Paul Prescott's Charge

Paul promised readily.

“You can direct to John Burges, Burrville. The postmaster knows me, and I shall be sure to get it.”

“I wish you were going with me,” said Paul.

“Sometimes when I think that I am all alone it discourages me. It would be so much pleasanter to have some one with me.”

“I shall come sometime,” said John, “when I am a little older. I heard father say something the other day about my going into a store in the city. So we may meet again.”

“I hope we shall.”

They were just turning a bend of the road, when Paul chanced to look backward. About a quarter of a mile back he descried a horse and wagon wearing a familiar look. Fixing his eyes anxiously upon them, he was soon made aware that his suspicions were only too well founded. It was Mr. Mudge, doubtless in quest of him.

“What shall I do?” he asked, hurriedly of his companion.

“What’s the matter?”

This was quickly explained.

John was quickwitted, and he instantly decided upon the course proper to be pursued. On either side of the road was a growth of underbrush so thick as to be almost impenetrable.

“Creep in behind there, and be quick about it,” directed John, “there is no time to lose.”

“There,” said he, after Paul had followed his advice, “if he can see you now he must have sharp eyes.”

“Won’t you come in too?”

“Not I,” said John, “I am anxious to see this Mr. Mudge, since you have told me so much about him. I hope he will ask me some questions.”

“What will you tell him?”

“Trust me for that. Don’t say any more. He’s close by.”

X

MR. MUDGE MEETS HIS MATCH

John lounged along, appearing to be very busily engaged in making a whistle from a slip of willow which he had a short time before cut from the tree. He purposely kept in the middle of the road, apparently quite unaware of the approach of the vehicle, until he was aroused by the sound of a voice behind him.

“Be a little more careful, if you don’t want to get run over.”

John assumed a look of surprise, and with comic terror ran to the side of the road.

Mr. Mudge checked his horse, and came to a sudden halt.

“I say, youngster, haven’t you seen a boy of about your own size walking along, with a bundle in his hand?”

“Tied up in a red cotton handkerchief?” inquired John.

“Yes, I believe so,” said Mr. Mudge, eagerly, “where did you–”

“With a blue cloth cap?”

“Yes, where–”

“Gray jacket and pants?”

“Yes, yes. Where?”

“With a patch on one knee?”

“Yes, the very one. When did you see him?” said Mr. Mudge, getting ready to start his horse.

“Perhaps it isn’t the one you mean,” continued John, who took a mischievous delight in playing with the evident impatience of Mr. Mudge; “the boy that I saw looked thin, as if he hadn’t had enough to eat.”

Mr. Mudge winced slightly, and looked at John with some suspicion. But John put on so innocent and artless a look that Mr. Mudge at once dismissed the idea that there was any covert meaning in what he said. Meanwhile Paul, from his hiding-place in the bushes, had listened with anxiety to the foregoing colloquy. When John described his appearance so minutely, he was seized with a sudden apprehension that the boy meant to betray him. But he dismissed it instantly. In his own singleness of heart he could not believe such duplicity possible. Still, it was not without anxiety that he waited to hear what would be said next.

“Well,” said Mr. Mudge, slowly, “I don’t know but he is a little PEAKED. He’s been sick lately, and that’s took off his flesh.”

“Was he your son?” asked John, in a sympathizing tone; “you must feel quite troubled about him.”

He looked askance at Mr. Mudge, enjoying that gentleman’s growing irritation.

“My son? No. Where–”

“Nephews perhaps?” suggested the imperturbable John, leisurely continuing the manufacture of a whistle.

“No, I tell you, nothing of the kind. But I can’t sit waiting here.”

“Oh, I hope you’ll excuse me,” said John, apologetically. “I hope you won’t stop on my account. I didn’t know you were in a hurry.”

“Well, you know it now,” said Mr. Mudge, crossly. “When and where did you see the boy you have described? I am in pursuit of him.”

“Has he run away?” inquired John in assumed surprise.

“Are you going to answer my question or not?” demanded Mr. Mudge, angrily.

“Oh, I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t have asked so many questions, only I thought he was a nice-looking boy, and I felt interested in him.”

“He’s a young scamp,” said Mr. Mudge, impetuously, “and it’s my belief that you’re another. Now answer my question. When and where did you see this boy?”

This time Mr. Mudge’s menacing look warned John that he had gone far enough. Accordingly he answered promptly, “He passed by our farm this morning.”

“How far back is that?”

“About three miles.”

“Did he stop there?”