Part 15 (1/2)
”Won't that be splendid!” Betty replied. ”How did you ever think of all those things? Why, the people didn't know you were thinking so much about their welfare when you were living all alone, and when they said you were crazy.”
”No, girl, they did not know,” and the old man gazed thoughtfully off into s.p.a.ce. ”They believed that I was a fool, and perhaps they had reason for so thinking. You see, I was very poor and had no means of carrying out my plans. It has always been the way, and why should I have expected anything different from thousands of others who have tried to help their fellow men? But now things have changed, and they will soon learn that old David was not so crazy after all.”
They were seated upon the bank of the stream as they thus talked. On a bough of a near-by tree a squirrel was scolding, and off in the distance several crows were lifting up their raucous voices. Betty picked up a stone and tossed it into the water below, and then watched with interest as it fell with a splash.
”I can throw farther than you, Mr. David,” she bantered. ”I can throw a stone to that big rock over there.”
”I haven't thrown a stone in a long time, my child,” was the reply.
”Well, try it then,” was the command. ”Here is a nice smooth one.”
Rising to his feet, David took the stone and with a wide sweep of his long arm hurled it far down the stream almost to the base of the rock.
”You didn't do it,” Betty shouted with delight. ”I can beat that, see if I can't.”
She half turned to pick up another stone when she suddenly paused as her eyes rested upon a man coming toward them. It was Peter Sinclair, and as he drew near and spoke to them, it seemed to Betty that the atmosphere had changed, and the day was not as fine as it had been but a few seconds before. She wanted to get away, for this man's presence seemed to weigh upon her in an ominous manner. The reason why she could not explain.
”Having a nice time here, eh?” Mr. Sinclair remarked, as he sat down upon the bank. ”That walk has puffed me. Do you come up here often?”
he asked, turning toward Betty.
”Whenever Mr. David takes the notion,” was her reply. ”I always come with him, and we have such a pleasant time.”
”And do you always stop here and spend your time in throwing stones at that rock? Are you not wasting your time?”
”We might be doing worse, though,” Betty replied, somewhat nettled at the man's words. ”We might be throwing stones at you or somebody else.”
”At me!” and Mr. Sinclair looked surprised.
”Yes, at you. But perhaps it's safer to throw them at that rock over there. It doesn't mind for it knows we're only in fun. It's a special friend of mine, and that's why I like to be near it. You would never believe that it saved half my father's farm several years ago.”
”What, that rock?”
”It certainly did, and I shall never forget what it did for us.”
”Tell me about it,” and Mr. Sinclair sat down upon the ground. The mention of the Bean farm had suddenly aroused his interest, and made him willing to listen to this country girl's story.
”It was a long time ago,” Betty began, ”just after my father was married. He had bought a piece of land off of the Dinsmore Manor, about one hundred acres, I think it was. After he had paid for the place there was some trouble about the line between him and the man who had bought another piece of the manor next to him. They agreed to have the line run over again. I don't understand all about it, but, anyway, when the line was run it cut my father's place almost in two, and he was afraid he was going to lose all that land where those fine logs are now. It was a funny mistake, but it was soon settled.”
”What had that rock to do with it?” Mr. Sinclair enquired.
”Oh,” and the girl gave a slight laugh. ”I forgot that part. You see, the surveyor was to start running the line from the big pyramid rock on this brook. It is called that because of its shape. Father happened to be away from home the day the line was run and the surveyor started from another rock farther down the brook, which looks something like that one over there. Wasn't it funny? So you see that is why I am so fond of that big rock and come here as often as I can to be near my good friend.”
As Betty finished, a peculiar expression might have been detected in Peter Sinclair's eyes, and for a few seconds he gazed steadily at the rock before him. It seemed that the girl's story had greatly interested him and started him off on a new line of thought. Just what it was he kept to himself and with an apparent effort turned his attention once more to Betty.
”You will not come here as often, I suppose, when the company gets to work,” he remarked. ”Things will be much changed along this brook, and perhaps your old friend, the rock, may be disturbed.”
”You are right, sir,” David replied, speaking for the first time.
”There will certainly be marvellous changes all over this country in a year or two. You will hardly know the place then.”
”That is interesting. And can you tell me who will perform these wonders of which you speak so confidently?”
”The falls will do it,” and David stretched out his right arm. ”Light and power will come from there to transform city and country. Living will be made far more tolerable in both.”