by Homer Greene
Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
"WHERE'D YOU GET THAT HORSE?"]
_A Tale of the Tow-Path_
_By Homer Greene_
_NEW YORK_ _THOMAS Y. CROWELL CO._ _PUBLISHERS_
_Copyright, 1892_, BY PERRY MASON & CO.
_Copyright, 1892_, BY T. Y. CROWELL & CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE I. THE RESULT OF A WHIPPING 1 II. WHO TOOK OLD CHARLIE? 19 III. ON THE CANAL 37 IV. CAPTAIN BILL BUYS A HORSE 56 V. HOMEWARD BOUND 74 VI. OLD CHARLIE BRINGS BACK JOE 92
A TALE OF THE TOW-PATH.
CHAPTER I.
THE RESULT OF A WHIPPING.
Hoeing corn is not very hard work for one who is accustomed to it,but the circumstances of the hoeing may make the task an exceedinglylaborious one. They did so in Joe Gaston's case. Joe Gaston thought hehad never in his life before been put to such hard and disagreeablework.
In the first place, the ground had been broken up only that spring, andit was very rough and stony. Next, the field was on a western slope,and the rays of the afternoon sun shone squarely on it. It was anunusually oppressive day, too, for the last of June.
Finally, and chiefly: Joe was a fourteen-year-old boy, fond of sportand of companionship, and he was working there alone.
Leaning heavily on the handle of his hoe, Joe gazed pensively away tothe west. At the foot of the slope lay a small lake, its unruffledsurface reflecting with startling distinctness the foliage that linedits shores, and the two white clouds that hung above in the blue sky.
Through a rift in the hills could be seen, far away, the line of purplemountains that lay beyond the west shore of the Hudson River.
"It aint fair!" said Joe, talking aloud to himself, as he sometimesdid. "I don't have time to do anything but just work, work, work. Rightin the middle of summer, too, when you can have the most fun of anytime in the year, if you only had a chance to get it! There's berryingand bee-hunting and swimming and fishing and--and lots of things."
The look of pensiveness on Joe's face changed into one of longing.
"Fishing's awful good now," he continued; "but I don't get a chance togo, unless I go without asking, and even then I dassent carry home thefish."
After another minute of reflection he turned his face toward theupland, where, in the distance, the white porch and gables of afarmhouse were visible through an opening between two rows of orchardtrees.
"I guess I'll just run down to the pond a few minutes, and see ifthere's any fish there. It aint more'n three o'clock; Father's gone upto Morgan's with that load of hay, and he won't be home before fiveo'clock. I can get back and hoe a lot of corn by that time."
He cast his eyes critically toward the sun, hesitated for anotherminute, and then, shouldering his hoe, started down the hill toward thelake; but before he had gone half-way to the water's edge he stoppedand stood still, nervously chewing a spear of June-grass, and glancingalternately back at the cornfield and forward to the tempting waters ofthe lake.
"I don't care!" he said at last. "I can't help it if it aint right. IfFather'd only _let_ me go a-fishing once in a while, I wouldn't wantto sneak off. It's his fault; 'cause I've got to fish, and that's allthere is about it."
In a swampy place near by he dug some angle-worms for bait. Then,taking a pole and line from the long grass behind a log, he skirted theshore for a short distance, climbed out on the body of a fallen treethat lay partly in the water, and flung off his line.
Joe had not long to wait. The lazy motion of the brightly painted floaton the smooth surface of the lake gave place to a sudden swingingmovement. Then the small end dipped till only the round red top wasvisible. In the next instant that too disappeared, and the pole curvedtill the tip of it almost touched the water.
For a second only Joe played with his victim. Then, with a quick,steady pull, he drew the darting, curving, shining fish from its home,and landed it among the weeds on the shore.
Flushed with delight, he hastened to cast his line again into the pool.Scarcely a minute later he pulled out another fish. It seemed to be anexcellent day for the sport.
Indeed, he had never before known the fish to bite so well. They kepthim busy baiting his hook and drawing them in.
He was in the high tide of enjoyment. The cornfield was forgotten.
Suddenly he became aware that some one was standing behind him amongthe low bushes on the shore. He turned to see who it was. There,confronting him, a frown on his face, stood Joe's father.
The pole in the boy's hands dropped till the tip of it splashed intothe water; his face turned red and then pale, and there was a strangeweakness in his knees.
He drew his line in slowly, wound it about the pole, and stepped fromthe log to the shore. As yet no word had been said by either father orson, but Joe had a vague sense that it was for him to speak first.
"I thought," he stammered, "that I'd come down and see--and see if--ifthe fish was biting to-day--"
"Well," said his father, grimly, "are they biting?"
"They've bit first-rate," responded the boy, quickly. "I've gotfourteen in this little puddle here."
"Throw them back into the pond," commanded Mr. Gaston.
Joe bent over, and taking the fish one by one from the little pool ofwater where he had placed them, he tossed them lightly into the lake.He came to one that, badly wounded, was floating on its side.
"'Taint any use throwing that one back," he said. "It's--"
"Throw it back!" was the stern command.
Joe threw it back. When this task was completed, Mr. Gaston said,--
"Have you got your knife in your pocket, Joseph?"
"Yes, sir."
"Cut me a whip, then,--a beech one; you'll find a good one on thatsapling."
Joe took his knife and cut from the sapling indicated a long, slenderbranch. He trimmed it and gave it to his father. He well knew the useto which it was to be put; and although his spirit rebelled, though hefelt that he did not really deserve the punishment, he obeyed without aword.
"Joseph," said his father, "do you remember my warning you last weeknot to go fishing again without my permission, and my telling you thatif you did, I should whip you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I suppose you expect me to keep my word?"
Joe said nothing.
Mr. Gaston stood for another moment in anxious thought. He did not wishto whip the boy, surely. Though he was outwardly a cold man, he had alla father's affection for Joe; but would he not fail of his duty if hedid not punish him for his disobedience?
"Joseph," he said, "can you think of any better remedy than whipping?"
"Yes, sir."
"What is it?"
"Well, if you'd just _let_ me go fishing once in a while,--say Saturdayafternoons,--I'd never think of running away to go,--never."
"That is, if I allow you to do what you choose, you won't be disobeyingme when you do it? Is that the idea?"
"Yes, sir, something like that."
Joe felt that there was a difference, however, but he could not at thatmoment explain it. Besides, he wished to take the opportunity to airother grievances, of which heretofore he had never ventured to speak.
"I don't have privileges like other boys, anyway," he continued. "TomBrown don't have to work every day i
n the week, and he can go to townevery Saturday if he wants to, and go to fairs, and have pocket-moneyto spend; and I don't have anything, not even when I earn it. And Mr.Dolliver lets his Jim take his horse and go riding whenever he feelslike it; but I aint allowed to go anywhere, nor do anything that otherboys do!"
Joe paused, breathless and in much excitement.
Mr. Gaston said, "It's your duty to obey your parents, no matter ifthey can't give you all the pleasures that some other boys have. Youare not yet old enough to set up your judgment against ours. We mustgovern you as we think best."
Again there was a minute's silence. Then the father said, "Joseph, Ihad intended to whip you; but it's a hard and unpleasant duty, and I'minclined to try you once more without it, if you'll apologize and makea new promise not to go fishing again without my permission."
"I'll apologize," replied Joe, "but I won't promise."
"Why not?"
"'Cause you wouldn't give me your permission, and then I'd break thepromise. That's the way it always goes."
"Very well; you may take your choice,--either the promise or thewhipping. I can't argue with you about it."
Joe was excited and angry. He did not take time to think, but answeredhotly that his father could whip him if he wished. Mr. Gaston testedthe whip, cutting the air with it once or twice. It made a cruel sound.
"I want you to remember, after it is over," he said slowly, "that itwas your choice, and not my pleasure. Stand out here, and turn yourback to me."
Joe's chastisement followed. It was a severe one. The pain was greaterthan Joe had expected. The shock of the first blow was still fresh whenthe second one came, and this was followed up by half-a-dozen more inrapid succession.
"Now," said the father, when it was over, throwing the whip aside, "youmay go back to the cornfield and go to work."
Without a word, and indeed with mind and heart too full for utterance,the boy shouldered his hoe and started back up the hill. Mr. Gaston,taking a path which skirted the field, walked slowly toward home. Hismind too was filled with conflicting emotions.
He felt that he was striving to do his duty by the boy, to bring himup to honest, sober manhood. Yet for the first time he began to wonderwhether the course he was pursuing with him was just the right one tolead to that end.
He paused, and looked across the field to where Joe, who had reachedhis old place, was bending over a long row of corn; and his heartfilled with fatherly sympathy for the lad in spite of his waywardnessand obstinacy. The father felt that he would like to reason with Joeagain more gently, and started to cross the field for that purpose. Butfearing that Joe might think that he had repented of his severity, heturned back and made his way, with a heavy heart, toward home.
As for Joe, his anger settled before an hour had passed into a feelingof strong and stubborn resentment. That his punishment had been toosevere and humiliating he had no doubt. That he had long been treatedunfairly by his father and had been governed with undue strictness hefully believed.
Slowly, as he pondered over it, there came into his mind a plan toput an end to it all,--a plan which, without further consideration,he resolved to adopt. This, he was determined, should be the lastwhipping he would receive at his father's hands.
He was interrupted in his brooding and his plans by a young girl, whocame down toward him between the rows of springing corn. It was hissister Jennie, who was two years younger than he.
She looked up at him, as she advanced, with mingled curiosity andsympathy in her expressive eyes and face.
"Joe," she said, in an awe-stricken voice, "did Father whip you?"
"What makes you think he whipped me?" asked Joe.
"Because, I--I heard him tell Mother so."
"What did Mother say?"
"Oh, she cried, and she said she was sorry it had to be done. Did hewhip you hard, Joe?"
"Pretty hard, but it's the last time. He'll never whip me again,Jennie."
"Are you going to be a better boy?"
"No, a worse one."
Jennie stood for a moment silent and wondering at this paradoxicalstatement. Then an idea flashed into her mind.
"Joe!" she cried, "you--you're not going to run away?"
"That's just what I am going to do. I've stood it here as long as Ican."
"O Joe! what'll Father say?"
"It don't make much difference what he says. I'm goin' to--say, Jennie!don't you go and tell now, 'fore I get started. You wouldn't do as meana thing as that, would you, Jen? Promise now!"
"I--I--maybe if Father knew you'd made up your mind to go, he'd treatyou better."
"No, he wouldn't. Look here, Jen! if you say anything about itI'll--say now, you won't, will you?"
"N--no, not if you don't want me to, but I'm awful scared aboutit. What'll Mother say?" asked the girl, wiping from her eyes thefast-falling tears.
"That's where the trouble is, Jen," replied the boy, leaning on thehandle of his hoe, and gazing reflectively off to the hills. "I hateto leave Mother, she's good to me; but Father and I can't get alongtogether after what's happened to-day, that's plain."
"And won't you ever come back again?" asked Jennie, plaintively.
"Not for seven years," answered Joe; "then I'll be twenty-one, an' myown boss, and I can go fishing whenever I feel like it."
"O Joe!" Jennie's tears fell still faster. "Joe! I'm afraid--what--madeyou--tell me?"
"You asked me!"
"But I didn't--didn't want you to tell me anything--anything sodreadful!"
From the direction of the house came the sound of the supper-bell. Joeshouldered his hoe again; Jennie rose from her seat on a rock, andtogether they walked slowly home. On the way Joe exacted from Jennie afaithful promise that she would tell nothing about his plan.
At the supper-table Joe was silent and moody, and ate little. Afterdoing the portion of the chores that fell to his lot, he went at onceto his room. His back still smarted and ached from the whipping; hismind was still troubled, and indignation and rebellion still ruled inhis breast.
Before he slept, his mother came to see that he was safely in bed, andto tuck him in for the night. She knew that this had been a very bitterday for him, and although she feared he had deserved his punishment,she grieved for him, and suffered with him from the bottom of her heart.
It was with more than the customary tenderness that she tucked thebed-clothing around him, and kissed him good-night.
"Good-night, Mother!" he said, looking up through the dim light of theroom into her face; "good-night!"
He did not let go of her hand; and when he tried to say something more,he broke down and burst into tears.
So she knelt down by the side of the bed, and smoothing his hair backfrom his forehead, talked gently to him for a long time. After moregood-night kisses she left him, and went back to her never-ending work.
This, for Joe, was the hardest part of leaving home; for he was veryfond of his mother, and knew that his going would almost break herheart. Still, now that he had resolved to go, he would not change hismind, even for his mother's sake.
It was long before Joe fell asleep, and even then he was beset byunpleasant dreams, so that his rest availed him but little.
Before daybreak he arose, dressed himself, gathered into a bundle a fewarticles of clothing, a few of his choicest treasures, and a littlemoney that he had earned and saved, and then on tiptoe left his room.
At the end of the hall a door was opened, and a little white-robedfigure glided out and into his arms. It was Jennie.
"O Joe!" she whispered, "are you really going?"
"'Sh! Jen, don't make any noise. Yes, I'm going. There, don'tcry--good-by!"
He bent down and kissed her, but she could not speak for the sobs thatchoked her. After holding her arms around his neck for a moment, shevanished into her room.
Joe went softly down the stairs, and out at the kitchen door. It wascool and refreshing in the open air. In the east the sky was beginningto put on the gray of morni
ng.
Jennie, looking down through the dusk from the window of her room, sawJoe walk down the path to the road gate, then turn, as if some newthought had struck him, and cross the yard to the barn, entering it bythe stable door.
"Oh!" exclaimed the child to herself, in a frightened whisper, "oh!he's going to take the horse; he's going to take Charlie!"
She sank down on the floor, and covered her face with her hands. Shedid not want to see so dreadful a thing happen. But curiosity finallygot the better of her fear, and she looked out again just in time tosee some one lead the gray horse from the stable, mount him, and rideaway into the dusk.
"O Joe!" she murmured. "O Charlie! Oh, what will Father say now! Isn'tit dreadful, dreadful!"
But though she did not know it, the person whom Jennie saw riding awayinto the dusk on old Charlie's back was not Joe.
