CHAPTER XVI.
THE PRESTON FAMILY.
“MOTHER, may I go over to Ralph Preston’s, this evening, with Clinton?” asked Whistler, one day, about the middle of September. “Oscar has got home, and his cousin Marcus has come with him. I’ve seen them both. We are going to take Clinton and Oscar by surprise. Oscar doesn’t know that Clinton is in town, and Clinton doesn’t know that Oscar is. There’ll be quite a scene, I guess, when they come together; you know they used to be pretty intimate, when Oscar lived down to Brookdale.”
Mrs. Davenport readily granted the desired permission; for, although it was a rule of the house that the children should never be absent from home after dark without the consent of one of their parents, the rule was intended merely to shield them from the moral dangers to which the young are exposed in the streets of towns after nightfall, and not to debar them from any proper and innocent amusement.
Whistler and Ralph attended the same school, and, although there was a difference of two or three years between their ages,—Ralph being the younger,—they were intimate friends. There were many excellent traits in Ralph’s character. Whistler was also on terms of friendship with the other members of the family—Alice, Ella and George. Alice was a young lady of seventeen. Ella has already been introduced to the reader. George, the youngest, was about nine years old. With Oscar, who was now half way between fifteen and sixteen, Whistler had never been on very good terms. Until within a little more than a year, they had been classmates in school; but the character of Oscar, at that time, was not such as Whistler could admire; and, on the other hand, Oscar seemed, for some reason known best to himself, to take a dislike to Whistler, which more than once manifested itself in blows. For all this, however, Whistler now cherished no feeling of resentment towards his old enemy. On the contrary, the shame and suffering which Oscar had brought upon himself, and the desire and determination he had expressed to reform, warmly enlisted Whistler’s sympathies in his behalf.
Marcus Page, Oscar’s cousin, who had come to Boston with him, was about eighteen years old, and lived in the small town of Highburg, in Vermont. His mother had agreed to take Oscar into her family, where he would be under good influences, and secure from the evil associations and temptations of the city; and his release from the State Reform School was conditioned upon this arrangement. Marcus was to spend a few day in Boston, and then to return to his home, with Oscar.
When Mr. Davenport came home to tea that evening, he brought a letter for Clinton. It was from his mother, and was the first intelligence he had received from home since his departure. It contained several items of intelligence which, to him, were of considerable importance. Dick Sneider, the supposed incendiary, had at length been arrested, and after a preliminary examination, had been committed to jail, to await a trial by jury. Clinton had been summoned as a witness against him; but, as the trial could not take place for several weeks, he would have an opportunity to finish his visit before returning. Nor was Dick the only rogue that had been caught since Clinton left home. The letter stated that some creature entered Mr. Preston’s barn, one night, and killed four geese. A trap was set the next night, and the following morning it held securely by the paw of the left fore foot a wild-cat that stood seventeen inches high, measured three feet in length, and weighed thirty-three pounds. He was alive, and not in a very amiable mood, when discovered, but was despatched by two or three blows with a heavy stick. His skin had been preserved. “It is the opinion of the folks here,” continued the letter, “that this was the identical rascal that made such havoc with your fowls, just before you left home; but we shall probably never know for a certainty whether this was so or not. When we discover a rogue, we are apt to lay upon him not only his own sins, but many others for which we can find no owner.”
If Mrs. Davenport entertained any doubt as to the guilt of the wild-cat in the chicken affair, Clinton did not. It was as plain to him as day that the feline monster was the real culprit. He had suspected as much from the first, against his father’s doubts and ridicule; and now that the presence of such a creature had been demonstrated, he wanted no further proof. There was somewhat of a chasm between the two links of the argument, it is true; but although the reasoning would hardly be sufficient to hang a man, Clinton deemed it amply conclusive to condemn a wild-cat. He exulted quite as much over the conquest of this midnight marauder, as he did over the capture of the other and greater rogue mentioned in the letter.
After tea, Clinton went over to Mr. Preston’s house with his cousin. The “surprise,” when Oscar and Clinton met, was quite as great, on both sides, as had been anticipated. They were right glad to see each other face to face once more; and, although Oscar at first seemed to feel some restraint, the cordial manner with which his old comrades received him, put him at his ease again. From regard to his feelings, no allusion was made to his past career; but future plans and hopes were discussed quite freely.
“How do you think you shall like living on a farm?” inquired Clinton, addressing Oscar.
“O, I’ve made up my mind to like it, whether or no,” was the reply.