'As Gold in the Furnace' Part 13

"Oh! you keep quiet, youngster," said Jack.

"I won't. He sings first rate, sir."

"Capital! Anybody else?"

"Yes," said Beecham, "George McLeod there, who is so fond of getting other people into difficulty, can sing, too."

McLeod shook his fist at Jack. But it was well known that he had a good voice.

Then, to the infinite delight of the musical farmer, songs and glees and madrigals and rounds were sung. It was an impromptu concert, but of no mean order, for the lads were well trained and had a good stock of songs. They wished, properly, to make a return in some way for the kindly treatment they had received and were still receiving. "Holy Night" was given, and "Good King Wenceslaus," and "G.o.d Rest You, Merry Gentlemen," "Angels We Have Seen and Heard," and many others. Then followed the college songs, and the concert was closed with the old favorite of St. Cuthbert's, the "O Sanctissima."

When the singing had ceased there was a momentary silence, during which the six boys exchanged signals and glances. Suddenly there were two very startled people in the company around the ingle nook. The old lady half arose from her chair in consternation and amazement. Her husband stared in wonder when he heard such a vociferous and unexpected sound. Had the boys gone crazy? Certainly the old people, kind and hospitable as they were, for at least one minute thought so. Such an unearthly noise! It resembled nothing so much as a wild Indian warcry.

After all it was only the college yell.

In the school-days of Mr. and Mrs. Thorncroft no such thing had ever been dreamed of. Living now in seclusion out in the country amid plenty and a certain rustic refinement, this elderly couple had never heard that modern accomplishment of a college man--the yell. It may be exhilarating to the college man; its use may be within the modern bounds of propriety, and it may, among the coteries of the more advanced, be considered the correct thing; but it is certain that the old lady, who had been educated in a French convent in her youth, hearing the yell for the first time did not think so. Her unformulated idea, judging from her looks, was that it was an indication of atavism--a going back, in one particular--to man's former state of savagery.

The boys were amused at her surprise. She then saw that it was something done for her entertainment. They evidently thought it was something very fine. These lads lacked, just now, what one may call perspective. They lacked the proper appreciation of the correctness, or fitness, of things. They knew the college yell was the most enthusing thing on earth to them when used on the campus in a grand rush to victory, but they did not think, or realize, that the same yell given in a small room might be startling and even offensive to an elderly lady.

"You must excuse me now, boys, for a little while," said the farmer.

"I must go and look after my men. I will be back soon. Mother"--he always called his wife by that name--"are all the walnuts gone?"

"No. Dear me! I never thought about them. I will get some."

She returned with a large dish of walnut and hickory nuts. In lieu of the usual table nut-crackers she brought a flat stone and two hammers.

While the boys were busy cracking and eating nuts she said:

"You do not know, my children, what an unexpected pleasure your visit has been to me. Would you like to know the reason? Very well, I will tell you," she seated herself comfortably again in her green chintz-covered chair.

"I love boys because somewhere in the world there are wandering two of my own dear children. Both left home when they were about the age of you four big boys, and I love to remember them as such even now. They were fine lads, with rosy healthy cheeks, and they were good. You lads with your bright eyes and clear skins, and good pure faces make me see my own two darlings once again. Do I long to see them? Ah, yes. Oh, how much, how much!--once again before I die. But I am not grieving about them.

No. Every night I commend them to the keeping of our blessed Mother, and I feel that wherever they may be a mother's prayers for them must be heard. I am sure that Our Lady is taking care of them."

"Why did they leave home?" asked Henning sympathetically.

"Ah! the wanderl.u.s.t. The desire to see the world. But you boys must come and see me again and I will tell you the story. There is no time now, as I see my husband coming from the cattle-shed."

"Mother!" said the cheery voice of Roland Thorncroft a moment later, as he opened the door, "would not these young gentlemen like a good skate on the meadow pond? It has been swept by the wind, and is capital ice."

Jack Beecham looked at his watch. It was already four o'clock.

"We are thankful," he said, "but I am afraid we must do without that pleasure. It is quite time we started for home."

Husband looked at wife. She nodded, and then he nodded. Something was settled between them.

"Don't you like skating, boys? I thought you did, seeing each had a pair of skates along."

"Very much, sir," said Tom Shealey, "but we must be starting now."

"Come along, then. Bring your skates. There is no wind and it is not nearly as cold as it was this morning. You will not want your top-coats."

The boys looked puzzled. The host saw the look of mystification on their faces. He burst into a merry laugh.

"You simple children!" he said, as soon as he could. "Do you think that after being our guests all day, and singing for us as you have done, we are going to let you walk home! No, no. You just get your skates and come along with me. I'll show you the finest piece of ice in the country. You can skate there for an hour or an hour and a half.

By that time coffee will be ready, eh, mammy? And a bobsleigh. We are going to have just the finest, most musical sleighride this evening you ever saw, or heard. You had better come along, mother, too."

"Really, I have half a mind to."

"Do, do, do, Mrs. Thorncroft; do, do!" chorused the boys.

"I will see by the time you return for supper."

When the time came for starting, however, she decided to stay at home.

She had prepared a lunch for the journey, for there was no time now for a formal supper. After each boy had taken a bowl of steaming coffee, she bade them adieu. Such handshakings! Such good-byes! The jolly lads subdued their merriment momentarily when she kissed each one a farewell on the brow. It was a beautiful moment in each one's life and was never forgotten by any of them.

They had a glorious ride in the moonlight and the frost. And so it happened that six merry boys came joyously into the college yard at about seven o'clock, happy, tired, excited, and chattering like magpies about the unexpected good time they had enjoyed.

"I am glad the plan worked," said Mr. Shalford to himself. The boys never learned that the dinner at Thorncroft's was a prearranged affair. As soon as he had decided to send Henning and his companions out for a day's change, the prefect had told one of the farmhands to get a fast horse and arrange with the Thorncrofts for the boys'

entertainment. He had suggested to Tom Shealey and Jack Beecham the best route to take without arousing their suspicions, and everything had happened just as he had planned. Some men are positively ingenious in their charity.

CHAPTER XII

REPORTS

Perhaps it was not the wisest course to have pursued, after all, on the part of the prefect, to have allowed all the boys who were present at the discovery of the theft to be absent for the whole day. Twelve hours was ample time for a number of rumors to be born, grow strong, and become, in the minds of some, established facts. There were, unfortunately, all too many willing to believe, not maliciously but thoughtlessly, the wildest and most absurd report. A few were anxious to find something more than a mere misfortune in that which had befallen the treasurer. These did not hesitate to sit in judgment on their fellows, to discuss and impute intentions which with knowledge any less than omniscient they could not possibly possess.

Almost as soon as the discovery had been made, the news spread like wildfire through the yard. Excited boys gathered in groups and discussed the situation. It was certainly the biggest sensation St.

Cuthbert's had witnessed in many a day--more exciting than the Deming affair. The rumors were legion and as contradictory as numerous.

"Hi! Jones; have you heard the news?" asked Smithers, about half an hour after the discovery.

"No. What?" asked Rob.

"Haven't heard of the robbery?"

"No. What robbery? No one has stolen our costumes, have they?"

Rob Jones was full of the play of the night before, and just at this moment he considered the costumes, if not the most valuable, at least the most attractive things for a thief to make away with.

"Costumes! Not much! It's cash. Hard-earned cash; at least cash subscribed by other people. The delectable and very pious Henning has managed to lose seventy-two dollars which the boys had already subscribed for the cage."

"Managed to lose! I don't understand. Speak plainer."

"I mean, then, that Roy has lost that money and the report is that he was robbed of it."