Jack the Hunchback: A Story of Adventure on the Coast of Maine

"I should have taught you instead of sitting here idle; but we couldn't have accomplished a great deal since you came."

"You've had enough to do without botherin' about me."

"But, Jack, you can do a great deal by yourself. Before you go away I want to give you a little money, and with some of it you must buy a school book. Then study a certain portion of it each day, until there is no difficulty in reading any ordinary print. After that will be time enough to take up other branches, and writing must come with the reading, as I shall look very anxiously for a letter in your own hand."

"I'll do the best I can, Aunt Nancy, but I don't want you to give me any money. You haven't much to spare, and that I know."

"I shall share it with you, Jack dear, and you mustn't make any objection, for after you have gone I shall feel better to know you are able to buy what little you may want."

Then Aunt Nancy drew from her pocket a small black book which she handed to the boy as she said in a low tone, —

"This was my father's Bible, and the print is so faint that I can no longer read it even with glasses."

"Hadn't you rather keep it? It was your father's."

"No, dear. I have one as you know, and this can be put to no better service than teaching you the right way. For my sake, Jack, become a good man. Shun evil company, and do unto others as you would they should do unto you. I haven't set a very good example in that way since you came here; but you have a better temper than I, and for that more is expected. Don't be tempted to tell a lie, and then you'll never feel as I have since Mr. Pratt called."

"I'll remember all you say, Aunt Nancy, and it would be a mighty ungrateful feller who'd do anything he thought would make you feel bad."

Then ensued another long interval of silence, during which the sun finished his work of painting the clouds, and had sunk behind the hills.

"It'll come pretty hard not to see you at night," Jack finally said thoughtfully.

"Will it, really?" the little woman asked eagerly.

"Of course," and Jack looked up in surprise that such a question should have been asked. "I don't s'pose I'll ever find a home as nice as this."

"And would you be willing to stay here?"

"Indeed I would if I could get work to pay my way."

"Don't you think it would be lonely when winter comes, and you would be obliged to remain a greater portion of the time in the house?"

"Not if you was here."

"Then, Jack, I am going to say something I thought ought not to be spoken of for fear you might do it simply to please me. Why not stay?"

"But I can't find any work 'round here, Aunt Nancy."

"You have contrived to get plenty from the first night I saw you. If this home seems pleasant there is no reason why you should leave it, and when the white winged messengers come to carry me to the Father, the little I leave behind shall be yours. It isn't much, Jack dear, but would keep you from want, and a delicate boy like you is not able to fight the hard world. If you were strong and well the case would be different."

Jack drew a long breath as if the pleasurable surprise was almost overpowering, and then asked slowly, —

"Do you really want me to live here?"

"Do I want you? If you say you will stay the pain which is now in my heart will go away in an instant, and I would be the happiest old woman in the State."

"Then there'll be two feelin' mighty good, Aunt Nancy, for I'm only too glad of the chance."

The little woman kissed him tenderly, which told better than words that the invitation really came from the heart.

Not until a late hour that night did the tiny woman and the cripple leave the bench under the old oak.

Aunt Nancy had many plans for the future, chief among which was giving Jack an education, and he speculated upon the possibility of tilling so much of the farm during the coming season as would give him a small income.

All this was so interesting that for the first time in her life Aunt Nancy came very near forgetting to search the house for supposed burglars.

"Mercy on us, Jack! It must be near midnight, and we haven't looked into a single room yet. I am so excited I hardly know what I'm about."

"I don't believe there would be any harm done if we didn't search the place for a week," Jack said with a merry laugh; "but we'll go through the motions all the same."

On the following morning there was very little opportunity for a lengthy conversation upon the change in the plans as arranged by Aunt Nancy and Jack.

When she made known the fact that the cripple would remain with her, Mrs. Littlefield approved heartily of it.

"I am positive he couldn't have a better home," she said, "and will take it upon myself to see he is not a burden. That much I owe him, if nothing more, for all he did to make my baby happy and comfortable."

"I am not a rich woman, Mrs. Littlefield," Aunt Nancy said with considerable dignity, "but I can care for the dear boy while I live."

This concluded the subject, for at that moment Daniel Chick arrived to take the visitor to the station, and Aunt Nancy and Jack could think of nothing save the parting with the little fellow they had learned to love so dearly.

Louis crowed and laughed at the prospect of a ride, and Aunt Nancy said sadly when he disappeared around the corner of the lane, —

"It almost seems as if he was glad to go away from us, Jack dear."

"I reckon the farm will be kinder lonesome for a day or two, but he's with his mother, an' that's where he belongs."

"Yes, dear, we mustn't repine. The day will soon come for me when I go away to my Father, and then you must think the same, for I shall be many times happier in the eternal city than the baby is now. It will be a lonely time for you, Jack dear, but only for a short while, after which the old maid and the cripple will be in the glory and splendor of God's own light."

Then Aunt Nancy kissed Jack affectionately as she drew him to the favorite seat, and, under the old oak where so many happy as well as sad hours have been spent, will we bid adieu to the hunchback and his best earthly friend.

THE END