Part 8 (1/2)

Thief!” The robber ran. In the morning Mr. Noggin found that the thief had dropped his hat in his haste. He picked it up. ”Aha! 'Pears to me I have seen this hat before. Paul Parker's, as sure as I am alive!” he said. It was the hat which Paul wore in Mr. Chrome's paint-shop.

Everybody knew it, because it was daubed and spattered with paint.

Mr. Noggin went to his work. He was a well-meaning man, but shallow-brained. He knew how to make good barrels, tubs, and buckets, but had no mind of his own. He put on his leather ap.r.o.n, and commenced driving the hoops upon a barrel, pounding with his adze, singing, and making the barrel ring with

”Cooper ding, cooper ding, cooper ding, ding, ding!

Cooper ding, cooper ding, cooper ding, ding, ding!

Cooper ding, job, job, Cooper ding, bob, bob, Heigh ho,--ding, ding, ding!”

Mr. Noggin was rattling on in that fas.h.i.+on when Miss Dobb, followed by Trip, entered the shop.

”Well, I declare! That is the first time I ever saw a pup with a s.h.i.+rt on,” said Mr. Noggin, stopping and looking at the poodle sewed up in flannel. ”That is Paul Parker's doings,--I mean the shearing,” said Miss Dobb, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng indignantly.

”Paul's work! O ho! Then he shears pups besides robbing bee-hives, does he?” said Mr. Noggin. He told Miss Dobb what had happened.

”It is your duty, Mr. Noggin, to have him arrested at once. You are under imperative obligations to the community as a law and order abiding citizen to put the sheriff upon his track. He is a hypocrite. He ought to be pitched out of the singing-seats head first.” So Miss Dobb wound Mr. Noggin round her finger, and induced him to enter a complaint against Paul.

CHAPTER VI.

PAUL'S FRIENDS.

For five months Paul had been leader of the choir, and so faithfully were his duties performed, so excellent his drill, and so good his taste and mature his judgment, so completely were the choir under his control, that the ministers from the surrounding parishes, when they exchanged with Rev. Mr. Surplice, said, ”What glorious singing they have at New Hope!” It was so good, that people who never had been in the habit of attending church hired pews,--not that they cared to hear Mr. Surplice preach and pray, but it was worth while to hear Azalia Adams and Daphne Dare sing a quartette with Paul and Hans, and the whole choir joining in perfect time and in sweetest harmony.

Paul believed that a thing worth doing at all was worth doing well. His heart was in his work. It was a pleasure to sing. He loved music because it made him happy, and he felt also that he and Azalia and Daphne and all the choir were a power for good in the community to make men better. Farmer Harrow, who used to work at haying on Sunday, said it was worth a bushel of turnips any time to hear such sweet singing. So his hired man and horses had rest one day in seven, and he became a better man.

In the calm moonlight nights Paul often lay wide awake, hour after hour, listening with rapture to the sweet music which came to him from the distant woods, from the waterfall, from the old maple in front of the house, when the leaves, tinged with gorgeous hues, were breaking one by one from the twigs, and floating to the ground, from the crickets chirping the last lone songs of the dying year, and from the robins and sparrows still hovering around their summer haunts. It was sweet to think of the pleasant hours he had pa.s.sed with Azalia and Daphne, and with all the choir; and then it was very pleasant to look into the future, and imagine what bliss there might be in store for him;--a better home for his mother in her declining years,--a better life for himself. He would be a good citizen, respected and beloved. He would be kind to all. He wished that all the world might be good and happy. When he became a man, he would try and make people good. If everybody was as good as Azalia, what a glorious world it would be! She was always good, always cheerful. She had a smile for everybody. Her life was as warm and sunny and golden as the October days, and as calm and peaceful as the moonlight streaming across his chamber. Sweet it was to think of her,--sweeter to see her; sweetest of all to stand by her side and unite his voice to hers, and feel in his soul the charm of her presence. In his dreams he sometimes heard her and sat by her side.

Sometimes, while thus lying awake, watching the stars as they went sailing down the western sky, his thoughts went beyond the present into the unseen future, whither his father and grandfather had gone. They sang when on earth, and he thought of them as singing in heaven.

Sometimes he gazed so long and steadily toward the heavenly land, that his eyes became dim with tears, so sweet and yet so sad the sounds he seemed to hear,--so near and yet so far away that land.

So the days went by, and the calm and peaceful nights, bringing him to October,--the glorious harvest month.

And now suddenly people looked shyly at him. There were mysterious whisperings and averted faces. He met Squire Capias one morning on the street. ”Good morning,” said Paul; but the lawyer walked on without reply. He pa.s.sed Miss Dobb's house. She sat by the front window, and glared at him savagely; and yet she seemed to smile, but her countenance was so thin, wrinkled, and sharp, and her eyes so fierce, her smile so fiendish, that it put him in mind of a picture he once saw in a horrible story-book, which told of a witch that carried off little children and ate them for breakfast. Paul thought that Miss Dobb would like to pick his bones. But he went on to his work, rejoicing that there were not many Miss Dobbs in the world.

While hard at it with his paint-brush, Mr. Ketchum entered. He was a tall, stout man, with black, bushy whiskers, and so strong that he could take a barrel of cider on his knees and drink out of the bunghole. He was a sheriff. The rowdies who fell into his hands said it was no use to try to resist Mr. Ketchum, for he once seized a stubborn fellow by the heels, and swung him round as he would a cat by the tail, till the fellow lost his breath and was frightened half out of his wits.

”I have called in to ask you to walk up to Judge Adams's office on a matter of business,” said Mr. Ketchum.

”With pleasure, sir,” said Paul, who, now that he had become a surveyor of land, had been called upon repeatedly to give his testimony in court.

They entered Judge Adams's office, which was crowded with people. Mr.

Noggin, Miss Dobb, Philip, and Bob Swift were there. A buzz ran round the room. They all looked upon Paul.

”You have been arrested, Paul, and are charged with stealing honey from Mr. Noggin's bee-hives. Are you guilty or not guilty?” said Judge Adams.

”Arrested!--arrested for stealing!”--Paul exclaimed, stupefied and astounded at the words of the judge. It was like a lightning-stroke. His knees became weak. He felt sick at heart. Great drops of cold and clammy sweat stood upon his forehead. Arrested! What would his mother say? Her son accused of stealing! What would everybody say? What would Azalia think? What would Rev. Mr. Surplice say? What would his cla.s.s of boys in the Sunday-school say, not about him, but about truth and honor and religion, when they heard that their teacher was arrested for stealing?

His throat became dry, his tongue was parched. His voice suddenly grew husky. His brain reeled. His heart one moment stood still, then leaped in angry throbs, as if ready to burst. He trembled as if attacked by sudden ague, then a hot flash went over him, burning up his brain, scorching his heart, and withering his life.

”What say you, are you guilty or not guilty?”