need, as I told ye."

"H'm, I don't doubt about their laffin', providin' they'd come. They couldn't help splittin' their sides when they looked at ye."

"An' so ye think they wouldn't come, eh?"

"I'm certain they wouldn't."

"What'll ye bet?"

"Well, I wouldn't bet much with you, Abner, fer ye couldn't stand to lose anythin'."

"But I'll not lose. Now see here, I'll bet ye a fig of terbaccer; how'll that do?"

"I'll take ye, Abner."

"That's right, Zeb, fer I'm hard up fer a plug of terbaccer at this present minute. I'll borrow a little on account, if ye don't mind. Me pipe's gone out."

"How de ye plan to start?" Zeb asked, as he handed over a part of a fig of T. & B.

"I'm thinkin' of puttin' an ad. in _The Live Wire_," Abner replied, as he thoughtfully whittled off several liberal slices of tobacco. "Wish ye'd write it out fer me, Zeb. Ye'r good at sich things. Ye often write ads. about ye'r 'Society' pigs, don't ye?"

Zeb pulled a note-book and pencil from his vest pocket and told his companion to go ahead.

"Go ahead ye'rself," Abner ordered. "Jist say that I'm a specialist on diseases, an' will treat anyone wot comes to me next Saturday evenin' after supper. That's the grain an' you know how to grind it up."

After much thought and head scratching Zeb managed to write out an advertisement which he thought would do. Then he read it aloud:

DISEASE SPECIALIST

"Abner Andrews, of Ash Point, has a new remedy for all kinds of diseases. For the sum of twenty-five cents he will treat all who come to him. Office Hours, Saturday afternoon, from 6 o'clock to midnight."

"There, how does that suit ye?" Zeb asked, when he had finished reading.

"It's a master-piece, all right," Abner replied. "But haven't ye made the fee rather low?"

"Guess it's enough fer the first time. If ye find ye'r rushed ye kin put up the price."

"Sure. Anyway, I'll make up in numbers, all right. Better have that terbaccer ready, Zeb, for I'll want it to soothe me nerves when I git through with the gang."

"Seems to me ye'r partly paid already, Abner. Ye've pocketed the plug I jist let ye have."

"Well, I declare! Good job ye reminded me, Zeb," and Abner chuckled as he handed back his neighbor's property.

"I feel so sure of winnin' the bet that I thought I owned that plug. Now ye mention office hours in that ad. Where am I to git an office?"

"In ye'r own house, of course. That's the right place."

"H'm, I s'pose it is. But, ye see, I'm afraid Tildy an' the gals might object to havin' a crowd around. Let me have this place, will ye, Zeb?"

"My workshop!"

"Sure. Ye kin sweep it up a bit, an' it'll do fine. Ye won't be usin' it Saturday night, will ye?"

"Seems to me, Abner, ye'r gittin' me too much into this affair. I don't want people to think that I've lost me senses, even if you have. But ye'r welcome to the place fer all the good it'll do ye."

"Thank ye, Zeb. An' ye'll be sure an' send that ad. to _The Wire_, won't ye? I'm hard up fer cash jist now. I'll pay ye out of what I make. We'll be pardners, ye see."

Zeb looked at his neighbor in astonishment.

"Well, if you haven't enough gall to start a vinegar factory then I'll be jiggered," he exclaimed. "Pardners, eh? An' I'm to run the hull durned shootin'-match!"

"Don't worry, Zeb," Abner replied, as he rase to his feet. "I'll do all the shootin' that's necessary. But, there, I must git home to dinner. Then I'll have to look after me laffin'-gas. S'long, Zeb, an' don't fergit that ad. Ten cents a line, remember, an' twenty cents fer a header."

*CHAPTER XXVI*

*HEART TROUBLE*

When the advertisement appeared in _The Live Wire_ the next day it did not attract much attention. People who read it laughed, called Abner a fool, and then forgot all about it. Most likely it would have ended at that if the assistant editor of the paper had not seized upon it for a special editorial the following morning. He was anxious to hit back at the man who had produced such havoc in the office and given him so much extra work to do. Since the editor in chief had been unable to attend to his duties he had been called upon to do the work of two men, and this was all due to Abner Andrews, who was now posing as a specialist on all kinds of diseases.

The article was a scathing one under the caption of

"A FOOL AND HIS TRICKS."

It ridiculed the idea of a man like Abner Andrews setting himself up as a specialist, and warned people to beware of his wiles. The advertisement proved most conclusively that the man was either a fool or a deep-dyed villain. He was a fool to make such a pretence at healing all kinds of diseases. If not a fool, he was pretending to be one. The article then told of the serious charge which was hanging over the farmer, and this advertisement of his might be a ruse to make people think that he was not responsible for his actions, and thus act as a blind to his real villainous character. It closed with a second warning to all, and strongly suggested that the law should step in and prohibit the man from such actions.