CHAPTER IX
_In which Clarence gets some further knowledge of a shrine, which has much to do with the most important events of this veracious narrative, and pays back the gypsy, Pete with compound interest._
It was the third day of Clarence’s experiences as a gypsy. He and Benand Dorcas had become great friends. Often the young gypsy couple choseto walk with Dora and the boy, and, in their talks, the subject was notinfrequently religion. Clarence was quick to grasp the truths of faith,and, indeed, became a sort of assistant professor, supplementing theexplanations of Dora with knowledge gained from his own wide range ofreading.
Pete and his wife were at no pains to conceal their fury at the turn ofevents brought about by the arrival of Clarence. There was poison intheir looks and venom in their tongues. Ezra made himself a sharer ofthis unlovely couple’s feelings. He hated Clarence intensely; it washatred born of envy. The memory of his defeat still rankled. One or theother of these three was always watching the boy, night and day.
On this particular morning, Clarence had, after breakfast, wandered intothe forest to gather some flowers for Dora’s altar. The little girl hadthe day previous brought him into her tent and shown him a little shrineof Our Lady Immaculate.
“I pray before it,” she said, “and I have promised our Blessed Motherthat if she have me restored to my home, I will join some Order in herhonor where I can give most of my time to prayer and meditation.”
“So you intend to become a contemplative?” asked Clarence, looking atthe child with renewed interest.
“If God allows me, Clarence, I’d like to sit at the feet of Our Lordforever.”
“Not for me,” said Clarence, “I’d like to _do_ things. The active lifesuits me. But really that is one of the great things about your Church.”
“_Our_ Church,” corrected Dora with a smile.
“I can’t say that yet,” said Clarence. “Anyhow, as I was saying, one ofthe great things about your Church is that it has something to suit thetaste of everyone. There’s no end of variety in it. And say, Dora, wheredo you get all these flowers for your shrine?”
“Ben gets most of them. His wife helps, too. They began doing this longbefore they thought of becoming Catholics. Ben got me that pretty statuesomewhere or other three months ago; and he began bringing flowersalmost at once. He built the shrine, too. Whenever he came in up to afew days ago, he always lifted his hat. One day I found him kneelingbefore it. Since we began instructions, he kneels and makes the sign ofthe cross.”
“Why don’t you try to get Pete and his wife interested?”
“They never come to my tent; they don’t even know about the shrine. Benhas arranged all that. I believe, if they knew about it, that they wouldsmash the statue in pieces—and as for me, I don’t know what they woulddo.”
“By George, if I ever can do a good turn for Ben,” exclaimed the boyenthusiastically, “I’ll do it with all my heart. He is so kind and goodand gentle. In fact, he seems to be deeply religious.”
“That’s just what I think. His wife is just as good. She has given upfortune-telling, she told me, for good. She says she’d rather starvethan do it again. And Ben is figuring now every day how much he hastaken dishonestly. He says before he gets baptized he’s going to restoreeverything that isn’t honestly his.”
“Dora, you’ve done all this.”
“Oh, no, Clarence; I think it must be our Blessed Lady. She hasn’tforgotten a single flower that Ben has brought to her shrine. She’sgoing to pay him back with interest.”
“You wouldn’t mind, Dora, if I helped gather some flowers, too?”
“Indeed, no; but I want you to do it in honor of the Blessed Virgin.”
“Of course. I’ll get some tomorrow.”
It was in consequence of this conversation, then, that Clarence waswandering in the woods. His quest was disappointing. No flowers greetedhis searching eyes. Further and further he wandered. Suddenly, he wasroughly seized by the collar from behind, and turning he saw that Petehad him in his vigorous grip, Pete with a branch of willow in his freehand.
“I told you not to try to get away,” snarled the gypsy bringing thebranch smartly upon Clarence’s legs.
“Stop that! I wasn’t trying to get away at all.”
For answer, Pete laid the lash unmercifully upon the powerless boy,beating him with all his strength. The pain became so great thatClarence at length unable to restrain himself further burst into a loudcry for mercy.
Pete paused, looking around apprehensively. His keen ear detected thesound of far-off footsteps. Throwing the willow aside, he released hishold on the boy (who sank to the ground writhing in pain) anddisappeared in his usually stealthy manner, into the bushes.
It was Ben who had heard the boy’s cry of pain.
“What has happened?” he cried looking with concern upon the writhinglad.
“Pete has given me an awful beating,” answered Clarence, mastering hisvoice, though the tears were still rolling down his cheeks.
“Why? What did you do?”
“He said I was trying to get away, and I wasn’t. I just came along herelooking for flowers for Dora’s shrine. And the worst of it is,”continued the boy with a rueful smile contending with his falling tears,“I didn’t get a single flower.”
“Perhaps that holy woman who is the mother of God will pay you back forevery lick you receive. Dora said she is good pay.”
Clarence arose, felt himself gingerly, and breaking into a smileremarked, “If it’s all the same to the Blessed Virgin, I’d prefer to domy trading with her in flowers instead of lashes. Never mind, Mr. Pete,the first chance I get, I’ll fix you all right.”
The chance, it so came to pass, presented itself that very afternoon.They were now some six miles north of the Wisconsin, which they hadcrossed the preceding day, and had reached a spot on the Mississippiabout three miles beyond Prairie du Chien, which is just across theriver from McGregor. Clarence, of course, had no idea he was so near theplace where his adventures had begun. The boy, still very sore andbruised, again started off along the river’s bank in quest of flowers.Mindful of the beating, he made his way cautiously, warily, determinednot to be taken unawares again. Suddenly his alert and attentive earcaught a slight sound. Someone in a grove of trees a few yards above thebank was whittling. Screening himself behind the willows about him,Clarence drew closer, and after a few paces thus taken, discovered Pete,a pipe in his mouth, seated on a log beneath a hollow tree. Pete, as hesmoked vigorously, was whittling with a certain air of enjoyment arather stout branch.
“By Jove,” cried Clarence to himself, “if he’s not getting a rod inpickle for me!” And Clarence felt his legs once more with a tender hand.“He has no right to whack me the way he did. I’m not his son; I’m not inhis charge. And I don’t like the look of that rod at all. I wish I couldstop him.”
Clarence, securely screened by the bushes, continued to stare andmeditate. A bee buzzed by his ear, and then another. Following theirflight, he noticed that they disappeared in a hollow of the tree underwhich the industrious Pete was seated.
Five minutes passed. Pete still smoked and whittled. Then the old leaderarose, and with a smile on his countenance, which would in alllikelihood throw any child who saw it into convulsions, proceeded tolash the air, holding in his free hand an imaginary victim.
“I guess he thinks it’s myself he’s holding,” murmured the astonishedwitness of these strange proceedings. “Also, I think I’ll try to findout if there isn’t a bee-hive in that tree.”
As he thus communed with himself, Clarence bent and quickly picked upfive stones; then rising, he sent one after the other driving at thehollow spot in the tree. The first stone went wild, the second struckthe tree, the third nearly entered the hole, the fourth flew wild, andthe fifth——!
So intent was the gypsy upon the imaginary castigation he was inflictingthat he was still swishing the air violently when out of the hole flew
an army of angry bees. They were not inclined to be dispassionate.Somebody had done them a wrong, and somebody had to suffer for it. Thebees were upon the gypsy when he was just putting all his strength intoa most vicious swing. He swung that stick no more. With a roar that setthe echoes ringing, Pete dropped the stick, and clapping his hands tohis head set out at a rate, which, if properly timed, would, no doubt,have created a new record in the way of a fifty-yard dash for the river,into which he plunged with an agility worthy of youth and professionaldiving.
To the gypsies who, attracted by his yells (for he had yelled all theway to the river’s edge), had gathered on the bank, it appeared thatPete was going in for a long distance swim. In fact, he had almostcrossed the river, before he ventured to turn back. Clarence, who hadthoughtfully possessed himself of the switch and broken it into minutepieces, was the last to join the eager and mystified watchers.
“What’s the matter?”—“What’s happened?”—These and a dozen similarquestions in English and in gypsy patter greeted his arrival.
“I rather think,” said Clarence in his most serious manner, “that Petemust have run up against a swarm of bees, and they weren’t glad to seehim. I noticed him a minute ago running for the river with the speed ofa deer. It was fine to see him go. It seemed to me that there was abunch of bees around his head—a sort of a crown of glory—acting as hisescort. It’s a pleasure to see a man like Pete run. I’d walk twentymiles to get a treat like that.”
Before Pete had quite achieved his return, Ben called Clarence aside.
“Clarence, you got those bees after Pete.”
“Who told you?”
“Pete’s oldest son; he was watching you. _There’s always someonewatching you._”
“Great Caesar!” cried Clarence losing all his blitheness, and turningpale as a sheet. “I’m in for it now. He’ll _kill_ me?”
“Why did you do it?”
“I could hardly help it. I saw the old sinner sitting right under abee’s nest fixing up a switch; and I guessed he was fixing it for me.Then he stood up, and began switching somebody with an unholy joy on hismeasly old face, and I _knew_ he was switching me. I couldn’t stand forthat, and I began letting fly stones at the hole in the tree, and thatold pirate was so enjoying the imaginary whipping he was giving me thathe didn’t notice a thing till the bees came out in a body and took ahand. It wasn’t so very bad, was it, Ben?”
Ben grinned.
“It was good for him,” he made answer.
“But what am I to do? I don’t want any more whippings like I got thismorning.”
“It’s all right for a while, anyhow,” returned Ben. “I’ve told Pete’sson that if he says a word about it to anyone I’ll give him what youwould get. I’ve scared him, and he’s promised to keep quiet.”
“Oh, thank you, Ben,” cried Clarence, who had been thoroughlyfrightened. “You’re splendid; and if ever I can do anything for you andyours, I’ll do it, no matter what. Say, look at the old fox. Isn’t he asight?”
Pete had just reached dry land. His appearance justified MasterClarence’s remark. Looking at his neck, one might surmise that Pete wassuffering from goiter aggravated by an extreme case of mumps. As for hisface, it gave one the impression that Pete had engaged in a prize fight,and remained in the ring for several rounds after he had been defeated.Pete, punctuating his steps with a fine flow of profanity, made for thelarger tent. He was seen no more that day.
Clarence having made a most unsuccessful attempt to look sympathetic,went to the river and took a swim. Clarence knew the river now; it hadno terrors for him. Whenever he went swimming (and he had been doingthis several times each day) one or another of the gypsy men followedhim into the water.
That evening, having finished, amid great enthusiasm on the part of hisauditors, Treasure Island, Clarence contrived to have a few words inprivate with Dora.
“Dora,” he said, “I’ve been thinking and thinking how you and I can getaway together; but I can’t see any way.”
“It’s no use to try,” said Dora.
“But I can get away by myself, I think. I’ve got it figured out.”
“You can!”
“Yes, I think so. Of course, there’s danger in it. But I’d rather diethan get another such a whipping as that old buccaneer gave me today.All the same, I hate to leave you here.”
“Don’t take any big risks, Clarence.”
“But if I go, I’ll never forget you; and, if I can, I’ll see that youare freed.”
“You won’t be able to do it. If you were to get free, Pete would usesome means or other to spirit me away.”
“We’ll see,” said Clarence. “Will you pray that I may succeed?”
“Indeed, I will. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t want to say anything yet. It may be a week before things comeright. Good night, Dora; and don’t forget me.”
Cupid of Campion Page 10
