“I’ve tried to be honest; but what’s the use?” said he. “I thought I’d got a chance for myself, and this is what it comes to! Even the deacon has turned against me! Now let ’em look out! I’ll have my pay, somehow!”
If Jack had kept near the canal, and in this mood had seen his old friend Pete comfortably riding the tiller of the wheat-boat, his whole future might have been changed by so slight a circumstance. But his good genius had not yet given him over to his own vindictive thoughts and rash resolves.
With weariness and hunger came memory and reflection. The burning sense of injury with which he thought of Peternot and Phineas Chatford, and all who had been instrumental in his disgrace, gave way to different emotions as he remembered good Mrs. Chatford, and lovely Annie Felton, and affectionate little Kate.
“O, shall I never see them again?” he murmured; and a big sob rose in his throat. And the home where he had been so happy for a few short months! And Lion! “I won’t go without Lion, anyway!” he exclaimed. “I’ll see the Huswick boys about the money, and get that if I can, and Lion anyhow!”
It was a beautiful day, mild and tranquil and hazy, with just that tinge of melancholy in it which marks the gradual change of summer into autumn. To Jack, lurking there in the silent cornfield, it seemed like Sunday. He sat down in the warm sunlight by the scarecrow, and waited for his clothes to dry.
The shrill song of the locust rose now and then on the still air, increasing for a few seconds in vehemence, then sank and ceased; and occasionally the gossip of the multitudinous blackbirds came quite near to him, as the chattering flocks settled on the corn; but he heard scarcely any other sound, until suddenly he became aware of footsteps and a rustling of leaves not far off. He sat still, and listened. Then all was quiet again for a minute or two. Then came the loud report of a fowling-piece, accompanied by a curious rattling sound close above his head. A scattering volley of small shot had cut the corn-tops all about the spot where he sat.
His first thought was that he had been shot at. But just then a cloud of blackbirds rose from the corn, and the feet he had heard approaching rushed towards them. He kept perfectly still, and saw a boy about his own size run past him, between two rows of corn, not a rod off. The young hunter might easily have discovered Jack sitting there beside the scarecrow, if he had not been so intent on picking up his blackbirds.