CHAPTER III
BOB HAS GREAT NEWS
The new minister proved to be a gentle old man, evidently retired toa country charge and, in his way, quite as diffident as Mrs. Peabody.He was apparently charmed to be entertained on the porch, and sawnothing wrong with the neglected house and grounds. His near-sightedeyes, beaming with kindness and good-will, apparently took comfortand serenity for granted, and when Betty came out half an hour afterhis arrival, carrying a little tray of lemonade and cakes, he wasdeep in a recital of the first charge he had held upon his graduationfrom the theological seminary forty years before.
"There, that's over!" sighed Mrs. Peabody, quite like theexperienced hostess, when the minister's shabby black buggy was wellon its way out of the lane. "You're dreadful good, Betty, to help methrough with it. He won't come again for another six months--it takeshim that long to cover his parish, the farms are so far apart. Let mehelp you carry back the chairs."
Betty longed to suggest that they leave them out and use the porchas an outdoor sitting room, but she knew that such an idea would besure to meet with active opposition from the master of Bramble Farm.Long before he came in to supper that night the chairs had beenrestored to their proper places and Mrs. Peabody had resumed the graywrapper she habitually wore. Only the vase of flowers on the tablewas left to show that the afternoon had been slightly out of theordinary. That and the tray of glasses Betty had unfortunately lefton the draining board of the sink, intending to wash them with thesupper dishes.
"Whose glasses, and what's been in 'em?" demanded Mr. Peabodysuspiciously. "There's sugar in the bottom of one of 'em. You haven'tbeen making lemonade?" He turned to his wife accusingly.
Bob had not come home yet, and there was only Ethan, the hired man,Betty, and the Peabodys at the supper table.
"I made lemonade," said Betty quietly. "Those are my own glasses Ibought in Glenside, and the sugar and lemons were mine, too. So werethe cakes."
This silenced Peabody, for he knew that Betty's uncle sent her moneyfrom time to time, and though he fairly writhed to think that sheCould spend it so foolishly, he could not interfere.
As soon as it was dark the Peabody household retired, to savelighting lamps, and this evening was no exception. Betty learned froma stray question Mrs. Peabody put to Ethan, the hired man, that Bobwas not expected home until ten or eleven o'clock. There was nothought of sitting up for him, though Betty knew that in alllikelihood he would have had no supper, having no money and knowingno one in Trowbridge.
She was not sleepy, and having brushed and braided her hair for thenight, she threw her sweater over her dressing gown and sat down atthe window of her room, a tin of sardines and a box of crackers inher lap, determined to see to it that Bob had something to eat.
There was a full moon, and the road lay like a white ribbon betweenthe silver fields. Betty could follow the lane road out to where itmet the main highway, and now and then the sound of an automobilehorn came to her and she saw a car speed by on the main road. Sittingthere in the sweet stillness of the summer night, she thought of hermother, of the old friends in Pineville, and, of course, of heruncle. She wondered where he was that night, if he thought of her,and what would be his answer to her letter.
"Is that a horse?" said Betty to herself, breaking off her reverieabruptly. "Hark! that sounds like a trotting horse."
She was sure that she could make out the outlines of a horse andrider on the main road, but it was several minutes before she waspositive that it had turned into the lane. Yes, it must be Bob. Noone else would be out riding at that hour of the night. Betty glancedat her wrist-watch--half-past ten.
The rhythmic beat of the horse's hoofs sounded more plainly, andsoon Betty heard the sound of singing. Bob was moved to song in thatlovely moonlight, as his sorry mount was urged to unaccustomed spiritand a feeling of freedom.
"When in thy dreaming, moons like these shall shine again, And, daylight beaming, prove thy dreams are vain."
Bob's fresh, untrained voice sounded sweet and clear on the nightair, and to Betty's surprise, tears came unbidden into her eyes. Shewas not given to analysis.
"Moonlight always makes me want to cry," she murmured, dashing thedrops from her eyes. "I hope Bob will look up and know that I'm atthe window. I don't dare call to him."
But Bob, who had stopped singing while still some distance from thehouse, clattered straight to the barn.
Betty hurried over to her lamp, lit it, and set it on the window sill.
"He'll see it from the barn," she argued wisely, "and know that I amnot asleep."
Her reasoning proved correct, for in a few minutes a well-knownwhistle sounded below her window. She blew out the light and leanedout.
"Oh, Betty!" Bob's tone was one of repressed excitement. "I've gotsomething great to tell you."
"Have you had any supper?" demanded Betty, more concerned with thatquestion than with any news. "I've something for you, if you'rehungry."
"Hungry? Gee, I'm starved!" was the response. "I didn't dare stop toask for a meal anywhere, because I knew I'd be late getting home asit was. The horse was never cut out for a saddle horse; I'm so stiffI don't believe I can move to-morrow. Where's the eats?"
"Here. I'll let it down in a moment," answered Betty, tying a stringto the parcel. "Sorry it isn't more, Bob, but the larder's gettinglow again."
Bob untied the can and cracker box she lowered to him, and Bettypulled in the string to be preserved for future use.
"Thanks, awfully," said Bob. "You're a brick, Betty. And, say, whatdo you think I heard over in Trowbridge?"
"Don't talk so loud!" cautioned Betty. "What, Bob?"
"Why, the poorhouse farm is this side of the town," said Bob,munching a cracker with liveliest manifestations of appreciation."Coming back to-night--that's what made me late--Jim Turner, who'spoormaster now, called me in. Said he had something to tell me. Itseems there was a queer old duffer spent one night there a whileback--Jim thought it must have been a month ago. He has a secondhandbookshop in Washington, and he came to the poorhouse to look at someold books they have there--thought they might be valuable. Theyopened all the records to him, and Jim says he was quite interestedwhen he came to my mother's name. Asked a lot of questions about herand wanted to see me. Jim said he was as queer as could be, and allthey could get out of him was that maybe he could tell me somethingto interest me. He wouldn't give any of the poorhouse authorities aninkling of what he knew, and insisted that he'd have to see me first."
"Where is he?" demanded Betty energetically. "I hope you didn't comeaway without seeing him, Bob. What's his name? How does he look?"
"His name," said Bob slowly, "is Lockwood Hale. And he went back toWashington the next day."
Betty's air castles tumbled with a sickening slump.
"Bob Henderson!" she cried, remembering, however, to keep her voicelow. "The idea! Do you mean to tell me they let that man go withoutnotifying you? Why I never heard of anything so mean!"
"Oh, I'm not important," explained Bob, quite without bitterness."Poorhouse heads don't put themselves out much for those under'em--though Jim Turner's always treated me fair enough. But Lockwood Halehad to go back to Washington the next day, Betty. There honestlywasn't time to send for me."
"Perhaps they gave him your address," said Betty hopefully. "But,oh, Bob, you say he was there a month ago?"
Bob nodded unhappily.
"He hasn't my address," he admitted. "Jim says he meant to give itto him, but the old fellow left suddenly without saying a word to anyone. Jim thought maybe he had the name in mind and would writeanyway. I'd get it, you know, if it went to the poorhouse. But Iguess Hale's memory is like a ragbag--stuffed with odds and ends thathe can't get hold of when he wants 'em. No, Betty, I guess the onlything for me to do is to go to Washington."
"Well, if you don't go to bed, young man, I'll come down there andhelp you along," an angry whisper came from the little window upunder the roof. "You've been babbling and babbling stea
dy for half anhour," grumbled the annoyed Ethan. "How do you expect me to get anysleep with that racket going on? Come on up to bed before the old manwakes up."
Thankful that it was Ethan instead of Mr. Peabody, Bob gathered uphis sardines and the remnants of the crackers and tiptoed up theattic stairs to the room he shared with the hired man.
Betty hastily slipped into bed, and though Bob's news had excitedher, she was tired enough to fall asleep readily.
In the morning she watched her chance to speak to Bob alone, andwhen she heard him grinding a sickle in the toolhouse ran out to tellhim something.
"You must let me lend you some money, Bob," she said earnestly. "Iknow you haven't enough to go to Washington on. I've been saving,thanks to your advice, and I have more than I need. Besides, I couldborrow from the Guerins or the Benders. You will take some, won't you?"
"I have enough, really I have," insisted Bob. "You know Dr. Guerinsold every one of those charms I carved, and I haven't spent a cent.It's all buried in a little canvas bag under the rose bush, just likea movie. I hate to take money from a girl, Betty."
"Don't be silly!" Betty stamped her foot angrily. "It's only a loan,Bob. And you'd feel cheap, wouldn't you, if you had to come backafter you ran away because you didn't have enough money? You takethis, and you can pay it back as soon as you please after you haveseen the old bookstore man."
She pushed a tight little wad of money into the boy's perspiring hand.
"All right," he capitulated. "I'll borrow it. I would like to know Ihad enough. Sure I'm not crippling you, Betsey?"
Betty shook her head, smiling.
"I've enough to buy a ticket to Washington," she assured him."That's all we need, isn't it, Bob? Oh, how I wish Uncle Dick wouldsend for me!"