Part 51 (1/2)
”It's jest this,” said William Price. ”Here's a little bag of them mola.s.ses-b.a.l.l.s, I'll give 'em to ye; but don't you never, as long as you live, buy anything you 'ain't either got the money to pay for in your fist, ready, or know jest where it's comin' from. It's stealin', and it's the wust kind of stealin', 'cause it ain't out an' out. I had a boy once about your size.”
”Where's he now?” asked Eddy, in a half-resentful, half-wondering fas.h.i.+on.
”He's dead; died years ago of scarlet-fever, and I'd a good deal rather have it so, much as I thought of him--as much as your father thinks of you--than to have him grow up and steal and cheat folks.”
”Didn't he ever take anything that didn't belong to him?” asked Eddy.
”Never. I guess he didn't. John wasn't that kind of a boy. I'd have trusted him with anythin'.”
”Then he must have gone to heaven, I suppose,” said Eddy. He looked soberly into the old clerk's eyes. ”Thank you for the mola.s.ses-b.a.l.l.s,” he said. ”I meant to pay for 'em, but I don't know just when I'd have the money, so I guess it's better for you to give them to me. Mr. Anderson won't mind, will he?”
”No, he won't, for I shall put fives cents into the cash-drawer for them,” replied the old clerk, with dignity.
”I wouldn't want to have you take anything that Mr. Anderson wouldn't like,” said Eddy.
”I shouldn't,” replied the old clerk, going back to his place behind the counter, as a woman entered the store.
Eddy looked back as he went out, with a very sweet expression. ”The first five-cent piece I get I'll pay you,” he said. He had popped a mola.s.ses-ball into his mouth, and his utterance was somewhat impeded.
”I thank you very much, indeed,” he said, ”and I'm sorry your boy died.”
”Have you just lost a boy?” asked the woman at the counter.
”Twenty years ago,” replied the clerk.
”Land!” said the woman. She looked at him, then she turned and looked after Eddy, who was visible on the sidewalk talking with Madame Griggs, and her face showed her mind. Madame Griggs had waited on the sidewalk until Eddy came out of the store. Now she seized him by the arm, which he promptly jerked away from her.
”When will your folks be home? That's what I want to know!” said she, sharply.
”They'll be home to-night, I guess,” replied Eddy.
”Then I'll be up after supper,” said Madame Griggs.
”All right,” said Eddy.
”You tell 'em I'm comin'. I've got to see your ma and your pa.”
”Yes, ma'am,” replied Eddy. He raised his little cap as the dressmaker flirted away, then he started on a run down the street, sucking a mola.s.ses-ball, which is a staying sweet, and soon he left the travelled road and was hastening far afield.
Chapter XXV
It was September, but a very warm day. Charlotte had walked along the highway for some distance; then when she came to a considerable grove of oak-trees, she hesitated a moment, and finally left the road, entered the grove, and sat down on a rock at only a little distance from the road, yet out of sight of it. She was quite effectually screened by the trees and some undergrowth. Here and there the oaks showed shades of russet-and-gold and deep crimson; the leaves had not fallen. In the sunlit s.p.a.ces between the trees grew clumps of blue asters. She saw a squirrel sitting quite motionless on a bough over her head, with bright eyes of inquisitive fear upon her. She felt a sense of delight, and withal a slight tinge of loneliness and risk.
There was no doubt that it was not altogether wise, perhaps not safe, for a girl to leave the highway, or even to walk upon it if it were not thickly bordered by dwellings, in this state. Charlotte was fearless, yet her imagination was a lively one. She looked about her with keen enjoyment, yet there was a sharp wariness in her glance akin to that of the squirrel. When she heard on the road the rattle of wheels, and caught the flash of revolving spokes in the sun, she had a sensation of relief. There was not a house in sight, except far to the left, where she could just discern the slant of a barn roof through the trees. Everything was very still. While there was no wind, it was cool in the shade, though hot in the sunlight. She pulled her jacket over her shoulders. She leaned against a tree and remained perfectly quiet. She had on a muslin gown of an indeterminate green color, and it shaded perfectly into the coloring of the tree-trunk, which was slightly mossy. Her dark head, too, was almost indistinguishable against the tree, which at that height was nearly black. In fact, she became almost invisible from that most curious system of concealment in the world, that of a.s.similation with nature. She was gathered so closely into the arms of the great mother that she seemed one with her. And she was not alone in the shelter of those mighty arms; there was the squirrel, as indistinguishable as she. And there was another.
Charlotte with her bright, wary eyes, and the little animal with his, in the tree, became aware of another sentient thing besides themselves. Possibly the squirrel had been aware of it all the time.
Suddenly the girl looked downward at her right and saw within a stone's-throw a man asleep. He was dressed in an ancient, greenish-brown suit, and was practically invisible. His arm was thrown over his weather-beaten face and he was sleeping soundly, lying in a position as grotesquely distorted as some old tree-root.
He was, in fact, distorted by the storms of life within and without.
He was evidently a tramp, and possibly worse. His sleeping face could be read like a page of evil lore.
When Charlotte perceived him she turned pale and her heart seemed to stop. Her first impulse was to rise and make a mad rush for the road.