Running To Waste

“Stand out of the way, Tomboy. Your time will come soon enough – never fear.” And he pushed her from the path. “Off with that jacket. D’ye hear?”

Teddy coolly unbuttoned his jacket, and threw it on the grass.

“Don’t tease him, Becky. I’m not afraid of his whip. If it’s any fun for him, let him lay on. I guess I can stand it as long as he can;” and Teddy looked defiantly at his adversary.

Becky ran to her brother, and threw her arms about his neck, to shield him from the whip.

“He shan’t strike you, Teddy. It’s all my fault. He shan’t touch you.”

Captain Thompson was an obstinate man. When he made up his mind to the doing of an act, nothing could stand in his way. Perhaps this accounted for the coolness of Teddy in the trying situation in which he was placed, who, remembering his promise, knew it must be fulfilled, and so offered no resistance.

“Don’t, Becky. D’ye want to smother a feller? Don’t be a ninny. It’s got to come. Go home – do.”

“I won’t. He shall kill me before he strikes you.”

Becky’s devotion was blighted in an instant, for the angry man seized her by the arm and flung her across the lane. She fell to the ground unhurt, for the grass was thick and soft.

“I’ll teach you to meddle. Don’t come near me till I’ve done with him. Mind that.”

Becky sprang to her feet, fire flashing from her eyes. She was as angry now as her tormentor. She picked up a stone, and despite his warning, approached the captain. He should not strike her brother, she looked at the house; no one in sight. Down the lane; no one – yes, there stood Uncle Ned, cropping the grass, unmindful of the group. Ah, the horse! There was a chance yet to save her brother.

“Now, you scamp, I’ll teach you to rob orchards!” and the whip was raised.

Spry as a cat, Becky was at the captain’s back in an instant. She jumped and caught the whip from his hand, then ran for the horse. The captain quickly turned; but too late. Becky sprang to the saddle, caught up the rein, lashed the horse, turned, and shouted, “Good by, Teddy! Good by, cap’n!” and galloped down the lane.

“Come back, come back, you imp of mischief! Come back, I say,” shouted the captain, running after her.

“Some other time, cap’n; can’t stop now. Good by;” and the saucy girl turned, waved her hand to the maddened and baffled owner of the Baldwins, plied the whip briskly, and was out of sight.

The captain, with a muttered “Hang it!” – which was the extent of his swearing, for he was a deacon, – followed at as rapid a pace as he could command, leaving Teddy solitary and alone.

The fat boy looked after his persecutor a moment, with a smile upon his face, then rose, picked up his jacket, put it on, buttoned it at the bottom, then coolly picked up the trophies of victory, tucked them into his jacket and his pockets, crossed the lane, crept through a hedge, and disappeared.

CHAPTER II

FALLEN FORTUNES

“A stern chase is a long chase;” so, leaving Captain Thompson in pursuit of the fugitive, we will take the liberty of passing through his premises to the main street. At the left of the church, opposite his house, another road ran down a steep hill, crossed Rogue’s River, by a bridge, ran up another hill, and wound round into the Foxtown road. At the top of the second hill stood a small brown house, by no means attractive in appearance, being destitute of paint, climbing vine, flowers, or other ornamentation. It had not even the virtue of neatness to recommend it. The gate was off its hinges, and lay in the road. A crazy barn close by had a pitch towards the river, as though from sheer weakness it was inclined to lie down for rest, while the scanty patch of cabbages and beets, the potato hills, few and far between, and the rickety bean-poles, all had a starved and neglected appearance.

This was known as the “Sleeper Place,” being occupied by Mrs. Sleeper and the young people, Rebecca and Edward, better known as Becky and Teddy. Inside, the house was not much more attractive than the outside. On the lower floor were four rooms, separated by the entry, from which a flight of stairs, hidden by a door, led to the garret above. On one side was a kitchen, with a door leading into Mrs. Sleeper’s bed-room at the back. On the other side was a sitting-room, with a door leading to a bed-room back of that, known as Becky’s room. Teddy’s quarters were above, under the roof. The house was scantily furnished with old-fashioned furniture and home-made carpets, all of which had seen their best many years before, and now showed veteran scars of long service.

In the kitchen were two females – Mrs. Sleeper and Hulda Prime. Mrs. Sleeper was a small, slender woman, with a face from which much beauty had faded out, a face which bore but one expression at all times – that of anxious expectation. All else had died out five years before. Then she was a bright, cheerful, active wife, merrily singing over her household cares. Now she was waiting, for time to determine whether she was a wife or a widow.

In ’49, when the California gold fever attacked so many New England towns, Captain Cyrus Sleeper was returning from the West Indies with a cargo of sugar and molasses, in the new ship “Bounding Billow,” the joint property of himself and Captain Paul Thompson. Touching at Havana, he was made acquainted with the startling news of gold discoveries; and, always impetuous, at once turned the bow of his ship towards California.

A year passed, and Captain Thompson also received startling news. His runaway partner had reached California, disposed of his cargo at fabulous prices, and sent the ship home in charge of his mate, and had started for the mines. To his partner he remitted the whole amount received for his cargo, – enough to build two ships like the Bounding Billow, – one half of which, being his own, was to be held by his partner for the support of his family until his return.

The captain was astounded. The conduct of his partner was so strange, he believed he must have lost his reason, and never expected to hear any intelligence of him again. Mrs. Sleeper also received a message from her eccentric husband, full of glowing descriptions of quick fortunes made in El Dorado, hopes of speedy return, and bright pictures of the high life they would lead when “his ship came in.” Since that time nothing had been heard of Captain Cyrus Sleeper or his fortunes.

The ship was fitted for a second voyage to the West Indies, Mrs. Sleeper, by Thompson’s advice, going shares with him in the venture. But it proved disastrous. The ship was wrecked on her return, and Mrs. Sleeper found herself obliged to live on a very small income. Of a very romantic nature, her sailor husband always a hero in her eyes, for a little while she had high hopes of his quick return with an ample fortune, and chatted gaily of the good time coming “when her ship came in.” But as time passed, and no message came from over the sea, the smile forsook her lips, the brightness her cheek, and the hope-light of her eyes changed to an eager, searching glance, that told of an unquiet mind and an aching, breaking heart.

She went about her household duties, cooked, scrubbed, and mended, quietly and silently, but took no pride in her home, no comfort in her children. The house soon showed evidences of neglect. The children, without a mother’s sympathy and guidance, were rapidly running to waste.

Just when the money began to give out, Hulda Prime “came to help.” Hulda was a distant relative of Cyrus Sleeper, by her own showing, as she was a distant relative of almost everybody in Cleverly. She was somewhere between forty and sixty: it was hard telling her age. It could not be told by her hair, for she had none; nor yet by her teeth, for they were false, or her cheeks, for they were always bright, and had a natural color which some people were wicked enough to say was not natural. She was long-favored, long and lean in body, had a very long face, long nose, and a long chin. She wore a “front,” with two auburn ringlets dangling at either end, a very tall white cap, carried herself very erect, and had altogether a solemn and serious demeanor. She left a “relative” to come and help “dear Delia in her troubles;” though in what her help consisted was a puzzle which the good people of Cleverly had never been able to solve. She got her living by “helping.” She had no money, but she had a large stock of complaints, so many, that they might have been calendared thus: Monday, rheumatism; Tuesday, cancer; Wednesday, dyspepsia; Thursday, heart disease; Friday, lumbago; Saturday, “spine;” Sunday, neuralgia. Or to vary the monotony, she would start off Monday with “cancer,” or some other disease; but the week would contain the whole programme. She was very regular in her habits – of complaining, and was always taken bad just when she might be of assistance.

This day she was crouched by the fire, her head tied up in a towel, her body slowly rocking to and fro. It was her neuralgia day.

Mrs. Sleeper stood at her wash-tub near the window, her hands busy in the suds, her eyes fixed on the distant waters of the bay, her thoughts away with the ship that never came in. So absorbed was she in her “waiting” dream, that she did not see Captain Thompson, who for the last ten minutes had been puffing up the hill in sight of the window; was not aware of his approach until he stood in the kitchen doorway, with both hands braced against the sides, breathing very hard.

“So, so! Pur – pur – purty capers those young ones of yours are cutting up, Delia Sleeper!”

Mrs. Sleeper turned with a start; Aunt Hulda straightened up with a groan.

“Do you mean Rebecca and Edward, captain? Have they been making any trouble?” said Mrs. Sleeper, with the faintest sign of interest in her voice.

“Trouble, trouble!” shouted the captain, so loud that Aunt Hulda gave a groan, and held her head very hard; “did they ever make anything else? Ain’t they the pests of the town? Who or what is safe when they are about? I tell you what it is, Delia, I’m a patient man, a very patient man. I’ve endured this sort of thing just as long as I mean to. I tell you something’s got to be done.” And the captain looked very red, very angry, and very determined.

“I’m sure I try to keep the children out of mischief,” faltered Mrs. Sleeper.

“No, you don’t. That’s just what’s the matter. You’ve no control over them. You don’t want to control them. You just let them loose in the town, like a couple of wildcats, seeking whom they may devour. What’s the consequence? Look at Brown’s melon patch! He couldn’t find a sound melon there. Look at my orchard! Despoiled by those barbarians! Here’s a sample. To-day I caught them at one of my trees, loaded with plunder; caught them in the act!”

“O, captain! you did not punish them!”

“Punish eels! No; they were too sharp for me. One ran off with my horse, and a purty chase I’ve had for nothing. The other marched away with my fruit. But I will punish them; be sure of that. Now, Delia, this thing must be stopped; it shall be stopped. I’m a man of my word, and when I say a thing’s to be done, it is done.”

“I’m sure I’m willing to do anything I can to keep them orderly,” began Mrs. Sleeper.

“Now what’s the use of your talking so? You know you’re not willing to do anything of the kind. You’re all bound up in your sorrows. You won’t think of the matter again when I’m gone – you know you won’t. If you cared for their bringing up, you’d have that boy at school, instead of letting him fatten on other folks’s property, and bring that girl up to work, instead of lettin’ her go galloping all over creation on other folks’s horses. I tell you, Delia Sleeper, you don’t know how to bring up young ones!”

The captain, in his warmth, braced himself against the door sills so energetically that they cracked, and a catastrophe, something like that which occurred when Samson played with the pillars of the temple, seemed imminent.

“P’raps she’d better turn ’em over to you, Cap’n Thompson,” growled Aunt Hulda; “you’re such a grand hand at bringin’ up!”

“Hulda Prime, you jest attend to your own affairs. This is none of your business; so shet up!” shouted the more plain than polite captain.

“Shut up!” retorted Aunt Hulda. “Wal, I never! Ain’t you gettin’ a leetle obstroperlous, cap’n? This here’s a free country, and nobody’s to hinder anybody’s freein’ their mind to anybody, even if they are a little up in the world. Shut up, indeed!” And Aunt Hulda, in her indignation, rose from her chair, walked round it, and plumped down again in her old position.

“I don’t want any of your interference, Hulda Prime.”

“I know you don’t. But it’s enough to make a horse laugh to see you comin’ here tellin’ about bringin’ up young uns! Brought up your Harry well – didn’t yer?”

“Hush, Aunt Hulda; don’t bring up that matter now,” said Mrs. Sleeper.

“Why not?” said Aunt Hulda, whose neuralgia was working her temper up to a high pitch. “When folks come to other folks’s houses to tell ’em how to train up their children, it’s high time they looked to home.”

“I brought up my son to obey his father in everything, and there wasn’t a better boy in the town.”

“I want to know! He was dreadful nice when you had him under your thumb, for you was so strict with him he darsn’t say his soul was his own; but he made up for it when he got loose. Sech capers! He made a tom-boy of our Becky, and was jest as full of mischief as he could stick.”