________________________________________________
_ It was some days before the children were tired
of talking over Ben's birthday party; for it was
a great event in their small world; but, gradually,
newer pleasures came to occupy their minds,
and they began to plan the nutting frolics which
always followed the early frosts. While waiting for
Jack to open the chestnut burrs, they varied the
monotony of school life by a lively scrimmage long
known as "the wood-pile fight."
The girls liked to play in the half-empty shed, and
the boys, merely for the fun of teasing, declared that
they should not, so blocked up the doorway as fast as
the girls cleared it. Seeing that the squabble was a
merry one,and the exercise better for all than lounging
in the sun or reading in school during recess, Teacher
did not interfere, and the barrier rose and fell almost
as regularly as the tide.
It would be difficult to say which side worked the
harder; for the boys went before school began to
build up the barricade, and the girls stayed after
lessons were over to pull down the last one made in
afternoon recess. They had their play-time first;
and, while the boys waited inside, they heard the
shouts of the girls, the banging of the wood, and the
final crash, as the well-packed pile went down. Then,
as the lassies came in, rosy, breathless, and triumphant,
the lads rushed out to man the breach, and labor gallantly
till all was as tight as hard blows could make it.
So the battle raged, and bruised knuckles, splinters
in fingers, torn clothes, and rubbed shoes, were the
only wounds received, while a great deal of fun was
had out of the maltreated logs, and a lasting peace
secured between two of the boys.
When the party was safely over, Sam began to fall
into his old way of tormenting Ben by calling names,
as it cost no exertion to invent trying speeches, and
slyly utter them when most likely to annoy. Ben
bore it as well as he could; but fortune favored him
at last, as it usually does the patient, and he was ble
to make his own terms with his tormentor.
When the girls demolished the wood-pile, they performed
a jubilee chorus on combs, and tin kettles,
played like tambourines; the boys celebrated their
victories with shrill whistles, and a drum accompaniment
with fists on the shed walls. Billy brought his
drum, and this was such an addition that Sam hunted
up an old one of his little brother's, in order that he
might join the drum corps. He had no sticks, however,
and, casting about in his mind for a good
substitute for the genuine thing, bethought him of
bulrushes.
"Those will do first-rate, and there are lots in the
ma'sh, if I can only get 'em," he said to himself, and
turned off from the road on his way home to get a
supply.
Now, this marsh was a treacherous spot, and the
tragic story was told of a cow who got in there and
sank till nothing was visible but a pair of horns above
the mud, which suffocated the unwary beast. For this
reason it was called "Cowslip Marsh," the wags said,
though it was generally believed to be so named for
the yellow flowers which grew there in great profusion
in the spring.
Sam had seen Ben hop nimbly from one tuft of
grass to another when he went to gather cowslips for
Betty, and the stout boy thought he could do the
same. Two or three heavy jumps landed him, not
among the bulrushes, as he had hoped, but in a pool
of muddy water, where he sank up to his middle with
alarming rapidity. Much scared, he tried to wade out,
but could only flounder to a tussock of grass, and
cling there, while he endeavored to kick his legs free.
He got them out, but struggled in vain to coil them
up or to hoist his heavy body upon the very small
island in this sea of mud. Down they splashed
again; and Sam gave a dismal groan as he thought
of the leeches and water-snakes which might be lying
in wait below. Visions of the lost cow also flashed
across his agitated mind, and he gave a despairing
shout very like a distracted "Moo!"
Few people passed along the lane, and the sun was
setting, so the prospect of a night in the marsh nerved
Sam to make a frantic plunge toward the bulrush
island, which was nearer than the mainland, and
looked firmer than any tussock round him. But he
failed to reach this haven of rest, and was forced to stop
at an old stump which stuck up, looking very like the
moss-grown horns of the "dear departed." Roosting
here, Sarn began to shout for aid in every key possible
to the human voice. Such hoots and howls, whistles
and roars, never woke the echoes of the lonely marsh
before, or scared the portly frog who resided there in
calm seclusion.
He hardly expected any reply but the astonished
Caw!" of the crow, who sat upon a fence watching
him with gloomy interest; and when a cheerful
"Hullo, there!" sounded from the lane, he was so
grateful that tears of joy rolled down his fat cheeks.
"Come on! I'm in the ma'sh. Lend a hand and
get me out! bawled Sam, anxiously waiting for his
deliverer to appear, for he could only see a hat bobbing
along behind the hazel-bushes that fringed the lane.
Steps crashed through the bushes, and then over
the wall came an active figure, at the sight of which
Sam was almost ready to dive out of sight, for, of all
possible boys, who should it be but Ben, the last person
in the world whom he would like to have see
him in his present pitiful plight.
"Is it you, Sam? Well, you are in a nice fix!"
and Ben's eyes began to twinkle with mischievous
merriment, as well they might, for Sam certainly was
a spectacle to convulse the soberest person. Perched
unsteadily on the gnarled stump, with his muddy legs
drawn up, his dismal face splashed with mud, and the
whole lower half of his body as black as if he had
been dipped in an inkstand, he presented such a
comically doleful object that Ben danced about,
laughing like a naughty will-o'-the-wisp who, having
led a traveller astray then fell to jeering at him.
"Stop that, or I'll knock your head off!" roared
Sam, in a rage.
"Come on and do it; I give you leave," answered
Ben, sparring away derisively as the other tottered on
his perch, and was forced to hold tight lest he should
tumble off.
"Don't laugh, there 's a good chap, but fish me out
somehow, or I shall get my death sitting here all wet
and cold," whined Sam, changing his tune, and feeling
bitterly that Ben had the upper hand now.
Ben felt it also; and, though a very good-natured
boy, could not resist the temptation to enjoy this
advantage for a moment at least.
"I won't laugh if I can help it; only you do look
so like a fat, speckled frog, I may not be able to hold
in. I'll pull you out pretty soon; but first I'm going
to talk to you, Sam," said Ben, sobering down as he
took a seat on the little point of land nearest the
stranded Samuel.
"Hurry up, then; I'm as stiff as a board now, and
it's no fun sitting here on this knotty old thing,"
growled Sam, with a discontented squirm.
"Dare say not, but 'it is good for you,' as you say
when you rap me over the head. Look here, I've
got you in a tight place, and I don't mean to help
you a bit till you promise to let me alone. Now
then!" and Ben's face grew stern with his remembered
wrongs as he grimly eyed his discomfited foe.
"I'll promise fast enough if you won't tell anyone
about this," answered Sam, surveying himself and his
surroundings with great disgust.
"I shall do as I like about that."
"Then I won't promise a thing! I'm not going
to have the whole school laughing at me," protested
Sam, who hated to be ridiculed even more than Ben
did.
"Very well; good-night!" and Ben walked off
with his hands in his pockets as coolly as if the bog
was Sam's favorite retreat.
"Hold on, don't be in such a hurry!" shouted Sam,
seeing little hope of rescue if he let this chance go.
"All right! " and back came Ben, ready for further
negotiations.
"I'll promise not to plague you, if you'll promise
not to tell on me. Is that what you want?"
"Now I come to think of it, there is one thing
more. I like to make a good bargain when I begin,"
said Ben, with a shrewd air. " You must promise to
keep Mose quiet, too. He follows your lead, and if
you tell him to stop it he will. If I was big enough,
I'd make you hold your tongues. I ain't, so we'll
try this way."
"Yes, Yes, I'll see to Mose. Now, bring on a rail,
there's a good fellow. I've got a horrid cramp in
my legs," began Sam, thinking he had bought help
dearly, yet admiring Ben's cleverness in making the
most of his chance.
Ben brought the rail, but, just as he was about to
lay it from the main-land to the nearest tussock, he
stopped, saying, with the naughty twinkle in his black
eyes again, "One more little thing must be settled
first, and then I'll get you ashore. promise you
won't plague the girls either, 'specially Bab and
Betty. You pull their hair, and they don't like it."
"Don't neither! Wouldn't touch that Bab for a
dollar; she scratches and bites like a mad cat," was
Sam's sulky reply.
"Glad of it; she can take care of herself. Betty
can't; and if you touch one of her pig-tails I'll up
and tell right out how I found you snivelling in the
ma'sh like a great baby. So now!" and Ben emphasized
his threat with a blow of the suspended rail
which splashed the water over poor Sam, quenching
his last spark of resistance.
"Stop! I will! -- I will!"
"True as you live and breathe!" demanded Ben,
sternly binding him by the most solemn oath he
knew.
"True as I live and breathe," echoed Sam, dolefully
relinquishing his favorite pastime of pulling
Betty's braids and asking if she was at home.
"I'll come over there and crook fingers on the
bargain," said Ben, settling the rail and running over
it to the tuft, then bridging another pool and crossing
again till he came to the stump.
"I never thought of that way," said Sam, watching
him with much inward chagrin at his own failure.
"I should think you'd written 'Look before you
leap,' in your copy-book often enough to get the idea
into your stupid head. Come, crook," commanded
Ben, leaning forward with extended little finger.
Sam obediently performed the ceremony, and then
Ben sat astride one of the horns of the stump while
the muddy Crusoe went slowly across the rail from
point to point till he landed safely on the shore,
when he turned about and asked with an ungrateful
jeer, --
"Now what's going to become of you, old Look-
before-you-leap ? "
"Mud turtles can only sit on a stump and bawl till
they are taken off, but frogs have legs worth something,
and are not afraid of a little water," answered
Ben, hopping away in an opposite direction, since
the pools between him and Sam were too wide for
even his lively legs.
Sam waddled off to the brook in the lane to
rinse the mud from his nether man before facing his
mother, and was just wringing himself out when Ben
came up, breathless but good natured, for he felt that
he had made an excellent bargain for himself and
friends.
"Better wash your face; it's as speckled as a
tiger-lily. Here's my handkerchief if yours is wet,"
he said, pulling out a dingy article which had
evidently already done service as a towel.
"Don't want it," muttered Sam, gruffly, as he
poured the water out of his muddy shoes.
"I was taught to say ' Thanky' when folks got me
out of scrapes. But you never had much bringing
up, though you do 'live in a house with a gambrel
roof,'" retorted Ben, sarcastically quoting Sam's
frequent boast; then he walked off, much disgusted
with the ingratitude of man.
Sam forgot his manners, but he remembered his
promise, and kept it so well that all the school
wondered. No one could guess the secret of Ben's power
over him, though it was evident that he had gained
it in some sudden way, for at the least sign of Sam's
former tricks Ben would crook his little finger and
wag it warningly, or call out "Bulrushes!" and Sam
subsided with reluctant submission, to the great
amazement of his mates. When asked what it meant,
Sa, turned sulky; but Ben had much fun out of it,
assuring the other boys that those were the signs
and password of a secret society to which he and
Sam belonged, and promised to tell them all about it
if Sam would give him leave, which, of course, he
would not.
This mystery, and the vain endeavors to find it
out caused a lull in the war of the wood-pile, and
before any new game was invented something happened
which gave the children plenty to talk about for a
time.
A week after the secret alliance was formed, Ben
ran in one evening with a letter for Miss Celia. He
found her enjoying the cheery blaze of the pine-cones
the little girls had picked up for her, and Bab and
Betty sat in the small chairs rocking luxuriously as
they took turns to throw on the pretty fuel. Miss
Celia turned quickly to receive the expected letter,
glanced at the writing, post-mark and stamp, with
an air of delighted surprise, then clasped it close
in both hands, saying, as she hurried out of the
room, --
"He has come! he has come! Now you may tell
them, Thorny."
"Tell its what? asked Bab, pricking up her cars
at once.
"Oh, it's only that George has come, and I suppose
we shall go and get married right away," answered
Thorny, rubbing his hands as if he enjoyed
the prospect.
"Are you going to be married? asked Betty, so soberly
that the boys shouted, and Thorny, with difficulty
composed himself sufficiently to explain.
"No, child, not just yet; but sister is, and I must
go and see that all is done up ship-shape, and bring
you home some wedding-cake. Ben will take care
of you while I'm gone."
"When shall you go?" asked Bab, beginning to long
for her share of cake.
"To-morrow, I guess. Celia has been packed and
ready for a week. We agreed to meet George in New
York, and be married as soon as he got his best clothes
unpacked. We are men of our word, and off we go.
Won't it be fun?"
"But when will you come back again?" questioned
Betty, looking anxious.
"Don't know. Sister wants to come soon, but I'd
rather have our honeymoon somewhere else, -- Niagara,
Newfoundland, West Point, or the Rocky Mountains,"
said Thorny, mentioning a few of the places he
most desired to see.
"Do you like him?" asked Ben, very naturally wondering
if the new master would approve of the young man-of-all-work.
"Don't I? George is regularly jolly; though now
he's a minister, perhaps he'll stiffen up and turn sober.
Won't it be a shame if he does?" and Thorny looked
alarmed at the thought of losing his congenial friend.
"Tell about him; Miss Celia said you might", put
in Bab, whuse experience of "jolly" ministers had
been small.
"Oh, there isn't much about it. We met in Switzerland
going up Mount St. Bernard in a storm, and -- "
"Where the good dogs live?" inquired Betty, hoping
they would come into the story.
"Yes; we spent the night up there, and George
gave us his room; the house was so full, and he
wouldn't let me go down a steep place where I wanted
to, and Celia thought he'd saved my life, and was very
good to him. Then we kept meeting, and the first thing
I knew she went and was engaged to him. I didn't
care, only she would come home so he might go on
studying hard and get through quick. That was a year
ago, and last winter we were in New York at uncle's;
and then, in the spring, I was sick, and we came here,
and that's all."
"Shall you live here always when you come back?
asked Bab, as Thorny paused for breath.
"Celia wants to. I shall go to college, so I don't
mind. George is going to help the old minister here
and see how he likes it. I'm to study with him, and
if he is as pleasant as he used to be we shall have
capital times, -- see if we don't."
"I wonder if he will want me round," said Ben,
feeling no desire to be a tramp again.
"I do, so you needn't fret about that, my hearty,"
answered Thorny, with a resounding slap on the
shoulder which reassured Ben more than any promises.
"I'd like to see a live wedding, then we could play
it with our dolls. I've got a nice piece of mosquito
netting for a veil, and Belinda's white dress is clean.
Do you s'pose Miss Celia will ask us to hers?" said
Betty to Bab, as the boys began to discuss St. Bernard
dogs with Spirit.
"I wish I could, dears," answered a voice behind
them; and there was Miss Celia, looking so happy that
the little girls wondered what the letter could have said
to give her such bright eyes and smiling lips." I shall
not be gone long, or be a bit changed when I come
back, to live among you years I hope, for I am fond
of the old place now, and mean it shall be home," she
added, caressing the yellow heads as if they were dear
to her.
"Oh, goody!" cried Bab, while Betty whispered
with both arms round Miss Celia, --
"I don't think we could bear to have anybody else
come here to live."
"It is very pleasant to hear you say that, and I mean
to make others feel so, if I can. I have been trying a
little this summer, but when I come back I shall go to
work in earnest to be a good minister's wife, and you
must help me."
"We will," promised both children, ready for any
thing except preaching in the high pulpit.
Then Miss Celia turned to Ben, saying, in the
respectful way that always made him feel at least
twenty-five, --
"We shall be off to-moriow, and I leave you in
charge. Go on just as if we were here, and be sure
nothing will be changed as far as you are concerned
when we come back."
Ben's face beamed at that; but the only way he
could express his relief was by making such a blaze
in honor of the occasion that he nearly roasted the
company.
Next morning, the brother and sister slipped quietly
away, and the children hurried to school, eager to tell
the great news that "Miss Celia and Thorny had gone
to be married, and were coming back to live here for
ever and ever." _
Read next: CHAPTER XXIII. SOMEBODY COMES
Read previous: CHAPTER XXI. CUPID'S LAST APPEARANCE
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