I.
“It’s no use, boys; I can’t stand it any longer”; and Tom Gibson leaned against the fence in front of four of his most intimate friends, assuming such an attitude as he believed should be taken by a very badly abused boy.
“What is it now?” asked little Dwight Holden, in a very unsympathetic tone, much as if he did not believe Tom’s troubles to be so very severe.
“It’s the same thing every day till I’m all worn out,” and Tom wiped his dry eyes with his jacket-sleeve, more to show how heavy his heart was than from any necessity. “I have to ’tend to that ugly baby every time when there’s a good game of ball or I spy going on; an’ if it does happen that I get out for a day’s fun, I have to lug wood an’ water after I get home till my arms are just ready to drop off. But I’m through now an’ that’s all there is to it.”
“What’ll you do?” and Kirk Masters continued to eat a very small and very green apple in a way that showed how much more intent he was upon his limited feast than upon his friend’s wrongs.
“I know what I can do,” said Tom, with a shake of his head that was intended should convey the idea of great mystery, and in this attempt he was remarkably successful. His friends had heard of his troubles before and it was an old story, but the fact that he had formed some plan which he intended should be kept a secret was sufficient to arouse all their curiosity. Dwight was as eager as he had been apathetic, Kirk’s apple seemed suddenly to have lost its flavor, and the entire group of boys gathered around Tom very closely, as if fearful lest they should lose some portion of the wonderful secret they were certain he was about to tell them.
“I am not sure that I dare to tell you,” said Tom, in a mysterious whisper, and the boys knew at once that he was ready to tell them all. “You see, if my folks should know what I’m going to do, that would spoil everything.”
“But what are you going to do?” persisted Kirk, whose interest in his apple was now wholly gone.
“Promise that you won’t ever tell.”
In an instant every boy had vowed that he would keep the secret, and, after assuring himself that there was no other person near who might hear him, Tom began:
“I’m going to run away.”
The little circle of listeners gazed at the bold boy in almost breathless astonishment, and Tom, fully enjoying the sensation he had caused, continued his story after first pausing sufficiently long to note the effect which his announcement had upon his hearers.
“Yes, I’m going, and you just better believe that I’ll go so far away that nobody’ll ever find me. I’ve stood this working around home just as long as I can, and I’ll show my folks what it is to treat a boy the way they’ve treated me.”
“But where are you going, Tom?”
“That part of it I’m not going to tell,” said Tom, with a decided shake of the head, preferring to seem cruel rather than confess that he had no idea as to where he should go to escape the tyranny of his parents. “I’ll leave here some night, hide under the bridge at Rankin’s brook till morning, and then go to some place where none of the folks around here will ever find me.”
“But what makes you hide under Rankin’s bridge all night?” asked Dwight Holden, curiously.
“So’s I’ll be ready to start just as soon’s it’s daylight, of course.”
“I don’t see what you want to do that for,” persisted Dwight. “You could sleep at home all night and then start from there as early as you wanted to. Nobody would think of stopping you, for they’d believe you were just going to the pasture.”
Tom was puzzled, just for an instant, as to how he should answer the question, and then realizing that it would never do for a boy who was about to run away from home to confess that he did not fully understand his own plans he answered, with a great show of dignity:
“Don’t you bother. I think I know what I’m about. I’ve got to sleep under Rankin’s bridge the night I run away or else the thing wouldn’t work.”
The vagueness of the plan gave it a greater charm in the eyes of Tom’s friends. If it had been a simple scheme of running away, and they had understood it in all its details, it would have seemed dull and commonplace compared to what it was when it was so essential that Tom should sleep under the bridge the night previous to his leaving home forever.
Tom Gibson thoroughly enjoyed the sensation he was causing, and was by no means disposed to leave his friends before whom he was posing as a hero. He did his best to be mysterious both in speech and action, and would have continued to throw out vague hints as to his plans all the afternoon had not one of his oppressors—his mother—called him into the house to perform some one of the many tasks which he believed was wearing his young life away.
It is quite possible, if the whole truth could be known, that Tom had not fully made up his mind to run away from his comfortable home when he first broached the subject to his friends; but they had looked upon him as such a hero from the first moment he mentioned it that he decided it was necessary for him to go.
“I’ll keep on doing what she tells me to, so that folks will see how hard I have to work,” he muttered to himself as he left the boys and went toward the house, “and then when I’m off so far that nobody knows where I am mother’ll be sorry she made me work so hard.”
As a matter of course, however, Tom’s friends met him, after he had announced his determination of leaving home, they made inquiries as to the carrying out of his plan, and this was so pleasant to the dissatisfied and abused young man that he put off taking the final step as long as possible. In fact, he delayed so long that Dwight Holden plainly said one day that he did not believe Tom had ever intended to run away, but that he had said so simply for the purpose of “making himself look big.”
From that day he set about making his preparations for departure in earnest, telling his friends that on the following Tuesday he would disappear, never to be seen in Sedgwick again, unless he should decide, many years later, to come back as a wealthy gentleman, to see how much the town had suffered by his absence.
Since he would be obliged to walk a good portion of the distance to the place where his fortune was to be made, he was forced to leave out of the bundle he was making up many of his valuables because of their size and weight. A toy engine, a glass pen and holder, two rubber balls, a large collection of marbles (agates and alleys), a folding kite frame, three odd skates, a lodestone, and two mouth harmonicas made up the list of treasures that could be carried, and these were carefully packed in an old army blanket. He had saved cookies, gingerbread, and choice pieces of pie until he had as much as he believed would suffice as food for a week, and this he intended to carry in a paper parcel in his hand.
Every arrangement had been made. The day Tom had set for his departure came so quickly that it seemed as if there must have been some mistake in the almanac, and two or three days had been lost. Tom met his friends, acted the part of a hero before them until it was so late that each one had been obliged to go home, and then he, having bidden each one in turn a solemn good-by, was compelled to carry out the plan he had laid.
It is certain that at the moment his friends left him Tom was thoroughly sorry he had ever said anything about running away. He had suddenly come to understand what it was to be alone, and he by no means fancied the sensation. At that moment his troubles which were obliging him to leave home did not seem to be nearly so great as they had been a few days before; his home had never appeared so cheerful as now when he was leaving it, and he actually began to hope that some insurmountable obstacle would occur to prevent his running away.
The tears filled his eyes as he crept softly up the back stairs, wishing so much that he could kiss his mother and sister good-by, wishing that he had never thought of going, but fully believing that it would be unmanly not to do so, and that his schoolmates would laugh at him if he should abandon the scheme before he had even attempted to carry it into execution.
He hoped the stairs would creak so loudly that his mother would come to see what the matter was and discover him leaving the house with his bundles, but when he came down there was hardly a sound. He was out of the house without, apparently, having been discovered, and his heart was very heavy as he walked slowly around the yard to the gate, with a long, lonely journey before him and with no idea as to where would be the end.
He had opened the gate and was taking a farewell look at the house, when, to his great delight, the front door was opened and he saw his mother. He would surely be called back now, he thought, and his friends could not accuse him of having been afraid to carry out his plans.
“So you are really going to run away, are you, Tommy?” said his mother, who did not appear in the least surprised by his intended departure.
“Yes’m,” replied Tom, in a very low tone, feeling foolish and at the same time wondering whether his secret had been betrayed by his friends.
“Well,” continued Mrs. Gibson, speaking in a matter-of-fact way and as if the subject was an indifferent one to her, “if you feel that you must go, I see no reason why you should not have left the house in the daytime; but of course you know best. I noticed that you did not pack any of your clothes, so I put the most of them in this satchel, which I think you will find more convenient than that bundle.”
Tom didn’t want to accept the satchel his mother held out to him; but there seemed to be no other course to pursue, and he took it, feeling as he did so that if his mother had loved him very dearly she would have boxed his ears severely, ordering him at the same time to come back into the house.
“Your father said he heard that Captain Harrison was ready to sail, and knowing that you have decided to sleep under Rankin’s bridge we concluded that you were going with him, since the vessel is in the river just below there.”
Tommy’s heart was so full that he could not speak. Instead of being told to come into the house and behave himself, as he would have been only too glad to do, here was his mother actually helping him to run away, and talking as if she thought it was the best course he could pursue.
“I suppose you are in a hurry, Tommy,” said Mrs. Gibson, kindly, “so I won’t detain you. We shall be glad to see you if you should conclude to come back here. Good-by. I hope you will enjoy yourself better than you ever could at home.”
The door was closed, and the almost broken-hearted runaway could do no less than continue his flight, out of which all the romance had been taken.