fat boy looked after his persecutor a moment, with a smile upon his face, then rose, picked up his jacket, put it on, buttoned it at the bottom, then coolly picked up the trophies of victory, tucked them into his jacket and his pockets, crossed the lane, crept through a hedge, and disappeared.
CHAPTER II
FALLEN FORTUNES
“A stern chase is a long chase;” so, leaving Captain Thompson in pursuit of the fugitive, we will take the liberty of passing through his premises to the main street. At the left of the church, opposite his house, another road ran down a steep hill, crossed Rogue’s River, by a bridge, ran up another hill, and wound round into the Foxtown road. At the top of the second hill stood a small brown house, by no means attractive in appearance, being destitute of paint, climbing vine, flowers, or other ornamentation. It had not even the virtue of neatness to recommend it. The gate was off its hinges, and lay in the road. A crazy barn close by had a pitch towards the river, as though from sheer weakness it was inclined to lie down for rest, while the scanty patch of cabbages and beets, the potato hills, few and far between, and the rickety bean-poles, all had a starved and neglected appearance.
This was known as the “Sleeper Place,” being occupied by Mrs. Sleeper and the young people, Rebecca and Edward, better known as Becky and Teddy. Inside, the house was not much more attractive than the outside. On the lower floor were four rooms, separated by the entry, from which a flight of stairs, hidden by a door, led to the garret above. On one side was a kitchen, with a door leading into Mrs. Sleeper’s bed-room at the back. On the other side was a sitting-room, with a door leading to a bed-room back of that, known as Becky’s room. Teddy’s quarters were above, under the roof. The house was scantily furnished with old-fashioned furniture and home-made carpets, all of which had seen their best many years before, and now showed veteran scars of long service.
In the kitchen were two females – Mrs. Sleeper and Hulda Prime. Mrs. Sleeper was a small, slender woman, with a face from which much beauty had faded out, a face which bore but one expression at all times – that of anxious expectation. All else had died out five years before. Then she was a bright, cheerful, active wife, merrily singing over her household cares. Now she was waiting, for time to determine whether she was a wife or a widow.
In ’49, when the California gold fever attacked so many New England towns, Captain Cyrus Sleeper was returning from the West Indies with a cargo of sugar and molasses, in the new ship “Bounding Billow,” the joint property of himself and Captain Paul Thompson. Touching at Havana, he was made acquainted with the startling news of gold discoveries; and, always impetuous, at once turned the bow of his ship towards California.
A year passed, and Captain Thompson also received startling news. His runaway partner had reached California, disposed of his cargo at fabulous prices, and sent the ship home in charge of his mate, and had started for the mines. To his partner he remitted the whole amount received for his cargo, – enough to build two ships like the Bounding Billow, – one half of which, being his own, was to be held by his partner for the support of his family until his return.
The captain was astounded. The conduct of his partner was so strange, he believed he must have lost his reason, and never expected to hear any intelligence of him again. Mrs. Sleeper also received a message from her eccentric husband, full of glowing descriptions of quick fortunes made in El Dorado, hopes of speedy return, and bright pictures of the high life they would lead when “his ship came in.” Since that time nothing had been heard of Captain Cyrus Sleeper or his fortunes.
The ship was fitted for a second voyage to the West Indies, Mrs. Sleeper, by Thompson’s advice, going shares with him in the venture. But it proved disastrous. The ship was wrecked on her return, and Mrs. Sleeper found herself obliged to live on a very small income. Of a very romantic nature, her sailor husband always a hero in her eyes, for a little while she had high hopes of his quick return with an ample fortune, and chatted gaily of the good time coming “when her ship came in.” But as time passed, and no message came from over the sea, the smile forsook her lips, the brightness her cheek, and the hope-light of her eyes changed to an eager, searching glance, that told of an unquiet mind and an aching, breaking heart.
She went about her household duties, cooked, scrubbed, and mended, quietly and silently, but took no pride in her home, no comfort in her children. The house soon showed evidences of neglect. The children, without a mother’s sympathy and guidance, were rapidly running to waste.
Just when the money began to give out, Hulda Prime “came to help.” Hulda was a distant relative of Cyrus Sleeper, by her own showing, as she was a distant relative of almost everybody in Cleverly. She was somewhere between forty and sixty: it was hard telling her age. It could not be told by her hair, for she had none; nor yet by her teeth, for they were false, or her cheeks, for they were always bright, and had a natural color which some people were wicked enough to say was not natural. She was long-favored, long and lean in body, had a very long face, long nose, and a long chin. She wore a “front,” with two auburn ringlets dangling at either end, a very tall white cap, carried herself very erect, and had altogether a solemn and serious demeanor. She left a “relative” to come and help “dear Delia in her troubles;” though in what her help consisted was a puzzle which the good people of Cleverly had never been able to solve. She got her living by “helping.” She had no money, but she had a large stock of complaints, so many, that they might have been calendared thus: Monday, rheumatism; Tuesday, cancer; Wednesday, dyspepsia; Thursday, heart disease; Friday, lumbago; Saturday, “spine;” Sunday, neuralgia. Or to vary the monotony, she would start off Monday with “cancer,” or some other disease; but the week would contain the whole programme. She was very regular in her habits – of complaining, and was always taken bad just when she might be of assistance.
This day she was crouched by the fire, her head tied up in a towel, her body slowly rocking to and fro. It was her neuralgia day.
Mrs. Sleeper stood at her wash-tub near the window, her hands busy in the suds, her eyes fixed on the distant waters of the bay, her thoughts away with the ship that never came in. So absorbed was she in her “waiting” dream, that she did not see Captain Thompson, who for the last ten minutes had been puffing up the hill in sight of the window; was not aware of his approach until he stood in the kitchen doorway, with both hands braced against the sides, breathing very hard.
“So, so! Pur – pur – purty capers those young ones of yours are cutting up, Delia Sleeper!”
Mrs. Sleeper turned with a start; Aunt Hulda straightened up with a groan.
“Do you mean Rebecca and Edward, captain? Have they been making any trouble?” said Mrs. Sleeper, with the faintest sign of interest in her voice.
“Trouble, trouble!” shouted the captain, so loud that Aunt Hulda gave a groan, and held her head very hard; “did they ever make anything else? Ain’t they the pests of the town? Who or what is safe when they are about? I tell you what it is, Delia, I’m a patient man, a very patient man. I’ve endured this sort of thing just as long as I mean to. I tell you something’s got to be done.” And the captain looked very red, very angry, and very determined.
“I’m sure I try to keep the children out of mischief,” faltered Mrs. Sleeper.
“No, you don’t. That’s just what’s the matter. You’ve no control over them. You don’t want to control them. You just let them loose in the town, like a couple of wildcats, seeking whom they may devour. What’s the consequence? Look at Brown’s melon patch! He couldn’t find a sound melon there. Look at my orchard! Despoiled by those barbarians! Here’s a sample. To-day I caught them at one of my trees, loaded with plunder; caught them in the act!”
“O, captain! you did not punish them!”
“Punish eels! No; they were too sharp for me.
