His breakfast, though not the most inviting, being simply unbuttered bread and rather dry at that, seemed more delicious than ever before, but unfortunately there was not enough of it. However, as there seemed likely to be no more forthcoming, he concluded in default of breakfast to lie down under the tree for a few minutes before resuming his walk. Though he could not help wondering vaguely where his dinner was to come from, as that time was several hours distant, he wisely decided not to anticipate trouble till it came.
Lying down under the tree, Paul began to consider what Mr. Mudge would say when he discovered that he had run away.
"He'll have to milk the cows himself," thought Paul. "He won't fancy that much. Won't Mrs. Mudge scold, thought? I'm glad I shan't be within hearing."
"Holloa!"
It was a boy's voice that Paul heard.
Looking up he saw a sedate company of cows entering the pasture single file through an aperture made by letting down the bars. Behind them walked a boy of about his own size, flourishing a stout hickory stick. The cows went directly to the spring from which Paul had already drunk. The young driver looked at our hero with some curiosity, wondering, doubtless, what brought him there so early in the morning. After a little hesitation he said, remarking Paul's bundle, "Where are you traveling?"
"I don't know exactly," said Paul, who was not quite sure whether it would be politic to avow his destination.
"Don't know?" returned the other, evidently surprised.
"Not exactly; I may go to New York."
"New York! That's a great ways off. Do you know the way there?"
"No, but I can find it."
"Are you going all alone?" asked his new acquaintance, who evidently thought Paul had undertaken a very formidable journey.
"Yes."
"Are you going to walk all the way?"
"Yes, unless somebody offers me a ride now and then."
"But why don't you ride in the stage, or in the cars? You would get there a good deal quicker."
"One reason," said Paul, hesitating a little, "is because I have no money to pay for riding."
"Then how do you expect to live? Have you had any breakfast, this morning?"
"I brought some with me, and just got through eating it when you came along."
"And where do you expect to get any dinner?" pursued his questioner, who was evidently not a little puzzled by the answers he received.
"I don't know," returned Paul.
His companion looked not a little confounded at this view of the matter, but presently a bright thought struck him.
"I shouldn't wonder," he said, shrewdly, "if you were running away."
Paul hesitated a moment. He knew that his case must look a little suspicious, thus unexplained, and after a brief pause for reflection determined to take the questioner into his confidence. He did this the more readily because his new acquaintance looked very pleasant.
"You've guessed right," he said; "if you'll promise not to tell anybody, I'll tell you all about it."
This was readily promised, and the boy who gave his name as John Burgess, sat down beside Paul, while he, with the frankness of boyhood, gave a circumstantial account of his father's death, and the ill-treatment he had met with subsequently.
"Do you come from Wrenville?" asked John, interested. "Why, I've got relations there. Perhaps you know my cousin, Ben Newcome."
"Is Ben Newcome your cousin? O yes, I know him very well; he's a first-rate fellow."
"He isn't much like his father."
"Not at all. If he was"--
"You wouldn't like him so well. Uncle talks a little too much out of the dictionary, and walks so straight that he bends backward. But I say, Paul, old Mudge deserves to be choked, and Mrs. Mudge should be obliged to swallow a gallon of her own soup. I don't know but that would be worse than choking. I wouldn't have stayed so long if I had been in your place."
"I shouldn't," said Paul, "if it hadn't been for Aunt Lucy."
"Was she an aunt of yours?"
"No, but we used to call her so, She's the best friend I've got, and I don't know but the only one," said Paul, a little sadly.
"No, she isn't," said John, quickly; "I'll be your friend, Paul. Sometime, perhaps, I shall go to New York, myself, and then I will come and see you. Where do you expect to be?"
"I don't know anything about the city," said Paul, "but if you come, I shall be sure to see you somewhere. I wish you were going now."
Neither Paul nor his companion had much idea of the extent of the great metropolis, or they would not have taken it so much as a matter of course that, being in the same place, they should meet each other.
Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a bell from a farmhouse within sight.
"That's our breakfast-bell," said John rising from the grass. "It is meant for me. I suppose they wonder what keeps me so long. Won't you come and take breakfast with me, Paul?"
"I guess not," said Paul, who would have been glad to do so had he followed the promptings of his appetite. "I'm afraid your folks would ask me questions, and then it would be found out that I am running away."
"I didn't think of that," returned John, after a pause. "You haven't got any dinner with you?" he said a moment after.
"No."
"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do. Come with me as far as the fence, and lie down there till I've finished breakfast. Then I'll bring something out for you, and maybe I'll walk along a little way with you."
"You are very kind," said Paul, gratefully.
"Oh, nonsense," said John, "that's nothing. Besides, you know we are going to be friends."
"John! breakfast's ready."
"There's Nelson calling me," said John, hurriedly. "I must leave you; there's the fence; lie down there, and I'll be back in a jiffy."
"John, I say, why don't you come?"
"I'm coming. You mustn't think everybody's got such a thundering great appetite as you, Nelson."
"I guess you've got enough to keep you from pining away," said Nelson, good-naturedly, "you're twice as fat as I am."
"That's because I work harder," said John, rather illogically.
The brothers went in to breakfast.
But a few minutes elapsed before John reappeared, bearing under his arm a parcel wrapped up in an old newspaper. He came up panting with the haste he had made.
"It didnt take you long to eat breakfast," said Paul.
"No, I hurried through it; I thought you would get tired of waiting. And now I'll walk along with you a little ways. But wait here's something for you."
So saying he unrolled the newspaper and displayed a loaf of bread, fresh and warm, which looked particularly inviting to Paul, whose scanty breakfast had by no means satisfied his appetite. Besides this, there was a loaf of molasses ginger-bread, with which all who were born in the country, or know anything of New England housekeeping, are familiar.
"There," said John, "I guess that'll be enough for your dinner."
"But how did you get it without having any questions asked?" inquired our hero.
"Oh," said John, "I asked mother for them, and when she asked what I wanted of them, I told her that I'd answer that question to-morrow. You see I wanted to give you a chance to get off out of the way, though mother wouldn't tell, even if she knew."
"All right," said Paul, with satisfaction.
He could not help looking wistfully at the bread, which looked very inviting to one accustomed to poorhouse fare.
"If you wouldn't mind," he said hesitating, "I would like to eat a little of the bread now."
"Mind, of course not," said John, breaking off a liberal slice. "Why didn't I think of that before? Walking must have given you a famous appetite."
John looked on with evident approbation, while Paul ate with great apparent appetite.
"There," said he with a sigh of gratification, as he swallowed the last morsel, "I haven't tasted anything so good for a long time."
"Is it as good as Mrs.
Mudge's soup?" asked John, mischievously.
"Almost," returned Paul, smiling.
We must now leave the boys to pursue their way, and return to the dwelling from which our hero had so unceremoniously taken his departure, and from which danger now threatened him.
IX.
A CLOUD IN THE MUDGE HORIZON.
MR. MUDGE was accustomed to call Paul at five o'clock, to milk the cows and perform other chores. He himself did not rise till an hour later. During Paul's sickness, he was obliged to take his place,--a thing he did not relish overmuch. Now that our hero had recovered, he gladly prepared to indulge himself in an extra nap.
"Paul!" called Mr. Mudge from the bottom of the staircase leading up into the attic, "it's five o'clock; time you were downstairs."
Mr. Mudge waited for an answer, but none came.
"Paul!" repeated Mr. Mudge in a louder tone, "it's time to get up; tumble out there."
Again there was no answer.
At first, Mr. Mudge thought it might be in consequence of Paul's sleeping so soundly, but on listening attentively, he could not distinguish the deep and regular breathing which usually accompanies such slumber.
"He must be sullen," he concluded, with a feeling of irritation. "If he is, I'll teach him----"
Without taking time to finish the sentence, he bounded up the rickety staircase, and turned towards the bed with the intention of giving our hero a smart shaking.
He looked with astonishment at the empty bed. "Is it possible," he thought, "that Paul has already got up? He isn't apt to do so before he is called."
At this juncture, Mrs. Mudge, surprised at her husband's prolonged absence, called from below, "Mr. Mudge!"
"Well, wife?"
"What in the name of wonder keeps you up there so long?"
"Just come up and see."
Mrs. Mudge did come up. Her husband pointed to the empty bed.
"What do you think of that?" he asked.
"What about it?" she inquired, not quite comprehending.
"About that boy, Paul. When I called him I got no answer, so I came up, and behold he is among the missing."
"You don't think he's run away, do you?" asked Mrs. Mudge startled.
"That is more than I know."
"I'll see if his clothes are here," said his wife, now fully aroused.
Her search was unavailing. Paul's clothes had disappeared as mysteriously as their owner.
"It's a clear case," said Mr. Mudge, shaking his head; "he's gone. I wouldn't have lost him for considerable. He was only a boy, but I managed to get as much work out of him as a man. The question is now, what shall we do about it?"
"He must be pursued," said Mrs. Mudge, with vehemence, "I'll have him back if it costs me twenty dollars. I'll tell you what, husband," she exclaimed, with a sudden light breaking in upon her, "if there's anybody in this house knows where he's gone, it is Aunt Lucy Lee. Only last week I caught her knitting him a pair of stockings. I might have known what it meant if I hadn't been a fool."
"Ha, ha! So you might, if you hadn't been a fool!" echoed a mocking voice.
Turning with sudden anger, Mrs. Mudge beheld the face of the crazy girl peering up at her from below.
This turned her thoughts into a different channel.
"I'll teach you what I am," she exclaimed, wrathfully descending the stairs more rapidly than she had mounted them, "and if you know anything about the little scamp, I'll have it out of you."
The girl narrowly succeeded in eluding the grasp of her pursuer. But, alas! for Mrs. Mudge. In her impetuosity she lost her footing, and fell backward into a pail of water which had been brought up the night before and set in the entry for purposes of ablution. More wrathful than ever, Mrs. Mudge bounced into her room and sat down in her dripping garments in a very uncomfortable frame of mind. As for Paul, she felt a personal dislike for him, and was not sorry on some accounts to have him out of the house. The knowledge, however, that he had in a manner defied her authority by running away, filled her with an earnest desire to get him back, if only to prove that it was not to be defied with impunity.
Hoping to elicit some information from Aunt Lucy, who, she felt sure, was in Paul's confidence, she paid her a visit.
"Well, here's a pretty goings on," she commenced, abruptly. Finding that Aunt Lucy manifested no curiosity on the subject, she continued, in a significant tone, "Of course, you don't know anything about it."
"I can tell better when I know what you refer to," said the old lady calmly.
"Oh, you are very ignorant all at once. I suppose you didn't know Paul Prescott had run away?"
"I am not surprised," said the old lady, in the same quiet manner.
Mrs. Mudge had expected a show of astonishment, and this calmness disconcerted her.
"You are not surprised!" she retorted. "I presume not, since you knew all about it beforehand. That's why you were knitting him some stockings. Deny it, if you dare."
"I have no disposition to deny it."
"You haven't!" exclaimed the questioner, almost struck dumb with this audacity.
"No," said Aunt Lucy. "Why should I? There was no particular inducement for him to stay here. Wherever he goes, I hope he will meet with good friends and good treatment."
"As much as to say he didn't find them here. Is that what you mean?"
"I have no charges to bring."
"But I have," said Mrs. Mudge, her eyes lighting with malicious satisfaction. "Last night you missed a ten-dollar gold piece, which you saw was stolen from you. This morning it appears that Paul Prescott has run away. I charge him with the theft."
"You do not, can not believe this," said the old lady, uneasily.
"Of course I do," returned Mrs. Mudge, triumphantly, perceiving her advantage. "I have no doubt of it, and when we get the boy back, he shal be made to confess it."
Aunt Lucy looked troubled, much to the gratification of Mrs. Mudge. It was but for a short time, however. Rising from her seat, she stood confronting Mrs. Mudge, and said quietly, but firmly, "I have no doubt, Mrs. Mudge, you are capable of doing what you say. I would advise you, however, to pause. You know, as well as I do, that Paul is incapable of this theft. Even if he were wicked enough to form the idea, he would have no need, since it was my intention to give him this money. Who did actually steal the gold, you perhaps know better than I. Should it be necessary, I shall not hesitate to say so. I advise you not to render it necessary."
The threat which lay in these words was understood. It came with the force of a sudden blow to Mrs. Mudge, who had supposed it would be no difficult task to frighten and silence Aunt Lucy. The latter had always been so yielding in all matters relating to herself, that this intrepid championship of Paul's interests was unlooked for. The tables were completely turned. Pale with rage, and a mortified sense of having been foiled with her own weapons, Mrs. Mudge left the room.
Meanwhile her husband milked the cows, and was now occupied in performing certain other duties that could not be postponed, being resolved, immediately after breakfast was over, to harness up and pursue the runaway.
"Well, did you get anything out of the old lady?" he inquired, as he came from the barn with the full milk-pails.
"She said she knew beforehand that he was going."
"Eh!" said Mr. Mudge, pricking up his ears, "did she say where?"
"No, and she won't. She knit him a pair of stockings to help him off, and doesn't pretend to deny it. She's taken a wonderful fancy to the young scamp, and has been as obstinate as could be ever since he has been here."
"If I get him back," said Mr. Mudge, "he shall have a good flogging, if I am able to give him one, and she shall be present to see it."
"That's right," said Mrs. Mudge, approvingly, "when are you going to set out after him?"
"Right after breakfast. So be spry, and get it ready as soon as you can."
Under the stimulus of this inspiring motive, Mrs. Mudge bustled about with new energy, and before many minutes the mea
l was in readiness. It did not take long to dispatch it. Immediately afterwards, Mr. Mudge harnessed up, as he had determined, and started off in pursuit of our hero.
In the meantime the two boys had walked leisurely along, conversing on various subjects.
"When you get to the city, Paul," said John, "I shall want to hear from you. Will you write to me?"
Paul promised readily.
"You can direct to John Burges, Burrville. The postmaster knows me, and I shall be sure to get it."
"I wish you were going with me," said Paul.
"Sometimes when I think that I am all alone it discourages me. It would be so much pleasanter to have some one with me."
"I shall come sometime," said John, "when I am a little older. I heard father say something the other day about my going into a store in the city. So we may meet again."
"I hope we shall."
They were just turning a bend of the road, when Paul chanced to look backward. About a quarter of a mile back he descried a horse and wagon wearing a familiar look. Fixing his eyes anxiously upon them, he was soon made aware that his suspicions were only too well founded. It was Mr. Mudge, doubtless in quest of him.
"What shall I do?" he asked, hurriedly of his companion.
"What's the matter?"
This was quickly explained.
John was quickwitted, and he instantly decided upon the course proper to be pursued. On either side of the road was a growth of underbrush so thick as to be almost impenetrable.
"Creep in behind there, and be quick about it," directed John, "there is no time to lose."
"There," said he, after Paul had followed his advice, "if he can see you now he must have sharp eyes."
"Won't you come in too?"
"Not I," said John, "I am anxious to see this Mr. Mudge, since you have told me so much about him. I hope he will ask me some questions."
"What will you tell him?"
Paul Prescott's Charge : a story for boys Page 5
