again!” he decreed, “shall you or Prissy try to sell things on the street.”
“But we’re all peddlers, Jack dear; you can’t get away from that fact.”
“Dissy,” said her brother, smiling, “you’ll get to be as much of an arguer as Prissy if you’re not careful.”
Halifax was wrapped in a chilly grey fog when the Wistmores drove in a couple of days later. The monotonous tones of the bell buoy in the harbor sounded continuously through the city, and buildings and pavements dripped with moisture.
“Guess we’d better push right on,” decided Jack, “and try to find before night a spot where it is dry enough to camp.”
“This certainly isn’t a very pleasant place today,” shivered Desiré, peering over his shoulder at the gloomy streets.
After they got beyond the limits of the city, the fog lifted somewhat so they could see the road quite clearly, and even some distance on either side. About ten miles outside of Halifax they caught sight of something dark under a tree ahead.
CHAPTER XX
GOOD SAMARITANS
“Maybe it’s a bear!” exclaimed René hopefully.
“Somebody’s old ragbag,” suggested Priscilla.
“No,” concluded Desiré, “it’s a man.”
“Must be sick, or dead tired to sit there on such a day,” observed Jack.
Just as he spoke the words, the interested watchers saw the man attempt to get up, and fall heavily back upon the ground. Urging the horses to greater speed, Jack soon brought the wagon abreast of the unfortunate creature. Face down, he lay perfectly motionless.
“Must be unconscious,” said Jack, as they all got out and stumbled up the bank upon which the man was stretched.
Desiré held her breath as her brother was rolling the figure carefully over. There was something strangely familiar about that heavy form. No mistake, it was their old enemy.
Brother and sister faced each other across the quiet body.
“Oh, it’s him!” said Priscilla, in disgust.
“He’s the man Jack fought with!” squealed René.
“Must be badly hurt,” said Jack; “wonder what we can do for him.”
“Do! Do!” exclaimed Priscilla; “why, leave him here and go on as fast as we can.”
“Prissy!” reproved Jack and Desiré with one accord.
“I’m afraid I can’t carry him to the wagon,” said Jack slowly. “He’s so heavy.”
“Don’t want him in our nice wag’n,” declared René vehemently.
“I can help you,” offered Desiré, striving to conquer her aversion to the man.
At that moment, the object of their concern groaned and opened his eyes. Unseeing, at first, they soon showed recognition of the faces above his.
“What’s the trouble with you?” asked Jack.
“Cracked up somewhere,” was the sullen response.
“How did it happen?”
“Fell over those stones in the fog.”
Desiré turned to glance at the big pile of sharp rocks nearby, and felt that a fall on those could do almost any damage in an unexpected encounter.
“Where can we take you, or what can we do for you?” asked Jack briskly.
“Nothin’.”
“That’s ridiculous! You can’t stay here. Could you walk as far as the wagon if we helped you?”
“Can try.”
With the aid of Jack and Desiré, one on either side, he managed to get up. One or two promptly stifled groans broke from him, and he swayed precariously as he tried to stand.
“One foot’s no good,” he muttered, holding it up and throwing all his weight on the other.
“You two children go back and get into your places in the wagon,” ordered Jack. “Push your stools as close to the front seat as you can.”
Reluctantly they obeyed, hanging over the seat to watch the little procession. Slowly, painfully, stopping often to rest, the injured man was finally helped as far as the wagon.
“Lean on the wheel a minute,” directed Jack, “so my sister can get things fixed for you.”
Desiré opened the back doors, pushed the tent as far to the side as it would go, and arranged a couple of blankets on the floor.
“This is going to be the hardest bit,” observed Jack, when all was ready, “but we’ve got to make it some way.”
“Prissy and I can help him from the wagon, if you can manage out here,” suggested Desiré.
“All right, get in.”
The two girls, Priscilla under protest, grasped the man’s shoulders and pulled, while Jack eased his body and legs up from the ground to the floor of the wagon. Half fainting with pain and exertion, the patient was finally settled on the blankets.
“Where are you going to take him?” asked Desiré softly, as Jack took his place and picked up the reins.
“Back to Halifax, where he can get a doctor. I think his ribs as well as his foot are injured; and Heaven only knows what else.”
They were all very quiet as they re-covered the ten miles to the city. Priscilla was sullen; René somewhat awed; Desiré compassionate, and Jack thoughtful.
As they entered Halifax, Jack turned toward their passenger and asked—
“Any special place here you want to be taken?”
“Wharf. Pal there who’ll look after me.”
Over the cobblestones, down the steep hill to the docks they rattled.
“There he is. Tall fellow beside that pile of crates,” said the man who had been peering out the crack between the doors, which had been propped partly open to give him more air.
“Bill!” he shouted.
The fisherman turned at the sound of his name, and Jack beckoned. With three or four strides he was beside the wagon.
“What’s wanted?”
Before the boy could reply, the injured man called out—“I’m in here, Bill. Had a smash.”
The newcomer, without a word, stepped to the back of the wagon and stuck his head in. After a short conversation, during which the Wistmores
