The Lucky Piece: A Tale of the North Woods

by Albert Bigelow Paine

  Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

  THE LUCKY PIECE

  A TALE OF THE NORTH WOODS

  BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE

  AUTHOR OF "THE VAN DWELLERS," "THE BREAD LINE," "THE GREAT WHITE WAY,"ETC.

  _FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR_

  NEW YORK THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY 1906

  COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY

  COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING COMPANY

  _This Edition Published March, 1906_

  _He climbed down carefully and secured his treasure._]

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  PROLOGUE 1

  1 BUT PALADINS RIDE FAR BETWEEN 6

  2 OUT IN THE BLOWY WET WEATHER 18

  3 THE DEEP WOODS OF ENCHANTMENT 34

  4 A BRIEF LECTURE AND SOME INTRODUCTIONS 48

  5 A FLOWER ON A MOUNTAIN TOP 66

  6 IN THE "DEVIL'S GARDEN" 80

  7 THE PATH THAT LEADS BACK TO BOYHOOD 99

  8 WHAT CAME OUT OF THE MIST 115

  9 A SHELTER IN THE FOREST 134

  10 THE HERMIT'S STORY 148

  11 DURING THE ABSENCE OF CONSTANCE 166

  12 CONSTANCE RETURNS AND HEARS A STORY 183

  13 WHAT THE SMALL WOMAN IN BLACK SAW 193

  14 WHAT MISS CARROWAY DID 208

  15 EDITH AND FRANK 219

  16 THE LUCKY PIECE 233

  EPILOGUE 250

  THE LUCKY PIECE

  PROLOGUE

  There is a sharp turn just above the hill. The North Elba stagesometimes hesitates there before taking the plunge into the valleybelow.

  But this was late September. The morning was brisk, the mountainsglorified, the tourists were going home. The four clattering, snortinghorses swung into the turn and made straight for the brow--the stout,ruddy-faced driver holding hard on the lines, but making no furthereffort to check them. Then the boy in the front seat gave his usual"Hey! look there!" and, the other passengers obeying, as they alwaysdid, saw something not especially related to Algonquin, or Tahawus, orWhiteface--the great mountains whose slopes were ablaze with autumn,their peaks already tipped with snow--that was not, indeed, altogetherAdirondack scenery. Where the bend came, at the brink, a littleweather-beaten cottage cornered--a place with apple trees and somefaded summer flowers. In the road in front was a broad flat stone, andupon it a single figure--a little girl of not more than eight--her armextended toward the approaching stage, in her hand a saucer of berries.

  The tourists had passed a number of children already, but this one wasdifferent. The others had been mostly in flocks--soiled, stringy-hairedlittle mountaineers, who had gathered to see the stage go by. Thesmooth, oval face of this child, rich under the tan, was clean, the darkhair closely brushed--her dress a simple garment, though of a fashionunfavored by the people of the hills. All this could be comprehended inthe brief glance allowed the passengers; also the deep wistful lookwhich followed them as the stage whirled by without stopping.

  A lady in the back seat (she had been in Italy) murmured something abouta "child Madonna." Another said, "Poor little thing!"

  But the boy in the front seat had caught the driver's arm and wasdemanding that he stop the stage.

  "I want to get out!" he repeated, with determination. "I want to buythose berries! Stop!"

  The driver could not stop just there, even had he wished to do so,which he did not. They were already a third of the way down, and thehill was a serious matter. So the boy leaned out, looking back, to makesure the moment's vision had not faded, and when the stage struck levelground, was out and running, long before the horses had been brought toa stand-still.

  "You wait for me!" he commanded. "I'll be back in a second!" Then hepushed rapidly up the long hill, feeling in his pockets as he ran.

  The child had not moved from her place, and stood curiously regardingthe approaching boy. He was considerably older than she was, as much assix years. Her wistful look gave way to one of timidity as he came near.She drew the saucer of berries close to her and looked down. Then,puffing and panting, he stood there, still rummaging in his pockets, andregaining breath for words.

  "Say," he began, "I want your berries, you know, only, you see, I--Ithought I had some money, but I haven't--not a cent--only my luckypiece. My mother's in the stage and I could get it from her, but I don'twant to go back." He made a final, wild, hopeless search through anumber of pockets, looking down, meanwhile, at the little bowed figurestanding mutely before him. "Look here," he went on, "I'm going to giveyou my lucky piece. Maybe it'll bring luck to you, too. It did to me--Icaught an awful lot of fish up here this summer. But you mustn't spendit or give it away, 'cause some day when I come back up here I'll wantit again. You keep it for me--that's what you do. Keep it safe. When Icome back, I'll give you anything you like for it. Whatever youwant--only you must keep it. Will you?"

  He held out the worn Spanish silver piece which a school chum had givenhim "for luck" when they had parted in June. But the little brown handclung to the berries and made no effort to take it.

  "Oh, you must take it," he said. "I should lose it anyway. I always losethings. You can take care of it for me. Likely I'll be up again nextyear. Anyway, I'll come some time, and when I do I'll give you whateveryou like in exchange for it."

  She did not resist when he took the berries and poured them into hiscap. Then the coin was pushed into one of her brown hands and he waspressing her fingers tightly upon it. When she dared to look up, he hadcalled, "Good-bye!" and was halfway down the hill, the others lookingout of the stage, waving him to hurry.

  She watched him, saw him climb in with the driver and fling his handtoward her as the stage rounded into the wood and disappeared. Still shedid not move, but watched the place where it had vanished, as if shethought it might reappear, as if presently that sturdy boy might comehurrying up the hill. Then slowly--very slowly, as if she held someliving object that might escape--she unclosed her hand and looked at thetreasure within, turning it over, wondering at the curious markings. Theold look came into her face again, but with it an expression which hadnot been there before. It was some hint of responsibility, of awakening.Vaguely she felt that suddenly and by some marvelous happening she hadbeen linked with a new and wonderful world. All at once she turned andfled through the gate, to the cottage.

  "Mother!" she cried at the door, "Oh, Mother! Something has happened!"and, flinging herself into the arms of the faded woman who sat there,she burst into a passion of tears.