Jess of the Rebel Trail / Cody, H. A. (Hiram Alfred), 1872-1948

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Title: Jess of the Rebel Trail

Author: H. A. Cody

Release Date: March 16, 2005 [EBook #15382]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESS OF THE REBEL TRAIL ***




Produced by Al Haines





JESS OF THE REBEL TRAIL



BY

H. A. CODY




AUTHOR OF "THE FRONTIERSMAN," "THE LONG PATROL," "THE CHIEF OF THE
RANGES," "THE FOURTH WATCH," "GLEN OF THE HIGH NORTH," ETC.




McCLELLAND AND STEWART

PUBLISHERS : : TORONTO




1921,

BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY




PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




To

MY UNCLE AND NAMESAKE

HIRAM CODY


Long Since Passed Within the Vail


This Book is Dedicated

In Grateful and Loving Remembrance




CONTENTS


CHAPTER

      I  THE HOLD-UP
     II  REBELLION
    III  THE "EB AN' FLO"
     IV  UNDER COVER
      V  CAPTAIN SAMUEL GOES SHOPPING
     VI  EBEN MAKES A DISCOVERY
    VII  GIVING MARTHA THE GO-BY
   VIII  WHAT THE COW DID
     IX  MARTHA TAKES A HAND
      X  UNWELCOME VISITORS
     XI  IN PERIL OF DEATH
    XII  CORNERED
   XIII  A TRICKY PASSENGER
    XIV  ANOTHER VICTIM
     XV  TWO WOMEN'S TROUBLES
    XVI  MORE THAN A DREAM
   XVII  CAPTAIN SAM'L GOES HOME
  XVIII  HARD LUCK
    XIX  THE CAPTAIN GIVES ADVICE
     XX  MRS. GRIMSBY'S MISSION
    XXI  EBEN COMES ASHORE
   XXII  ON THE REBEL TRAIL
  XXIII  STRAIGHT TALK
   XXIV  EBEN ATTENDS TO GRIMSBY
    XXV  THE FOREST FIRE
   XXVI  IN THE RING OF DEATH
  XXVII  IN THE NICK OF TIME
 XXVIII  IN URGENT NEED
   XXIX  CONFESSION
    XXX  JOY AT EVENTIDE




  "I have no other but a woman's reason;
  I think him so, because I think him so."

    SHAKESPEARE



  "When all other rights are taken away,
  the right of rebellion is made perfect."

    THOMAS PAINE



  "Women are never stronger than when they
  arm themselves with their weakness."

    MADAME DU DEFFAND




JESS OF THE REBEL TRAIL


CHAPTER I

THE HOLD-UP

The glowing coals in the spacious grate seemed to fascinate the woman
as she sat huddled in a big luxurious chair.  The book she had been
reading was lying open and unheeded on her lap.  Her surroundings were
by no means in keeping with her dejected manner.  The room was cosy and
lavishly furnished, while the shaded electric reading-lamp cast its
gentle radiance upon the woman's white hair and soft evening-gown.  It
was a rough night, and the wind howling outside beat furiously against
the closely-blinded windows.

It was a night such as this, nearly twenty years before, of which the
woman was thinking.  She was once again in a room in a private
hospital, lying weak and helpless from the ordeal through which she had
passed.  It all came back to her now with a stinging intensity, causing
her white hands to clench hard, and her eyes to widen with a nameless
fear.

A maid entered and announced a visitor.

"I can't see anyone to-night," the woman before the fire declared,
without even turning her head.

"But----" the maid began.

"That is all, Maggie.  You need not say anything more.  I wish to be
left entirely alone."

The maid hesitated a few seconds before obeying the imperious command.
Then she slowly turned, and had almost reached the door when it was
suddenly pushed open and a man entered.  Without a word, he stepped
past her and glided across the room toward the fire.  His unexpected
appearance startled the woman crouching there.  She straightened
quickly up and stared at the intruder in amazement.

"Who are you?" she demanded.  "How dare you come here?  Maggie, put
this man out."

But Maggie had disappeared, so the woman was left to face the man alone.

"I won't harm you, madame," he smilingly informed her, as he moved
closer to the fire and stretched put his hands.  "I'm as harmless as a
kitten."

"Keep back," the woman ordered.  "Don't come so close."

"Oh, I'm all right.  Don't you worry about me."

Again the man smiled as he rubbed his hands together.

"I wasn't worrying about you," the woman retorted.  "I would like to
see you burn yourself for your impudence."

Her fear had now vanished, and she was angry.  She carefully noted the
man's slight figure, and threadbare clothes.  But his face was what
attracted her most of all.  It was somewhat chubby, and when the mouth
was expanded by the almost incessant smile the cheeks were wrinkled
like corrugated iron.  His head was bald, save for a few tufts of hair
above the ears.  His bulging eyes twinkled with good humour, causing an
observer to feel that their owner was well satisfied with himself and
the entire world.

"Who are you?" the woman again demanded.  "How dare you come uninvited
into my room?"

The man straightened, himself up, and standing with his back to the
fire brought forth a package of cigarettes, selected one, and
deliberately lighted it.

"You don't mind if I have a smoke, do you?" he asked.  "It's good for
the nerves."

"Indeed I do," the woman replied.  "I hate smoking.  I never allow it
in this room."

"I'm sorry, madame, but you'll soon forget all about it.  I have come
to see you to-night on very important business, and when I tell you
what it is you won't think any more about the smoke."

"Important business!  With me?  Why, I never saw you before, and I have
not the slightest idea who you are.  What do you want, anyway?"

"Yes, it's important business, as I have just said, and when I learned
that you would see no one to-night I was compelled to force myself upon
your presence."

"How did you know that I would see no one to-night?  Were you listening
at the door?"

"Madame, when you get to know me better you will learn that I am able
to read people's thoughts, though doors may intervene.  Words are
unnecessary to me.  I know all."

The man blew a cloud of smoke into the air, and smiled.  "Yes," he
continued, "I even read your thoughts to-night as you sat before this
fire."

"You did!" The woman's eyes grew wide with fear and amazement.  "Who
are you, anyway?"

"I am merely a stand-between; that has been my business for years."

"A stand-between?"

"Yes, I stand between people and ignorance.  I supply them with mental
food, books of the first-water.  They all know me, and look upon me as
a public benefactor."

"So you are a book-agent, then?  And you want to sell me some books, I
suppose?  Is that your business here to-night?"

The man waved his hand haughtily, and flicked the ashes from his
cigarette into the fire.

"No, madame, it is not.  Business is somewhat dull these days, I must
confess.  People are not as anxious as formerly for pure literature.
There are too many counter attractions.  This being so, I find it is
becoming more difficult to stand between my family and poverty.
Therefore, I am here to-night."

"So you want me to give you some money; is that it?"

"Ah, now I see you understand," and the man's face beamed.  "But
remember, I come not as a beggar, neither as a suppliant, but merely to
receive payment for a favor."

"Payment for a favor!" the woman exclaimed.  "What do you mean?  I owe
you nothing.  I never saw you before.  What favor?"

"The favor of silence.  I know what you were thinking about to-night as
you sat here.  Your thoughts were in the past, to another night such as
this.  You were in a private hospital, and----"

He was interrupted by a startled cry from the woman.  She was sitting
bolt upright, her hands gripping hard the arms of the chair, and her
face ghastly white.

"W-what do you know?" she gasped.

"Calm yourself, madame.  Although I know all, you have no need to fear."

For a few seconds the woman stared at the man before her.  Then she
gave an hysterical laugh and sank back in her chair.  What did this
stranger know? she wondered.  Perhaps nothing, and she had made a fool
of herself by showing her agitation.

"My nerves are somewhat shaken to-night," she confessed.  "I have not
been well of late, so your sudden appearance and strange words have
rather unsettled me.  What do you mean by referring to another night
such as this, and to a private hospital?  What have they to do with me?"

"A great deal, I should say, madame.  If you doubt my knowledge, it is
only necessary to mention the name of Hettie Rawlins, now my wife, Mrs.
Gabriel Grimsby."

"Hettie Rawlins!" the woman's face showed her perplexity.

"Yes, Hettie Rawlins, the girl who exchanged the babies.  Don't you
remember her?"

But the woman did not reply.  She sat staring at the man before her.

"There is no doubt now about my knowledge is there?" the stranger asked
with a smile.

"Heavens, no!" the unhappy woman groaned.  "And to think that after all
these years I should be thus confronted in my own house, and by a
complete stranger.  And so your wife told you all?"

"Everything, although she kept the secret for a long time.  She told me
how you bribed her to exchange your little baby boy for a girl which
was born in the hospital on the same day, and the amount you gave the
baby's mother for making the exchange."

"Stop, stop," the woman pleaded.  "You will kill me."

"But you know it all, madame.  You were thinking about it to-night,
were you not?"

"I was, I was," and the woman buried her face in her hands.

Presently she lifted her head.

"Where is the boy?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.  "Is he alive?"

"And so you are interested in him, madame?"

"Interested?  Why, he is with me night and day.  Though he must be a
young man now, yet I always see him as the little babe I held to my
breast.  If you know where he is, tell me.  I must see him somehow,
though he must never know who I am."

"What about the girl, your daughter?" the man questioned.  "She must be
a comfort to you now, and well takes the place of--of your son."

"Nothing can ever take his place," the woman vehemently declared.  I
thought so once, fool that I was.  But I know better now when it is too
late.  Where is he?  For God's sake, tell me!"

"And you have had no word from him?" the man asked.

"Nothing.  I do not even know the woman's name who took him.  I thought
I would never want to know."

"Then, madame, it is better for you to remain in ignorance.  It would
do you no good now to learn anything about him.  I, at any rate, shall
not enlighten you."

"You won't?"

"No, not now."

"Then why have you come here to-night to inflict this torture upon me?
What good can it do to increase the agony of my tormented soul?  Surely
I have endured enough already."

"I come, madame, merely as a stand-between.  Business with me has been
dull of late, as I have just told you.  Therefore, when one door closes
another opens.  I am not a man to let a good opportunity of earning a
few honest dollars slip.  I know your story, and, accordingly, am here
to receive payment."

"Payment!  For what?" the woman asked in amazement.

"For silence.  I suppose you don't want this matter known?"

"Good heavens, no!  What would my husband and daughter think?  Why, I
could never face the world again."

"Very well, madame.  I am pleased to know that you realise the
situation," and the man smiled blandly upon his victim.  He was
succeeding much better than he had expected.  "I shall see that this
matter is kept a profound secret."

"Oh, will you?" and the woman looked her relief.

"Indeed I will, providing you make it worth while.  I am always open
for business."

The woman looked keenly at the man.

"Do I understand that you want to be paid for keeping silent?" she at
length found voice to ask.

"Certainly.  That's what I'm here for.  Business is business, remember,
and if I cannot make a living at my regular profession, I must turn to
the next best thing that offers."

"But this is a hold-up.  Are you not afraid to do such a thing?"

"Afraid!  Of what?"

The sudden flush that mantled the woman's face plainly showed that she
understood.  The man noted it, and smiled.

"You realise the situation, madame, I see.  That is very fortunate.  I
have nothing to fear, as you would do almost anything rather than let
your secret be known."

"But suppose I do not accede to your demand, what then?"

"That would remain for you to find out, madame.  Are you willing to run
the risk?"

"Heavens, no!  It must not be.  What is your price?  Tell me quick, and
let us get through with this painful interview."

"Willingly, madame.  I am as anxious to get through as you are.  My
price is very moderate, considering the favor I am bestowing upon you.
I want five hundred dollars."

"Five hundred dollars!"  The woman gasped as she stared at her visitor.
"Why, you are a scoundrel, and nothing less."

Grimsby smiled, and rubbed his hands.  He felt sure of his quarry, and
it mattered little to him what he was called.  It was all in the way of
business, so he told himself.  Then he picked up his hat from the floor
where he had deposited it, and made as though he was about to leave.

"Very well, then," he casually remarked.  "If you think it is too much
I am sorry.  Next week, perhaps, you will consider it very cheap, and
would be willing to give far more.  But it may be too late then.
However, if you are unwilling to meet my moderate demand, it is no use
for me to remain longer."

He started to leave the fire-place, but the woman detained him.

"Don't go just yet," she ordered.  "I realise that I must give you
something.  But isn't your price exorbitant?"

"It might be for some, but not for you, Mrs. Randall.  I understand
that you are one of the largest tax-payers in this city, and in your
own name at that.  Why, I am astonished at myself for my moderation in
asking for so little from such a rich woman.  I might have made it a
thousand at least."

For a few minutes the woman remained in deep thought.  Grimsby never
took his eyes from her face.  He was quite elated with himself, for he
felt sure of success.

At length the woman gave a weary sigh, rose slowly from her chair, and
crossing the room, sat down before a handsome writing-table.  When she
at last came back to the fire-place she was holding a cheque in her
hand.  Eagerly the man reached out to receive it.  But the woman waved
him back.

"Just a minute," she told him.  "Before I give you this I want you to
promise upon your word of honour that you will never ask me for any
more money."

"I promise, madame," Grimsby replied, bowing, and placing his right
hand upon his heart in a dramatic manner.  "I shall make myself as
scarce as I always do when my creditors are after me.  What more can I
say?"

"And you will never breathe a word of this to anyone?"

"Trust me to keep the secret, madame, I shall not even tell my wife."

The woman was about to say something more, but a startled look came
into her eyes, as she turned apprehensively toward the door.  Nervously
she thrust the cheque into the man's hand.

"Here, take this," she ordered, "and leave the house at once.  Somebody
is coming."

Without a word Grimsby seized his hat, sped across the room, opened the
door and disappeared.  Trembling violently, the woman sank down in the
chair and buried her face in her hands, a veritable picture of abject
misery and despair.




CHAPTER II

REBELLION

The man had been gone but a few minutes when the door was again opened
and a girl entered.  She was a vision fair to behold as she paused for
an instant while her eyes rested upon the woman crouched before the
fire.  She evidently had just come in out of the night, for she wore
her out-of-door cloak, and her hair was somewhat tossed by the violence
of the wind.  The rich colour of her cheeks betokened the healthy
exercise of one who had walked some distance.  An expression of anxiety
came into her dark-brown eyes as she crossed the room, and bent over
the woman in the chair.

"Mother, mother, what is the matter?" she demanded.  "Are you ill?"

"Oh, it's you, Jess, is it?" the woman languidly asked as she lifted
her head.  "I thought it was Maggie.  I was not expecting you so soon.
What brought you home so early?"

"It must have been my guiding angel," the girl smilingly replied.  "So
you were lonely without me?  Was that the trouble?"

"Yes, I suppose that had something to do with it.  But I am not feeling
well to-night.  This room seems very oppressive."

"You are too warm," and the girl glanced down at the fire.  Her eyes at
once rested upon the stub of the cigarette lying upon the grate where
Grimsby had thrown it.  She also smelled the smoke of tobacco and
instantly surmised that something out of the ordinary had happened to
agitate her usually self-possessed mother.

"Somebody has been here annoying you," she cried, turning impulsively
to the woman.  "Was it Tom asking for more money?"

Again the woman bowed her head, and made no immediate answer.  Her
thoughts were active, and she was glad of any excuse.

"How did you know he was here?" she at length asked, without looking up.

"I met a man hurrying from the door as I came in.  It was too dark to
see who he was, and he did not seem to notice me at all.  Tom knows my
opinion of him, and so he is not anxious to meet me.  I did not think
of Tom, though, until I found you so upset.  And he was smoking too,
for there is the stub of his cigarette.  Why can't he leave you alone?"

"He never will, Jess.  He is just like Will and Dick.  They are always
bothering me about money, as if I haven't been giving to them for
years.  They are just like helpless children."

"Worse, mother.  They are three useless men.  It is well that I am a
girl, for I might be tempted to follow their miserable example.  Are
you not glad that you have only three sons instead of four?"

Receiving no reply, the girl took off her hat, laid aside her wraps,
and rang for the maid.  Then she drew up a chair and sat down by her
mother's side.

"My, this fire is pleasant," she remarked, as she leaned back and gazed
into the glowing coals.  "I am glad after all that I came home."

"Why didn't Mr. Donaster come in, Jess?  I have not seen him for some
time."

"Neither have I, mother."  The girl's face flushed, and there was a
challenge in her voice.

"You haven't!  Why, I thought you were with him to-night."

"Indeed I was not.  You know as well as I do that I wish to have
nothing to do with that man.  I have told you so over and over again."

This sudden outburst aroused the woman from her crouching position.
She sat upright, and the expression in her eyes told how deeply she was
offended.

"Now, look here, Jess," she began, "I want no more of this nonsense.  I
have made up my mind that you are to marry Mr. Donaster, and marry him
you shall."

"Would you force me to marry such a man as that?" the girl asked.

"And why not?"

"Because I detest him, and hate the very sight of him."

"But he is of a fine family, and his father, Lord Donaster, is
immensely rich.  Burton is his only son, and he will inherit the
estate, so you will be Lady Donaster.  It is very seldom a girl meets
with such an opportunity in this province."

The girl gave her head a slight toss, and her face flushed more than
ever.

"I can hardly believe it possible that you are willing to barter your
only daughter for such baubles," she indignantly replied.  "It is
unnatural."

The presence of the maid with tea and toast interrupted the
conversation for a few minutes.  Jess poured the tea for her mother,
but took none herself.

"Are you not going to have any tea?" her mother asked.

"No, I do not care for any now, as I had some at Mrs. Merton's."

"So that's where you were, eh?  Why didn't you go to the play?"

"I didn't want to.  I preferred to spend a quiet hour or two with Mrs.
Merton.  She is a woman who does things of some importance instead of
spending her time upon a giddy butterfly-life.  She is a regular tonic,
and always inspires me to be up and doing."

"You are silly, Jess."  Her mother was visibly annoyed.  "Why should
you talk about being up and doing?  Haven't you everything that you
desire, with the prospect of a brilliant career before you?"

"What career?"

"As Lady Donaster, of course.  To what else should I refer?"

"And you call that a career, mother?  Slavery is the right word to use.
I wish to be of some benefit to the world and not to drift through life
like a wretched puppet."

"If this is what you have learned from Mrs. Merton you must not go
there any more.  I have always known that she held peculiar views, but
I had no idea that she would try to unsettle the minds of young girls."

"But I am not a young girl, remember, mother.  I am nearly twenty now,
and should be able to think somewhat for myself.  Mrs. Merton's views
were mine even before I met her.  For several years I have been
dissatisfied with a life that held out little or no promise of anything
definite.  I want to make my own way in the world."

"But you have not been trained for that, so what can you expect to do?"

"I know it only too well, mother," was the bitter reply.  "You brought
me up to shine in society and nothing else.  But I have youth on my
side, with an abundance of health, and strength, so I am not afraid."

"This is all nonsense, Jess.  You are talking like an irresponsible
child.  You know not what it means to earn your own living.  And think
what a disgrace it would be to have our only daughter working as a
common girl.  Imagine Jess Randall as a clerk in a drygoods store or in
an office.  The idea is preposterous!  You must give it up at once."

"I can't see anything disgraceful about it, mother.  I am sure it is
far better to earn one's own living than to be always depending upon
others.  But I shall not disgrace you, so you need not worry about
that."

"What do you intend to do?"

"I have several things in view, and I know that daddy will provide me
with money to carry them out."

"He will do nothing of the sort.  His mind is as fully made up as mine
that you are to marry Mr. Donaster.  Don't you think that we are more
capable of judging for your good than you?"

"I have very serious doubts about that.  I know you will consider me
ungrateful for saying so, but you ask me, and so I am forced to tell
the truth."

"Well, I declare!" and Mrs. Randall looked her astonishment.  "What has
come over you, Jess?  I never knew you to talk like this before.  You
seem to have lost all confidence in your parents' judgment."

"Not all, mother.  But I know how you interfered with the boys'
welfare, and look how they have turned out.  There was a time when they
wished to go to work and win their own way in the world.  But you would
not let them, and spoiled their lives by giving them too much money to
spend, and telling them that it was not dignified to work.  And look
what they are now; helpless to do anything for themselves, and a burden
to you.  Daddy agreed with everything you said, and see what has
happened.  You made a sad mistake with them, and I am determined that
it shall not be so with me."

The girl was trembling violently as she finished, and she had risen to
her feet.  The colour had fled from her face, and her hands were firmly
clasped before her.  Her mother also rose, and confronted her daughter.

"You are a rebellious and an ungrateful girl," she charged.  "To think
of your saying such things after all we have done for you.  What do you
mean?"

"Just what I have said, as you will find out.  It is about time for me
to assert myself when you are determined to shackle me to a creature I
detest."

"Mr. Donaster is a gentleman, and the son of a gentleman, so you must
not refer to him in such an offensive manner.  I absolutely forbid it."

"He may be a gentleman according to the standard of some, but not
according to mine.  He is nothing but an unbearable cad, and with no
more character than a jelly-fish.  And to think of my having to put up
with a thing like that for the rest of my life.  Why, I would rather be
dead."

"It would be almost a relief to me if you were," and Mrs. Randall gave
a deep sigh of despair.  "A daughter as wilful as you will only bring
disgrace upon her parents."

"I am surprised at your saying such a thing," the girl replied.  "One
would almost imagine you are not my mother at all, you are so
heartless.  Would a real mother be willing to sacrifice her only
daughter?"

Mrs. Randall gave a sudden start, and looked keenly into the eyes of
the girl standing so defiantly before her.  "Does she suspect
anything?" she asked herself.  Then she gave a nervous laugh, and
resumed her seat.

"Leave me alone now," she ordered.  "I see it is no use talking to you
any more to-night, you are so unreasonable and headstrong.  Your father
will have to take you in hand.  He will soon knock this nonsense out of
your head.  He is determined that you shall marry Mr. Donaster, and you
might as well make up your mind to that first as last."

"Mother, I shall go now.  But let me tell you, as I shall tell daddy,
that nothing on earth can make me marry the man I do not love."

"Tut, tut.  Love has nothing to do with marriages these days," Mrs.
Randall impatiently replied.  "There is no such a thing as love in
marriage, it is merely a matter of convenience."

"If I believed that, I should never marry, mother."

"And don't you?"

"Indeed I do not."

"What do you know about love?"

"I know, perhaps, more than you think."  The girl's face was now deeply
flushed, and this her mother noted.

"Jess, what is the meaning of this?  Is there someone else in whom you
are interested besides Mr. Donaster?  Tell me.  I must know the truth
at once.  It is no use trying to conceal it from me."

The girl's eyes dropped, and she turned her face partly away to hide
her emotion.

"In Mr. Donaster I am not even interested," she confessed.  "But in
another, I am more than interested, for I love him with my whole heart.
There, you now know the truth, and so you can say and do what you like.
Goodnight."

Without another word, the girl turned and hurried out of the room,
leaving her mother speechless with anger and amazement.




CHAPTER III

THE "EB AN' FLO"

Just how it happened Samuel Tobin, owner and captain of the "Eb and
Flo," was never able to explain with any degree of clearness.  He knew
that he was on his knees, scrubbing the floor of the little cabin and
humming

    "Here I'll raise my Ebenezer,
    Hither by Thy grace I'll come,"

when a form darkened the narrow doorway overhead.

Then followed a scream of fright, and before he had hardly time to look
around she was lying by his side, a confused heap of silk, lace, and
flowing dark-brown hair.

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" Samuel exclaimed, scrambling to his feet.
"What in time----?"

A merry laugh interrupted him, as the girl sprang lightly to her feet,
arranged her disordered dress, and brushed back her hair.

"My! that was a surprise," she remarked, glancing at the steps down
which she had just tumbled.  "I didn't know they were there."

"Ye didn't, eh?" and Samuel looked curiously at his unexpected visitor.
"Thought ye was walkin' into a parlour, I s'pose."

"Do you own this boat?" the girl suddenly and somewhat anxiously asked.

"Well, I thought I did, Miss, until you arrived, but now I ain't quite
sartin.  I feel somethin' like Bill Slocum said he did when a bear
dropped in on him one night when he was campin' out on his back medder."

"What did he do?"

"Oh, Bill, jist lit out an' left the bear in charge, the same as any
sensible man would do."

"I hope you do not compare me to a bear," and the girl smiled.

"No, I wouldn't like to do that, Miss.  But ye must have had some
mighty good reason fer comin' down them steps the way ye did.  It's a
wonder to me yer neck wasn't broken."

"I have a good reason," was the emphatic reply.  "I am running away."

"Runnin' away!"  Samuel's eyes opened wide in amazement, and he stared
hard at the girl.  He would have been less than human if his pulse had
not quickened, and his heart beat faster, for she was truly possessed
of more than ordinary beauty and grace of figure.  Her large dark
expressive eyes betrayed anxiety, and her cheeks were flushed.  Once
she gave a slight start and glanced nervously up the steps as if
expecting to see someone following her.

"Yes, I am running away," she repeated, "and I want you to hide me on
this boat."

"Runnin' away, an' want me to hide ye!"  Samuel ran his fingers through
his hair, a sure sign of his perplexity.  "Ye ain't been stealin' or
murderin' anybody, have ye?"

"No, no; it's not so bad as that.  But it might be suicide, though, if
you don't help me.  And you will, won't you?" she pleaded, turning her
eyes full upon the captain's face.

The latter made no immediate reply.  He picked up his pail and set it
carefully aside.  He then unrolled the turned-up sleeves of his coarse
shirt, and deliberately buttoned them about his thick hairy wrists,

"Set down, Miss," he at length ordered, motioning to the only chair the
cabin contained.  "Thar, that's better," he said as the girl
immediately obeyed.  "Sorry me accommodations are so poor, but then
this ain't no ocean liner.  She's nuthin' but an old woodboat, an' not
much of a place fer receivin' the likes of you."

"But I think it's fine," the girl replied, "and I know you will let me
stay here for a while.  You need a woman to look after this cabin, and
I will wash and cook for you."

"Ye will!"

"Certainly.  If you will only let me stay, I think you will find me
quite useful."

"H'm, queer work you'd do in them dandy togs.  An' besides, this craft
can't afford to keep up much style.  I s'pose ye'd want clean linen on
the table every day, to say nuthin' of napkins, an' sich gear.  No, I'm
afraid ye'd prove too expensive fer the 'Eb an' Flo.'  I've been cook
here fer so long that I wouldn't know what to do with a woman around.
Martha tried it once, but a week was enough fer her, so she got out.
Said she couldn't stand me housekeepin' methods."

"Who is Martha?" the girl asked.

"Oh, she's me wife, an' runs things ashore.  Her an' Flo do all right
thar, but me an' Eb feel more at home on the water, with no women
buttin' in."

"Is Flo your daughter?"

"Sure.  An' Eb's me son.  Jist the two, so I named this craft after
'em, ye see, Eb an' Flo sounds about right to my way of thinkin'.  When
yer boatin' on this river ye have to be allus considerin' the ebb an'
flow of the tide, so the name is quite handy."

"It certainly is," and the girl smiled.  "I am sure I shall like it.
Where is your son now?"

"Oh, he's ashore gittin' some molasses an' other stuff from the store.
He should be back soon, Miss, so I think ye'd better leave before he
comes.  Thar might be trouble.  He's dead set aginst strange women,
Eben is."

"Will you start as soon as your son returns?" the girl asked, unheeding
the captain's warning.

"Start!  Start where?"

"Sailing, of course."

"Not until the wind springs up.  Thar's a dead calm now, an' the tide's
aginst us."

"Oh, I wish it would blow a gale," and the girl looked anxiously
around.  "I want to get away from this place as soon as possible."

"Well, I think the best thing then fer you to do is to go ashore an'
light out.  Ye kin do it quicker thar than here."

"But I can't get ashore, Captain."

"Ye can't!  An' why not, I'd like to know?"

"Because my boat has gone adrift.  I let it go on purpose."

"Good Lord!"  Samuel sat down upon a biscuit box and eyed his visitor
curiously.  "Say, are you crazy, or a fool, or what are ye, anyway?" he
asked.

"I'm just a poor unfortunate girl, that's who I am," was the decided
reply.

"An' ye ain't done nuthin' bad; nuthin' that yer ashamed of, Miss?"

"No, no," and the girl's face crimsoned.  "I'm proud of what I have
done," and she lifted her head haughtily, while her eyes flashed.  "Any
girl with the least self-respect would do the same, so there."

"That's all right, Miss, that's all right," Samuel hurriedly assured
her.  "I wasn't castin' any reflection upon yer character.  I was only
wonderin', that's all.  Ye see, Flo's about your age, from what I
judge, an' I wouldn't like her to be actin' this way."

"I know you wouldn't.  But my case is different.  Oh, I wish I could
tell you all, but I can't.  You will trust me, anyway, won't you, and
let me stay here for a while?"

The captain sighed and looked helplessly around.

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" he growled.  "This is sartinly some fix an' I
don't know what to do.  The accommodation isn't much here fer the likes
of you, though it ain't too bad fer me an' Eb.  If you occupy this
cabin, we'll have to camp out on deck, an' I know what Eb'll say about
that.  He's more'n fond of sleep, that boy is, the greatest I ever saw.
Why he'd sooner sleep than eat any day, an' he likes a good soft bed at
that.  I had to buy a special spring an' mattress before I could git
him to come with me this year.  He doesn't take much to boatin', an' I
have to make things as smooth as possible."

"But can't you put his cot on deck?" the girl suggested.  "I am very
sorry that I am giving you so much trouble, but I shall pay you well.
Money is no object if you will only help me out of my trouble.  I am
sure you will never regret it."

"I hope not, Miss, fer I don't want to git into any fix.  It wouldn't
look very nice if the papers got hold of this affair.  Jist imagine a
big write-up about Capt. Sam'l Tobin keepin' a fine lookin' runaway gal
on the 'Eb an' Flo.'  Why, I'd never be able to hold up me head agin,
an' I guess it 'ud about break Martha's heart, to say nuthin' about
Flo.  They're mighty pertic'ler about sich things, they surely are."

"This must never get into the papers," the girl declared, "for you must
promise that you will keep it a dead secret, and not tell anyone, not
even your own family."

"I don't see how I kin do that, Miss.  I guess ye don't know Martha as
well as I do.  If ye did, ye wouldn't talk about keepin' this racket a
secret from me family.  An' besides, thar's Eben, who'll be here in a
jiffy now.  How am I to explain matters to him?  No, Miss, I reckon
ye'd better light out while the coast is clear.  I'll git the boy to
take ye ashore, an' tell him that ye hit the wrong craft."

But the girl was not to be baffled in her purpose.  She rose to her
feet and stood before the captain.  Her eyes were wide with a nameless
fear, and her face showed very white where the light of the
bracket-lamp fell upon it.

"Don't, don't send me away," she pleaded.  "Let me stay here until you
go from this place.  Then you can put me ashore in the woods, or throw
me overboard, I don't care which, but for the love of heaven let me
stay now!"

Captain Samuel's big right hand dove suddenly into his pocket and
clawed forth a clay pipe, a plug of tobacco, and a large jack-knife.
He examined them carefully for a few seconds, the girl all the time
watching him most intently.

"You will let me stay, won't you?" she coaxed.  "Don't send me away."

"I don't see how I kin, Miss.  Yer here, an' that's all thar is about
it.  Ye won't go of yer own accord, an' I've never yit laid hands on a
woman.  Now, if you was a man I'd show ye a thing or two in a jiffy,
but what kin one do with a woman when she once makes up her mind?"

"Oh, thank you so much," and the girl's face brightened.  "You will
never regret your kindness to me.  And look, I'm going to pay you well
for letting me stay."

"Pay!"  The captain's eyes bulged with astonishment.

"Yes, pay," and the girl smiled.  "I'm a passenger, you see, so I'm
going to pay my fare.  There, you must not object, for I have made up
my mind, so it's no use for you to say a word.  I'm going to give you
fifty dollars now and more later."

The pipe fell from the captain's hand and broke in two upon the floor.

"Blame it all!" he growled, as he stood staring upon the wreck.  "I
wonder what's comin' over me, anyway?  Guess I'm losin' me senses."

"No you're not; you are just getting them, Captain.  It's better to
break a pipe than a girl's heart, isn't it?"

"I s'pose so, Miss.  But a pipe means a good smoke, while a woman
means----"

He paused, and looked helplessly around.

"What?"  The girl's eyes twinkled.

"Trouble; that's what."

"But isn't she worth it?"

"That all depends upon what an' who she is."

"Certainly.  Now you are talking sense.  Isn't your daughter worth all
the trouble she has been to you?"

"Sure, sure; yer sartinly right thar, Miss.  Flo's given me a heap of
trouble, but not half as much as Eben.  That boy's a caution, an' he's
given me an' Martha no end of worry."

"In what way?"

The captain scratched his head in perplexity, and shifted uneasily from
one foot to another.

"I kin hardly explain," he at length replied.  "He don't drink, nor
swear, nor do nuthin' bad.  But the trouble is, he don't do nuthin',
an' don't want to do nuthin' but sleep an' eat."

"Perhaps you have not brought him up right, Captain."

"Not brought him up right!"  Samuel's amazement was intense.  "Why,
Miss, we've done nuthin' but bring that boy up.  Me an' Martha have
slaved fer the raisin' of Eben.  We started when he was a baby to raise
him, right, an' the very next Sunday after he was born didn't they sing
in church--

    "'Here I'll raise my Ebenezer'."

"And so you've been singing it ever since, even when scrubbing the
cabin?"  The girl smiled at the recollection of the suddenly
discontinued tune.

"Sure, why shouldn't I?  It's a great hymn, it sartinly is, an' it's
inspired me many a time.  It has kept before me my duty, an' if Eben
doesn't amount to somethin', it won't be my fault, nor Martha's,
either, fer that matter."

"Have you taken the same care with your daughter?" the girl asked.

"No, not as much," was the reluctant confession.  "Gals don't need sich
special care.  They ginerally grow up all right, an' git along somehow.
But it's different with boys.  They're a problem, they sartinly are."

"And so you have given most of your attention to your son, and let your
daughter grow up any way.  Is that it, Captain?"

"That's about it, Miss."

"And how is your daughter getting along?"

"Fust rate.  We've no trouble with her.  She's a good worker, happy an'
cheerful as a bird, an' does what she's told.  She's a fine gal, Flo
is, an' thar's no mistake about that.  I wish to goodness Eben was like
her."

"It seems to me, Captain, that you tried too hard to raise your son,
and spoiled him.  Isn't that it?"

"D'ye think so?"

"I am sure of it.  You are not the only ones who have spent all their
care upon their sons and let their daughters grow up as they please.  I
know too much about it."

"Ye do!" Samuel's eyes opened wide in wonder.  "An' you only a young
gal, too."

"But I am old in experience, and know what I say is true.  But what is
that?"  A startled look leaped into her eyes.  "Do you suppose it is
someone after me?"

With a bound the captain sprang up the stairs.  He paused for an
instant, however, and glanced back.

"Don't be scared, Miss," he encouraged.  "It's only Eben.  He's bumped
hard aginst the boat.  You keep close under cover, an' I'll do what I
kin with the boy."




CHAPTER IV

UNDER COVER

By the time the captain reached the side of the boat, Eben had his
small skiff tied to the deck-rail.  He was standing up, a tall, gaunt,
ungainly youth, freckled faced, and sandy haired.  He wore a dark-brown
sweater, and a pair of overalls, baggy at the knees.  He did not speak
as his father approached, but mechanically handed up to him a jug of
molasses, and several paper parcels.  He then leaped lightly upon deck,
and headed for the cabin.  But the captain detained him by laying a
firm and heavy hand upon his shoulder.

"Keep out of thar," he ordered.  "I've jist been scrubbin' an' don't
want ye to dirty the place up."

The tone of his father's voice caused Eben to swing suddenly around.

"Me feet ain't dirty," he drawled.  "An' s'pose they are, what's the
difference?  The cabin ain't no parler.  Let me go; I'm most starved."

But the captain's grip increased as he yanked his son a few feet back.

"I'm in charge of this craft," he reminded, "an' what I say goes.  Yer
not goin' down into that cabin to-night, so jist make up yer mind to
that fust as last."

The boy now stared in speechless amazement.  Never before had he seen
his father so agitated, nor heard him speak to him in such a manner.

"D'ye understand?" the captain asked.

"Understand what?"

"That yer not goin' down in that cabin.  Isn't that what I jist said?
Where are yer ears?"

A sullen look leaped into the boy's eyes, and with an effort he shook
himself free from his father's grasp.

"D'ye mean it?" he growled.

"Sartinly I mean it.  An' what's more, I don't want ye to ask any fool
questions.  We'll eat an' sleep on deck to-night, up forrad.  I'll
bring the grub an' clothes from the cabin, but you stay out."

Eben was about to reply in an angry manner, when the form of his
countenance instantly changed, and a peculiar expression,
half-humorous, appeared in his eyes.  He stood looking at his father
for a few seconds in an absent-minded manner.  Then, without a word, he
picked up the jug of molasses and strode up forward.  The captain gazed
after him in astonishment, greatly wondering what had come over his son
to make him so obedient all of a sudden.  He said nothing, however, but
went at once down into the cabin where he found the girl making herself
perfectly at home tidying up the place.

"Eben's come," the captain laconically remarked,

"So I understand," and the girl smiled.

"Ye heard what was said, eh?"

"Certainly.  I'm not deaf."

"Sure, sure.  Me temper got the best of me to-night.  But I couldn't
help it, fer that boy did more'n stir me up.  Guess he's cooled down
now, though I'm mighty surprised that he knuckled under so soon.  It's
not a bit like Eb's way, let me tell ye that."

"I am very sorry to give all this trouble," the girl acknowledged.  "I
feel ashamed of myself."

"Most likely ye do, Miss.  We all feel that way at times.  But I must
git a hustle on, an' tote up some clothes fer the night, an' a snack of
grub fer Eben.  He's mighty fond of his stummick, that boy is.  He'd
eat every hour of the day, jist the same as a chicken, an' then
wouldn't be satisfied."

Captain Tobin was much surprised that his son asked him no questions
that night.  He did not even refer to the cabin, but after he had eaten
two large slices of bread, well soaked in molasses, he stretched
himself out upon the deck, drew a heavy quilt over his body, and was
soon fast asleep.  The captain, however, did not sleep for some time.
He sat upon the cover of the hatchway and puffed at an old corn-cob,
which had been brought into service after the ruin of his favourite
clay pipe.  It was a beautiful night, and not a breath of wind ruffled
the surface of the river.  The captain was thinking seriously, as he
was greatly puzzled what to do with the girl who had thrust herself so
unceremoniously upon him.  He could not put her ashore, that was quite
evident, and he knew that he could not keep her presence a secret from
Eben for any length of time.  And then there was Martha.  What would
she and Flo say when they heard of it?  This thought brought the
perspiration to his forehead, causing him to shift uneasily.  And the
neighbours!  What a rare bit of gossip it would be when they heard of
it.  And hear of it they certainly would, and he would be disgraced.
It was somewhat late when he at length rolled himself up in his blanket
by his son's side.  Silence reigned near the cabin, and he fell asleep
feeling that he had done the best that he could under the circumstances.

He awoke early, and scrambled to his feet.  Eben was still asleep, so
he moved about as quietly as possible so as not to disturb him.  Far
off in the east the dawn of a new day was breaking, and the sky was
resplendent with the soft rosy tints of the virgin morn.  From the
shore came faint twitterings of birds just awaking from slumber.
Presently the raucous honks of autos some distance down the road fell
upon his ears.  In a few minutes the cars appeared, and drew up at the
wharf not far away.  Several men alighted, and from their actions the
captain could tell that they were very much excited.  Then more autos
arrived, until about twenty men were standing upon the wharf and the
road.  He wondered what they wanted, and what had brought them there at
such an early hour.  When, however, he saw them rowing from the shore
in several flat-bottom boats, the meaning of the commotion flashed upon
his mind.  They were searching for the missing girl, believing that she
had been drowned the night before.  The captain was in a quandary.  His
first impulse was to hail the men, and tell them that the missing one
was safe.  But what would the girl think of him if he betrayed her?
No, he would not do such a thing without speaking to her first.  He
glanced toward the cabin, and to his surprise saw smoke coming from the
stove-pipe protruding through the roof of the cabin.  The girl, he
knew, must be awake, so he might as well inform her at once.

He hurried away aft, and paused at the cabin door.  It was open, and
glancing down he saw the girl busily engaged in preparing breakfast.
The appetising odour of coffee greeted his nostrils, and he heard
something sizzling in the frying-pan.  Just then the girl glanced up,
and a bright smile of welcome illumined her face.  Her cheeks were
flushed with the heat and exercise, and the captain thought he had
never beheld a more charming face.

"Good morning," she greeted.  "Come in; breakfast is almost ready."

"Well, I'll be hanged!" the captain ejaculated as he descended the
stairs.  "What in time are ye up so early fer?"

"Isn't the cook always supposed to be up early?" the girl questioned,
while her eyes sparkled with merriment.

"S'pose so," and the captain scratched his head in a dubious manner.
"But I wasn't lookin' upon you as a cook, fer I had no idea that ye
understood anything about a kitchen."

"Well, then, you were much mistaken.  Just sit down, and try this
egg-on-toast, and this coffee.  I have learned a few things, so am not
altogether useless.  Cooking is one of my accomplishments, though,
perhaps, I may not suit such an expert as you."

After the captain had washed himself in the granite-iron basin, and
carefully brushed his hair, he sat down at the little side-table.  His
breakfast was already before him, but he would not touch it until the
girl was ready for hers.  He noted with appreciation that the oil-cloth
on the table was especially clean, and how neatly the few dishes were
arranged.

"Well, this is some breakfast," he complimented.  "I never expected to
find this awaitin' me."

"Are you satisfied with your cook now?" the girl smilingly asked.

"Satisfied!"  The captain paused in the act of lifting his cup of
coffee to his lips.  "Did I ever say I wasn't satisfied?"

"Not exactly, though you acted that way last night."

"I know I did, an' I'm of the same opinion still.  I'm not satisfied
while them fellers are out draggin' the river fer yer body."

At these words a startled look came into the girl's eyes, and she
dropped her fork upon her plate.

"Dragging the river for my body!" she gasped.

"Sure, thar are several boats not fer from here now, an' the men in 'em
seem mighty excited.  It does seem a pity fer 'em to be doin' sich a
thing while you are safe an' sound in this cabin.  Thar's something
uncanny about it, which is not at all to my likin'.  Don't ye think I'd
better holler out, an' tell 'em that you're all right?"

"No, no," the girl protested, rising to her feet.  "Don't say a word.
If they think I'm drowned, all the better.  That's just what I want
them to think."

"Good Lord!" The captain stared in amazement at the agitated girl.
"What am I to do, then?  I can't stay here an' see them poor fellers
doin' sich a useless job.  An' besides, they must be about
heart-broken."

"Indeed they're not," the girl emphatically declared.  "If they are the
ones I believe they are, you needn't worry about them, for they have no
hearts to break.  I must have a peek at them."

"Be careful, if ye don't want to be seen, Miss," the captain warned, as
the girl stood, on one of the steps and cautiously peered out.  She was
instantly down again, her face very white.

"There's a boat coming straight for us!" she excitedly explained.
"It's only a short distance off.  Go on deck quick and send the men
away.  Don't let them come on board."

With a bound the captain was up out of the cabin.  He was determined to
protect the girl, although he felt that he was making a fool of
himself.  But while she was on his boat, and under his care, no one was
going to molest her.  He stood silently watching the row-boat as it
drew near.  It contained three men, two at the oars, and one seated
astern.

"Say," the latter called out, "did you see a young woman drifting about
here in a boat last night?"

"Did I see what?" the captain asked, apparently surprised.

"A young woman, Miss Randall, in a boat last night?  She has
disappeared, and we're afraid she's drowned."

"No, I didn't see any young woman driftin' around here in a boat last
night," the captain replied.  "What makes ye think she's drowned
herself?"

"Because a boat was found adrift in South Bay last night, containing
one oar and a woman's hat.  The hat belonged to Miss Randall, and as
she is missing, it is feared that she either drowned herself or met
with an accident."

"Dear me, that's serious.  Why would she want to drown herself?"

"Oh, some family trouble, I guess.  Her folks wanted her to marry a man
she had no use for.  That's him standing there on the wharf now."

"Ye don't tell!"  The captain turned his head and looked shoreward.
"Wonder why he isn't helpin' to search fer his sweetheart.  He seems to
be mighty cool about the affair."

"Oh, he's afraid of soiling his hands and clothes."  The man spoke in a
low voice, for he was now close alongside.  "He's Lord
Something-or-Other's son, an' wouldn't think of associating with such
common cusses as us.  He belongs to the upper-crust, doncher-know." The
man smiled, and his companions grinned.  It was quite evident that they
were all familiar with the story.

"An' so ye say the gal yer lookin' fer is Miss Randall, daughter of
Henry Randall, the big lumber merchant?" the captain asked.

"That's who she is; his only daughter."

"An' he wants her to marry _that_?" and the captain motioned toward the
wharf.

"Sure.  Is it any wonder she'd want to commit suicide?  She'd be a fool
if she wouldn't.  But, there, we must get back to work.  We just
dropped alongside, thinking ye might have seen her drifting around,
last night, and heard a scream or a splash."

"What makes ye think it was around here she done the deed?" the captain
asked.

"Because her folks have their summer house a short distance below the
wharf, and the boat which was found drifting in South Bay belongs to
Bill Sanson up on the hill.  Aren't they reasons enough?"

"It does look reasonable," the captain acknowledged.  "I s'pose her pa
an' ma are about crazy over her disappearance.  I know I should be
about Flo."

"Her father isn't home," the man explained.  "He's away somewhere on a
business trip.  As for her mother, well----"  He paused, pulled a plug
of tobacco out of his pocket, and bit off a chew.  Then he turned to
his companions.  "Come, boys, suppose we get back?  We've wasted too
much time already."

The captain watched them as they rowed away, and his eyes twinkled with
merriment.  He was smiling when he returned to the cabin.  The girl
there was smiling, too, although it was easy to tell that she had been
greatly agitated.

"Have they gone?" she asked in a low voice.

"Oh, yes, they've gone back to look fer you.  Say, Miss, I don't like
this bizness one bit.  It's a mighty spooky affair, an' gits on me
nerves.  Don't ye feel a bit shaky yerself?"

"I suppose I should," the girl thoughtfully replied.  "But under the
circumstances I can't.  Don't you remember what that man told you?"

"About you marryin' that Lord Fiddlesticks?"

"Yes, though that is not his name."

"I know it isn't, but it doesn't matter.  But, thar, I must take some
grub to Eben.  He'll be down here soon, I'm sartin, if I don't head him
off.  Thar's nuthin' like grub to hold that boy in check.  I've got to
go ashore this mornin' to git some tea.  Eben fergot all about it last
night."

"Will you get a few things for me?" the girl asked.  "I will make out a
list at once."

"I was expectin' something like that, Miss.  I knew ye wouldn't be
satisfied with what this cabin contains, but would want many things
extry.  I s'pose ye'll order a hull outfit of table linen, a set of
chiny dishes, a new coffee pot, an' dear knows what all.  I'd have to
go to the city fer them things."

"No, not at all," the girl laughingly replied.  "I can get along nicely
with what you have here.  I only need something for myself, as I came
away without anything, not even a comb.  I hope you don't mind."

"Oh, I don't mind, as fer as I'm consarned.  But I'm wonderin' what
Martha an' Flo'll think if they ever hear of it."

"I am sure they will be pleased, Captain, when they know how kind you
have been to an unfortunate girl.  When I see them I shall explain, so
everything will be all right."

"I hope so, Miss.  But if ye knew Martha as well as I do mebbe ye
wouldn't feel so sure.  Anyway, I s'pose it can't be helped now.  Jist
have yer list ready when I come back from feedin' Eben, an' I'll do the
best I kin."




CHAPTER V

CAPTAIN SAMUEL GOES SHOPPING

Captain Tobin rowed toward the shore with long steady strokes.  He was
in no hurry as he had all the morning on his hands.  He did not expect
the wind to rise until the turn of the tide, which would be about noon.
He was thinking of Eben, and wondering what had come over the boy to
make him so docile in such a short time.  He had seemed more animated
than usual, and had eaten his breakfast without making any embarrassing
enquiries.  He had not even referred to the men searching the river for
the missing girl, neither did he speak of the conversation that had
taken place between his father and the man in the small boat.  All this
was puzzling to the captain, for it was very unlike Eben's usual
manner.  Was it possible that the boy knew anything about the matter,
or had a hand in the affair himself? he wondered.  He banished the
idea, however, as too absurd to be entertained even for a moment.

Reaching the wharf, he tied the boat, and was making his way to the
store when he was suddenly hailed.

"Hi, there," someone called, "let me have your boat, will you?"

Looking around, he saw the immaculately-dressed young man coming toward
him from the lower side of the wharf.  He knew that this must be the
missing girl's lover, and he had no desire to meet him.  There seemed
to be no escape, however, so he was forced to stop and wait until the
man sauntered up to where he was standing.

"Was ye callin' me?" the captain asked.

"I was," the man replied.  "I want your boat."

"Ye do, eh?  Well, I guess I want it meself more'n you do, by the look
of things."

"But I want to help with the search."

"Oh, so you're Lord Fiddlesticks' son, are ye?  Glad to meet ye," and
the captain held out his hand.  "I'm Sam'l Tobin, captain an' owner of
the 'Eb an' Flo,' layin' jist out yonder."

"So I supposed," was the drawling response.  "But it makes no
difference to me who or what you are.  You might be the devil for all I
care.  All I want is your small boat."

"Come, come, Mr. Lord Fiddlesticks, don't talk in sich a high an'
mighty manner; it might not be good fer yer health.  A young chap about
your make-up tried it once upon me, but it didn't work out to his
satisfaction.  He acknowledged it when he got out of the hospital.
See?"

"Oh, I didn't mean to offend you," and the young man retreated a few
steps.  "I'm all upset this morning over Miss Randall's disappearance,
and so am hardly responsible for what I say.  Let me have your boat,
will you?  I'll pay you well for it."

The captain eyed the young man critically from head to foot, especially
his soft white hands.  Then he shook his head in a doubtful manner.

"What's the matter?" the young man impatiently asked.  "Is there
anything wrong with me ?"

"That's what I'm jist tryin' to figger out.  I s'pose it's really me
duty to take ye home to yer ma, but I ain't got time this mornin'.
Does she knew where ye are?"

"What do you mean, you ignorant clodhopper?  Do you take me for a baby?"

"Not exactly, as yer too big fer one.  But accordin' to yer togs one
would imagine that ye've jist come from the nursery.  No, it wouldn't
be right to let ye have me boat, fer ye'd be sure to spile yer pretty
white hands an' soil yer bib an' pinny.  An' besides, if anything
happened to ye, I'd be held responsible.  No, ye'd better trot along
home to yer mamma before she comes after ye with a strap."

The young man was now very angry, and he was about to give vent to his
feelings in a furious outburst.  But the stopping of an auto on the
road near by suddenly arrested his attention, causing him to stare hard
at the driver who had just alighted.  Glad of this timely diversion,
the captain moved away and made toward the store.  In passing the car,
he did not recognise the driver, who, with his back toward him, was
examining the engine, and seemed to be heeding nothing else.  But no
sooner had the captain passed than he straightened himself up, cast one
swift glance toward the man down on the wharf, and at once followed the
captain into the store, where he stood quietly at one side without
speaking to anybody.

The captain was already at the counter, fumbling with the list which
had been given him.  He was well acquainted with the storekeeper, a
middle-aged man of genial countenance.

"Here's a list of things I want, Ezry," he explained, as he handed over
the paper.  "Guess ye kin make out the writin'."

The storekeeper adjusted his spectacles and studied the paper for a few
minutes.  Then he looked keenly at his customer, while his eyes
twinkled.

"Are yer wife an' daughter with ye on this trip, Captain?" he asked.
"They seem to be out of 'most everything women need.  It's a wonder ye
didn't get them outfitted in the city.  D'ye think this is a department
store?  Guess they must have been studying Eaton's catalogue."

Captain Samuel coughed and shuffled uneasily.

"Why, what's on the list, Ezry?"

"Didn't ye read it?"

"No, never looked at it.  I thought it was all right, an' that ye kept
'most everything here."

"Well, I don't, and never expect to.  Now, look at this, for instance,"
and the storekeeper touched the paper with the forefinger of his right
hand.  "A kimona, just think of that!  I never had a call for such a
thing before."

"Is that down thar?" the captain enquired, reaching for the list.

"Sure, ye can see for yourself.  But that isn't all.  A pair of pyjamas
is wanted, bedroom slippers, table-cloth, and napkins.  Say, Captain,
your wife an' daughter must be getting some new fandangled notions all
of a sudden.  Going to use them on the boat, eh?"

The captain made no reply.  His face was very red, and he was mopping
his forehead with a big pocket-handkerchief.

"It does work ye up, doesn't it?" the storekeeper chuckled.

"Work me up!  Why, I'm bilin' hot.  But fer the love of heaven, isn't
there anything on that list ye do keep?  Guess we'll have to send to
Eaton's after all, only them things are wanted right away."

The storekeeper again studied the list, and with a pencil scored out
the articles he did not have.

"I haven't that, nor that, nor that," he commented.

"Well, fer goodness' sakes what have ye got, Ezry?  Tell me quick, fer
I can't stay here all the mornin'."

"Nor that, nor that, nor that," the storekeeper continued.  "Ah, I have
that," and his face brightened.  "Yes, I've got a tooth-brush, or I did
have one a year ago.  Let me see."  He turned and began to rummage in a
dilapidated show-case, and at length brought forth with triumph the
required article.  He laid it carefully on the counter, and resumed his
study of the list.  A brush and comb were the next requisites, and
these, after considerable searching, were produced.

"Yer doin' fine, Ezry," the captain encouraged.  "Don't work too hard,
though I would like to git back to me boat before the river freezes.  I
don't want to lay out thar all winter.  What's next on the program?"

"A box of choc'lates, hard-centres.  I don't keep 'em, Captain.  I've
only mixed-candy an' conversation lozenges.  Maybe they 'd like some of
them."

"All right, put 'em in; it's all the same to me.  I never eat sich
things.  Is that all?"

"Yes, I guess that's all I can supply," the storekeeper replied as he
finally viewed the list.  "If ye wanted molasses, sugar, or anything in
the hardware line I could accommodate ye.  But kimonas, pyjamas,
bedroom slippers, and such things, I don't carry."

During this conversation the auto driver had been an attentive
listener.  At times it was difficult for him to refrain from laughing
outright, especially at the captain's embarrassment.  It was not for
amusement, however, that he was there, but for something far more
important.  What he learned seemed to please him, so with the light of
satisfaction in his eyes, he left the store and returned to his car.
When the captain came out a few minutes later he greeted him in a
friendly manner.

"Fine morning, Captain," he accosted.

"Hello, John!" the captain replied.  "I didn't know it was you.  Where
did ye drop from?"

"Oh, just on my way from the city.  I didn't expect to meet you here."

"An' I didn't expect to be here, John.  I've been hung up fer hours,
an' can't git a breath of wind.  I should be loadin' at Spoon Island by
this time."

"Perhaps a rest will do you good, Captain.  A trip ashore once in a
while will do you no harm.  You have been shopping, I see?  I didn't
know your wife and Flo were with you on this trip.  They were home when
I left."

"What makes ye think they're with me?" the captain somewhat sharply
asked.

"Oh, it was merely a surmise on my part," and the young man smiled.  "I
happened to overhear the conversation between you and the storekeeper;
that was all."

"Well, s'pose I was buyin' things fer me wife an' daughter, what of it?
Why should ye think they're on the boat when I buy things they want?"

"It was just a notion on my part.  I happened to hear what they wanted,
and naturally wondered why you should go to a store like that when you
could have got all the articles in the city to far better advantage.
It's none of my business, of course, only it made me somewhat curious."

The captain made no reply but turned and looked out upon the river,
where the men were searching for the missing girl.  The young man, too,
looked, and there was an amused expression in his eyes as he at length
turned them upon the captain's face.

"They don't seem to be meeting with much success, do they?" he casually
remarked.

"Seems not," was the quiet reply.

"Perhaps they are not searching in the right place.  They may be all
astray, and the girl is not drowned after all."

"What makes ye think that?" the captain somewhat anxiously asked.

"Oh, certain things have made me come to the conclusion that the girl
did not drown herself.  It would be a most unlikely thing for Miss
Randall to do.  She is not that kind."

"H'm, that's no reason," the captain retorted.  "Ye never know these
days what notions gals'll take."

"I believe you are right," and the young man smiled.  "They do take
queer notions at times, as was proven by the list of articles you tried
to buy in the store just a few minutes ago."

"Hey, what's that yer sayin'?" the captain demanded, swinging swiftly
around.  "What d'ye mean by them words?"

"Don't you know, sir?  I think you understand my meaning.  Look well
after Miss Randall, and tell her to keep out of sight.  So long.  I
hope to see you later."

The young man sprang into his car, and in another minute was speeding
up the road, leaving the captain staring after him, dumb with
astonishment.




CHAPTER VI

EBEN MAKES A DISCOVERY

After Eben had eaten his breakfast he sat for a few minutes watching
his father as he rowed ashore.  He next turned his eyes upon the boats
searching for the missing girl.  He even smiled, a somewhat unusual
thing for him, especially at such an early morning hour.  He was
sitting upon deck, leaning against the mast full in the glare of the
slowly-strengthening sun.  Presently his left hand was run through his
mass of tousled hair, while his right came down with a resounding whack
upon his knee.  Something out of the ordinary was amusing this tall
ungainly youth which would have surprised his father had he been
present.

At length he rose slowly to his feet, yawned, stretched himself, and
moved cautiously along the deck toward the cabin.  He walked around it
once without deigning to look at the open door.  The second time he
shot a swift furtive glance, and caught a fleeting glimpse of someone
in the cabin.  His heart gave a great leap and he was about to hurry on
his way, when a merry laugh arrested his steps, causing him to turn and
peer down into the cabin.  Then his cheeks crimsoned as he saw the girl
standing at the foot of the steps, her face wreathed with a sunny smile.

"Don't be afraid; I won't hurt you," she told him.  "I'm as harmless as
a kitten."

Instantly Eben's mouth expanded into a grin, and he looked sheepishly
around.  He knew that he was on forbidden ground, and this added to his
embarrassment.  At the same time it gave him a certain degree of
pleasure, as forbidden sweets are always the most delectable.

"Come on down," the girl invited.  "I want someone to talk to, for it
is rather lonesome here."

"You'd better come up," Eben found voice to reply.  "It's nicer here in
the sun."

"I know it is," and the girl's face became sober in an instant.  "But I
am afraid."

"What are ye afraid of?"

"Those men in the boats, of course."

"That they'll git ye?"

"Yes."

"But they won't out there, though," and again Eben grinned.  "I knew ye
didn't drown yerself.  Ye'd be a fool to do it, wouldn't ye?"

"How did you know?"

"Oh, I saw ye last night headin' fer the 'Eb an' Flo.'"

"Did you see me come on board?"

"No, it was too dark.  But when dad wouldn't let me go into the cabin,
I guessed what was up.  It was nicer down there than floatin' in the
river, wasn't it?  Wonder where ye'd be now, an' how ye'd feel if ye
had drowned yerself."

The girl shivered, and her face turned white.

"Are you hungry?" she unexpectedly asked.

"Why, I jist had me breakfast."

"I know you did, but your father said you are always hungry.  Suppose
you come down and I'll give you something more.  You didn't have much
to eat."

To his own surprise Eben at once obeyed, lumbered down the steps, and
seated himself by the little table.  The girl placed a boiled egg
before him, cut a slice of bread, and poured out a cup of coffee.

"I cooked one egg too many," she explained.

"Lucky ye did," Eben replied, as he broke the shell.  "Say, it's great
havin' you here.  What's yer name!"

"Only Jess.  I hope you will like it."

"I like it already.  I think it's nice.  An' say, I won't let anyone
git ye."

"That's kind of you.  But I thought you hated girls."

"Who told ye that?"

"Your father, of course.  Isn't it true?"

"Mebbe it is, an' mebbe it isn't.  An' mebbe after all it is.  I never
did take much stock in girls."

"Why?"

"Dunno, 'cept it's me make-up.  Girls are too fussy fer me, so I like
to keep out of their way."

"But you came my way this morning, though," the girl smilingly reminded.

"Oh, you're different.  I like what you did.  You came here to be
protected, an' I'm goin' to see that ye are.  I won't let them men git
ye."

"What will you do if they come on board?"

Eben dropped his knife and fork suddenly upon the table, while his
hands clenched hard.

"They won't come on board," he declared.  "They'll do well to git close
to this boat.  Look," and he pointed to a rifle standing in one corner
of the cabin.

"Oh, you mustn't shoot," the girl protested.  "You might kill someone,
and then you would be hung for murder."

"No, it's not likely I'll shoot, though I'll feel like doin' it if them
men come snookin' 'round here.  I'll jist keep the gun in me hands,
that's all.  Guess that'll be hint enough fer them fellers."

"Oh, I wish a strong wind would blow," the girl fervently exclaimed.
"I want to get away from here, and out of sight of those men searching
for me over there."

"It does give one a kind of creepy feelin', doesn't it?" Eben replied.
"But I think we'll git a breeze when the tide comes up, an' then we'll
show ye what this old tub kin do."

"Won't that be great!  I have often longed for a sail on the river in a
boat such as this.  How you must enjoy this life.  I know I should."

"Would ye?" Eben asked.  "Well, I guess ye'd soon git tired of it if ye
had to do it all the time.  It makes a mighty big difference whether ye
do a thing fer pleasure or fer business.  I don't like it, anyway, an'
I'm goin' to git clear of it as soon as I kin.  Mebbe I'll follow your
example, an' run away."

"Where do you want to go to, and what do you want to do?"

"I want to go to college an' learn to be an engineer."

"An engineer!  What, to run an engine on the railroad?"

"No, not that.  I want to be a civil engineer, to build bridges, an' do
sich things.  I'd like it better'n anything else."

"Why don't you, then?  Won't your father let you?"

"No.  He thinks it's all nonsense.  He says he's raisin' me to take
charge of this boat some day.  But, gee whiz, he's countin' on the
wrong chicken.  Anyway, by the time dad's done sailin' this boat, it'll
be fit fer the scrap heap."

"Why do you want to be a civil engineer?" the girl asked.  "Do you know
anything about the work?"

"Y' bet I do," and Eben smacked his lips.  "I've been studyin' bridges
fer years, 'specially the one across the falls.  I've a lot of drawin's
of it.  Would ye like to see 'em?"

"Indeed I should," was the interested reply.  "I used to draw some
myself."

"Ye did!"  Eben looked at the girl in admiration.  "I never met anyone
before who could draw.  Hope ye won't make fun of my scrawls."

"Certainly not.  You don't think I would do such a thing, do you?"

Eben made no reply as he was already on his feet, groping with his
right hand upon a shelf over his bunk.  In a few minutes he brought
down a well worn scribbler, opened it, and laid it with pride upon the
table.

"There's my drawin's," he began.  "No one but meself ever sot eyes upon
'em before."

"You didn't even show them to your parents or sister?" the girl asked
in surprise, as she looked upon the first drawing presented to view.

"Indeed I didn't.  They'd only make fun of me if I did.  I hate to be
laughed at, don't you?  It riles one all up."

"It does sometimes," the girl acknowledged.  "But, then, it is better
not to mind what people say or do, but just go on with our work.  Why,
what nice drawings you have here.  I can hardly believe you did them
yourself without anyone to teach you."

Eben made no reply, but his eyes shone with complete satisfaction.  The
girl was seated at the table and he was standing by her side.  A thrill
of joy possessed him such as he had never experienced before.  This
beautiful girl appreciated his drawings, and that was enough.

The sketches were crude, but they showed considerable signs of promise,
and this Jess realised as she carefully examined them.  One bridge,
especially, arrested her attention, the one which spanned the falls.

"You must have made a long study of this," she remarked, "I recognised
it at once."

"I did, Miss.  I spent a whole day there once, an' every time we go
under it I see something new.  I ain't got it quite right yit."

For a few minutes the girl examined the drawings without speaking.
There was a far-away look in her eyes when at length she pushed the
book a little from her.

"Your drawings are remarkably good, considering everything," she told
him.  "But how would you like for me to give you some lessons?"

"How would I like it?" Eben gasped in amazement.  "You give me lessons
in drawin'!"

"And why not?  We shall have time, I am sure, and I have not yet
forgotten all I learned."

"Oh, it would be great!  But what about dad?  I'm afraid he won't let
ye.  He might think it will spoil me from bein' a captain some day.  He
wants me to study navigation, or something like that, which I hate."

Before any reply could be made, a slight shock was heard against the
side of the boat which startled them both.  The girl sprang to her
feet, and looked up the stairway.  Then the sound of footsteps was
heard upon the deck above.

"They are after me!" she gasped.  "Oh, where can I hide?"

"Stay right here," Eben ordered, as he leaped toward the stairs.  "I'll
fix 'em."

His foot had barely touched the first step when his father's body
bulked large in the doorway above.  Instinctively Eben drew back, and
stood on the defensive, with every nerve strung to the highest tension.

Slowly the captain descended, and when he had reached the bottom of the
stairway he stopped and looked around.  In an instant he comprehended
the situation, and a twinkle appeared in his eyes as he turned them
upon his son.

"Is this the way ye obey orders?" he demanded.  "Didn't I tell ye not
to come near this cabin?"

"I know ye did, but that was last night," was the surly reply.  "Ye
didn't tell me to stay away this mornin'."

The captain stared at his son for a few seconds as if he had not heard
aright.

"Well, I declare!" he exclaimed.  "I gave ye credit fer some brains,
but I guess I was mistaken."

"Don't blame your son, Captain," the girl interposed.  "It was not his
fault that he is here, but mine.  I asked him to come."

"Ye did!  Why, I thought ye didn't want anybody 'cept me to know of yer
whereabouts."

"But it's different with your son here.  He had to find out, anyway,
you see, so it was just as well for him to do so this morning."

"So ye waited until I got on shore, eh?  H'm, I guess all gals are
alike, as sly as a weasel.  As soon as the old man was out of the way,
you two became very chummy.  Fergot everything else most likely.  It's
a wonder ye weren't paradin' up an' down the deck."

"Oh, we took good care to keep out of sight," the girl laughingly
replied.  "We had enough sense left for that.  This is certainly a
great hiding place."

"D'ye think so, Miss?  But mebbe it isn't so good as ye imagine."

A startled expression came into the girl's eyes, as she turned them
full upon the captain's face.

"Thar, thar, don't be alarmed," the latter comforted.  "I didn't mean
to frighten ye.  I only wanted to warn ye, that's all."

"Did you hear anything about me while ashore?" the girl asked.  "Has
anyone any suspicion that I am here?"

"It seems that way."

"Oh!"

"Yes," the captain continued, "I was talkin' to a young feller on
shore, an' he sent ye his kind regards."

"Not Mr. Donaster!  Oh, say it wasn't that man."

"No, it wasn't that critter, but another, an' a fine chap, too.  Mebbe
ye kin guess his name.  He seemed mighty interested, an' asked me a
number of questions."

"Did he?"  The sigh  of relief which the girl gave was more expressive
than words.  The captain chuckled as he watched her, and his eyes
twinkled.

"Yes, Miss, he came along in a car an' tried to pump me dry with his
queer questions.  An' he was a mighty nice feller, too, good-natured,
an' handsome enough fer any gal, no matter how pertic'ler she might be.
He told me to take good care of ye.  Hello! what's the matter?"

The cause of the captain's exclamation was the expression of confusion
which suddenly overspread the girl's face.  Eben also noticed it, and
for the first time in his life a strange feeling began to agitate his
heart.  He could not account for it, but intuitively he felt a spirit
of resentment against the man with the car.  This beautiful girl had
come into his lonely, misunderstood life like the sweet invigorating
breath of spring, and he could not bear the thought that anyone else
should have the slightest claim upon her.  It was the jealous
unreasoning throb of a first great love.  The cabin seemed to be
unusually close.  He must have fresh air, and he wanted to be by
himself that he might think.  With a bound he was up the stairs to the
deck above.

"Well, I declare!" the captain ejaculated, as he stared after his son.
"What's the matter with that boy, anyway?  Ye'd think a hull pack of
wolves was chasin' him by the way he left this cabin.  I can't
understand him nohow."

The captain had barely finished speaking when a gust of wind struck the
boat, causing the cabin door to close with a bang.

"Guess the breeze has come at last," he remarked.  "It should be a big
blow after this long calm.  You jist keep close here while I go on
deck.  By the look of things we should be out of this in a few minutes.
How'll that suit ye?"

"Oh, I shall be so thankful," the girl declared.  "I cannot feel safe
while we are so near that search-party.  Please get away as soon as you
can."




CHAPTER VII

GIVING MARTHA THE GO-BY

The wind which had come up with the tide was steadily increasing in
strength, causing the "Eb and Flo" to scud rapidly forward with every
inch of her one big sail stretched to its full capacity.  There had
been considerable work before the boat was well under way, and as the
captain now stood at the wheel he was breathing heavily from his
strenuous exertions.  But the light of satisfaction glowed in his eyes
as he looked straight ahead, and gave a few final orders to his son.

Jess Randall stood by his side, her face aglow with animation, and her
heart lighter than at any time since she had first come on board.  It
was a great relief to be out of the cabin and once more in the open
with the fresh breeze whipping about her, and tossing her hair over
cheeks and brow.  The searching party was left behind, and the small
boats seemed like mere vanishing specks in the distance.  She had no
fear now, for she believed that the "Eb and Flo" would carry her safely
away from her pursuers, whither she did not know.  The strain through
which she had recently passed, and the want of sleep the night before
were telling upon her now, causing her to feel very tired.  She leaned
against the cabin for support, and this the captain at once noted.

"Here, take this wheel fer a minute," he ordered.  "I want to go below.
Jist keep her at that," he continued, when the girl with uncertain
hands laid hold of the wheel.  "Ye kin do it all right."

For the first time in her life, Jess was in command of a vessel, and a
delightful thrill swept through, her as she watched, the full-swelled
sail, and listened to the ripple of the boat as it cut through the
water.  What an easy thing it was to control such a craft, and cause it
to do one's slightest bidding.  And what a sense of freedom possessed
her.  It was a life for which she had so often longed, and she thought
with amusement of her various social activities in the city.  She had
always been fond of life in the open, and she was never happier than
when wandering through the fields or along some secluded woodland way.
But such opportunities had been rare, for the barriers which surrounded
her had been too firm and high.

In another minute the captain came from the cabin, carrying a
three-legged stool, which he placed upon the deck.

"Thar, Miss," he said, "I think that'll be more comfortable than
standin'.  Ye kin lean aginst the cabin, providin' ye don't go to sleep
an' push it over."

The girl smiled as she resigned the wheel and sat down upon the stool.
It was certainly a relief to sit there leaning against the cabin for
she felt unusually tired.

"You are very good to me, Captain," she remarked, turning her face to
his.  "I do not know how I can ever thank you."

"Don't try, Miss.  I don't like to be thanked, anyway.  It takes all
the pleasure out of doin' anything, accordin' to my way of thinkin'."

The girl made no immediate reply, but sat looking out upon the river
and away to the road winding along the shore.  She could see an
occasional auto speeding on its way, and she wondered what had become
of the one which had been at the store when the captain was there.  She
was quite certain who the young driver was, and her heart beat somewhat
faster when she thought of him.  She longed to know how he had surmised
where she was, and what he had said to the captain.  She did not like
to ask any questions lest she should betray her feelings, so she
preferred to remain silent.  She was aroused from her reverie by the
captain shouting to his son.

"Hi, thar, Eben," he called, "hustle up an' split some wood.  It's
dinner time, an' thar isn't a stick cut.  Guess ye must have burned it
all up this mornin', Miss," he added, turning to his fair companion.
"Anyway, that boy never keeps enough on hand.  I wish to goodness he'd
take some interest in things instead of mopin' around all the time."

"Perhaps he does take an interest in things he likes," the girl
suggested.

"Then I'd like to find out what they are, Miss.  I know he's mighty
fond of eatin' an' sleeping but I guess that's about as fer as it goes."

"I made a discovery this morning, Captain," was the quiet reply.

"Ye did!  In what way?"

"I discovered that your son has a great fondness for drawing."

"Humph!" the captain grunted, as he gave the wheel a quick, savage turn
to the right.  "Say, I nearly ran through that salmon net.  It's too
fer out, blamed if it isn't.  Yes, I know Eben's fond of drawin', an'
that's the trouble.  He'd fiddle around all day with a paper an' pencil
if I'd let him, an' not do a hand's turn."

"But suppose he should make a success of his drawing, though?"

"In what way?  Wouldn't it be better fer him to learn boatin' so he kin
take charge of this craft some day?"

"He never will do that, Captain.  His mind is set upon being an
engineer, and you should encourage him all you can."

"An engineer!"  The captain stared at the girl in amazement.

"Yes, an engineer.  He has a great liking for that, and the drawings he
has made are remarkably good, considering that he has had no one to
teach him."

"Ye don't tell!  But what has drawin's to do with engineering I'd like
to know.  Ye don't have to make drawin's to run an engine, do ye ?"

"To be a civil engineer you do, and that is what your son wants to be.
His mind is set upon bridge building, and you should see the drawings
he has made of the bridge across the falls.  I suppose you have never
seen them?"

"No.  Eben never showed 'em to me.  Guess he was too scart."

"That's just the trouble, Captain.  You have misunderstood the boy, and
he has been doing this work on the sly.  He showed them to me, though,
and I have promised to give him some lessons."

"Ye have!"

"Yes, providing you will let me.  And you will, won't you?  It would be
a great pity not to help and encourage him.  If you do, you may be
proud of him some day."

The captain gripped the wheel with firm hands, and looked straight
before him.  His face was a study, and the girl watched him somewhat
curiously.  She knew how his heart was set upon fitting Eben to take
his place, and to relinquish that hope would be a great hardship.

"Guess I'll have to talk this over with Martha," he at length
announced.  "She an' Flo are so dead set upon Eben bein' a captain that
I don't believe they'll listen to me fer a minute."

"But suppose Eben should take matters into his own hands?" Jess
queried.  "You may think you can control him, but you cannot tell how
soon he may slip from your grasp.  Would it not be better to hold his
affections by helping him in every way you can?  I wish I could see
your wife and daughter.  I feel quite sure that I could make them see
the matter in a different light.  Perhaps I could change their minds."

"Mebbe ye could, Miss," and the captain gave a deep sigh.  "But I can't
hold out much hope.  If ye knew 'em as well as I do, ye wouldn't feel
very sure, let me tell ye that.  An' besides, Miss, I don't think ye'll
ever see 'em, anyway, not on this craft."

"I won't!"  The expression in the girl's eyes showed her surprise.
"Why, I thought we would be at your home to-day, and that I would
surely meet them."

"Yes, we'll be at me home, all right," and the captain's face grew
serious.  "We'll see it, but we won't stop.  Oh, no, it would be all up
with me if Martha an' Flo should catch you here.  We'll jist give 'em
the go-by to-day, an' it'll be the fust time I've ever done sich a
thing.  I've been allus mighty glad to git home, even fer a few
minutes."

"Captain, are you really afraid of your wife and daughter?" the girl
asked.  "Wouldn't it be very easy to explain how I came on this boat,
and that it wasn't your fault at all?"

"I wouldn't git a chance to explain, Miss.  Ye see, Martha an' Flo are
fine women when it comes to cookin', lookin' after the house, an' sich
things.  But when it comes to the question of other women, an'
'specially one who has run away from home, an' can't give a reasonable
account of herself, well, that's different."

"Oh, I see!"  The girl caught her breath, and her face flushed.  "They
might think I'm not exactly straight; is that it?"

"Mebbe they might, an' that would make it hard fer me an' Eben."

"But won't they listen to reason, Captain?  Surely they will believe
you and your son."

"They might, Miss, but I don't like to face 'em.  I'm no coward when it
comes to runnin' this craft in a nasty gale, or doin' something extry
risky; but I do wilt right down before Martha an' Flo when their
ginger's up.  Why, a man hasn't a ghost of a chance with them women.
They're a wonder, an' no mistake."

"Then what do you intend to do?"

"Do!  Why, thar's only one thing to do in sich a case, an' that is to
give 'em the go-by, an' then git clear of you.  As soon as we reach the
quarry you'll have to light out.  I hate to say it, Miss, but thar's
too much at stake fer me to keep ye on board any longer.  I should have
sent ye away before this, but ye wouldn't go, so what was I to do?"

"I am really sorry that I have given you so much trouble," the girl
apologised.  "I am very grateful for what you have already done, and as
soon as I reach the quarry I shall leave you at once.  I know I have
placed you in a most embarrassing position."

"An' what do ye intend to do after ye leave this boat?" the captain
somewhat anxiously enquired.

"I have not the slightest idea.  But I am not going to worry about that
now.  I shall be free, and that will be worth a great deal to me."

When dinner was at last over, they were again upon deck.  Jess had
prepared a tempting meal, and while she and the captain dined, Eben
took his turn at the wheel.  The boy had hardly spoken a word after his
father's return from the store, but a new light shone in his eyes, and
his step was more buoyant than before.  The furtive look that he at
times cast upon the fair passenger was one of profound admiration.  To
him she was the most beautiful and wonderful person he had ever met,
and her words of encouragement and appreciation had fallen upon his
lonely soul like a refreshing rain upon a thirsty land.

The wind was stronger now, and running through the wide stretch of
water, known as the "Long Reach," the boat encountered heavy swells,
through which she surged, dashing the spray from her bow at each
plunge.  The captain was unusually silent, and Jess noticed that he was
becoming somewhat nervous.  This became more apparent the farther up
the river they moved, and it was not until they had passed one of the
three islands, which here studded the river, did she comprehend the
meaning of the captain's uneasiness.  With hands firmly grasping the
wheel, he often cast his eyes shoreward, as if searching for some
special object.  Presently he emitted an exclamation of annoyance, and
turned suddenly to the girl by his side.

"Git into the cabin," he ordered.  "Martha's got the glass on us.  I
kin see her at the front door.  Hustle.  I don't want her to see ye.
But ye needn't go all the way down, Miss.  Jist set within the door, so
she can't see ye."

Jess quickly obeyed, and perched upon the second step from the top, she
waited to see what would happen.

"Does your wife always use the glass?" she at length asked.

"Allus, Miss.  Guess she's had it turned on us ever since we hove in
sight.  Hope to goodness she hasn't spied you out."

The house toward which the captain's attention was directed, stood upon
a gentle elevation, with a well-kept garden, sloping to the river.  It
was a cosy-looking place, and the surrounding trees protected the house
from the storms of winter.  The building was painted white, with dark
trimmings, and owing to its situation, could be seen for miles from the
river.  The captain was naturally proud of his home, and was always
glad when it appeared in sight.  But this day was the first exception
during his long years of boating.  His face became stern, and his hands
gripped the wheel harder than ever as he set his mind upon the task of
running by that snug cottage on the hill side.  Why had he been such a
fool, he asked himself, as to let this strange runaway girl remain on
board?  He should have notified the search party at once as to her
whereabouts, and delivered her into their hands.  His heart, however,
softened as he glanced down and saw the girl's wistful eyes fixed full
upon his face.

"I am very sorry, Captain, that I am causing you so much worry," she
remarked.  "But for me you would soon be home with your wife and
daughter."

"Tut, tut, Miss, don't ye bother about that," the old man replied, as
he gave the wheel a vigorous yank to the right.  "This boat was headin'
straight fer the shore.  She's run in thar so often that she does it of
her own accord.  She's almost human, this boat is.  My! won't Martha
git the surprise of her life when she sees us go by.  She's wavin' now,
blamed if she ain't! an' runnin' down to the shore.  An' that's Flo
behind her!  Mebbe Flo'll try to swim out to us, fer she's great in the
water, almost like a fish."

The "Eb and Flo" was now almost abreast of the captain's home, and
scudding so fast that in a few minutes she would be by.  It was
possible for Jess to see the two women standing upon the shore,
frantically waving their arms and shouting across the water.  What they
said she could not distinguish, though she guessed the purport of the
words they were uttering.  She pitied the captain, for she was well
aware that when he did go home his reception would be far from
pleasant.  She kept her eyes riveted upon the women until they became
mere specks in the distance.  Then she turned to the captain.  He was
mopping his face with a big red handkerchief, and his hands were
trembling.

"Dam it!" he growled.  "I'm all het up.  It must be ninety in the
shade.  Git me a drink of water, will ye?"




CHAPTER VIII

WHAT THE COW DID

"If she won't take ye in, yer welcome to stay here all night."

The "Eb and Flo" was lying securely fastened to the wharf at the Spoon
Island stone quarry.  She had made a good run up the river, and had
reached her destination late in the afternoon.  Captain Tobin was
standing upon deck looking upon Jess and Eben as they started up the
track toward the quarry.

"Eben'll show ye Mrs. Ricksteen's house," he told the girl.  "I guess
she needs extry help with the crowd of men she allus has.  But she
might want a recommendation, fer she's mighty pertic'ler, Mrs.
Ricksteen is.  Anyway, if she won't take ye in, yer welcome to come
back here."

Jess thanked the captain, and told him that she was sure she could make
out all right.  She would return in the morning to tell him of her
success, and get her belongings.

"See that Eben behaves himself," the captain reminded.  "An' don't let
him stay too long.  Thar's a lot of work to do on board to-night."

"You needn't worry," was the girl's smiling reply.  "Eben can return
just as soon as he shows me the way.  I won't run off with him."

The captain stood and watched them as they walked slowly up the track.
"My, my, she's a fine gal, an' no mistake," he mused.  "I never saw
Eben so taken up with anyone as he is with her.  Why, his face
brightens the instant she speaks to him.  Seems to me he's head over
heels in love with her.  It's only nat'ral, I s'pose.  If I was young
meself I'd lose me head an' heart over a gal like that.  It'd be great
to have her fer a daughter-in-law.  Wonder what Martha an' Flo 'd say."

While the captain was thus musing, the young couple made their way
slowly along the track which led across a wide stretch of interval.
Eben was somewhat embarrassed at first when he found himself alone with
the beautiful girl, so his words were few.  But as they advanced, he
felt more at ease, and readily answered all of her questions.  He
explained how the truck, carrying the granite blocks, was impelled
across the interval to the river by the impetus given on the steep hill
ahead.  Two men were always in charge, who handled the brakes, and
stopped the truck just at the right place on the wharf.

"But isn't it very dangerous coming down that steep hill?" Jess asked,
as she looked up the track which ran through a forest of small trees.

"Y' bet," was the emphatic reply.  "I came down once, an' me hair was
standin' straight on end, an' I didn't have any breath left when we got
to the bottom.  It was great!"

"It certainly must have been," the girl enthusiastically declared.  "I
would like to try it myself."

"Ye would!" Eben stopped and stared at his companion in amazement.

"Yes, and why not?  I like a little excitement once in a while."

"I guess ye must, Miss."

"Don't call me 'Miss,' say 'Jess,' I like it better.  We are chums, you
know, and chums must not put on any airs."

Eben's face coloured, and his heart beat fast.  It was great to have
her talk in such a friendly way.  He believed that she liked him, too,
and that meant a great deal to him.  The world seemed a much brighter
place since this runaway girl entered his life.

They had crossed the interval and were almost at the base of the hill,
when a rumbling sound fell upon their ears.

"It's the truck comin'," Eben explained, at the same time laying his
hand upon the girl's arm and drawing her off the track.  "Now ye'll see
something worth while."

And truly indeed they were both destined to behold something of a most
unexpected and terrible nature during the next few minutes.  They saw
the truck far up the hill, and almost held their breath as it took the
wild plunge in its mad career to the valley below.  Just at this
exciting instant, however, the bushes close to the line were suddenly
parted, and a large cow appeared.  She stepped upon the track, stopped,
and looked up.  Before a word could be said or a hand lifted, the truck
swept upon her like a catapult.  A sickening crash ensued, and men,
cow, truck and granite blocks were hurled from the track, and tossed in
a confused heap among the bushes several rods away.

When the crash took place, Jess gave a cry of dismay and buried her
face in her hands to shut out the terrible sight.  This was but for an
instant, however, for she realised, that something must be done to help
the unfortunate men should they be alive.  Eben was staring as if
rooted to the spot, his body trembling with excitement.

"Isn't it awful!" he groaned.  "Oh, what kin we do?"

"Let us go and see," was the reply.  "Come on."

Together they made their way up the track as fast as possible, and as
they approached the spot where the accident had taken place, an
indescribable feeling came over the girl.  Suppose the men were dead!
And if not dead, they surely must be fearfully mangled.  How could she
endure the sight?  But struggle on she did, and at length saw one of
the men limping painfully toward her.  His clothes were torn, and his
face and hands were bleeding.  He staggered as he walked, and when he
reached the track he sank down upon the ground.

"Are you much hurt?" Jess asked, hurrying to his side.  Her fears had
all vanished, and she thought not of herself, but only of the injured
man.

"Never mind me," the man replied.  "I'll be all right shortly.  But for
God's sake do something for Bill.  He's over there among the stones all
smashed up.  I was pitched clear."

With a bound Eben left the track, and leaped among the bushes down
where Bill was lying, half buried beneath a tangle of stones, trees and
truck.  The man was very still, and to all appearance dead.  But, as
Eben began to free his body, he opened his eyes and moaned.
Fortunately none of the monster stones rested upon him, but only a
small bent tree held his legs as in a vice.  With considerable
difficulty Eben was able to free the man, and then lifting him in his
arms staggered out of the ruins, and laid his burden gently upon the
ground a short distance away.  In another minute Jess was kneeling by
the injured man's side, wiping the blood which flowed down his face
with her small white handkerchief.

"We must have help at once," she exclaimed, turning to Eben.  "Is there
a doctor anywhere near?  Go for him, quick."

Scarcely had she ceased speaking ere the sound of hurrying footsteps
fell upon their ears.  In another minute several excited men were by
their side, examining the wounded man and asking numerous questions.
Jess rose to her feet and stepped back.  As she did so someone touched
her lightly on the arm, and whispered her name.  Turning swiftly
around, she came face to face with the driver of the car who had
interviewed Captain Tobin outside the store that very morning.

"John!"  It was all that she said, but the flush upon her face, and the
light of joy which leaped into her eyes were more expressive than many
words.

"How did you get here so soon?" the young man asked.  "This is no place
for you, Jess.  Let me take you back to the boat."

"No, no," was the low reply.  "We must look after this poor man first.
Oh, do what you can for him at once."

For a few seconds the young man looked into the eyes of the girl before
him.  The great longing of his heart was expressed in that look, and
the girl understood.  She turned toward the injured man, and absently
watched his companions doing what they could for his welfare.  Into her
heart stole a peace such as she had not known for days.  The one she
loved was with her, and she knew that he loved her with all the
strength of his true manly nature.  Forgotten for a time were Donaster
and her other persecutors.  In this rough wilderness spot she felt
secure from their grasp, and with John Hampton near she was ready and
willing to defy the whole world.

The brief scene enacted between the young lovers was not noticed by the
men earnestly discussing what should be done with their battered
comrade.  The accident alone so arrested and held their attention that
the thought of love-making at such a critical situation never once
occurred to them.

With Eben, however, it was different.  He saw and understood far too
much for his peace of mind.  In an instant he grasped the meaning of
the whispered words and the expression upon the faces of the lovers.  A
feeling such as he had never before known leaped into his heart.  He
forgot all about the injured man, and paid no attention to what was
being done with him.  He could think only of himself, and how another
had come between him and the girl he loved.  He knew John Hampton well,
and it came as a great surprise that he should be on such friendly
terms with Jess Randall.

In a few minutes the helpless man was lifted carefully from the ground,
and borne gently away on a rude stretcher which had been speedily
improvised by his comrades.  Jess and John followed, talking with each
other, though so low that Eben could not understand what they were
saying.  As they moved forward, he skulked a short distance behind.
The girl paid no attention to him now.  In fact, she did not seem to be
even aware of his presence.  She was taken up entirely with the young
man by her side, so the idea that she meant anything to the awkward
youth to the rear never once crossed her mind.

In about fifteen minutes the injured man's house was reached, and all
entered except Eben.  It was merely a shack, almost surrounded by
trees, and situated a short distance from the main highway.  Here Bill
Dobbins and his wife lived during the summer months while work was
being carried on in the granite quarry.  Their real home was elsewhere,
so this rude structure was all that they required during their
temporary stay at the quarry.

Eben waited for a few minutes outside, uncertain what to do.  At length
he turned and made his way slowly back to the road, and down the track
to the river.  He said nothing to his father about the accident, and
turned into his bunk at an unusually early hour.  When the captain
asked him about the girl, and if Mrs. Ricksteen had taken her in, Eben
was curt in his reply, saying that he did not know.  Not until the next
morning did Captain Tobin hear about the accident, for he had been in
the cabin when it had occurred.  He then questioned his son as to the
details, but received no satisfactory information.  Later he learned of
the whole affair from two men from the quarry, when they ran their
first morning load of granite down to the river.  The injured man was
still unconscious, so they told him.  The doctor had arrived during the
night, and did what he could for his welfare.  The men were loud in
their praises of the young woman who had sat up all night with Mrs.
Dobbins, and had made herself so agreeable and helpful.

"I guess she's there to stay," one of them remarked.  "Wonder where in
the world she dropped from.  Ye don't see the likes of her every day,
'specially in a place like this."

"She and young Hampton seem to be very thick," the other volunteered.
"They must have known each other before by the look of things."

"Hampton, did ye say?" the captain asked.  "D'ye mean Widder Hampton's
son, of Beech Cove?"

"I don't know whose son he is," was the reply.  "He arrived at the
quarry yesterday afternoon, and has been hanging around ever since.
Mebbe he planned to meet the girl here."

The captain made no reply but went on with his work.  He thought,
however, of the interview he had with Hampton down the river the day
before, and he smiled to himself, He understood now why the young
fellow was so interested in the fair passenger on board the "Eb and
Flo," and for his sake, no doubt, the girl had run away from home.

Eben worked so hard all the morning that his father was greatly
surprised.  He had heard what the men said about Hampton and the girl,
and it was necessary for him to do something to give vent to his
intensely wrought-up feelings.  He worked with a feverish energy, and
seemed to possess the strength of two men as he helped at the derrick
as the big blocks of granite were swung on board.  He hardly touched
his noon-day meal, and this caused his father considerable anxiety, for
the boy had been always blessed with an excellent appetite.

All through the afternoon the work of loading the boat was continued,
and such excellent progress was made that the captain was looking
forward to sailing early the next morning.  To all outward appearance
Eben's mind was entirely upon the big stones which were being hoisted
on board.  But anyone watching closely might have noticed that
occasionally he gave a keen, furtive glance up toward the quarry.

The day was fast wearing to its close, and the last block of stone was
about to be moved, when Eben gave one of his quick looks up the hill.
As he did so he suddenly straightened himself up and stared as if he
had seen a ghost.  His face became suddenly pale, and his hands
trembled as he watched two people walking slowly down the track.  He
recognised them at once, and it was their appearance he had been
expecting all the afternoon.  He knew that they were coming to the
boat, and he did not wish to meet the girl when Hampton was present.
He felt that he could not trust himself, so great was his agitation.

Without a word to anyone Eben left the wharf, walked a few yards along
the river, and disappeared among some bushes.  He soon stopped when he
was sure that he could not be seen, crouched low upon the ground, and
watched all that was taking place near the "Eb and Flo."  He could see
John and the girl talking with the captain for a few minutes, after
which the three went on board and entered the cabin.  When they
reappeared about fifteen minutes later, Hampton was carrying a small
parcel in his hand, which Eben surmised contained the articles his
father had purchased for Jess at the store.  When once again upon the
wharf, they stood and talked for a few minutes.  What they said Eben
could not make out, but presently he heard his father calling his name.
This caused him to crouch lower upon the ground, fearful lest he should
be observed.  One of the quarrymen then spoke and motioned his hand in
the direction the boy had gone.  Eben heard the amused laughter which
followed, and he fully comprehended its meaning.  They were laughing at
him for running away!  It was almost more than he could endure, and his
first impulse was to rush from his hiding place, challenge John Hampton
for a fight, and show Jess that he was no coward.  But a natural
diffidence restrained him, which caused him to remain silent and
unseen.  It was only when he was certain that the visitors were well
out of sight, did he venture back to the wharf.  His father looked at
him somewhat curiously, but was wise enough to ask no questions.

When darkness had settled over the land, Eben left the boat and made
his way slowly up the track.  Reaching the main highway, he moved
forward with a long jerky stride until he came to the little clearing
where the Dobbins' shack was situated.  He stopped and peered
cautiously around.  A light shone from the one window facing the road,
and toward this Eben stealthily moved.  There was no blind to the
window, so when near enough he could easily see all that was taking
place within.  The sight that met his first glance stirred him to a
high pitch of angry jealousy.  He saw the two sitting close to each
other but a short distance from the injured man, who was lying upon a
cot.  John was talking to Jess in a most earnest manner, and the look
upon the girl's face was one of intense happiness.  She was evidently
pleased at what her lover was saying, for occasionally her lips parted
in a smile.

All this Eben saw in the few minutes that he stood there.  His hands
were clenched hard, and his eyes were filled with the fire of hatred.
There was the man who had come between him and the girl he loved.  He
was but a short distance away, so acting upon the wild impulse of the
instant he stooped down, and finding a stone lying right at his feet,
he took careful aim, and hurled it with his full force through the
window, straight at the head of his enemy.  The sudden crash was
followed instantly by a cry of pain, and then all was still.  With
fast-beating heart Eben looked, expecting to see Hampton stretched upon
the floor.  Great was his horror to behold the girl lying there
instead, her deathly-white face stained with blood.  With a startled
cry as of a wild beast in agony, he turned and fled along the road,
down the track, and back to the refuge of the "Eb and Flo."




CHAPTER IX

MARTHA TAKES A HAND

Throughout the entire night the horror of a great dread drove all sleep
from Eben's eyes.  As he lay in his bunk every sound seemed to be
magnified, and he imagined that men would come for him and lead him
away to trial.  He felt quite sure that he had killed Jess and that he
would be hung for murder.  The girl's white face with the bloodstain
upon it was ever before him, and he could not shut it from his mind.
And he had murdered her, the one who had meant so much to him.  The
thought of John Hampton filled his soul with bitterness.  He was the
cause of all his misery, so he reasoned.  Why had not the stone hit him
instead of the girl?

Some time before daylight he went out on deck.  The cabin was stifling,
and he felt that he would smother if he stayed there any longer.  He
sauntered up forward, and looked out over the water.  It was a
beautiful night, with a gentle wind drifting in from the west.  The
accustomed sounds of darkness fell upon his ears, but he paid no
attention to them now.  His mind was not in tune with nature's sweet
harmonies, so she brought no restful peace to his tumultuous brain.  He
longed to know what was taking place in the little shack in the forest.
Was the girl lying there still in death?  Would people know who did the
deed?  How would they find out?  He had read about detectives searching
for criminals, and following most unexpected clues.  Had he left any
trace behind? he wondered.  No twinge of conscience troubled his soul.
It was only regret that the stone had hit the wrong person.  He was
sorry for the girl, and for himself.  His nature was as clay, full of
many possibilities, and capable of being moulded by right methods into
a choice vessel.  But hitherto no one had understood his peculiar
nature.  Then when love for a noble woman did at length enter his soul,
its influence was quenched by the spirit of hatred and revenge.

Great excitement reigned at the quarry when the men learned of the
accident which had befallen Miss Randall.  Feeling ran high and had
they known the one who committed the deed, it would have gone hard with
him.  Captain Tobin heard the story when he visited the quarry during
the morning.  He had been more surprised than ever at Eben's silent and
strange manner, especially when he had found him at daybreak at the bow
of the boat.  He could get nothing from the boy, and in disgust he had
left him and ate his breakfast alone.  He believed that his son was
deeply in love with Jess Randall, and that the presence of John Hampton
was the cause of his depression.  He imagined that it was but a
temporary affection, and nothing would come of it, until he heard of
what had happened to the girl.  Then a great fear forced itself upon
his mind.  He banished it at first as improbable.  But the more he
thought of it, and the more he considered Eben's strange manner, the
more he was led to the painful conclusion that his son was the one who
had thrown the stone through the window.  He was well aware of Eben's
impulsive nature, and the extent to which he would go when roused to
anger.  He overheard two men talking about the affair.

"I'd like to lay my hands on the skunk who threw that stone," declared
one, "I'd show him a thing or two.  The idea of hitting such a girl as
that, an' her watching by Bill."

"Is she badly hurt, d'ye think?" the other asked.  "Can't say.  Mrs.
Dobbins said she was able to sit up in the car when young Hampton took
her away."

"Where did he take her to?"

"To the hospital, I guess.  But maybe he took her to his own home.  His
mother lives down the river somewhere, so I understand."

The captain breathed more freely when he learned that the girl was able
to travel in the car.  At first he feared that she had been so badly
injured that she might die.  Then the guilty one would surely be found,
and if it proved to be his own son how terrible it would be.  Even now
should suspicion rest upon Eben the quarrymen might prove very
troublesome.  He, therefore, decided to get away as soon as possible.
He did not wish to shield his son if he were in the wrong.  But he
wanted him to receive a fair trial, if the matter went that far, and
not have him dealt with by a number of excited men who might let their
passions get the upper hand.

Shortly after noon the "Eb and Flo" slipped from her wharf, and headed
downstream.  The tide was fair, and the light breeze was favourable for
a long tack out of the narrow channel into the main river below Spoon
Island.  The captain was at the wheel, with Eben by his side, ready for
any orders which might be given.  Very few words had passed between
father and son during the day, and to all outward appearance they
seemed like complete strangers.  But the captain's mind had been busy
upon more than his boat.  He felt it was his duty to speak to Eben and
find out if he did really throw the stone which hit the girl.  Several
times he was on the point of mentioning the subject, but always
hesitated.  It was a delicate matter, he well knew, and for the first
time in his life he was at a loss for words.  At length, however, he
brought his courage to what he thought was the sticking point.

"Say, Eben," he began.  Then he paused, and looked helplessly around.

"What is it, dad?"

"D'ye think it's goin' to blow hard to-day?"

"Mebbe it will, an' mebbe it won't."

The captain gave the wheel a slight turn, and ran a little closer to
the island.

"Eben."

The boy looked curiously at his father.

"D'ye s'pose yer mother'll be waitin' fer us?"

"Most likely."

The captain shifted uneasily, and clutched the wheel with a firmer grip.

"Say, Eben, it was too bad that gal got hurt last night, wasn't it?"

The boy started, and gave his father a quick look.  Then his eyes
dropped.

"What girl, dad?  Ye never told me about it."

"But don't ye know, Eben?"

"Know what?"

"Quit yer nonsense.  Didn't ye hear about that gal who came up river
with us gittin' hurt?"

"Naw, never heard a word."

"Ye didn't!"  The captain stared at his son.  Surely, he thought, the
boy is not adding a lie to his misdeed.

"I ain't seen anybody this mornin' but you, dad," Eben explained.  "How
could I hear anything?"

"Sure, sure, I guess yer right.  But I did think mebbe ye'd thrown that
stone.  I'm mighty glad to learn that ye know nuthin' about it."

"I didn't say I know nuthin'.  Ye didn't ask me that."

"Didn't I?  Why, I thought I spoke plain enough."

"Oh, shucks!  Ye jist asked me if I had heard about it, which I didn't.
Nobody told me, but I know jist the same.  I threw that stone."

There was an expression of defiance upon the boy's face, and his eyes
were blazing.  He partly expected his father to swing upon him with
strong words of reproof.  In this, however, he was mistaken.  The
captain remained very quiet for a few minutes, which seemed, to Eben
much longer.  At last he turned and looked at his son.  His rough,
knotted hands trembled on the wheel, and his eyes were misty.  Eben
never saw him look at him in such a way before.  Had he stormed and
raged it would have but increased his defiance.  But that look of
silent reproach smote his very soul, causing him to cower conscience
stricken.  Without a word, he left his father's side and went forward.
And there he stood with his hands behind his back, staring straight
before him.  The captain watched him anxiously.  His mind was greatly
confused over the confession he had just heard.  What would Martha and
Flo say when they heard of it?  The family would be disgraced, for the
neighbours up and down the river would learn the truth sooner or later.
What should he do?  Would it be right to shield his son?  The
perspiration stood out in beads upon his forehead, and a groan escaped
his lips.  Then almost unconsciously he began to sing his old favourite
verse:

  "Here I'll raise my Ebenezer,
  Hither by Thy grace I'll come,
  And I trust in Thy good pleasure,
  Safely to arrive at home."

"Seems to me," he mused, "that I've been tryin' to raise Eben without
considerin' enough the great Stone of help.  I've heard the parson say
that's the meanin' of Ebenezer, and that the stone refers to the Lord.
Yes, I guess I need His help more'n ever jist now."

The "Eb and Flow" made slow progress down river, for the wind was
light, and it was necessary to beat most of the way.  It was,
accordingly, evening when at last she ran slowly into Beech Cove and
dropped anchor.  The captain's mind was worried about the reception he
would receive, for he knew how angry his wife would be over his strange
action on the up trip.  He was at a loss to explain, for he could not
bring himself to the extremity of telling a falsehood.  He was thinking
seriously of this when his wife appeared on the shore.  She immediately
launched a small row-boat and headed for the "Eb and Flo."  The captain
received her as graciously as possible, although he knew at the first
glance that his entire stock of affableness could not dispel the
threatening clouds.

"Well, Sam'l," Mrs. Tobin began, the instant she stepped upon the deck,
"what have you got to say for yourself?"

"Nuthin', Martha, nuthin', 'cept I'm mighty glad to see ye."

"H'm, don't ye lie to me, Sam'l.  Ye must be mighty glad to see me.
Why did ye go by on your up trip without stopping?"

"I was in a great hurry, Martha, an' had to git the wind when it
served.  We was hung up a long time down river."

"But ye never did such a thing before.  Was there any special reason
why ye didn't call just for a few minutes?"

Mrs. Tobin was a buxom, matronly-looking woman, with a usually bright,
pleasant face.  But now it was stern, and her dark eyes were filled
with anger as she noted her husband's silence and confusion.  Presently
she turned to her son who was standing near.

"What have you to say, Eben?  Your father seems to have lost his tongue
all of a sudden.  What have you two been doing?"

If his mother had asked him such a question that morning he would not
have hesitated about telling the truth.  But the thought of the
expression upon his father's face when he had told about throwing the
stone, deterred him.  He looked at his mother uncertain what to say.

"Have you lost your tongue, too?" she impatiently demanded.  "Dear me,
there must be something wrong when you too are afraid or ashamed to
speak.  Things have come to a pretty pass, Sam'l, when you an' Eben
conspire against me.  Haven't I cooked for you, washed and mended your
clothes all these years, and been a good wife to you, Sam'l?"

"Indeed ye have, Martha.  Ye've done yer duty, all right."

"An' haven't I been a good mother to your children?"

"Sure, sure, ye have, Martha.  Ye done yer duty to them, too."

"Well, then, Sam'l, why is it that you've treated me in such a manner?
Why have you set my only son against me?"

"I haven't set him aginst ye, Martha.  Eben's got a tongue which he's
at liberty to use.  I s'pose he knows it's no use to speak, fer if ye
won't believe me ye won't believe him, so thar.  Ye needn't git on yer
high-horse about nuthin'."

Mrs. Tobin looked at her husband in surprise, for seldom had he ever
spoken to her in such a manner.

"And you've done nothing wrong?" she asked.  "Are you sure?"

"No, we ain't done nuthin' wrong 'ccordin' to our way of thinkin'.  We
sailed by without stoppin', I acknowledge.  But is that any crime?
Bizness is bizness an' must be attended to."

Captain Tobin felt quite pleased at his own boldness, and for his
victory over his wife.  He had no idea that she would calm down so
soon.  Had he made a mistake in always giving in to her? he asked
himself.  Perhaps if he had been a little more assertive it might have
been better for his welfare.

"I suppose the cabin's in a terrible mess."  His wife's words suddenly
aroused him.

"No, no, Martha, it's in great shape," he hastened to assure her.  "I
scrubbed the floor meself when we was held up down river."

"Then it must be in great shape, Sam'l.  I've seen your scrubbing
before.  I'm going to have a look, anyway.  No doubt there are some
dirty clothes to take home.  I suppose you didn't wash them."

Mrs. Tobin made her way to the cabin, and down the narrow stairway,
closely followed by the captain and Eben.

"It smells close here, Sam'l," she commented, as she stood in the
centre of the room and looked critically around.  "You should have more
ventilation.  It isn't healthy.  I have often----"

She paused abruptly as her eyes rested upon a narrow shelf on which a
little clock was steadily ticking.  Stepping quickly forward, she
reached out her right hand, seized something and held it forth.  It was
a woman's innocent side-comb, but to the captain and his son it
appeared more terrible than the most dangerous bomb.  They stared as if
they had never beheld such a thing before.  Mrs. Tobin watched them as
she gripped the comb in her hand.  Her eyes blazed with anger as she
glowered upon the two abashed ones before her.  The captain clutched
his handkerchief and mopped his hot brow.  Then he looked helplessly
around.  He longed to escape, to flee anywhere from his wife's accusing
eyes.

"Where did this come from?"  The words fell slowly from Mrs. Tobin's
lips, and to the two culprits they sounded like the knell of doom.  She
waited for some response, but none came.  "Is it possible that you have
had a woman in this cabin," she continued.  "Can you deny it, Sam'l
Tobin?"

The captain clawed nervously at the back of his head with the fingers
of his right hand, and then glanced up the stairway.  The gleam of
triumph shone in his wife's eyes as she noted his embarrassment.

"You can't deny it, Sam'l," she charged, at the same time pointing an
accusing finger straight at his face, "I can read you like a book.
You've had a woman on board, and this is her comb.  You can't deny it."

"It'd be no use, Martha," the captain replied.  "Ye wouldn't believe me
if I did."

"No, not in the face of this," and Mrs. Tobin again held forth the comb.

"Well, then, Martha, what's the use of so much talk?  I've had a hard
day, so am tired an' hungry.  Guess Eben is, too."

"Tired!  Hungry!" Mrs. Tobin snapped.  "You'll be more tired and hungry
before I'm through with you, let me tell you that.  You might as well
own up first as last about that woman you had on board.  Who is the
miserable hussy, and where is she now?"

A gleam of hope suddenly appeared in the captain's eyes, and he shot a
swift glance toward his son.

"We had no miserable hussy on board, Martha," he replied.  "That's the
Gospel truth, so if ye don't believe it, ye needn't."

"I'm afraid you're lying, Sam'l.  If you didn't have a woman on board,
where, then, did this comb come from?"

"Blamed if I know.  How d'ye expect me to keep track of sich gear?"

Mrs. Tobin gave a sigh of despair as she turned to her son.

"Is your father telling the truth, Eben?" she asked.

"Yes, ma."

"And you had no bad, miserable hussy on board this boat?"

"No, ma, we didn't."

"And you haven't been doing anything wrong, anything that you're
ashamed of?"

Eben's face suddenly coloured, and his eyes dropped.  He remembered
what he had done at the quarry.  Mrs. Tobin was now convinced that she
was being deceived, and that her husband and son were in league against
her.  She wheeled upon the captain.

"I want you to come right home with me, Sam'l.  This is a very serious
matter, and I need Flo's advice.  She's got a level head, and will know
what had better be done.  I can hardly think, I'm so worked up."

"But you kin talk all right, Martha, even if ye can't think," the
captain retorted.  "If ye'd think more ye'd talk less.  If ye don't
believe what me an' Eben have said, ye needn't.  Yes, I'll go home with
ye, fer I guess Flo'll understand, if you don't.  Eben, you look after
things here.  Ye might as well keep the sail up as thar's no wind.  If
it comes on to blow, ye can lower it.  I'll be on hand bright an' early
in the mornin' so's to catch the tide.  We kin drift, even if thar's no
wind.  Come on, Martha, let's go."




CHAPTER X

UNWELCOME VISITORS

After he had eaten his supper, Eben washed his few dishes and went out
on deck.  He sat down upon one of the blocks of granite and looked out
over the water.  It was a beautiful evening, with not a breath of wind
astir.  The river shimmered like a great mirror, its surface only
ruffled when an occasional motor-boat hurried by, and the little
steamer "Oconee," on her regular evening trip from the city, ploughed
past and blew for a wharf a short distance beyond.  A noble river is
the St. John, enwrapped with the halo of romance and deeds of daring.
In days long ago it bore upon its bosom the light canoes of Indians as
they journeyed to and fro for trading or warlike purposes.  It felt the
surge of larger vessels, both of England and France, during the
stirring days when those two nations contended for the supremacy of a
virgin land.  Later it saw the slow-creeping boats of hardy pioneers,
Loyalists, who came to make for themselves homes in the wilderness.
Its shores re-echoed to the shouts and songs of sturdy raftsmen in the
days when acres of great logs were floated down to the sea.  It had
cradled upon its bosom fleets of boats, their white sails swelling to
every wind that blew.  These were gradually replaced by noisy steamers
and tugs until only a few remained, of which the "Eb and Flo" was one.

To an imaginative mind the history of such a river would be sufficient
to thrill the soul.  But to the youth sitting there alone upon deck it
meant nothing.  In fact, he did not notice the beauty of the evening,
nor the soft calmness which surrounded him.  His mind was upon other
things.  He was thinking of the scene which had just been enacted on
board the boat.  He was in a rebellious mood, and now, as often before,
quietness and deep thought were his two choice friends.  He glanced
occasionally toward the shore and up to the little cottage nestling
among the trees.  It was his home, and yet he had little affection for
the place.  It was there he had received food and shelter nearly all
his life, but no sweet memories clustered around that little house.  He
had always been misunderstood, and he could not recall the time when he
had not been scolded for everything he did.  His mother was a woman who
did her duty according to her light, and looked well after the bodily
welfare of her family.  But she overlooked the fact that people need
more than bread and clothing, and that eternal scrubbing, washing and
dusting do not make a real home.  For the