TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS.
BY J. W. DAVIDSON,
AUTHOR OF "SPUD," "HARDY & CO.," "ROB
ARCHER'S TRIALS," "LIMPY JOE," "HARRY
IRVING'S PLUCK," ETC., ETC., ETC.
CHAPTER XXVII.
SOME PLAIN TALK.
The evening after Tony's return with the money was a very joyful one for Job Loring. He was continually praising his second son, much to the disgust of the first, and really seemed to have recovered all of his habitual cheerfulness.
He never once mentioned Tony's prospects; his own were assured, that was enough for him.
As the evening wore away he gravitated toward Aaron. There was really much in common between the man, whose one idea of power was mere physical strength, and his rawboned son, so closely allied to him by disposition.
Job Loring was not a cruel man, nor yet did he mean to be an unjust one. In his rude way his family was dear to him. Of course, the larger the object, the more love could be bestowed upon it.
To Tony, with his fine, sensitive nature, inherited from his mother's side of the family, these grosser qualities were far from being attractive, and his companionship with Morrison had opened his eyes to a new creation.
So it was with a feeling of relief that he saw his father turn to his elder brother, and the cloud lifted from the sullen face of the latter.
Long before nine o'clock the next morning Tony was on his way to Ashville. He found Morrison in the store, and the latter exclaimed, as soon as his eyes fell upon the pale face of the little fellow:
"Why, Tony, what ails you? You look as though you hadn't a friend in the world."
Tony made an effort to look happy, but did not wholly succeed. He glanced into the office, near which they were standing, and saw a stout man talking with Mr. Smart.
"That's my father," said Morrison, as he noticed the direction of Tony's glance. "He arrived this morning. I'll introduce you when he comes out. He was quite interested in you. Here he is now."
As he said this, Morrison turned to the gentleman who had just emerged from the office.
"Father, this is the boy I was telling you of—Tony Loring. Tony, let me make you acquainted with my father, Mr. Morrison."
Tony nearly sank to the floor as he felt his hand grasped by that of the stout man, while a pair of dark eyes scanned him keenly.
"I had some curiosity to meet you," said Mr. Morrison, after his scrutiny, "as my son has a habit of picking up some rather peculiar friends. In this instance, I think he has shown much wisdom, considering his usual lack of judgment."
Both father and son laughed at this, and then the senior Morrison looked at his watch.
"It is about nine o'clock," he remarked. "Have you seen anything this morning of the stranger from Scaly Brook? I think you said he was to be on hand at that time."
"He is standing by the door now," replied Tony, a certain feeling of strength creeping over him, which he could not account for.
"In that case, I will go with you to Mr. Furbush's," said Mr. Morrison.
The Morrisons, father and son, and Tony left the store at once, and, accompanied by the red-bearded stranger, proceeded to Mr. Furbush's.
They found that gentleman at home. They were scarcely seated when the senior Morrison said, somewhat abruptly:
"I called, in company with my son, to have a plain talk with you. Of course, as game-warden, you only did your duty in taking the captured deer. The Loring boy was not to blame; my son was the responsible party."
"You mean the guilty party," rejoined Mr. Furbush. "Any one who commits a crime is considered guilty."
Mr. Morrison smiled.
"There may be various degrees of guilt," he said, quietly; "but I do not see it in that light. To me, in order to place the guilt of an act upon a person, that person must do a wrong willfully or maliciously. In this case, my son did not know he was violating the law."
"Ignorance of the law is no excuse," answered Mr. Furbush. "I've been deputy sheriff and game-warden for a good many years, and about every law-breaker has an excuse."
Again Mr. Morrison smiled.
"All very true, no doubt," he replied; "and, in regard to the deer, there was no real harm done."
"Well, no," admitted Mr. Furbush. "The fine was paid, and I set the deer at liberty as soon as I received information from the county warden. But seems to me this talk has all been unnecessary."
"Very likely," assented Mr. Morrison; "but now we come to the real object of our visit. You have a son Isaac. This gentleman," pointing to the red-bearded man, "would like to see him."
"I'll call him," said Mr. Furbush.
Isaac was summoned, and came into the room with a frightened look on his round face.
"I was just going away," he said, glancing uneasily around the room.
"Going in to Duck Lake, I suppose?" queried the stranger.
Isaac grew very red in the face, but made no answer.
"Do you remember," continued the man, "that this boyhere"— pointing toward Tony— "lost a lot of gum last fall, and you said I stole it?"
The red in Isaac's face gave place to a deathly pallor, but no reply passed his lips.
"I don't see what use all these questions are," interrupted Mr. Furbush, testily. "My son is not a prisoner on trial."
"Well, if he isn't," replied the man, significantly, "it won't hurt him to answer a few questions. Now, young man, speak up. Didn't you circulate the story that I stole that gum?"
Isaac began to cry.
"And you did this notwithstanding the fact that I pulled you out of Duck Lake, thereby saving your life," said the stranger, severely. "Now I want to jog your memory a little and get you in the habit of telling the truth. Shall I go on?" he added, turning to Mr. Furbush.
"Oh, I suppose so," replied that individual, wearily. "Make it as short as possible."
"I stopped a few nights with you and this little chap you call Tony last fall," continued the stranger. "One night this Tony had a fine lot of gum, and he put it away careful like. I forgot my pipe one morning, and went back to the camp for it. The door was open, and I seen you taking Tony's gum out of where he put it, and I dodged behind the camp and watched you and see you take it and put it in a holler tree—a far-side of the path to the spring."
He turned to young Morrison and continued:
"Yesterday morning, when I got up at the camp, I looked in the tree and found there was a lot of gum. So I shot at it, just to draw your attention to it. How much gum was concealed there?"
"About fifty pounds," replied Morrison.
"If you knew my son was doing as you claim he did, why did you not tell this other boy?" demanded Mr. Furbush.
"Because," answered the stranger, "I didn't go back to the camp again after I see this boy a-hiding it away in the tree, and the next time I see 'em was when I pulled 'em out of the lake."
"Is that all?" asked Mr. Furbush. "If it is, I'd like to ascertain the object of all these accusations and questions. What proof have we that my son did this or that you didn't do it? The boy has his property back, and why not let the matter drop? It looks to me like a trifling matter, anyway."
The face of Isaac brightened a little at this, but when his eye met that of the stranger, he trembled again.
"I'll tell you what the object of this is," he said. "This boy of yours made me out a thief; now I want to show it's him and not me. As for proof, I'll leave it to him, and forty-five dollars worth of gum ain't no trifling matter."
Then he turned sharply to Isaac.
"Didn't you take that gum yourself?" he asked. "Remember, this is going to court unless I'm cleared of it."
Isaac whimpered.
"If I own up to it will that save me?" he asked.
"Yes," assured Tony; "tell the truth."
"I took it," confessed Isaac. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry he's found out," muttered the stranger. Then he said in a louder tone, "I hope this'll be a warning. There's nothing so good for everyday wear as the truth. It'll wash and won't fade."
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A REVELATION.
The little conference at Mr. Furbush's was over, and Mr. Morrison, rising, said slowly:
"I was very sorry to feel it my duty to take part in this matter. Let us forget it, and all be friends. Good-day, Mr. Furbush."
He shook hands with that gentleman, and also with Isaac, both of whom responded with very poor grace.
Then they walked out into the open air. Mr. Morrison, turning to Tony as they reached the sidewalk, remarked:
"My boy, I was glad to see that you exhibited no desire for revenge."
As they walked back toward Mr. Smart's store, the senior Morrison talked earnestly with the stranger, while young Morrison said to Tony:
"Well, good-by, my friend. Father is determined to go back to Boston to-night, and wants me to go with him. I won't forget you."
Morrison gave him a warm pressure of the hand, and then Tony found himself alone. How unutterably lonesome the world seemed to the boy at that moment! and as he walked slowly home he reviewed the events of the last few months.
His winter's work had exceeded his most sanguine expectations, and yet he felt the burden of defeat upon him. When he reached home, his father questioned him closely in regard to what had transpired, all of which he explained minutely.
"The young rascal!" said Job Loring, clenching his hands and frowning. "He got off too easy. He'd orter had a lesson."
"I am satisfied," said Tony. "I think it will be a lesson to him."
Tony was treated with much more consideration than formerly, but somehow it brought him little comfort, and a week dragged slowly by.
Aaron had improved greatly, now that poverty had loosened its grip upon them, and was helping his father fix up around the house, when a stranger came walking up to the door one afternoon.
"Hullo, Job! How are you?" he cried, reaching out his hand.
Tony, who was reading, looked up to see his father shaking hands with the red-whiskered man whom he had such good reason to remember.
The stranger nodded to Tony.
"So you're Job Loring's son, are you?" he said. "I tell you what it is, Job, that chap isn't very big," pointing to Tony, "but he's a boy to be proud of."
After this, he talked in low, earnest tones to Mr. Loring and Aaron, and soon the three started together in the direction of Ashville.
Father and son did not return till nearly dark, and then they came with quick, hopeful tread.
"Amanda," said Mr. Loring, eagerly, "what do you think? I've got every cent o' my pay."
Mrs. Loring stopped her work in surprise.
"I'm glad for Tony's sake," she replied. "Now he can have his money. He's been moping around the house like a shadow."
Mr. Loring looked thoughtful.
"I have been harsh with him sometimes, I s'pose, and I've said lot's o' things ag'in the rich folks that I hadn't orter. There's one decent one, anyway."
"Who's that?" his wife wanted to know.
"Mr. Morrison."
Tony came into the room at this moment, and caught the sound of the name.
"What of him?" he asked.
Then Job Loring told his story:
"That chap who was here to-day worked with me'n Aaron, over on Scaly Brook last winter, and the land we trespassed on belonged to this Mr. Morrison. I didn't know it at the time. Morrison was away, but a lawyer in Ashville advised Smart to take the hull lot o' logs, 'cause they was forfeited. But there was one landin', or brow of logs, that could be proved as come off of our permit, every stick of it, though I didn't know it. This brow was in the way of the others, and some o' the boys attached it for their wages. Then they sent this red-whiskered man through to see what Morrison was going to do about it. He came home himself and agreed to pay every man, and to-day we got it."
Then he turned to Tony.
"How much did you make last winter?" he asked.
"A hundred and thirty-three dollars," replied Tony, omitting the odd cents.
"Four dollars more than Aaron and me," said Mr. Loring.
He got up and paced across the room and back.
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," he continued, speaking with some effort, "I'm going to pay that all back to you, Tony—every cent of it."
He had expected to see Tony spring to his feet with a great outburst of joy. Instead, he only shook his head and said, slowly:
"I don't want it; you can keep it."
"Well! well! well!"
It was all Job Loring could say.
"You can give me part of it, if you like," said Tony, at length. "I suppose I shall need some clothes."
"And you ain't going to peddling, nor nothing?" queried Mr. Loring.
Again Tony shook his head.
And so the matter was dropped.
Another week went by and Tony was one day walking through Ashville. He had purchased, at the earnest solicitation of his mother, a suit of well-fitting clothes; but he was low-spirited, and in spite of the money he had made, the past winter seemed a sort of failure to him.
Suddenly some one grasped him by the shoulder and a familiar voice shouted in his ear:
"Hello, Tony, how are you? I hardly knew you, with your new toggery on."
Could it be possible? Yes, he was shaking hands with Morrison.
They were near Mr. Smart's hardware store.
"Come inside," said Morrison. "I've got a bit of news to tell you."
They entered. Mr. Smart was nowhere in sight.
"Right into the office," continued the young man, gaily. "Now, no backwardness to-day. Sit right down, while I spin my yarn, as the sailors say. It was as big a surprise to me as it will be to you."
Tony sank into one of the chairs, while Morrison elevated his feet upon the desk before him.
"Now, are you ready?" he said, with a laugh. "Well, here goes. I worked in this store two years, under this man Smart—and a precious rascal he was, too—and never knew that my father owned this store and everything in it. Mr. Smart had been a clerk for father in Boston, and the object of the deception was to see if I really had any liking for business. And what do you suppose the result is?"
"I don't know," said Tony, feebly.
"I'll tell you," continued Morrison. "I was twenty-one years old yesterday, and I am sole proprietor here."
Tony looked at his companion in a peculiar way; saw how his eyes sparkled and his cheeks flushed with eagerness, and he knew that his heart was light and happy with ambition and hope. But the gulf between them was wider than ever.
"I congratulate you," he said, huskily. "I wish you everything—"
He stopped and rose to his feet, but Morrison pulled him down into the chair again.
"Don't go yet," he pleaded. "I'm not through. Now I want a favor of you. I want you in the store with me. Stop!" he said, imperatively, as Tony attempted to speak. "I know what your objection will be, but it's no use. There are evening schools here in the village, and you can attend them as much as you wish. You are bright and quick; I'll risk you. Mind before muscle, any time."
What could the poor fellow do? Nothing, except to grasp the hand of Morrison and shed tears of gladness, while his lips vainly strove to utter the thankfulness which over-flowed his heart. His wildest dreams were more than realized, and, better than all material advancement, he would not be parted from his friend.
And Morrison never had occasion to regret his offer, for Tony took to the business like a duck to water. A year later, Mr. Morrison, senior, said to Job Loring, who was making some alterations in the rich man's stable:
"A wonderfully smart boy of yours, Mr. Loring. It doesn't seem possible that twelve months can work such a change."
Job ran his great fingers through his shaggy hair, and made answer in a puzzled sort of way:
"It do seem strange, Mr. Morrison—it do, for a fact. I al'ays pitied the little chap, and kep' tellin' him he'd never be any good. But there, it shows that size don't al'ays count, and I wish Aaron could 'a had more brains, even if he didn't have quite so much muscle."
The story of Isaac Furbush's petty pilfering in some way got noised about the village, and it seemed as though the disgrace would ruin his prospects in Ashville, till Tony induced Morrison to give him a job as porter in the store.
Isaac, to whom the bitter lesson had been extremely beneficial, accepted the situation thankfully, and a goodly portion of his superfluous flesh disappeared in his zeal to prove himself worthy of his employer's confidence.
And in the hunting seasons, Morrison and Tony manage to steal away and chase the flying caribou and deer, and more than one lordly moose has been forced to succumb to their prowess and skill.
[THE END.]
[A SUBMERGED CITY.]
It has happened many times in the history of the world that cities have fallen into decay, and finally disappeared so entirely that their existence has not been suspected by the ordinary traveler.
Nineveh, Babylon and Carthage are the most notable instances of the destruction due to war, pestilence and famine. Sometimes Nature lends a hand, as in the following strange case:
The city authorities of Rovigno, on the peninsula of Istria, in the Adriatic Sea, have discovered a little south of the peninsula the ruins of a large town at the bottom of the sea.
It has been observed for some years that fishermen's nets were sometimes entangled in what appeared to be masses of masonry, of which fragments were brought up from the sea-bed. A year or two ago a diver declared that he had seen walls and streets below the water.
The city authorities recently decided to investigate. They sent down a diver who, at the depth of eighty-five feet, found himself surrounded on the bottom of the sea by ruined walls. He says he knows they were the work of man. He is a builder by trade, and he recognized the layers of mortar.
Continuing his explorations, he traced the line of walls, and was able to distinguish how the streets were laid out. He did not see any doors or window openings, for they were hidden by masses of seaweed and incrustations.
He traced the masonry for a distance of one hundred feet, where he had to stop, as his diving cord did not permit him to go further. He had proved beyond a doubt that he had found the ruins of an inhabited town, which, through some catastrophe, had been sunk to the bottom of the sea.
Some people think that they identify this lost town with the island mentioned by Pliny the Elder, under the name of Cissa, near Istria. This island cannot be found now, and it is thought the submerged town may have been a settlement on the island that so mysteriously disappeared.
[ST. NICHOLAS.]
A very pretty legend from Germany tells how St. Nicholas came to be considered the patron saint of children. One day, so the story goes, he was passing by a miserable house, when he heard the sound of weeping within.
Stepping softly to the open window, he heard a father lamenting the wretched fate to which his three lovely young daughters were doomed by poverty. St. Nicholas' gentle heart was touched. He returned at night and threw in at the window three bags of gold sufficient for the dowry of the girls. His kindness to them, and to many others equally wretched, made him regarded as the especial benefactor of children.
In Russia he is reverenced as the chief saint of the Greek Church, but in Germany, Switzerland, Holland and Austria it is as the children's saint that he is chiefly honored. The good Dutch burghers who founded New Amsterdam placed the little settlement under his care. It has grown to be the great city of New York, but his name is no less honored in the splendid metropolis than in the humble Dutch town.
[PUZZLEDOM.]
No. DLXVI.
Original contributions solicited from all. Puzzles containing obsolete words will be received. Write contributions on one side of the paper, and apart from all communications. Address "Puzzle Editor," Golden Days, Philadelphia, Pa.