Books: Helping Himself
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Horatio Alger >> Helping Himself
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"Like a top. How was it with you, bub?"
"I didn't wake up all night," answered the little boy.
"I wonder what dad and marm thought when they found us gone?" said
Abner, with a grin.
"Won't they feel bad?"
"Not much," said Abner. "They ain't that kind. I reckon it won't
spoil their appetite."
When they descended from the haymow, the farmer was milking his
cows.
"Well, youngsters," he said, "so you're up and dressed?"
"Yes, sir."
"And ready for breakfast, I'll be bound."
"I reckon I should feel better for eatin'," said Abner, promptly.
"Jest you wait till I get through milkin', and we'll see what Mrs.
Wiggins has got for us."
Abner heard these words with joy, for he was always possessed of a
good appetite.
"I say, bub, I'm glad I run away," he remarked, aside, to Herbert.
"We live enough sight better than we did at home."
Leaving the boys to pursue their journey, we will return to the
bereaved parents, and inquire how they bore their loss.
When Mrs. Barton rose to commence the labors of the day, she found
that no wood was on hand for the kitchen fire.
"Abner's gittin' lazier and lazier," she soliloquized. "I'll soon
have him up."
She went to the foot of the stairs, and called "Abner!" in a voice
by no means low or gentle.
There was no answer.
"That boy would sleep if there was an earthquake," she muttered.
"Come down here and split some wood, you lazy boy!" she cried, still
louder.
Again no answer.
"He hears, fast enough, but he don't want to work. I'll soon have
him down."
She ascended the stairs, two steps at a time, and opened the door of
her son's room.
If Abner had been in bed his mother would have pulled him out, for
her arm was vigorous, but the bed was empty.
"Well, I vum!" she ejaculated, in surprise. "Ef that boy isn't up
already. That's a new wrinkle. And the little boy gone, too. What
can it mean?"
It occurred to Mrs. Barton that Abner and Herbert might have got up
early to go fishing, though she had never known him to make so early
a start before.
"I reckon breakfast'll bring 'em round," she said to herself. "I
reckon I shall have to split the wood myself."
In half an hour breakfast was ready. It was of a very simple
character, for the family resources were limited. Mr. Barton came
downstairs, and looked discontentedly at the repast provided.
"This is a pretty mean breakfast, Mrs. B.," he remarked. "Where's
your meat and taters?"
"There's plenty of 'em in the market," answered Mrs. Barton.
"Then, why didn't you buy some?"
"You ought to know, Joel Barton. You give me the money, and I'll see
that you have a good breakfast."
"Where's all the money that man Ford gave you?"
"Where is it? It's eaten up, Mr. Barton, and you did your share. Ef
you'd had your way, you'd have spent some of the money for drink."
"Why don't he send you some more, then?"
"Ef you see him anywheres, you'd better ask him. It's your business
to provide me with money; you can't expect one boy's board to
support the whole family."
"It's strange where them boys are gone," said Joel, desirous of
changing the subject. "Like as not, they hid under the bed, and
fooled you."
"Ef they did, I'll rout 'em out," said Mrs. Barton, who thought the
supposition not improbable.
Once more she ascended the stairs and made an irruption into the
boy's chamber. She lifted the quilt, and peered under the bed. But
there were no boys there. Looking about the room, however, she
discovered something else. On the mantelpiece was a scrap of paper,
which appeared to be so placed as to invite attention.
"What's that?" said Mrs. Barton to herself.
A moment later she was descending the staircase more rapidly than
she had gone up just before.
"Look at that," she exclaimed, holding out a scrap of paper to Joel
Barton.
"I don't see nothin' but a bit of paper," said her husband.
"Don't be a fool! Read what it is."
"Read it aloud. I ain't got my specks."
"The boys have run away. Abner writ it. Listen to this."
Rudely written on the paper, for Abner was by no means a skillful
penman, were these words:
"Bub and I have runned away. You needn't worry. I reckon we can get
along. We're going to make our fortunes. When we're rich, we'll come
back. ABNER."
"What do you think of that, Joel Barton?" demanded his wife.
Joel shrugged his shoulders.
"I shan't worry much," he said. "They'll be back by to-morrer,
likely."
"Then you'll have to split some wood to-day, Joel. You can't expect
a delicate woman like me to do such rough work."
"You're stronger'n I be, Mrs. B."
"Perhaps you'll find I am if you don't go to work."
"I'll do it this afternoon."
"All right. Then we'll have dinner in the even-in'. No wood, no
dinner."
"Seems to me you're rather hard on me, Mrs. B. I don't feel well."
"Nor you won't till you give up drinkin'."
Much against his will, Mr. Barton felt compelled by the stress of
circumstances to do the work expected of him. It made him feel angry
with Abner, whom he did not miss for any other reason.
"I'll break that boy's neck when he comes back," he muttered. "It's
a shame to leave all this work for his poor, old dad."
To-morrow came, but the boys did not. A week slipped away, and still
they were missing. Mrs. Barton was not an affectionate mother, but
it did seem lonesome without Abner. As for Herbert, she did not care
for his absence. If Willis Ford did not continue to pay his board,
she felt that she would rather have him away.
On the sixth day after the departure of the boys there came a
surprise for Mrs. Barton.
As she was at work in the kitchen, she heard a loud knock at the
door.
"Can it be Abner?" she thought. "He wouldn't knock."
She went to the door, however, feeling rather curious as to who
could be her visitor, and on opening it started in surprise to see
Willis Ford.
"Mr. Ford!" she ejaculated.
"I thought I would make you a call," answered Ford. "How's the boy
getting along?"
"If you mean the boy you left here," she answered, composedly, "he's
run away, and took my boy with him."
"Run away!" ejaculated Ford, in dismay.
"Yes; he made tracks about a week ago. He and my Abner have gone off
to make their fortunes."
"Why didn't you take better care of him, woman?" exclaimed Ford,
angrily. "It's your fault, his running away!"
"Look here, Ford," retorted Mrs. Barton; "don't you sass me, for I
won't stand it. Ef it hadn't been for you, Abner would be at home
now."
"I didn't mean to offend you, my dear Mrs. Barton," said Ford,
seeing that he had made a false step. "Tell me all you can, and I'll
see if I can't get the boys back."
"Now you're talkin'," said Mrs. Barton, smoothing her ruffled
plumage. "Come into the house, and I'll tell you all I know."
CHAPTER XXXV
HERBERT BREAKS DOWN
"I don't think I can walk any further, Abner. I feel sick," faltered
Herbert.
Abner, who had been walking briskly, turned round to look at his
young companion. Herbert was looking very pale, and had to drag one
foot after the other. Day after day he had tried to keep up with
Abner, but his strength was far inferior to that of the other boy,
and he had finally broken down.
"You do look sick, bub," said Abner, struck by Herbert's pallid
look. "Was I walking too fast for you?"
"I feel very weak," said Herbert. "Would you mind stopping a little
while? I should like to lie under a tree and rest."
"All right, bub. There's a nice tree." "Don't you feel tired,
Abner?"
"No; I feel as strong as hearty as a horse."
"You are bigger than I am. I guess that is the reason."
Abner was a rough boy, but he showed unusual gentleness and
consideration for the little boy, whose weakness appealed to his
better nature. He picked out a nice, shady place for Herbert to
recline upon, and, taking off his coat, laid it down for a pillow on
which his young companion might rest his head.
"There, bub; I reckon you'll feel better soon," he said.
"I hope so, Abner. I wish I was as strong as you are."
"So do I. I reckon I was born tough. I was brought up different from
you."
"I wish I were at home," sighed Herbert. "Is it a long way from
here?"
"I reckon it is, but I don't know," answered Abner, whose
geographical notions were decidedly hazy.
An hour passed, and still Herbert lay almost motionless, as if rest
were a luxury, with his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the clouds that
could be seen through the branches floating lazily above.
"Don't you feel any better, bub?" asked Abner.
"I feel better while I am lying here, Abner."
"Don't you feel strong enough to walk a little further?"
"Must I?" asked Herbert, sighing. "It is so nice to lie here."
"I am afraid we shall never get to New York if we don't keep goin'."
"I'll try," said Herbert, and he rose to his feet, but he only
staggered and became very white.
"I am afraid I need to rest a little more," he said.
"All right, bub. Take your time."
More critically Abner surveyed his young companion. He was not used
to sickness or weakness, but there was something in the little boy's
face that startled him.
"I don't think you're fit to walk any further today," he said. "I
wish we had some good place to stay."
At this moment a carriage was seen approaching. It was driven by a
lady of middle age, with a benevolent face. Her attention was drawn
to the two boys, and especially to Herbert. Her experienced eyes at
once saw that he was sick.
She halted her horse.
"What is the matter with your brother?" she said to Abner.
"I reckon he's tuckered out," said Abner, tacitly admitting the
relationship. "We've been travelin' for several days. He ain't so
tough as I am."
"He looks as if he were going to be sick. Have you any friends near
here?"
"No, ma'am. The nighest is over a hundred miles off."
The lady reflected a moment. Then she said: "I think you had better
come to my house. My brother is a doctor. He will look at your
little brother and see what can be done for him."
"I should like it very much," said Abner, "but we haven't got any
money to pay for doctors and sich."
"I shan't present any bill, nor will my brother," said the lady,
smiling. "Do you think you can help him into the carriage?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am."
Abner helped Herbert into the carriage, and then, by invitation, got
in himself.
"May I drive?" he asked, eagerly.
"Yes, if you like."
The kind lady supported with her arm Herbert's drooping head, and so
they drove on for a mile, when she indicated that they were to stop
in front of a large, substantial, square house, built after the New
England style.
Herbert was taken out, and, after Abner helped him upstairs, into a
large, square chamber, with four windows.
"What is his name?" asked the lady.
"Herbert."
"And yours?"
"Abner."
"He had better lie down on the bed, and, as soon as my brother
comes, I will send him up."
Herbert breathed a sigh of satisfaction, as he reclined on the
comfortable bed, which was more like the one he slept in at home
than the rude, straw bed which he had used when boarding with Mr.
and Mrs. Barton.
Half an hour passed, and the doctor came into the room, and felt
Herbert's pulse.
"The boy is tired out," he said. "That is all. His strength has been
exhausted by too severe physical effort."
"What shall we do to bring him round?" asked his sister.
"Rest and nourishing food are all that is required."
"Shall we keep him here? Have you any objection?"
"I should object to letting him go in his present condition. He will
be a care to you, Emily."
"I shall not mind that. We shall have to keep the other boy, too."
"Certainly. There's room enough for both."
When Abner was told that for a week to come they were to stay in Dr.
Stone's comfortable house, his face indicated his satisfaction.
"Ef you've got any chores to do, ma'am," he said, "I'll do 'em. I'm
strong, and not afraid to work."
"Then I will make you very useful," said Miss Stone, smiling.
The next day, as she was sitting in Herbert's chamber, she said:
"Herbert, you don't look at all like your brother."
"Do you mean Abner, Miss Stone?" Herbert asked.
"Yes; have you any other brother?"
"Abner is not my brother at all."
"How, then, do you happen to be traveling together?"
"Because we've both run away."
"I am sorry to hear that. I don't approve of boys running away.
Where do you live?"
"In New York."
"In New York!" repeated Miss Stone, much surprised. "Surely, you
have not walked from there?"
"No, Miss Stone; I was stolen from my home in New York about a month
ago, and left at Abner's house. It was a poor cabin, and very
different from anything I was accustomed to. I did not like Mr. and
Mrs. Barton; but Abner was always kind to me."
"Is your father living?" asked Miss Stone, who had become
interested.
"Yes; he is a broker."
"And no doubt you have a nice home?"
"Yes, very nice. It is a brownstone house uptown. I wonder whether I
shall ever see it again?"
"Surely you will. I am surprised that you have not written to tell
your father where you are. He must be feeling very anxious about
you."
"I did write, asking him to send me money to come home. Abner was
going with me. But no answer came to my letter."
"That is strange. Your father can't have received the letter."
"So I think, Miss Stone; but I directed it all right."
"Do you think any one would intercept it?"
"Mrs. Estabrook might," said Herbert, after a pause for
consideration.
"Who is she?"
"The housekeeper."
"What makes you think so? Didn't she like you?"
"No; besides, it was her nephew who carried me off."
Miss Stone asked further questions, and Herbert told her all the
particulars with which the reader is already acquainted. When he had
finished, she said: "My advice is, that you write to your boy
friend, Grant Thornton, or tell me what to write, and I will write
to him. His letters will not be likely to be tampered with."
"I think that will be a good idea," said Herbert; "Grant will tell
papa, and then he'll send for me."
Miss Stone brought her desk to the bedside, and wrote a letter to
Grant at Herbert's dictation. This letter she sent to the village
postoffice immediately by Abner.
CHAPTER XXXVI
GRANT RECEIVES A LETTER
Mr. Reynolds had spared no expense in his efforts to obtain tidings
of his lost boy. None of his agents, however, had succeeded in
gaining the smallest clew to Herbert's whereabouts. Through the
public press the story had been widely disseminated, and in
consequence the broker began to receive letters from various points,
from persons professing to have seen such a boy as the one
described. One of these letters came from Augusta, Ga., and
impressed Mr. Reynolds to such an extent that he decided to go there
in person, and see for himself the boy of whom his correspondent
wrote.
The day after he started Grant, on approaching the house at the
close of business, fell in with the postman, just ascending the
steps.
"Have you got a letter for me?" he asked.
"I have a letter for Grant Thornton," was the reply.
"That is my name," said Grant.
He took the letter, supposing it to be from home. He was surprised
to find that it had a Western postmark. He was more puzzled by the
feminine handwriting.
"Have you heard anything from the little boy?" asked the postman,
for Mr. Reynolds' loss was well known.
Grant shook his head.
"Nothing definite," he said. "Mr. Reynolds has gone to Georgia to
follow up a clew."
"Two weeks since," said the postman, "I left a letter here dated at
Scipio, I11. It was in a boy's handwriting. I thought it might be
from the lost boy."
"A letter from Scipio, in a boy's handwriting!" repeated Grant,
surprised. "Mr. Reynolds has shown me all his letters. He has
received none from there."
"I can't understand it. I left it here, I am positive of that."
"At what time in the day?" asked Grant, quickly.
"About eleven o'clock in the forenoon."
"Can you tell to whom you gave it?"
"To the servant."
"It is very strange," said Grant, thoughtfully. "And it was in a
boy's handwriting?"
"Yes; the address was in a round, schoolboy hand. The servant
couldn't have lost it, could she?"
"No; Sarah is very careful."
"Well, I must be going."
By this time Grant had opened the letter. He had glanced rapidly at
the signature, and his face betrayed excitement.
"This is from Herbert," he said. "You may listen, if you like."
He rapidly read the letter, which in part was as follows:
"DEAR GRANT: I write to you, or rather I have asked Miss Stone, who
is taking care of me, to do so, because I wrote to papa two weeks
since, and I am afraid he did not get the letter, for I have had no
answer. I wrote from the town of Scipio, in Illinois--
"Just what I said," interrupted the postman.
"I wrote that Mr. Ford had carried me away and brought me out West,
where he put me to board in a poor family, where I had scarcely
enough to eat. Mr. Barton had one son, Abner, who treated me well,
and agreed to run away with me to New York, if we could get money
from papa. But we waited and waited, and no letter came. So at last
we decided to run away at any rate, for I was afraid Mr. Ford would
come back and take me somewhere else. I can't tell you much about
the journey, except that we walked most of the way, and we got very
tired--or, at least, I did, for I am not so strong as Abner--till I
broke down. I am stopping now at the house of Dr. Stone, who is very
kind, and so is his sister, who is writing this letter for me. Will
you show papa this letter, and ask him to send for me, if he cannot
come himself? I do so long to be at home once more. I hope he will
come before Willis Ford finds me out. I think he has a spite against
papa, and that is why he stole me away. Your affectionate friend,
"HERBERT REYNOLDS."
"Please say nothing about this," said Grant to the postman. "I don't
want it known that this letter has come."
"What will you do?"
"I shall start for the West myself to-night."
"Mrs. Estabrook intercepted that letter," said Grant to himself. "I
am sure of it."
CHAPTER XXXVII
WILLIS FORD FINDS THE RUNAWAYS
"I shall be absent for a few days, Mrs. Estabrook," said Grant to
the housekeeper, as he entered the house.
"Where are you going?" she inquired.
"I can't tell you definitely."
"Hadn't you better wait till Mr. Reynolds gets back?"
"No; business is not very pressing in the office, and I can be
spared."
The housekeeper concluded that Grant was going to Colebrook, and did
not connect his journey with the lost boy.
"Oh, well, I suppose you understand your own business best. Herbert
will miss you if he finds you away when his father brings him back."
"Do you think he will?" asked Grant, eyeing the housekeeper sharply.
"I'm sure I don't know. I suppose he expects to, or he would not
have traveled so far in search of him."
"Shall you be glad to see him back, Mrs. Estabrook?"
"Of course! What makes you doubt it?" demanded the housekeeper,
sharply.
"I thought you didn't like Herbert."
"I wasn't always petting him. It isn't in my way to pet boys."
"Do you often hear from Willis Ford?"
"That is my business," answered Mrs. Estabrook, sharply. "Why do you
ask?"
"I was wondering whether he knew that Herbert had been abducted."
"That is more than we know. Very likely the boy ran away."
Grant called on the cashier at his private residence, confided to
him his plan, and obtained a sum of money for traveling expenses. He
left the Grand Central Depot by the evening train, and by morning
was well on his way to Chicago.
Meanwhile, Willis Ford had left no stone unturned to obtain news of
the runaways. This he did not find difficult, though attended with
delay. He struck the right trail, and then had only to inquire, as
he went along, whether two boys had been seen, one small and
delicate, the other large and well-grown, wandering through the
country. Plenty had seen the two boys, and told him so.
"Are they your sons, mister?" asked a laborer of whom he inquired.
"Not both of them--only the smaller," answered Ford, with unblushing
falsehood.
"And what made them run away now?"
"My son probably did not like the boarding place I selected for
him."
"Why didn't he write to you?"
"He didn't know where to direct."
"Who is the other lad?"
"The son of the man I placed him with. I think he may have induced
Sam to run away."
Finally Ford reached Claremont, the town where the boys had actually
found refuge. Here he learned that two boys had been taken in by Dr.
Stone, answering to the description he gave. One, the younger one,
had been sick, but now was better. This information he obtained at
the hotel.
Ford's eyes sparkled with exultation. He had succeeded in his quest,
and once more Herbert was in his hands, or would be very soon.
He inquired the way to Dr. Stone's. Everybody knew where the doctor
lived, and he had no trouble in securing the information he sought.
Indeed, before he reached the house, he caught sight of Abner,
walking in the same direction with himself, but a few rods ahead.
He quickened his pace, and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder.
Abner turned, and an expression of dismay overspread his face.
"Ha, my young friend! I see that you remember me," said Ford,
ironically.
"Well, what do you want?" asked Abner, sullenly.
"You know well enough. I want the boy you have persuaded to run away
with you."
"I didn't persuade him."
"Never mind about quibbling. I know where the boy is, and I mean to
have him."
"Do you want me, too?"
"No; I don't care where you go."
"I reckon Herbert won't go with you."
"And I reckon he will. That is Dr. Stone's, isn't it? Never mind
answering. I know well enough it is."
"He'll have bub sure," said Abner, disconsolately. "But I'll follow
'em, and I'll get him away, as sure as my name's Abner Barton."
CHAPTER XXXVIII
FORD TAKES A BOLD STEP, BUT FAILS
"I wish to see Miss Stone," said Willis Ford, to the servant.
"I'll tell her. What name shall I say?"
"Never mind about the name. I wish to see her on business of
importance."
"I don't like his looks," thought the maid. "Shure he talks as if he
was the boss."
She told Miss Stone, however, that a gentleman wished to see her,
who would not tell his name.
Miss Stone was in Herbert's chamber, and the boy--now nearly well,
quite well, in fact, but for a feeling of languor and weakness--heard
the message.
"What is he like?" he asked, anxiously.
"He's slender like, with black hair and a black mustache, and he
talks like he was the master of the house."
"I think it is Willis Ford," said Herbert, turning pale.
"The man who abducted you?" ejaculated Miss Stone.
"Yes, the same man. Don't let him take me away," implored Herbert.
"I wish my brother were here," said Miss Stone, anxiously.
"Won't he be here soon?"
"I am afraid not. He has gone on a round of calls. Bridget, tell the
young man I will be down directly."
Five minutes later Miss Stone descended, and found Willis Ford
fuming with impatience.
"I am here, sir," she said, coldly. "I understand you wish to see
me."
"Yes, madam; will you answer me a few questions?"
"Possibly. Let me hear what they are."
"You have a boy in this house, named Herbert Reynolds?"
"Yes."
"A boy who ran away from Mr. Joel Barton, with whom I placed him?"
"What right had you to place him anywhere, Mr. Ford?" demanded the
lady.
"That's my business. Permit me to say that it is no affair of
yours."
"I judge differently. The boy is sick and under my charge."
"I am his natural guardian, madam."
"Who made you so, Mr. Ford?"
"I shall not argue that question. It is enough that I claim him as
my cousin and ward."
"Your cousin?"
"Certainly. That doubtless conflicts with what he has told you. He
was always a liar."
"His story is, that you beguiled him from his home in New York, and
brought him against his will to this part of the country."
"And you believe him?" sneered Ford.
"I do."
"It matters little whether you do or not. He is my sister's child,
and is under my charge. I thought fit to place him with Mr. Joel
Barton, of Scipio, but the boy, who is flighty, was induced to run
away with Barton's son, a lazy, shiftless fellow."
"Supposing this to be so, Mr. Ford, what is your object in calling?"
"To reclaim him. It does not suit me to leave him here."
Ford's manner was so imperative that Miss Stone became alarmed.
"The boy is not fit to travel," she said. "Wait till my brother
comes, and he will decide, being a physician, whether it is safe to
have him go."
"Madam, this subterfuge will not avail," said Ford, rudely. "I will
not wait till your brother comes. I prefer to take the matter into
my own hands."
He pressed forward to the door of the room, and before Miss Stone
could prevent it, was on his way upstairs. She followed as rapidly
as she could, but before she could reach him, Ford had dashed into
the room where Herbert lay on the bed.
Herbert was stricken with terror when he saw the face of his enemy.
"I see you know me," said Ford, with an evil smile. "Get up at once,
and prepare to go with me."
"Leave me here, Mr. Ford. I can't go with you; Indeed, I can't,"
said Herbert.
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