Guy Harris, the Runaway

by Harry Castlemon

WALKING rapidly along the alley that ran behind his father’s garden Guy climbed the fence, dropped down into a thicket of bushes, and stopped to take a survey of the premises. There was no one in sight, and having fully satisfied himself on this point he crept stealthily into the carriage-house and up the stairs to his curiosity shop. Locking the door behind him he took down from one of the nails a dilapidated valise, which he had provided for this very occasion, and throwing open his tool-chest began bundling his valuables into it with eager haste. He did not forget anything, not even the rubber blanket, powder-horn, or rusty butcher-knife. When the last article had been crowded into the valise he closed it, and carrying it to the window that overlooked the garden dropped it to the ground. Then he locked the door of the curiosity shop, descended the stairs, and picking up the valise carried it to the lower end of the garden and concealed it under a quince tree.

This much was done, but he had still another piece of work to perform, and that took him into the house. He went to his mother’s room, and after considerable fumbling in one of the bureau drawers took out something wrapped up in a white paper, which, after he had examined it to make sure that he had found what he wanted, he put it into his pocket. Next he hurried to his own room to secure the buckskin purse containing the fifteen dollars he had with so much difficulty scraped together. This done, he selected from his abundant wardrobe a pair of heavy boots, a shirt or two, a change of linen, a few pairs of stockings, and a suit of his roughest and most durable clothing, all of which he tied up in a handkerchief he had spread upon the floor. Once during this operation he paused and looked with rather a longing eye toward the pair of patent-leathers and the natty broadcloth suit he was accustomed to wear on extra occasions, but, after a little reflection, he decided to leave them behind, consoling himself with the thought that in the country to which he was going buckskin was oftener seen than broadcloth, and that fine boots and expensive clothing would not look well on the person of a trapper.

Having tied his bundle he caught it up and ran out of the house. His previous examination of the premises had satisfied him that the coast was clear, so he did not take any pains to conceal his movements. He went directly to the place where he had concealed his valise and spent ten minutes trying to crowd some of the clothing into it; but it was already so full that there was not room even for a pair of stockings, and Guy found that he must either carry his bundle through the streets wrapped up in his handkerchief or leave it behind. He decided on the former course. Even trappers must have clothes, and he feared that those he was then wearing might not hold together until he could capture and cure a sufficient number of deer hides to make him a suit of buckskin.

Taking the valise in his left hand, and the bundle in his teeth, Guy mounted to the top of the fence, and was on the very point of swinging himself over, when happening to cast his eyes up the lane, whom should he see approaching but Henry Stewart. He had come up just in time to catch him in the act of running away from home.

So thought Guy, as he stood leaning on the top of the fence, growing pale and red by turns, and utterly at a loss what to do. He was well aware that the quick-witted Henry would know in a minute what was going on; he could not well help it if he made any use of his eyes, for there was the evidence of Guy’s guilt in the shape of his valise and bundle in plain sight. What would Henry think of him for breaking the solemn promise he had made the evening before—and more than that, what would he do? But, unfortunately for our hero, Henry not being as wide-awake as he usually was, did not see him. I say unfortunately, because had Henry received the least intimation of what was going on, he would have saved his friend many an hour of misery and remorse. He walked along, whistling merrily, as though he felt at peace with himself and all the world, carrying in one hand his jointed fish-pole, stowed away in a neat bag of drilling, and in the other a fine string of rock bass; and so completely was his mind occupied with thoughts of the splendid sport he had enjoyed on the pier that he had neither eyes nor ears for what was going on near him.

Guy saw that he had a chance to save himself, and he lost not an instant in taking advantage of it. As quick as a flash he dropped his burdens behind the fence, and in a moment more would have been out of sight himself had not the noise the heavy valise made in falling through the branches of a quince tree in the garden aroused Henry from his reverie. He looked up just in time to see Guy’s head disappearing behind the fence.

“Aha!” he exclaimed, “I saw you, old fellow. What are you about there?”

Guy, finding that he was discovered, straightened up and looked over the top of the fence again. “Halloo, Hank,” said he, with an attempt to appear as cordial and friendly as usual.

“What’s going on in here?” asked Henry, walking up close to the fence and peeping through one of the cracks. “I heard something drop.”

“It was my ball club,” replied Guy, who could swallow a lie as easily as if it had been a strawberry. “I was about to toss it toward you to attract your attention, when it slipped out of my hand.”