For the first time in my life I had some fears in regard to meeting my father. I dreaded the terrible infirmity which was beginning to develop itself anew in him. Under ordinary circumstances I should have been glad to see him; and with a hundred dollars in my pocket—the first money I had ever earned by my knowledge and skill—I should have been delighted to tell him the history of the day. I should have been sure of a proud and sympathetic listener in him as I detailed the means I had used to raise the dummy.
I feared two things—first, that he would be intoxicated; and second, that he would remember against me the deed I had done with the strange-looking bottle in the forenoon. In relation to the latter, I had come to see that the destruction of the whiskey was not the only or the greater cause of offence. By emptying the bottle, I had censured him, virtually, and made myself a judge of his condition and conduct. My father was a plucky man, in spite of his position as an employee of Colonel Wimpleton, and, right or wrong, would not suffer any one to be a censor upon his actions.
I feared that his anger would not go down with the sun; and I had an utter horror of any quarrel in the family. Besides, I had a great admiration of my father. I considered him one of the best and one of the most skilful men of his craft on the lake. I could not endure the thought of any coldness on his part or the feeling that I had suffered in his estimation. I knew he had been proud of me as a scholar, and especially proud of the reputation I had earned as a young engineer. My readers, therefore, will not be surprised when I say that my bosom bounded with emotion as I thought of meeting him after the occurrences of the day. If he was only sober, and in his right mind, all would be well with me.
I had heard in Middleport that the Ruoara, on her down trip, had obtained an engineer at Hitaca; therefore I supposed my father had gone home. The storekeeper on the wharf had seen him; but I did not dare to ask whether he was intoxicated. Never before, I repeat, had I gone to my father’s house with any doubts or misgivings. It was quite dark when I reached the mill wharf, and secured my skiff at its moorings. When I started from Middleport with a hundred dollars in my pocket, I felt like a rich man. During my silent pull across the lake I thought of our family trouble, and when I landed at Centreport I felt as though I had lost a hundred dollars, and that I was even poorer than usual.
With stealthy step I crept through the garden, fearful that I might encounter my father intoxicated. There was a light in the kitchen, and I stood on tiptoe, so that I could look in at the window. My father was not there. The supper table was waiting in the middle of the room, and my good mother sat at one corner of it, sewing, while my two sisters were reading near her. I opened the back door and went in, but not without the fear that I should be told my father was helpless in his bed.
“Why, Wolfert, where have you been?” asked my mother, rising as I entered. “I needn’t ask you, for I have heard all about it.”
“About what?”
“You have been over to Middleport, at work for the Toppleton boys.”
“I know it.”
“Why did you do it?”