"Who came with him?" continued Barton.
"You'd better ask marm. She attended to the business. It was a youngman."
"Where is she?"
"Gone to the village to buy some sassiges for dinner."
"Good!" exclaimed Barton, in a tone of satisfaction. "I'll stay athome to dinner to-day. Did the man pay your mother any money?"
"I s'pose so, or she wouldn't be buyin' sassiges. Old Schickmanwon't trust us any more."
"The money should have been paid to me. I'll see about it when yourmarm comes back from the store."
"You'd spend it all for drink, dad," said Abner.
"How dare you speak so to your father, you ungrateful young dog!"
He essayed to reach Abner to strike him, but his dutiful son dodgedeasily, and his father, being unsteady on his legs, fell on theground.
Abner laughed, but Herbert was too much shocked to share in hisenjoyment.
"Come here and help me up, you Abner!" said his father.
"Not much, dad! If you hadn't tried to lick me you wouldn't havefallen!"
"Let me help you, sir!" said Herbert, conquering his instinctivedisgust and approaching the fallen man.
"You're a gentleman!" murmured Barton, as he took the little boy'sproffered hand and, after considerable ado, raised himself to astanding position. "You're a gentleman; I wish I had a boy likeyou."
Herbert could not join in the wish. He felt that a father like JoelBarton would be a great misfortune.
But just then Mrs. Barton entered the yard, marching with longstrides like a man's.
"Here's marm!" announced Abner.
Barton steadied himself as he turned to look at his wife.
"I want to see you, Mrs. B.," he said. "When are you goin' to havedinner?"
"Never, if I depended on you to supply the vittles!" she answered,bluntly.
"Don't speak so before a stranger," said Barton, with a hiccough."You hurt my feelin's."
"Your feelin's are tough, and so are mine by this time."
"What have you got there?"
"Some sassiges. Ef you want your share, you'll have to be on time. Ishan't save you any."
"How much money did the man pay you, Mrs. B.?"
"That's my business!" retorted his wife, shortly.
"Mrs. B.," said her husband, straightening up, "I want you tounderstand that I'm the master of this house, and it's my right totake care of the money. You'll oblige me by handin' it over."
"I'll do nothing of the sort, Joel Barton! You'd only spend it fordrink."
"Would you grudge me the few pennies I spend for drink? My systemrequires it. That's what the doctor says."
"Then you must find the money for it yourself. My system requiressomething to eat, and, ef I take a boarder, he's got to havesomething to eat, too."
"Mrs. B., I didn't think your heart was so hard," said Barton, in amaudlin tone.
"Look here, Joel Barton; you might as well stop such foolish talk.It won't do no good. I can't stay here all day. I must go and begettin' dinner."
Had Barton succeeded in raising money from his wife, he wouldprobably have returned at once to the tavern, and his place wouldhave been vacant at the dinner table. Failing in this, he lay backand fell asleep, and was not roused till dinner time.
Mrs. Barton was a fair cook, and Herbert ate with an unexpectedrelish. It is needless to say that Abner also did full justice tothe meal.
"I say, Sam," he said, "I'm glad you've come."
Herbert was hardly prepared to agree with him.
"Now we'll have to live better," Abner explained. "Mam and Igen'ally have to skirmish round for vittles. We don't often getmeat."
This frank confession rather alarmed Herbert. He was not overself-indulgent, but he had never lacked for nourishing food, and theprospect of an uncertain supply was not encouraging.
When dinner was over--there was no second course--they left thetable. Joel Barton made a fresh attempt to extort a small sum fromhis wife, but was met with an inflexible refusal. Mrs. Barton proveddeaf alike to entreaties and threats. She was a strong, resolutewoman, and not one to be intimidated.
When Barton left the house, his look of disappointment had givenplace to one of cunning.
"Come here, Abner!" he said, beckoning to his son and heir.
"What for?"
"Never you mind."
"But I do mind. Do you want to catch hold of me?"
"No; it's only a little matter of business. It's for your good."
Abner accompanied his father as far as the fence.
"Now, what do you want?" he asked, with his eyes warily fixed on hisfather.
"I want you to find out where your marm keeps that money," saidBarton, in a coaxing tone.
"What for?"
"You're to take it and bring it to me."
"And go without eatin'?"
"I'll buy the provisions myself. I'm the head of the family."
"Do you want me to hook money from marm?"
"'Twon't be hookin'. The money by right belongs to me. Ain't I thehead of the family?"
"I dunno about that. Marm's the boss, and always has been," chuckledAbner.
Joel frowned, but immediately tried another attack.
"Of course I'll give you some of it, Abner," he resumed. "If there'sfive dollars I'll give you a quarter."
"I'll see about it, dad."
"Get it for me before evenin', if you can. I shall need it then."
Abner returned to Herbert, and frankly related the conversation thathad taken place between himself and his father.
Herbert was shocked. He did not know what to think of the singularfamily he had got into.
"You won't do it, will you?" he asked, startled.
"No, I won't. I want a quarter bad enough, but I'd rather mam wouldkeep the money. She'll spend it for vittles, and dad would spend itfor drink. Wouldn't you like to go a-fishin'? It's fine weather, andwe'll have fun."
Herbert assented, not knowing how to dispose of his time. Abnerturned the conversation again on New York. What Herbert had alreadytold him had powerfully impressed his imagination.
"Haven't you got any money?" he asked.
"No," answered Herbert. "Mr. Ford took away all I had, except this."
He drew from his pocket a nickel.
"That won't do no good," said Abner, disappointed. "Stop a minute,though," he added, after a minute's pause. "Wouldn't your folks sendyou some money, if you should write to them?"
"Yes," answered Herbert, his face brightening. "Why didn't I thinkof that before? If I could get me paper and ink I'd write at once topapa. I know he'd either send the money or come for me."
"We'll go to the post office," said Abner. "There you can buy somepaper and a postage stamp. You've got just money enough. There's apen and ink there."
"Let us go at once," said Herbert, eagerly.
The boys took their way to the village. The letter was written andposted, and a burden was lifted from the boy's mind. He felt thathis father would seek him out at once, and he could bear his presentposition for a short time. But, alas! for poor Herbert--the letternever came into his father's hands. Why, the reader will learn inthe next chapter.
CHAPTER XXXI -- THE HOUSEKEEPER'S CRIME
It is not to be supposed that during this time the family of themissing boy were idle. The mysterious disappearance of his only sonfilled his father's heart with anguish, and he took immediate stepsto penetrate the mystery. Not only was the fullest information givento the police, but an experienced detective connected with a privateagency was detailed for the search. The matter also got into thepapers, and Herbert, in his Western home, little suspected that hisname had already become a household word in thousands of families.
Days passed, and in spite of the efforts that were being made todiscover him, no clew had been obtained by Herbert's friends, eitheras to his whereabouts, or as to the identity of the party or partieshat had abducted him. It is needless to say that Grant heartilysympathized with the
afflicted father, and was sad on his ownaccount, for he had become warmly attached to the little boy whoseinstant companion he had been in his hours of leisure.
The only one in the house who took the matter coolly was Mrs.Estabrook, the housekeeper. She even ventured to suggest thatHerbert had run away.
"What do you mean, Mrs. Estabrook?" exclaimed the father,impatiently. "You ought to know my poor boy better than that!"
"Boys are a worrisome set," returned the housekeeper, composedly."Only last week I read in the Herald about two boys who ran awayfrom good homes and went out to kill Indians."
"Herbert was not that kind of a boy," said Grant. "He had nofondness for adventure."
"I have known Herbert longer than you, young man," retorted thehousekeeper, with a sneer.
"It is very clear that you didn't know him as well," said Mr.Reynolds.
Mrs. Estabrook sniffed, but said nothing. Without expressly sayingso, it was evident that she dissented from Mr. Reynolds' opinion.
The broker's loss unfitted him for work, and he left the details ofoffice work to his subordinates, while nearly all his time was spentin interviews with the police authorities or in following up faintclews. His loss seemed to strengthen the intimacy and attachmentbetween him and Grant, in whom he confided without reserve. When athome in the evening he talked over with Grant, whom he found asympathetic listener, the traits of the stolen boy, and brought upreminiscences, trifling, perhaps, but touching, under thecircumstances. To Mrs. Estabrook he seldom spoke of his son. Hercold and unsympathetic temperament repelled him. She had neverpreferred to feel any attachment for Herbert, and the boy, quick toread her want of feeling, never cared to be with her.
One morning, after Mr. Reynolds and Grant had gone out, Mrs.Estabrook, on going to the hall, saw a letter on the table, whichhad been left by the postman. As curiosity was by no means lackingin the housekeeper's composition, she took it up, and peered at theaddress through her glasses.
It was directed to Mr. Reynolds in a round, schoolboy hand.
Mrs. Estabrook's heart gave a sudden jump of excitement.
"It's Herbert's handwriting," she said to herself.
She examined the postmark, and found that it was mailed at Scipio,Illinois.
She held the letter in her hand and considered what she should do.Should the letter come into the hands of Mr. Reynolds, the resultwould doubtless be that the boy would be recovered, and would revealthe name of his abductor. This would subject her favorite, WillisFord, to arrest, and probably imprisonment.
"He should have been more careful, and not allowed the boy towrite," said the housekeeper to herself. "Willis must have been veryimprudent. If I only knew what was in the letter!"
The housekeeper's curiosity became so ungovernable that she decidedto open it. By steaming it, she could do it, and if it seemedexpedient, paste it together again. She had little compunction inthe matter. In a few minutes she was able to withdraw the letterfrom the envelope and read its contents.
This is what Herbert wrote:
"Scipio, ILL.
"DEAR PAPA: I know you must have been very anxious about me. I wouldhave written you before, but I have had no chance. Willis Ford foundme playing in the street, and got me to go with him by saying youhad sent for me. I thought it strange you should have sent Mr. Ford,but I didn't like to refuse, for fear it was true. We went on boarda steamer in the harbor, and Mr. Ford took me in a stateroom. Thenhe put a handkerchief to my face, and I became sleepy. When I wakedup, we were at sea. I don't know where I went, but when we came toland, some time the next day, we got into the cars and traveled fora couple of days. I begged Mr. Ford to take me home, but it made himcross. I think he hates you and Grant, and I think he took me awayto spite you. I am sure he is a very wicked man.
"Finally we came to this place. It is a small place in Illinois. Thepeople who live here are Mr. and Mrs. Barton and their son Abner.Mr. Joel Barton is a drunkard. He gets drunk whenever he has moneyto buy whisky. Mrs. Barton is a hard-working woman, and she doesabout all the work that is done. Mr. Ford paid her some money inadvance. She is a tall woman, and her voice sounds like a man's. Shedoes not ill treat me, but I wish I were at home. Abner is a big,rough boy, a good deal older and larger than I am, but he is kind tome and he wants to come to New York. He says he will run away andtake me with him, if we can get enough money to pay our fares. Idon't think we could walk it so far. Abner might, for he is a gooddeal stronger than I am, but I know I should get very tired.
"Now, dear papa, if you will send me money enough to pay forrailroad tickets, Abner and I will start just as soon as we get it.I don't know as he ought to run away from home, but he says hisfather and mother don't care for him, and I don't believe they do.His father doesn't care for anything but whisky, and his mother isscolding him all the time. I don't think she would do that if shecared much for him, do you?
"I have filled the paper, and must stop. Be sure to send the moneyto your loving son,
"HERBERT REYNOLDS."
"How easy you write!" said Abner, in wonder, as he saw Herbert'sletter growing long before his eyes. "It would take me a week towrite as long a letter as that, and then I couldn't do it."
"I can't write so easy generally," said the little boy, "but, yousee, I have a good deal to write about."
"Then there's another thing," said Abner. "I shouldn't know how tospell so many words. You must be an awful good scholar."
"I always liked to study," said Herbert. "Don't you like to read andstudy?"
"No; I'd rather play ball or go fishin', wouldn't you?"
"I like to play part of the time, but I wouldn't like to grow upignorant."
"I expect I'll always be a know-nothin', but I reckon I know as muchas dad. The old man's awful ignorant. He don't care for nothin' butwhisky."
"And I hope you won't be like him in that, Abner."
"No, I won't. I wouldn't like to have the boys flingin' stones atme, as they did at dad once when he was tight. I licked a couple of'em."
Mrs. Estabrook read Herbert's letter with intense interest. She sawthat the little boy's testimony would seriously incriminate WillisFord, if he were recovered, as he would be if this letter came intohis father's hands.
"There's only one thing to do," the housekeeper reflected, closingher thin lips tightly.
She lit the gas jet in her chamber, and, without a trace ofcompunction, held the letter in the flame until it was thoroughlyconsumed.
CHAPTER XXXII -- HOPE DEFERRED
Day after day Herbert and Abner went to the post office and inquiredfor letters, but alas! none came. Poor Herbert was in despair. Hethought his father would have instantly sent the money, or come outhimself to take him home. Was it possible his father had forgottenhim, or was indifferent to his absence? He could not believe it, butwhat was he to think?
"I reckon your father didn't get the letter," suggested Abner.
Herbert hailed this suggestion with relief.
"Or, maybe, marm has told the postmaster to give her any lettersthat come."
This suggestion, too, seemed not improbable.
"What can we do?" asked Herbert, helplessly. "I reckon we'd betterrun away."
"Without money?"
"We'll hire out to somebody for a week or two and write from wherewe are."
"I'm afraid I couldn't do much work," said the little boy.
"Then I'll work for both," said Abner, stoutly. "I've got tired ofstayin' at home, anyway."
"I'll do whatever you say," said Herbert, feeling that any changewould be for the better.
"I'll tell you when I'm ready," said Abner. "We'll start some timewhen marm's gone to the village."
There was another reason for Herbert's being dissatisfied with hisnew home. A month had passed--the full time for which Willis Fordhad paid the boy's board--and there were no indications that anymore was to be paid. During the the first week the fare had beentolerable, though Mrs. Barton was not a skillful cook; but now therewas no money left, and t
he family fell back upon what their limitedresources could supply. Mush and milk now constituted theirprincipal diet. It is well enough occasionally, but, when furnishedat every meal, both Herbert and Abner became tired of it.
"Haven't you got anything else for dinner, marm?" asked Abner,discontentedly.
"No, I haven't," answered the mother, snappishly.
"You used to have sassiges and bacon."
"That was when I had money to buy 'em."
"Where's all that money gone the man left with him?" indicatingHerbert.
"It's spent, and I wish Willis Ford would send along some moremighty quick. He needn't expect me to take a free boarder."
She looked severely at Herbert, as if he were in fault. Certainlythe poor boy had no desire to live on the liberality of Mrs. Barton.
"Maybe he's sent you some money in a letter," suggested Abner.
"Well, I never thought of that. It's a bright idee, ef it did comefrom you, Abner Barton. Jest go up to the postoffice after dinner,and ask if there's any letter for me. Ef there is, mind you, don'topen it."
"All right, marm."
"Come along, bub," said Abner.
This was the name he gave to Herbert, whom he liked in his own roughway.
"I don't think," said Herbert, as they walked along, "that yourmother can have got any letter written by my father. If she had, shewould not be out of money."