“That is for other reasons. He goes out in the morning upon our errands. It is part of our contract with him that he shall stop the night in town with his family and return the next day early. He is really our caterer and postman. But Anton—Anton is ‘bound.’ And Anton needs watching. Lad, do you promise that if I let you take a horse and ride to camp you’ll do the lady’s errand right and ride straight home again?”
He had lingered just within the kitchen doorway, fooling with the youngest of the maids who resented his teasing by a sharp clap on his cheek, but he had not been so absorbed in this pastime that he had not heard every word spoken between his mistress and her guest. Knowing that he was in truth an untrustworthy messenger, he resented its being told; and the statement that no payment would be accepted angered him. He was a bound-out servant, of course. So were many other lads of the Province and no disgrace in it; but if a free gift were offered, was it not his to take? A scowl settled on his dark face and he listened to the outcome of the matter with a vindictive interest. Also, he answered, sullenly:
“’Tis a far call to that camp in the woods and one must ride crooked, not ‘straight,’ to reach it. ’Twould be in the night ere Anton could be back, and there is no moon.”
“Tut, lad! When was Anton ever afraid of the night or the dark? Indeed, some tell me that he loves it better than the light. The Scripture tells why. Will you go or not? And will you do the lady’s errand right?”
“The master read in the Big Book, last Sunday-day that ever was, how the ‘laborer is worthy of his hire.’ That’s good Scripture, too, Missus, the hay-makers say, and one nudged me to take notice at that time.”
Mrs. Grimm hastily turned that he might not see the smile which flitted across her face, and Auntie Lu as suddenly found something interesting to observe which brought her back also toward the quick-witted, mischievous lad. She longed to renew her offer of payment but would not interfere between mistress and man, so waited anxiously for the result. It came after a moment, Mrs. Grimm saying:
“Go, saddle the gray mare and ride upon that errand. You shall have your dinner first, and a supper in a napkin to cheer you on the ride home. By ‘lights out’ you will be in your loft with the men. Now tidy yourself and come to table.”
Anton wasted no time before he obeyed. His sullenness had been but a pretence and mostly assumed in order to secure that “payment” which the “foreign” lady offered. The gray mare was a fleet traveler, easy under the saddle—though for that matter he rarely used one—and he loved the forest. A half-day away from the mistress’s eye was clear delight. She had said nothing against a gun or a fishing line and not even the best guide in that region knew better the secret of wood and stream than this other descendant of the Micmacs.
The maid he had teased was glad to be quit of him and hurried to dish up his portion of the dinner, while Mrs. Hungerford returned to desk to write a letter to her brother and to safely make all into a little packet, marked: “Private and Important.”
She had told her companions of Anton’s trip and Dorothy sped out of doors to beg the lad: