The Master Revenge E-Book

H. A. Cody

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

It happens that you are a hostage to circumstances. The main character, Nathan, is trying to clear his name from an unfair accusation. After 12 years, holding in prison on a false charge of theft. Can he do it? After all, now everyone looks at him differently.

Leseprobe

Contents

1. Silent Expression

2. Mutual Need

3. An Accident

4. Comrades in Distress

5. Repairing the Fence

6. A Broken Shaft

7. Through the Window

8. A Startling Confession

9. The Struggle

10. The Fugitive

11. Restitution

12. The Flight

13. Behind Prison Bars

14. Stern Terms

15. A Helping Hand

16. Stricken Down

17. A Star and a Toad

18. Inspiration

19. The Night Visitor

20. A Desperate Attempt

21. Repairing Things

22. When the Bell Rang

23. Destruction

24. Where Flows the Brook

25. For the Sake of a Child

26. The Vision

27. What the World Needs

28. Face to Face

29. As a Man Soweth

30. The Completed Revenge

31. After Long Years

CHAPTER 1

Silent Expression

The warm June day was drawing to a close, and the sun was hanging low over the far-off western horizon. Not a breath of wind stirred the quivering air, and the mirror-like river reflected the trees along the shore. The birds chirped and twittered, and the drowsy hum of insects sounded on all sides. There was a restful peace on water and land. Nature was in her gentlest mood, and harmony reigned supreme.

A man standing beneath the wide-spreading branches of a great patriarchal oak surveyed the entrancing scene with kindling eyes. He was a powerfully-built man, clad in rough work-a-day clothes. He presented a striking appearance as he stood there, his flowing beard and mass of iron-gray hair enhancing the effect. He leaned slightly upon an axe with which he had been chopping, while at his feet lay a newly cut piece of ground-ash. But his mind had wandered from his work, and, like a thirsty man, he was drinking into his soul the beauty surrounding him.

“And for twelve years I missed all that,” he at length murmured. “Twelve years!”

His right hand clutched hard the butt of his axe handle, and an angry expression crept into his eyes. For a few seconds the memory of the past had blotted out the joy of the present. He believed that he had steeled his heart to forget forever the degrading bondage of those twelve years. But now he knew that he had not fully succeeded. The iron had gone too far into his soul to be healed by a few months of freedom.

The sound of children’s voices aroused him, and turning quickly around toward the river, he saw a small boat coming upstream quite close to the shore. A woman was rowing, and seated astern were two small children. Not wishing to be seen, the man stepped aside into a thicket of bushes to wait until the boat should pass. This did not take long, and as it cut through the water just abreast of the big oak, the hidden man gave a great start, and only with difficulty suppressed an exclamation of astonishment. He had caught sight of the woman’s face, and heard her speak to the children.

“We must go back now,” she was saying. “We have come quite a distance, so must get home before dark.”

“Let us go ashore near that big tree,” one of the children suggested. “It’s such a nice-looking place.”

“No, dear, not now,” the woman replied. “We can come another day and have our supper here. How would you like that?”

“Oh, great!” This from both children. “And will daddy come, too?”

“Perhaps so.”

The woman swung the boat around, and began to row downstream with long steady strokes. The man among the bushes watched her until she could no longer be seen. He was trembling with excitement, and the perspiration stood out in beads upon his forehead. At length his tense body relaxed, and he sank down upon a fallen tree by his side. His eyes still stared after the receding boat and remained in that direction long after it had disappeared from view. At last he rose to his feet, picked up the ash stick, threw it over his left shoulder, and with axe in hand, walked slowly away from the shore. Reaching a path, he followed this until he came to a clearing, and in view of a small house beyond. Not once did he look at the steadily-increasing glory of the western sky, and the beauties of nature appealed to him no longer. Something of far greater importance filled his mind and soul, making him oblivious of all else.

The house toward which he was slowly moving nestled on a gentle elevation commanding a good view of the river. It was partly surrounded by tall fir and spruce trees, thus forming an excellent protection from the severe winds of winter. As a rule the man always gazed with admiration upon the building which was the work of his own hands. Sometimes he would pause for a few minutes to note its neat proportions, and the snug verandah where it was his custom to sit on warm evenings. But now he did not notice the house as he walked up the path, opened the door and entered. The air inside seemed exceptionally close, so he hurried outside again, and paced rapidly up and down the gravel walk in front of the building. This he did until darkness enshrouded the land. He then went back into the house, lighted a lamp and sat down before a small table containing several books, writing-paper, pen and ink. Here he remained for a while in deep thought. At length he seized the pen, and with feverish haste began to write:

“I am strangely stirred to-night, so must give expression to the thoughts which agitate my mind and soul. There is no one to whom I can speak, and none would understand if I did. To put my feelings upon paper may give me some relief–it is the only thing I can do.

“I saw Helen to-night after twelve long years. She had no idea that I was watching her as she sat in the boat with her two little ones. Most likely she has forgotten me, and long ago ceased to care whether I am dead or alive. But I have never forgotten her, and during my years of bondage she was ever before me. She does not seem to have changed much in that time, judging by the glimpse I had of her this evening. She bore herself with that same regal grace as when I knew her, and her voice was as musical as ever. But how I long to look into her eyes, and see if the same old expression is there such as I remember that last night I was with her, and left her standing among the flowers at the gate of her home.”

The man ceased writing, and gazed off into space. He then laid down the pen, rose to his feet, and paced up and down the small room. After a while he resumed his seat, and continued:

“I never committed the crime with which I was charged. God knows I had no knowledge of it whatsoever. But a strange combination of circumstances placed the blame upon me, and I was convicted. I did the best I could for the Trust Company where I was employed, and was making rapid progress. I enjoyed my work, and looked eagerly forward to the time when I could ask Helen to become my wife. I believe that she loved me, and would have been glad to share life’s lot with me. But when the money was missing, and a large amount it was, I was at once suspected. I had gone to Standridge for a brief holiday. It was there I was arrested the day after my arrival, and several of the missing bonds were found in one of my grips. How they got there I never knew, and perhaps never will. But I am going to try to find out, and do all that I can to solve the mystery and clear my name. The evidence was strong against me, and I could say nothing in my own defence except my past good record. The sentence was a stiff one, but the judge who pronounced it was a hard man, and showed no mercy. This was strange, as Ned Preston, his own son, worked with me, and we were roommates. And it was Ned who married Helen! I knew that he wanted her, but he had no chance, so I believed, against me. She told me over and over again that she did not care for the fellow, and I was not surprised at that. He was the most conceited man I ever met, and hard to endure for any length of time. He was a boaster and a great spendthrift, and his father often had to send him money. He led a fast life, and when I once warned him, he told me to mind my own business and he would mind his. Anyway, he has succeeded, and is now a leading man in the city, and Helen is his wife, while I am a jail-bird! He has everything to live for, the respect of all, and a home with loved ones there. And what have I, who tried to do my duty and live an honest life? Nothing but a few acres of land, and a house where I eat and sleep, but which never resounds with voices of happy children, and where no one awaits my coming home. Oh, it is hard! And yet I am used to hardness. I have steeled my heart to endure until my aim in life is accomplished and I clear myself from the black stigma that rests upon me.

“Although my life at the Penitentiary was hard, yet there were compensations. At first Helen wrote to me quite often. She believed that I was innocent, and that was a great comfort. Then her letters suddenly ceased. I can never forget the agony of those days of waiting for her messages which never came. I cannot fully describe the loneliness of my cell when for hours I would lie awake and think, until at times I was almost like a madman. Often I beat with my fists against my cell door. Why I did so I do not know, but those who have experienced what I have will understand the terrible insane feeling which comes over one locked for hours in a silent cell, with none to speak to, and his own despairing thoughts for company.

“At that time there were two things which kept me from either going stark mad or developing into a caged beast. One was the letters I received from my parents. They believed in me, and until they died they wrote me noble words of encouragement. May God bless them! The other, was my work. I learned the carpenter trade, and became quite efficient. I always liked to work with wood, even when a child. I hold firmly to the opinion that it is one of the noblest of the trades. Was not the Great Master Himself a carpenter and worked in His father’s shop? A carpenter is not only a builder but a repairer, and Christ was both, as His wonderful life of teaching and service shows. It was some comfort to me to feel that the Great Carpenter suffered, who was much more innocent than myself. I often thought of all this as I worked at the bench and tried hard to follow His example of noble patience and forgiveness. But I am afraid that I often came far short of the ideal. And I feel so now after years of struggle, especially so since I looked upon Helen’s face to-night, and old memories came flooding through my mind with the realization of what I have lost in life.

“And all the time I thought of Helen. I tried to believe that she had not forgotten, that she had written, but her letters had gone astray. It is wonderful how a desperate man will cling to the slightest hope. But it was all I had, so cling I did until I received word that she was married. The newspaper account of the wedding was sent to me in an envelope, but who sent it I never knew. I cannot think it was Helen, for such cruelty was not in her make-up. It must have been an enemy who wished to add to my bitterness. The wedding account was a long one, and told in detail about the bride, and how beautiful she looked as she stood at the altar rail. I did not need the paper to tell me that, for it was impossible for Helen to look anything else but beautiful. The description of the groom was most flattering. He was Judge Preston’s only son, a young man who occupied a prominent position in the business world, and a great favorite in social circles.

“I do not remember much what happened during the weeks that followed the reception of this news. I was like a man dazed, beyond all power of thought. But gradually my mind cleared, and a new feeling possessed me. The uncertainty was ended, and Helen could never be mine. And yet there was some comfort in the thought that although she had married Ned Preston she did not really belong to him but to me. I dreamed of her at night, and through the day she was with me more than ever. I have never been able to understand why this was so although I have meditated upon it a great deal. Perhaps Helen was thinking of me as I was thinking of her, and in some mysterious way our souls were in sweet communion. Anyway, I received much consolation which helped me to endure my tedious bondage.

“About this time I turned my attention to earnest reading and study. I had always been fond of books, but in my solitude I found in them a great source of light and inspiration such as I had never experienced before. There was a fairly good library in the Penitentiary, and I, like the other prisoners, was allowed to have one book at a time in my cell. Sundays, which hitherto had been almost unbearable, now became a pleasure, and I read to my heart’s content. Numerous books I read, but my chief delight was in the Bible, and I wondered why I had so long neglected that marvellous volume. It was there that I first learned of God’s wonderful dealings with man, the final triumph of the just and the overthrow of the wicked. As a boy I had often been advised to read and study the Bible, but had always scoffed at the idea. To me it was a most uninteresting Book, of no practical use in life. Now I see where I was wrong, although it took years of suffering to open my eyes to the light. It is my daily joy and companion now, and I bless my imprisonment for that.

“And next to the Bible came Emerson’s Essays. When I first read them I called myself a fool for having overlooked them for so long. There are several I know almost by heart, such as ‘Self Reliance,’ ‘Compensation,’ and ‘Courage.’ How they braced my moral fibre I cannot fully describe.

“I also read the ‘Life’ of Dante, and some of his works. What appealed to me most of all was his great love for Beatrice. His case was similar to my own. He loved her, and yet he lost her, for she married another. How well I remember these words of his:

‘When I had lost the first delight of my soul I remained so pierced with sadness that no comforts availed me anything, yet after some time my mind sought to return to the method by which other disconsolate ones had sought consolation, and I set myself to read that little known book of Boetius in which he consoled himself when a prisoner and an exile.’

“Thus I found in Dante a soul akin to my own. He plummed [ Transcriber’s note: plumbed?] all the depths of misery, and yet his great love for his lost Beatrice was like a burning and a shining light, as my love for Helen has been to me.

“At last the day came when I was given my freedom. To me life in the bustling city was abhorrent. My mind craved the quietness of the country. With a little money which had been lying for years in a bank, I bought this place by the river. I had a special reason for settling here, for about two miles away the Prestons have their summer home. Thus from time to time I might be able to see Helen. My beard, which I have allowed to grow, makes a good disguise, and as John Stone, the carpenter, she would never recognize me as Nathan Strong, the man she once knew, and, I think, loved. The people here are friendly and kind, so I have plenty of work to do. If they knew that I am a jail-bird it might make a difference. But that is a secret which I shall keep until the time when the mystery of those stolen bonds is cleared up, if ever that shall be. When I have made some money I hope to begin the task, but just how I shall go about it I do not know. But I am determined to do all in my power to clear my name and bring the guilty ones to justice. Anyway, I am near Helen at last. I did not know until this evening that she was in the neighborhood. I must see her again, but when and where? I can hardly contain myself. I want to look closer at her, to behold her face and those wonderful eyes of hers. If I should unexpectedly meet her, I wonder how I should act. But I must control myself, and never let her know that John Stone is anything more to her than a humble carpenter.”

The writing suddenly ceased, and the man rose abruptly from his chair. A smile overspread his face as he gazed down upon the sheets of paper lying upon the table.

“There, I have unburdened my soul,” he commented with a sigh. “Perhaps it was foolish, but it seemed as if I were speaking to someone. It is done, anyway, so that is the end of it.”

He reached out, seized the sheets in his right hand, crushed them together, and tossed them into a box near the table. He then went out upon the verandah, and drank in great draughts of the fresh night air. The sky was cloudless, and silence lay upon river and land. He looked to the right in the direction of the Preston house, and his sole thought was of her, who, though near, was yet so far away.

CHAPTER 2

Mutual Need

Adjoining his house Nathan Strong had built his workshop, and here he spent most of his time when at home. It was a cosy place and he liked to be here. The people of the neighborhood were glad to have a skilled carpenter in their midst, and supplied him with plenty of work. There were many things to make and repair, from axe handles and whiffle-trees to doors, windows, cupboards and lockers. Even broken woodboxes were sent to him, and occasionally a baby’s crib or high chair. He enjoyed doing such work, and as his prices were always moderate, the people were satisfied.

The morning after his silent confession he entered his shop later than usual. He had not slept well during the night, he felt somewhat tired. A peculiar indifference possessed him, and he did not care whether he worked or idled. Life seemed unusually barren to him this morning, and the tide of hope flowed low. He was feeling the reaction from his excitement of the previous evening. He missed the imperative prison urge which for years had driven him forward to his daily tasks. Now he could do just as he wished, and his wish this morning was to do nothing. What reason was there for him to work except to earn enough for his daily wants? He had only himself to consider, and no one was depending upon him. What did it matter, anyway, whether he lived or died?

He thought of these things as he turned mechanically toward a partly-finished cupboard. He was making it for his neighbors, the Martins up the road, as payment for farm produce he had obtained from them. They had been exceptionally good to him, so he wished to make as fine a cupboard as possible. He had never made such a thing before, but he was fashioning this according to one he well remembered in his old home. The recollection of the past swept upon him as he thought of how his mother had always kept her pies, cakes and frosted doughnuts stored away in that old cupboard. What a wonderful and mysterious place that always was to him, especially at Christmas. How happy all were in the dear old home, and never did he then dream of the trouble that lay ahead. He thought of his parents, and how their hearts were broken through his imprisonment, although he was sure that they believed him to be innocent. His right hand clutched hard upon the hammer he was holding, and a scornful expression appeared upon his face. Where was the justice of which men boasted? he asked himself. Why should an innocent man be punished for the guilt of others, and saintly people, such as his parents, have their gray heads bowed with sorrow? He knew that in his old home village his name was a byword of scorn, and that parents held him up as a warning to their children. And his father and mother had silently endured that for years! But he would clear his name. He would unravel the mystery and prove to the world that he had been wrongly treated. Yes, that was something to live for. The good old name of Strong, which hitherto had been the watch-word of honor, would again be vindicated.

This resolve aroused him from his lethargy to a brisk activity, and he set earnestly to work upon the cupboard. Every nail he drove home, and every swish of the plane spoke of his intense energy. He was a new man now, with his indifference of an hour before gone.

It was about the middle of the forenoon when Nathan heard a peculiar sound outside, which resembled children’s voices, mingled with a strange grating noise. Stepping to the door, he saw a boy leading a little girl with one hand while with the other he was pulling a small waggon. The two rear wheels were gone, thus causing the tail end of the vehicle to drag upon the ground. The girl was whimpering, and the boy was doing his best to comfort her. He was hot and tired, but bore up bravely against his difficulties.

“Don’t cry, Doris,” he was saying. “I can’t haul you in the waggon. Don’t you see it is broken? The carpenter will fix it up for us, and then I can haul you home.”

Seeing Nathan standing in the doorway, his face brightened, and he hurried forward.

“Hello! had an accident?” Nathan asked.

“Yep. Bust two wheels. Will you fix ’em?”

“Where are they?”

“In there,” and the boy motioned to the waggon. “Mum said she guessed you can fix anything, so that’s why we’re here.”

Nathan at once examined the waggon with critical eyes.

“Ah, I see,” he remarked. “The axle is broken; that’s the trouble.”

“Can you fix it?” the boy eagerly inquired.

“Oh, I think so, though it will take me quite a while. Suppose I patch it up now, and you can come again in the morning when I shall have more time. I must get a couple of bolts at the store.”

“Will it cost much?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Will five cents do? That’s all I’ve got.”

“Yes, that will be plenty, perhaps too much.”

Nathan meant what he said. He loved children, and he longed to have them always about him. But hitherto not one had ever come to his house, although he had often talked with them when he met them on the road, and they all knew him as their friend. But now a start had been made, and this little lad had come to him for assistance. It was the day for which he had been eagerly waiting, and he was determined to make the most of it. He believed that children should be treated in the right manner, and that it was wrong to deal with them in the spirit of superior condescension. He had seen too much of that at the Penitentiary. He knew how galling it was to listen to the remarks of well-intentioned but mistaken people as they talked to the prisoners who were at their mercy. And he believed that children’s resentment was just as keen. He often recalled his own humiliation when a child at people who smiled good-naturedly at his words, and patted his head. He had resented their superior airs, and was certain that they did not know much. This lad was now before him. He had approached him in a straight-forward, business-like way, and so deserved every consideration. He offered to pay all that he was able, and could anyone do more? When Nathan said that perhaps five cents was too much he was in earnest. How willing he would have been to pay for the privilege of having children come to him in their time of need. His soul called out for them. Their talk was the sweetest of music in his ears, and their graceful and unstudied movements appealed to his artistic nature.

In a few minutes the little girl’s tears were dried, and she was upon the floor of the workshop lost in the wonders of the shavings and several pieces of the sawn-off ends of boards. With these she played to her heart’s content, and ere long her brother joined her. Seeing how delighted they were with such things, Nathan sawed for them a heap of blocks, and cleared a space on the floor where they could build houses and wonderful structures of all kinds. He then turned his attention to the broken axle. He was in no hurry to mend this, as he wished to keep the children with him as long as possible. It was midday when at last it was finished, and reluctantly he told the boy that it would serve for a while.

“Perhaps you had better go now,” he said. “Your mother will be anxious about you. But come again in the morning and I shall have a new axle ready.”

At once the boy rose to his feet, fumbled in his trousers’ pocket, and brought forth a five-cent piece. This he handed forth.

“Will the new axle cost more’n that?” he asked. “If it will, Mum will let me have some more.”

“No, no, this will be plenty,” Nathan assured.

“But you have to get the bolts at the store.”

“This will be enough, so do not worry.”

Nathan took the coin, and as his hand closed over it, a peculiar feeling swept through his being. He longed to give it back, but decided to keep it. He wanted that coin very much. To him it was almost a sacred thing, of more value than many dollars. It was to him the outward symbol of the innocent trust and simplicity of a little lad. He was determined never to part with that money, the first he had ever received from a child.

After the children had gone, with their waggon well-filled with blocks, and Doris perched on top, Nathan stood for some time at the door of his shop holding the five-cent piece in his hand. At length he turned, went into the house, and brought down a small box from a shelf above the kitchen table. This he opened and dropped in the coin among a few trinkets he had always preserved as precious mementoes of the past. After that, he prepared and ate his dinner. At times he glanced up at the box, and a tender light shone in his eyes. Thus in a most unexpected manner he had found something real to live for, and his heart was happier than it had been years.

Nathan did some work that afternoon upon the cupboard, but part of the time he was busy making a new axle for the waggon. He knew the exact measurements, and he chose a well-seasoned piece of wood for his purpose. Only the best must be used, and he shaped and carved it with the greatest care. He smoothed out every uneven spot with the spoke-shave, and then sandpapered the wood until it was as smooth as velvet. He fitted on the wheels, and tested them most critically to make sure that they revolved true. He spent much more than time, labor and skill upon that little axle. He put into it his heart; the best that was in him, and, perhaps, for no one but a little child would Nathan, the carpenter, have done such a thing.

That evening he went to the store, and bought two bolts. But his purchase did not end there, for he bought also a pound of the choicest chocolates he could obtain. The storekeeper eyed him curiously as he wrapped up the box.

“Getting a sweet tooth all of a sudden, Mr. Stone?” he asked.

Nathan pretended not to hear as he seized the package, left the building, and hurried down the road. He was really embarrassed, and his heart beat fast. But there was compensation in the thought of the joy that would come in the morning when two little ones would again visit him.

He sat for some time that night upon the verandah, smoking, and gazing thoughtfully out upon the river. He was in a happy frame of mind. A vision of two small curly heads was ever before him, and childish voices sounded in his ears. They needed him, the jail-bird, and they had come to him for assistance. He was of some use in the world, after all. The thought thrilled his soul. As a carpenter, his neighbors naturally needed him, but not in the same sense as did those little ones. They gave him something which he valued far more than anything else.

Before going to bed that night, Nathan rescued the crumpled sheets of paper from the box where he had carelessly tossed them. He smoothed them out with considerable care, and read the words he had written the previous evening. As he finished, he picked up his pen.

“I have at last found something real to live for,” he wrote. “Children have sought me out. They need me, and I need them. To-day I mended a little broken waggon and in doing so I myself have been greatly helped.”

This time Nathan did not crumple up the sheets of paper, but left them in full view upon the table.

CHAPTER 3

An Accident

Nathan was at work early the next morning. His step was brisk, and his every movement spoke of alertness. He even whistled softly as he gave the finishing touches to the cupboard. This was something unusual for him. But his heart was light, for were not the children coming to see him again? The package of chocolates was lying on the window-sill just back of the work-bench, that it might be handy when needed. When a couple of hours had passed and the children had not arrived, he wondered what could be keeping them. He listened intently to every sound, and several times went to the door and looked out. Once he left the shop and stood watching up the road, expecting to see them appear at any minute. But when no sign of them could be seen, he walked slowly and thoughtfully back. Perhaps they would not come at all, he mused. Something else might have attracted their attention, or their mother might have decided that the waggon would do as it was without a new axle. He knew Mrs. Watters, a widow, by sight, and that Tom and Doris were her only children.

When midday arrived and the little ones had not come, Nathan was certain that he would not see them that day, and he was greatly disappointed. He longed to know the reason, and as he ate his dinner, he was partly tempted to go to Mrs. Watters’ house, take the axle he had made, and place it on the waggon there. He would have a good excuse for doing so, he reasoned, and surely the widow could not object. He would thus find out, at any rate, why the children had not come back.

He had just returned to his workshop, when the patter of bare feet was heard outside, and the next minute Tom stood in the doorway. He was panting heavily, and his eyes were big and red. Instantly Nathan knew that something was wrong, and the plane he was holding in his hand dropped upon the workbench.

“What is the matter?” he asked.

“D-doris is hurt!” the boy gasped. “Broke her leg!”

“Broke her leg!” Nathan exclaimed. “How?”

“Gettin’ over the fence. A pole rolled on top of her.”

“Where is she now?”

“Home. Mum phoned fer the doctor, an’ he’s comin’ as fast as he can.”

“But why did you come for me?”

“‘Cause Doris wants you. She says you can do anything, an’ can mend her leg as ye did the waggon.”

“Oh, I see.” Nathan looked keenly at the lad, and his eyes shone with the light of sympathy. So the little girl wanted him! She had more faith in him than she did in the doctor. His heart thrilled at the thought, and his eyes became somewhat misty.

“Will y’ go to see her?” the boy asked.

“Certainly,” Nathan replied, rousing from his reverie. “I shall go with you at once.”

He was about to close the door of his shop, when he noticed the package of chocolates upon the windowsill. This he seized, pulled the door to after him, and accompanied the boy out upon the road.

“I knew y’d come,” Tom remarked after they had gone a short distance.

“Why?”

“‘Cause you was so good to us yesterday. Doris talked a lot about you, an’ she played with her blocks until bedtime. Too bad, isn’t it, that she’s hurt?”

“It is. But the doctor will soon make her all right again.”

“Yep, maybe so, but it’ll cost a lot,” and the boy sighed. “I just don’t know how Mum’ll pay him. It’s as much as she can do now to make both ends meet, so she says. Oh, I wish I was a man.”

Nathan glanced down at the little fellow trudging bravely along at his side. He noted the clenched sunburned hands, and the look of determination upon his face.

“How old are you, lad?” he asked.

“Six last August. When I’m seven I can do a lot. I’m goin’ to pick blueberries when they get ripe. We have a fine patch out in our pasture. But I’ll miss Doris a lot, fer she always went with me.”

“How old is Doris?”

“She’s four. But she’s great company out there among the bushes. I never feel one bit afraid when she’s along.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, I dunno, ‘cept that it makes me brave to feel that I have to take care of her, an’ would have to fight fer her if any bears came along. But here we are right at our gate.”

Mrs. Watters was bending over Doris as they entered the house, and Tom went at once to his sister’s side.

“I’ve got him, Doris,” he announced. “He came with me, an’ he’s here.”

A faint expression of pleasure appeared in the girl’s blue eyes as she turned them wistfully upon the visitor. Nathan was unused to a situation such as this, and he did not know what to say. For a few seconds he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. He then stepped quickly forward and held out the package he was holding in his hand.

“You like chocolates, don’t you?” he asked. “These are all for you.”

“Oh!” It was all that the child said as she seized the treasure and hugged it close to her breast. Her suffering was too great for her to attempt to do more. Nathan then turned to Mrs. Watters who was standing silently by.

“I am very sorry that Doris has met with this accident,” he began. “I suppose the doctor will be here soon.”

“I am expecting him at any minute,” was the quiet reply. “But Doris wanted to see you first, and it is so good of you to come. She and Tom had a most pleasant time at your place yesterday, and Doris was looking forward to going again this morning, but, poor child, I am afraid it will be many weeks before she can do that.”

“Is there anything that I can do for her?” Nathan inquired.

“Nothing, except to come to see her as often as you can. But there’s the doctor now. His car is at the door.”

With a word to Doris, telling her to be brave and that he would be back again soon, Nathan hurried out of the house, passing the doctor on the way. He walked rapidly down the road, his thoughts in a whirl. He felt that he should have stayed to assist the doctor, if necessary. But he could not stand to see the suffering of a little child. In the case of a man it would have been different.

There was something, however, that he felt he could do. When he reached home he set earnestly to work, and began to carve out a doll from a piece of dry cedar. He knew exactly how to do this, for his training at the Penitentiary had made him most efficient. But he worked now with a care and interest such as he had never exhibited before. It was really a wonderful head and face he made, and he was quite satisfied when he was through and held it at arm’s length for a final inspection. That evening by the light on the kitchen table he dressed the doll, and he was very busy at this when his neighbor, Peter Martin, called. The latter’s eyes expressed surprise as he limped toward the chair Nathan offered.

“Well! Well!” he exclaimed, as he placed his old felt hat upon the floor by his side, “I never knew before that ye could do sich work as that.”

“How does it look?” Nathan asked, holding up the doll.

“Great! An’ ye’ve got her all dressed up, too, jist like a fashion-plate. It’s fer some wee gal, I s’pose.”

“Yes, I’m making it for Mrs. Watters’ little child. No doubt you have heard about the accident.”

“Indeed I have. It’s too bad. Poor Widder Watters is havin’ a hard time of it, an’ this’ll make it worse fer her. She’s got two nice children, an’ she looks after ’em well, stays at home an’ minds her own business, which is more’n many do.”

“Doris is a sweet child, Mr. Martin, and I am very fond of her. I believe she will like this doll, though I wish I had some better material for the dress. I couldn’t find anything that would do except a couple of colored handkerchiefs.”

“Ye’ve done well, though,” Peter complimented. “Martha could let ye have some suitable stuff, fer she’s plenty of odds an’ ends about the house. In fact, that’s about all we’ve got these days. I s’pose ye wouldn’t mind makin’ a doll like that fer my little lass? She’d go almost daft over it.”

“Why, I shall be delighted to make her one,” Nathan replied. “But I’m afraid I won’t have time for several days, as I expect to be very busy.”

“Oh, that reminds me why I came over here,” and Peter shuffled somewhat impatiently on his chair as he spoke. “It’s a message from Ned Preston. I was comin’ by his place this afternoon, when he saw me, an’ asked me to tell ye to go down an’ fix his fence which was broken last winter.”

Nathan glanced up quickly from his work, and looked keenly at his visitor.

“When did the Prestons move from the city?” he asked as calmly as possible.

“Jist a few days ago. They’re earlier than usual this year.”

“How did Mr. Preston know about me?”

“He didn’t until I told him. He wanted me to go an’ fix his fence, jist think of that! I tell ye, I felt like givin’ him a piece of my mind. But I kept cool an’ told him I’d speak to you about doin’ the job.”

“Why did you feel like giving Mr. Preston a piece of your mind? Do you not care for him?”

“Care fer him!” Peter almost roared the words. “I guess if ye knew what he did to me, ye’d know how much I care fer him. Look at that, now,” and he touched his right knee with his hand. That’s what I got by workin’ fer Ned Preston.”

“Why, what did he have to do with your lameness?”

“Didn’t I ever tell ye?”

“You never did. I often wondered, but as it was none of my business I did not care to ask you.”

“Well, I’d soon told ye if ye had. It was due to Ned Preston, let me tell ye that. Five winters ago I lumbered fer him, an’ cut the finest logs on me place. He agreed to give me fifteen dollars a thousand fer ’em rafted. I had several men choppin’ all winter, an’ fed ‘em, too. It cost me a big sum, but I reckoned I’d clear up about two thousand dollars on the work. I hauled the logs to the brow myself, an’ attended to the drive an’ brought down every stick. But the last day I slipped an’ a log jammed my knee. It laid me up fer almost a year, an’ I’ve been lame ever since. That’s what it did.”

“But how was Preston to blame for that?” Nathan questioned, as Peter paused and searched in his pockets for his pipe.

“Oh, he wasn’t to blame fer that, but the way he served me afterwards. My men rafted the logs, the tug came fer ’em an’ took ’em to the city. But would Preston pay me the fifteen dollars he agreed to? Not a bit of it. He denied that he had ever offered me that amount, so all he would give me was seven dollars a thousand.”

“It was only a verbal agreement, then?”

“That was all. I didn’t have the scratch of a pen.”

“You made a big mistake.”

“I sure did, an’ paid fer it, too. I sued Preston, an’ lost. He had money an’ false witnesses on his side, so what could I do? I lost not only the two thousand dollars comin’ to me, but I had to sell a fine timber tract to pay the lawyers, an’ square up a number of bills on my winter’s work. I was lucky to save me place.”

“Preston made well out of those logs, I suppose.”