Chapter XVIII: Good-By to Chalecoo 336 (3)

Frankie was there too, for he had begged to come, and had been allowed to do so on the promise that he would behave very well and sit still. Sitting still was even harder work for Frankie than it was for Maggie; but he meant to be good and quiet, and would probably have kept his word if he had not been troubled. For by and by they all found that even in this quiet nook they were not to remain undisturbed.

Frankie sat as far as possible from Bob, with whom he was much displeased, though he had no good reason to be so. A short time before this, the little ones had all been playing on the grass in front of the house, while the grown people sat upon the piazza. It would have been thought that it was not easy for any one of them to get into mischief or danger with so many to watch them; but Frankie had a way of doing this which was quite surprising. Never was such a fellow for climbing as that Frankie, and his neck was in danger half a dozen times a day, in spite of all the care that could be taken. His mother's eye had been off of him for scarcely two minutes, when she was startled by hearing Maggie say in a terrified voice, "Oh, mamma, do come to Frankie!"

At the side of the house, and just beyond the end of the piazza stood the old well, which supplied them with fresh, cool water. There was a high stone curb around it through which ran a wooden spout, which carried off any waste water which might be poured from the bucket. This spout was partly outside, partly inside the well, and sloped towards the ground. The children, who wanted a drink, had run around to the well, and were waiting for some one to come and draw water for them, when Frankie climbed upon the spout, and before his sisters could stop him, perched himself astride the well curb. Mrs. Bradford turned her head at the sound of her little daughter's voice, and saw them both holding Frankie, the one by his skirts, the other by his leg, while the child was struggling in a frantic manner to free himself from their hold. Had he done so, he must surely have fallen into the well. Before any of the startled group upon the piazza could reach him, Bob Porter darted from the kitchen door, and snatching the child from the well curb, carried him, still struggling, to his mother. Mrs. Bradford thought it best to punish Frankie, and tying the mischievous little feet together with papa's pocket-handkerchief, she made him sit quiet upon the piazza steps for half an hour. When she let him go, he promised to do so no more but he was not reasonable; and instead of being sorry for his own naughtiness, was angry with Bob, who had carried him to his mother, and who, he thought, had caused him to be punished; and now he would not come near him or speak to him, which amused Bob very much.

When the children had all taken their places, and had done expressing their delight at the pleasant place in which they found themselves, Mrs. Rush opened the school; while the Colonel with his book stretched himself upon the rocks above, until he should be called upon for his accustomed story.

Every child then repeated a hymn, except Hafed, who could not yet master enough English for this, after which Mrs. Rush asked each one for a Bible verse.

"Can you say a pretty verse for me, Frankie?" she asked of the little boy who had just seen a fish throw himself out of the lake, and was eagerly watching for a second glimpse of him.

"Yes'm. Dat's a pollywod, I dess," said Frankie, with his eyes on the water.

"That's a great Bible verse," said Fred, beginning a giggle, in which the other boys could not help joining.

"Hush, Fred," said Mrs. Rush. "What was that nice verse I heard mamma teaching you this morning, Frankie?"

"Suffer 'ittle chillens--dat _is_ a pollywod, Fred--suffer 'ittle chillers to tome unto me;" said Frankie.

"And who said that, Frankie?"

"Jesus," answered Frankie, bringing his eyes back from the lake to the face of his teacher, and becoming interested. "Jesus said it, and it means me."

"Yes, it means you, Frankie."

"And Maddie and Bessie," said Frankie.

"And all other little children," said Mrs. Rush.

"Not Bob," said Frankie, with a defiant shake of his head at the big boy, who had to put his hand over his face to hide the smile which would have way.

"Yes, and Bob, too. Jesus meant all children whoever they may be, or wherever they are."

"But Bob is naughty," said Frankie. "He telled mamma to tie my foots."

"Bob is very good, and Frankie must not be angry with him," said Mrs. Rush. "Frankie was naughty himself, and so mamma had to tie his little feet so that he might remember he was not to run into mischief."

"Jesus don't love naughty boys," said Frankie, with another reproving look at Bob.

"Jesus loves all children, the good ones and the naughty ones," said Mrs. Rush. "It makes him sorry when they are naughty and forget what he tells them, but he still loves them, and wants them to come to him and learn to love him, and be sorry for their sins."

"Did Jesus say I was naughty when I wode on the well?" asked Frankie.

"Did you not know mamma did not want you to climb on the well?" said Mrs. Rush.

"Yes'm; mamma said 'don't do by de well,' and I did do dere."

"And Jesus says little boys must mind their mothers; so he was sorry when he saw Frankie disobey his kind mamma."

"Is he sorry wis me now? I not do so any more," said Frankie.

"He is sorry if you are cross, and do not feel pleasant to Bob," answered Mrs. Rush.

Frankie jumped down from his seat, and running over to Bob, put up his rosy lips for a kiss, which the other was quite ready to give.

"Aunt May," said Maggie, "do you think Jesus _could_ love children like Lem and Dolly?"

"He loved them so much that he came to die for them, Maggie. If he did not love them, he would not grieve to see them going so far from him; and to them, too, he says, 'Come unto me,' and stands ready to forgive them, and make them his own little lambs."

"Perhaps they never heard about Jesus, and do not know that he loves them," said Bessie. "I don't believe they have any one to teach them."

"I am afraid not," said Mrs. Rush. "Perhaps some time one of us may find a way to tell them."

"They would not let us speak to them," said Maggie.

"If we could persuade them that we felt kindly to them, they might listen to us," said Mrs. Rush; "at least, we could try."

"But I don't think I do feel kindly to them," said Maggie, "and even if I did, I do not see how we could find the chance to show it."

"I do not say that you will, only that you _may_ find it," said Mrs. Rush; "but if you have a chance and do not take it, it will be a jewel by the way which you will not stoop to pick up that you may carry it to your Father in Heaven."

"And Benito would not have passed it by," said Maggie softly. "We will try to be like him, will we not, Bessie?"

When the proper time came, the Colonel was called upon and came down among the children. His story proved even more interesting than usual; and all, from Mrs. Rush down to Bessie, were so taken up with it, that they were not thinking of Frankie, who for some time sat quiet between his little sisters, busy with the Colonel's pencil-case and a piece of paper, on which he was making scrawls which he called "pollywods." He had seen some pollywogs, or young frogs, in the brook the day before, and his mind had been quite full of them ever since; and he was very anxious to catch one, and have it for his own.

Suddenly all were astonished by a loud sob and a half angry, half frightened "stop dat" from the little boy; and looking at him, they saw him with flushed cheeks, quivering lips, and eyes swimming in tears, gazing up at the bushes which overhung the rocks.

"What is it, dear?" asked Mrs. Rush; and as she spoke Maggie and Bessie both caught sight of a hideous face which thrust itself with a threatening look from among the leaves.

"Somebody bad and ugly, he mates faces at me," said Frankie, with another sob.

"It's Lem; I know it is," said Maggie; "and he is making such horrid faces."

All looked up. No face was to be seen, for it had been drawn back; but at that instant down came a shower of sticks, stones and dried leaves, and the loud, taunting laugh they had heard before, rang out from above.

This was too much for the patience of the boys; even cool-headed, steady-going Harry started to his feet in a rage; and he, Bob and Hafed rushed out of the cleft, while Fred, who still had to move slowly, was only kept from following by the Colonel's express commands.

Colonel Rush was out of patience himself, but he knew it would only make bad worse for the boys to get into a fight; and he would not suffer Fred to go, and called loudly on the others to return.

In the heat of the chase they did not hear him, but he need not have feared. Lem and Dolly had no mind to be caught, and were off before the boys reached the top of the steps. Lem ran like a hare, and was out of sight among the trees in an instant; while Dolly, finding the boys were gaining upon her, threw herself upon the ground when she came to the brow of a steep hill, and rolled over and over until she reached the foot, not heeding the stones which must have hurt and bruised her as she went. This had its droll side, and the three boys stood above and laughed as they watched her, though Harry almost feared she would break her neck. But she reached the bottom in safety, and jumping to her feet with a loud whoop of defiance, darted away among the thick woods of the ravine, and was gone.

When the boys came back, the Colonel and Mrs. Rush tried to have the children all settle down quietly again; but the little ones were uneasy and disturbed, starting at every sound,--the twitter of a bird, the splash of a fish, or the dropping of a leaf,--and the Colonel, seeing this, hastened to bring his story to a close, and take them back to the house.

When Mr. Porter heard of the new trouble at the hands of Lem and Dolly, he said they had no right to be there, for it was his ground, and he should see it did not happen again, for he would not have his boarders disturbed. He told Colonel Rush they had better take the house-dog, old Buffer, with them the next Sunday, and let him watch on the rocks above, so that no one could come near. Buffer was a wise dog, and if put on guard, he would not leave his post till he was told he might; so now the children felt they would be safe in their "Sunday bower," as they called the cleft in the rock.

When Mrs. Bradford went up stairs with her children at their bed time, she always read a chapter from the Bible to Maggie and Bessie, and this night she chose the fifth chapter of Matthew. She had no especial thought of Lem and Dolly Owen when she did so; but as she finished, Maggie said,--

"Mamma, don't you think Lem and Dolly 'despitefully use us, and persecute us?'"

"Yes, dear, I think they do," answered mamma, taking pains not to smile.

"I am sure they do," said Maggie. "I do not know if any one could do it worse; for we never did a thing to them."

"Then you know what you are to do for them," said mamma. "It was our Saviour himself who said these words, 'pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you.' If we could do nothing else, there is still this left to us."

"And could that be a jewel by the way which we might carry to our Father in heaven, mamma?" asked Maggie.

"Yes, love, indeed it would be," said her mother, thinking as she spoke of Bessie's heartfelt prayer for the miserable children a few nights since, and sure that it would indeed prove a jewel bright and lovely in the eyes of Him to whom it was offered.

Maggie's face looked as if her little head was full of grave thoughts, and she went to bed more soberly than usual, whispering to Bessie as she lay down,--

"We'll take up the jewel of prayer, any way, won't we Bessie?"

Dear little pilgrims! there were jewels in their way such as they did not dream of; but it was only earnest seeking such as theirs which could find them; for they lay hidden beneath many a thorn and bramble and unsightly weed; and they were to be found only by the help of this very jewel of prayer which shone so brightly that its light guided the little feet to the dark places where the hidden gems lay.

VII.

_THE SILVER CUP._

DAY after day passed by at Chalecoo and each one seemed to bring some new happiness. A book could be filled in telling all the children did in this charming place, of the drives they took in the great rockaway, of their rows upon the lake, of their walks in the lovely woods and glens, and even of one or two wild clambers over the higher rocks where the little girls had to be helped up and down, and Bessie often to be carried in the arms of papa or Uncle Ruthven. Sometimes, however, the grown people and boys went on expeditions which Mrs. Bradford thought too fatiguing, or hard, for her little girls, and they staid at home with grandmamma and Colonel and Mrs. Rush; for the Colonel having, as he said, only one leg he could fairly call his own, did not choose to risk that or his neck, by climbing up and down steep places on the make believe one.

But there were always pleasures enough to be found around the Lake House, and Maggie and Bessie were never at a loss what to do with themselves when they were left behind, and could see these parties go off without a word of murmuring.

Then there were visits now and then to the homestead and Aunt Patty, and on the way there they would stop and ask after Willie Richards and his mother. It was quite surprising to see how both Mrs. Richards and her boy improved in this bracing mountain air. The poor little baby, too, began to grow well and fat, and to look like other babies of its age. It was a great pleasure to Maggie and Bessie to think they had done so much towards bringing all this about.

Now and then Lem and Dolly gave them some trouble, though they were never annoyed by them again in the "Sunday Bower." Mr. Porter and Buffer took good care of _that_. But the boys had built for their sisters what they called a "Fairy Bower," made by drawing together the top branches of some young alder trees to form a roof, and weaving in branches at the back. This pretty, leafy house was furnished with a table formed of an old mossy stump, and with a couple of small logs for seats, and here the children used to play, as Bessie said with "the greatest cunningness." Here they kept house with their dollies, having acorns for cups and saucers, and bits of flat stone for dishes and plates; and here one afternoon, Miss Margaret Colonel Horace Rush Bradford behaved very badly because her young mamma would not leave her there to spend the night. It would be quite impossible to tell all the trouble the mamma and aunt had in carrying this very naughty child to the house, where she was immediately undressed and put to bed as a punishment for her naughtiness. But she only remained there about ten minutes, for the doctor said she was not very well and prescribed a ride with the rest of the family. Perhaps this same doctor, Uncle Ruthven, knew that her mamma felt lonely without her and wished an excuse for taking her up.

But Margaret Colonel Horace and her mamma both had reason to be glad that she was not left to her own will; for the next morning the "Fairy Bower" was found destroyed, the cups and dishes scattered, the table and seats rolled over the rocks, and the arbor itself rudely pulled to pieces. It was easy to guess who had done this; and if the doll had been left she would have shared the same fate or been carried away.

Another time the boys left quite a fleet of little boats moored near the lower end of the lake, and the next day they also were destroyed. But these, after all, were not very great troubles, and were soon remedied; for another bower was built beneath two tall althea bushes near the house, where no evil disposed person would dare to come; and the boys took care not to leave their boats where they could be meddled with again.

And when the first anger and disappointment had passed over, Maggie and Bessie were more sorry than ever for the poor unhappy children who could take delight in such wanton mischief.

The gardens were coming on finely, and though they were planted so late, by the first of August they looked very green and pretty. The slips of geranium, heliotrope, and verbena had taken root, and were growing nicely, while lady-slippers, petunias, mignonette, and other seed plants had sprung up, and began to spread as if they meant to make up for lost time. Two of the former were the especial pride and delight of the little girls; the one a rose geranium belonging to Maggie. This, though a mere slip when it was set out, had shot up and spread itself around, and thrust out new leaves and buds in such a profuse, hearty, make-the-most-of-it manner, that it was quite a wonder to all who saw it. The other was a heliotrope which had been given to Bessie by her papa, and which also had been little more than a sprig when she first had it; but it was now a flourishing little plant, not running riotous in the way Maggie's geranium did, but fresh and fair, with a cluster or two of delicate, perfumed blossoms, and the promise of more. Upon these two the children bestowed particular care, hoping, and not without reason, that Cousin Alexander would think them each worthy of a prize.

That gentleman used to come up quite often to look at the gardens, for he gave prizes, not only for the fine plants and vegetables, but also for the neatness and order in which the gardens were kept; and he always gave great praise to all five.

Perhaps Maggie and Fred might not have kept their plots in such good order, or worked so perseveringly at weeding, raking, and watering, had it not been for Harry and Bessie, who never forgot to go each day and look at their plants, and never suffered a weed to do more than show the tip of its head above the soil. When anything needed to be done which was too hard for Maggie and Bessie, the boys would help them with it, especially Hafed, who seemed to take more interest in their gardens than in his own, and who would have done all the work for them if they had allowed it.

Frankie had at last gratified his desire of catching a pollywog, and this he did in a manner not quite so pleasant to some of his friends as to himself.

There was a little brook which ran by the side of the house, and joined that which came from the glen, after which they went on together until they emptied into the lake. In this the children were sometimes allowed to play, since it was shallow, and they had great fun there, building little dams, sailing the tiny boats which the boys made for them, or dipping the water out in some small pails mamma had bought for them, and carrying it from place to place. Any little child who has played in such a stream, knows in how many ways it can amuse itself with the bright running water. But the greatest delight of all was a paddle in this same brook; and when mamma thought it best they should not go on some wished-for excursion, this was sometimes granted in its place, and was considered a great treat. It was at one of these times, when Maggie, Bessie, and Frankie were all enjoying themselves as much as three happy children could do; with shoes and stockings off, pattering about with bare feet in the cool, sparkling water, while mamma, grandmamma and Aunt Patty sat with their work upon the piazza, that the little fellow secured his prize. He was stooping to pick up a smooth, round pebble from the bottom of the stream, when he saw a pollywog making its way from beneath a stone which lay half in, half out of the water. In an instant he had pounced upon it, and firmly grasping the wriggling creature, he rushed out of the brook, and running over the grass as fast as his little wet, bare feet could carry him, went up to Aunt Patty, and laying the slimy, muddy reptile on her lap, exclaimed, with an air of great triumph and generosity,--

"Dere, Patty! dere's a pollywod, and I will dive him to oo. Oo may have him for oo own."

To have the pollywog for her own, or to have him any where near her, was the last thing Aunt Patty desired, for she had a great fear of snakes, toads, frogs and such creatures; and now she started back in dismay as the sprawling thing was laid upon her handsome black silk dress.

The poor pollywog was as much frightened as she was, and was, moreover, considerably hurt by the tight clasp of the fat, little hand, and lay kicking and sprawling upon Mrs. Lawrence's lap, till the old lady, rising, threw it upon the ground, where Flossy began to bark at it, and turn it over and over with his nose. Mrs. Bradford and Jane were taken up with rubbing the mud and water from Aunt Patty's dress, and did not notice what he was doing; and the pollywog was in a bad way, between Frankie who was trying to catch it again, and Flossy, when the Colonel and Mrs. Rush came in from a walk; and the Colonel, seeing the poor reptile would never be well again, speedily put him out of his pain.

Frankie was much disturbed at the fate of his pollywog; but the children buried it with great ceremony, which consoled him a little. He wanted to keep it even after it was dead but mamma told him it would become disagreeable; and for some days after this, the family were much amused to see him constantly running to the spot where it was buried, and putting his nose down to the ground to see if his "pollywod smelt bad yet."

Fred laughed as if he would never stop when he heard of this, and humored the joke all he could. He also, for some reason best known to himself, nicknamed his Aunt Annie, "Pollywog;" and once when he went to the city with his father for a day or two, the rogue actually wrote a letter to her and addressed it to

"Miss P. Wog,
Care Thomas Porter,
Chalecoo Lake House."

Mr. Porter, going to the post-office, was given this letter by the postmaster, and did not wish to take it, as he said no "Miss Wog" was living in his house; but the direction was so plainly to the Lake House that he carried it to Mr. Stanton, who was in the carriage, and asked if he had ever heard of any one of that name. Mr. Stanton understood the joke at once, and directed Mr. Porter to give it to his sister, who was highly amused.

Fred was delighted when he heard of the success of his joke, and that Mr. Porter had been completely puzzled.

There was one place of which Maggie and Bessie never tired, and this was of the Ice Glen dairy. To go there each day with Fanny, and see her churn, or skim the rich cream from the milk, or roll the beautiful yellow butter into dainty little pats for the table; or, to have the butter spaddles put into their own hands, and help Fanny in this last piece of work; or sometimes even to pack the butter down into the great stone pots,--all these were pleasures which never lost their charm.

Bessie had a very handsome silver cup which had been given to her when she was a baby by her Aunt Bessie, for whom she was named. Of this cup she was very fond, and before she could speak plain would take her drink from nothing else; and she had never lost her fancy for it. Mrs. Bradford wished Bessie to drink plenty of milk, for she thought it would make her well and strong, and the little girl herself thought it a medicine that was not bad to take. So she not only had it every day for her breakfast and supper, but when she went with Fanny to the dairy, she used to take her silver cup with her, and Fanny would fill it with the rich milk which did her so much good.

One morning the little girls had gone as usual to the dairy with Fanny; and first Maggie and Bessie had taken a drink of milk, after which Bessie had washed her cup in the stream which ran through the centre of the little building. There could be no doubt that it was quite clean, since the water was poured in and out of it about a hundred times before she was satisfied. When she had washed it to her mind, she asked Fanny if she and Maggie might make some butter pats. Fanny consented; and when she had furnished them with a bowl of butter and a pair of spaddles apiece, Bessie handed her the cup, and Fanny set it upon the shelf that ran around the room. Now, this shelf was just on a level with a small window at the back of the dairy. The window stood open and looked out upon three or four great boulders, or masses of rock which lay piled one on top of another just behind the dairy, and were overhung with fir and pine trees.

Flossy had been lying with his nose on his paws, sleepily watching his little mistresses at their play; but soon he suddenly started up with an angry bark, and was about to rush out of the dairy as if he were going to give chase to something, when Maggie caught him up.

"No, no, Flossy," she said, "you are not going after those poor little rabbits again. No, no, sir; be quiet; I shall not let you go, so you need not struggle so, or be so angry. There, that's a good Flossy."

But Flossy was not good, or at least, would not be quiet, and for a moment continued to struggle to free himself from Maggie's hold, and to give short, sharp barks as if he were displeased.

"It's not the rabbits he's after when he barks that way," said Fannie. "He thinks he has seen or heard somebody about;" and, going to the door, she looked around, up the glen and down the path leading to the house. "There's no one here," she said. "What ails you, little doggie? Did you think you heard some one who had no right to be here?"

At last Flossy was persuaded to be quiet, with the exception of a low grumbling "woof" now and then, as if he still thought his wrongs too great to be borne; and the children returned to their butter.

"Oh, Fannie," said Bessie, "you forgot to give us anything to put our butter rolls in when they are made."

"So I did," said Fanny; "and here are my hands in this cream cheese, and I cannot reach a bowl for you. See, take this milk pan that stands on the floor, Maggie. It is rather large, to be sure, but it will do for this time; and there is a dipper to pour the water in it."

"Bring the dipper for yourself, and give me my cup for myself," said Bessie, "and then we can both dip the water."

Maggie brought the pan and the dipper, and then went for the silver cup, but it was not where she expected to find it.

"Why Fanny," she said, "where's Bessie's cup? I thought you put it right here."

"So I did," said Fanny. "I stood it just there by the window."

"It's not there now," said Maggie, standing on tip-toe that she might see over the shelf.

"It must be, child; no one has been here to touch it," said Fanny, leaving her cream cheese and coming to see for herself. "Why, where can it be? I certainly put it just here, opposite the window, but not so near that it need have fallen out. But we'll go round and look."

And out all three went, going round to the back of the dairy, and hunting among the stones and bushes there.

"No, it is not here," said Fannie; "and I didn't see how it could have fallen out without hands to help it. Oh!" as her quick eye, trained to notice the smallest sign, or change which took place in this mountain country, saw where the moss upon the grey rocks had been torn off as though some one had slid over it. "Oh, some one _has_ been here. Oh, Flossy did not bark for nothing. Some one has been here behind the rocks, and when my back was turned, has climbed over, and snatched the cup. What shall I do?"

And Fanny turned first red, then white, fearing that she might be blamed for the loss of the cup; then scrambled upon the rocks to see if she could find any trace of the thief. Two figures were in sight; the one that of a man with a pack on his back, who was trudging along the road between the mountain and the lake, going as if he were in a hurry too; the other that of a boy who was climbing up the steep and rugged path which led to the "Chief's Head."

Fanny took little notice of the former, though he was the nearer of the two; but shading her eyes with her hand, gazed up the mountain side after the boy.

"It's Lem Owen," she exclaimed in an excited tone. "I might have known it. He has taken it. There's nobody else hereabouts who would do such a thing."

Distressed at the loss of her beloved cup, startled at the thought that Lem had been so near them, and still more frightened by Fanny's excitement, Bessie burst into a loud passionate cry.

"Oh! make him give it back," she said. "It's mine; it's my very own cup that Aunt Bessie gave me. I _will_ have it; the bad, bad boy. Oh! make him give it back, Fanny."

Maggie threw her arms about her, and she, too, burst into tears.

"Come, we'll send some one after him," said Fanny, springing down from the rocks and forgetting her open dairy; leaving butter, cream cheese, all, just as it stood, she seized a hand of each frightened child, and they ran towards the house as fast as Bessie's small feet could go.

Mrs. Bradford was not a little startled when they rushed in upon her, all three excited and out of breath; and Bessie sprang into her arms with another outbreak of cries and exclamations.

As soon as they discovered the cause of the trouble, Mr. Bradford, Mr. Stanton, and Mr. Porter's oldest son started for the "Chief's Head" to see if they could find the supposed thief and recover the lost cup.

VIII.

_A KIND WORD FOR LEM._

The path up the mountain could be plainly seen from below for nearly half its length; then it was often hidden by many a sharp turn and corner, or the trees and bushes which bordered it on either side. As John Porter and the two gentlemen stood at its foot and gazed upward, they could see nothing of Lem; and they went on cautiously, looking from side to side lest he should be hiding among some one of the many nooks and crannies of the rocks. But they did not find him till they reached the very crown of the "Chief's Head," where they came upon him lying full length upon his back beneath the shade of a pine-tree, eating an apple.

They had mounted so quietly that not even his quick ear had heard them till they were close upon him, and he caught sight of John Porter turning a corner of the rock. Then he sprang to his feet, and, with a guilty but fierce look, darted around so as to bring the pine-trees between him and his pursuers.

But there was no chance of escape on this bare, high point of the mountain. To throw himself down, or go rushing and scrambling over the rocks and every thing else that lay in his way, as he would have done in another place, would not do here, where a false step or a slip would carry him to certain death; and, in a moment, John Porter had his hand upon his collar, and giving him a rough shake, ordered him to give up the cup.

"What cup? I aint got no cup," answered Lem.

"None of that; give it up now," said John, and plunging his hand several times into Lem's pockets, he brought out, no silver cup, but half a dozen large bough apples.

"My own Osborn apples!" exclaimed John, quite forgetting the cup at this sight. "I'd know them anywhere. The rascal must have stripped the tree, and it is the first year it has borne. I set so much store by them! I'll fix you for this," and John gave his prisoner two or three hard cuffs.

"Stop, John," said Mr. Bradford, "that is not the way to deal with him;" and speaking gently but firmly to Lem, he told him that if he would tell where the cup was to be found he should not be punished so severely as if he still continued to keep it concealed.

But the boy still declared he knew nothing of any cup; and, after hunting in vain for it among all the clefts of the "Chief's Head," they had to give up the search. There were a thousand places on the way up where he might have hidden it, and it was useless to look without some clew.

So, having picked up his beloved apples, John Porter led his prisoner down the mountain, followed by Mr. Bradford and Mr. Stanton. They had nearly reached the end of the path, when Dolly suddenly appeared upon it. She was about to start aside, and either run or hide herself, after her usual fashion, when her eye fell upon Lem in John Porter's grasp. Now Dolly had heard nothing of the cup, but she knew that Lem had meant to rob John Porter's tree of its tempting fruit, and she was on her way to meet him at the "Chief's Head," according to his bidding, and have a share of the ill-gotten prize. When she saw him, she supposed that John had taken him prisoner for stealing his apples; and Lem had too often before been in such trouble for her to think it a very serious matter. She did not look for any thing worse, as the consequence of this wickedness, than a whipping, or perhaps that he should be shut up for a few hours; and, although she scowled angrily at her brother's captors, she said nothing to them or to him, but turned and followed at a little distance.

When they reached the house, Mrs. Bradford came out, and begged her husband and brother not to be too hasty in making up their minds that Lem had stolen the cup. For, when they had started to go after the boy, it was supposed that Fanny had seen him take it, but it appeared she had not.

Fanny, though kind and good-natured, was not a very wise young woman; and when she had rushed into the house in such an excited manner, she said that she had put the cup on the shelf of the little window, that Lem had come over the rocks at the back of the dairy, put his hand in at the window, snatched out the cup, and run up the mountain with it.

Now Fanny fully believed that Lem had done all this; but she did not _know_ that he had, for she had not seen him. Wicked boy though she knew him to be, she would not have willingly accused him of that of which he was not guilty; but she had spoken as if she knew it to be so, and the two gentlemen, thinking there was no time to lose if the cup was to be recovered, had at once set out after the supposed thief.

But when Maggie and Bessie had been quieted and questioned, their answers showed that no one of the three had seen the cup go; but when they missed it, they had gone out to look for it behind the dairy. Then Fanny, noticing the traces on the rocks, and next seeing Lem climbing the mountain-path, had at once concluded that the bad boy must be the thief.

Next it came out there was another person who might have made his way to the back of the dairy and stolen the cup, and this was the man with the pack on his back, whom they had all three seen going down the lake road. This proved to have been a pedler, who had been up to the house, and whom Mrs. Porter, who never suffered such people about, and who did not like the man's looks, had warned off the place.

Still, every one believed that Lem had been the thief. The boy stoutly and fiercely denied it; and Dolly, when she heard of what he was accused, went into a violent rage, crying and screaming, and threatening, if he was not allowed to go, all manner of revenge, especially against the children, whom she seemed to think were chiefly to blame for this. Mrs. Bradford and the other ladies tried to comfort the poor, desolate child; but she would suffer no one to come near her, cursing and striking about her in a way which made every one fear to approach her. Mrs. Porter carried her some dinner, but she threw it in the kind old lady's face, and then ran off as fast as she could. Mr. Porter sent Bob and one of his older brothers to search once more for the lost cup, and John Porter went down to the village to see if he could find any trace of the pedler.

Meanwhile Mr. Porter said he should shut Lem up until the next morning: a punishment which he deserved for the theft of the apples, which he could not deny, since they had been found upon him, and the tree was entirely stripped.

"Maybe it was that which frightened him, and made him look so guilty when you came upon him," said Mr. Porter; "I am sure, bad and troublesome as he is, I hope it may be so."

"I wasn't scared, neither," said Lem, sullenly; "takin' a few apples aint no great; but I knowed for sure they was after me for some harm. Nobody ever comes after Dol and me for no good."

Though this was said in a sulky, defiant way, there was something in the speech which went straight to Bessie's tender little heart. Perhaps it also touched more than one grown person there, and made them wish, more earnestly than before, that they might do something for these two poor, neglected children.

But Mr. Porter was no hard jailer. Lem was taken to a little disused tool-house, where he was locked up, and one of the hired men put on guard outside, so that he might do no mischief; Mr. Porter having first provided him with a good meal, if he chose to eat it.

"Maggie," said Bessie to her sister that afternoon, "did you hear what Lem said when Mr. Porter spoke about his being frightened when papa and Uncle Ruthven found him?"

"Yes," said Maggie, "and it made me very sorry for him, and that thing came into my throat that comes when you want to cry, and you're afraid some one will ask what you are crying about."

"I wonder if we could not do something to show him we would like to be kind to him," said Bessie.

"But he is shut up," said Maggie.

"Yes; but you know that there is a pile of logs by the window of that little house, and we could get up on it and speak to him, and let him know we would like to come near him to do him good. We'll go and tell him we will ask Mr. Porter to let him out if he will promise not to steal any more."

"Yes," said Maggie, "Mr. Porter said he would do any thing for me for my birthday that I asked him, if it was reasonable; and I s'pose he wouldn't mind doing it a little before, and I think this is pretty reasonable, don't you, Bessie?"

"Yes, and that's a very nice idea of you, Maggie," said Bessie; and this being agreed upon, they went off together.

The pile of logs which lay at the side of the tool-house was not hard to climb, and they had more than once played upon it with their brothers, and now they mounted upon it, and put their two little faces close to the wooden bars which crossed the small window. It was growing late, and the tool-house was rather dark, but they could just see the boy's figure as he sat all in a heap upon the floor. As the little light which came through the bars was partly darkened by the two small faces, he started up, saying roughly, "Clear out now!"

At this, Maggie ducked, fearing she scarcely knew what; but Bessie, though she also was rather frightened, held her ground, and said, gently,--

"We want to speak to you, Lem."

"None of your speaking. Be off with you, will you?" said the boy, looking around for something he might throw at the window.

But there was nothing on which he could lay his hands. Mr. Porter had taken care to carry off every thing which could possibly be turned to mischief.

"But we are going to do you a favor," said Bessie.

"I want none of your favors; let me alone now," answered Lem.

"But we are going to do it to you whether you think you want it or not," said Bessie; "'cause you _will_ be glad of it. We are going to ask Mr. Porter to let you out. Will you promise not to steal any more, Lem?"

"I didn't touch your cup," said Lem.

"Well, maybe you did not," said Bessie; "I'd rather think you did not. I'd rather think it was the pedler-man."

"Much you'd care who took it, if you once got it back," said the boy, sulkily.

"But I would care, and so would Maggie," said Bessie. "I'd rather--yes--I think I would--I'd rather be sure you hadn't taken it and never find it, than to find it and know you did steal it. Yes, I would, Lem, and I do love my cup very much."

"Oh! come now," said Lem, "you aint goin' to make me say I took it by any of that cant. Are you goin' or not?" and he came closer to the window, with a threatening look.

"We'll go in a minute," said Bessie. "This is my Maggie," and she put her arm about the neck of her sister, who had summoned up courage to peep in at the window again. "Pretty soon she is going to have a birthday, and Mr. Porter said he would do any thing she asked him for, and so she is going to ask him to do it for her now, and to let you out. Will you be glad of that, Lem?"

"You aint a goin' to make me say I took your old cup," persisted Lem, with some very bad words; and, too much shocked to talk to him any more, the little girls slipped down from the logs and ran away.

But shocked and frightened though they were, they did not forget their kind purpose; and a couple of hours later, Mr. Porter unlocked the door of the tool-house. His son John stood by, a lantern in his hand.

"I am going to let you out," said Mr. Porter to Lem; "not that you deserve it, if it was only on account of the apples, and I did mean to keep you here till to-morrow night at least; but those dear little girls that you've plagued so, have begged you off, and I couldn't refuse them. So just you bear that in mind, my lad, and let them alone for the time to come, or you won't find me so easy when next you fall into my hands. Here," and Mr. Porter put a package of food into the boy's hands, "take this, and be off with you. My son will see you safe home; for it's an awful dark night, and you might break your neck on the rocks without a light."

Had Lem done as he wished, he would have rushed off without waiting for company or light; but it was a terribly dark night, not a star was to be seen, for the whole sky was covered with the black clouds which told that a storm was coming, and he knew well enough that he could never find his way home over those dangerous rocks, without the light of the lantern. John Porter, though a good-natured man, was not at all pleased that his father had let Lem off so easily. The loss of the first of his much-prized Osborn apples, while they were yet half-ripe, had vexed him sorely, and he would have liked that Lem should have been severely punished for that theft, even had he not, in common with the rest of the household, believed that he had stolen the silver cup.

So, although he had agreed to his father's wish that he should see the boy safely over the most dangerous part of his way home, he did it with no good-will, and trudged along in silence, turning over in his mind whether or no he could resolve to let Lem go without giving him a good thrashing. But he had been in the kitchen that evening, when Maggie and Bessie had gone to the porch to speak to his father for Lem, and he had heard all that had passed; and now, as he remembered how sweetly and generously the two dear little girls had pleaded for the boy who had treated them so badly, he could not resolve to give him even a part of the punishment he so richly deserved.

"The little dears mightn't like it if they knew it," he said to himself, "and I wouldn't like to be outdone in forgiveness by two babies such as they are, so I'll keep my hands off him, though it does go against the grain to do it."

Perhaps Lem guessed something of what was passing in John Porter's mind, for he took good care to keep beyond the reach of his powerful arm until they reached the miserable hovel which served him for a home.

"Well," said John, raising his lantern so as to throw its light within the crazy door, "this is a pleasant kind of a place to pass such a night as this is like to be. I'm thinking you'd have done better in our old tool-house, my lad. Where's t'other one?" meaning Dol.

"Dunno, and don't care," answered Lem.

"Off on some new mischief, I'll be bound," said John. "Well, good-night to you, if you can pass a good night here," and he walked away, in haste to be home before the storm should break.

Dol was, alas! in some new mischief,--mischief such as John did not dream of; or, although the gust swept through the forest and over the lake, and the rain poured heavily down just as he set his foot upon the threshold, he had not gone so quietly to his mother's sitting-room, and read the paper aloud to her, as she knitted away on his next winter's stockings.

IX.

_DOL'S REVENGE._

LEM had told John Porter he did not know and did not care where Dol was on that dark night; but he had not told the truth when he said he did not care. He _did_ care, for she was the only thing he loved in all the wide world, and had he known where to look, he would certainly have gone in search of her. But, reckless as he was, he knew that a blind hunt over the mountain on such a stormy night would be worse than useless; and he could do nothing but wait patiently as he might till the morning came.

The storm raged all night: the rain poured down in a driving flood; the lightning flashed; the thunder pealed without rest, echoing from one to another of the mountain-peaks in a long, heavy roll; and the wind blew in furious gusts, shaking even Mr. Porter's comfortable, well-built house, and seeming as if it would lay flat the miserable walls of Lem's poor house, so that the boy was afraid to stay within, and sheltered himself as well as he could beside the rock.

He was troubled about his sister. In all their freaks, in all their wicked doings, they generally kept together, and stood by one another, and he had expected to find her in the hovel when he returned to it that evening. He knew well enough that no one would care to take her in for the night; for, if they did so, they were sure to suffer for it before she left the place which had given her shelter. He waited till an hour or so after daybreak, when the storm was dying away, and was just setting out to look for her, when he saw her coming wearily up the little wood-path.

Accustomed as he was to her miserable appearance, even Lem was struck by the wretched plight she was in. The water was dripping from her uncombed, tangled hair and poor rags; her face was pale, and her bare arms and knees were cut and bleeding; and, although the morning was clearing up close and warm, she shivered and drew herself together as if she were suffering from cold. But the wan, haggard face lighted up for a moment when she saw her brother, and she exclaimed,--

"Oh! Lem, did you cheat 'em, and break out?"

"No," said Lem, "he le'me out; and Dol, I say, it was all along of those two little gals. They said they'd beg me off, and the old man said they did, and I aint goin' to trick 'em no more. Where was you last night?"

"In the Ice Glen," answered Dolly.

Lem gave a long, astonished whistle.

"You aint goin' to say you slept in the Ice Glen?"

"I didn't do no sleepin', but I was there all night, after I come away from Porter's. But I fixed 'em down there fust," she added with a malicious grin.

"But how came you into the Ice Glen; didn't you know better?" asked Lem.