Helping Himself Or Grant Thornton's Ambition Part 35

"Did he say that?" asked the father, startled.

"Yes, sir."

"Then there is some mischief afoot. I never sent for him," said the agitated father.

Mr. Reynolds requested Harvey to accompany him to the nearest police station, and relate all that he knew to the officer in charge, that the police might be put on the track. He asked himself in vain what object any one could have in spiriting away the boy, but no probable explanation occurred to him.

On his return to the house he communicated to the housekeeper what he had learned.

"What do you think of it?" he asked.

"It may be only a practical joke," answered the housekeeper calmly.

"Heaven grant it may be nothing more! But I fear it is something far more serious."

"I dare say it's only a boy's lark, Mr. Reynolds."

"But you forget--it was a young man who was seen in his company."

"I really don't know what to think of it, then. I don't believe the boy will come to any harm."

Little sleep visited the broker's pillow that night, but the housekeeper looked fresh and cheerful in the morning.

"Has the woman no feeling?" thought the anxious father, as he watched the tranquil countenance of the woman who for five years had been in charge of his house.

When she was left alone in the house Mrs. Estabrook took from her workbasket a letter, bearing date a month previous, and read slowly the following paragraph: "I have never forgotten the wrong done me by Mr. Reynolds. He discharged me summarily from his employment and declined to give me a recommendation which would secure me a place elsewhere. I swore at the time that I would get even with him, and I have never changed my resolution. I shall not tell you what I propose to do. It is better that you should not know. But some day you will hear something that will surprise you. When that time comes, if you suspect anything, say nothing. Let matters take their course."

The letter was signed by Willis Ford.

CHAPTER XXVI -- A WESTERN CABIN

"Abner!"

The speaker was a tall, gaunt woman, in a loose, faded, calico dress, and she stood at the door of a cabin in a Western clearing.

"What yer want?" came as a reply from a tall, unhealthy-looking boy in overalls, who was sitting on a log in the yard.

"I want you to split some wood for the stove."

"I'm tired," drawled the boy.

"I'll tire you!" said the mother, sharply. "You tall, lazy, good-for-nothing drone! Here I've been up since five o'clock, slavin' for you and your drunken father. Where's he gone?"

"To the village, I reckon."

"To the tavern, I reckon. It's there that he spends all the money he gets hold of; he never gives me a cent. This is the only gown I've got, except an old alpaca. Much he cares!"

"It isn't my fault, is it?" asked the boy, indifferently.

"You're a-follerin' in his steps. You'll be just another Joel Barton--just as shif'less and lazy. Just split me some wood before I get hold of yer!"

Abner rose slowly, went to the shed for an ax, and in the most deliberate manner possible began to obey his mother's commands.

The cabin occupied by Abner and his parents was far from being a palace. It contained four rooms, but the furniture was of the most primitive description. Joel Barton, the nominal head of the family, was the possessor of eighty acres of land, from which he might have obtained a comfortable living, for the soil was productive; but he was lazy, shiftless and intemperate, as his wife had described him.

Had he been as active and energetic as she was, he might have been in very different circ.u.mstances. It is no wonder that the poor woman was fretted and irritated almost beyond endurance, seeing how all her industry was neutralized by her husband's habits. Abner took after his father, though he had not yet developed a taste for drink, and was perfectly contented with their poor way of living, as long as he was not compelled to work hard. What little was required of him he would shirk if he possibly could.

This cabin was situated about a mile from the little village which had gathered round the depot. The name of the township was Scipio, though it is doubtful if one in fifty of the inhabitants knew after whom it was named. In fact, the name was given by a schoolmaster, who had acquired some rudiments of cla.s.sical learning at a country academy.

To the depot we must transport the reader, on the arrival of the morning train from Chicago. But two pa.s.sengers got out. One of them was a young man under twenty. The other was a boy, apparently about ten years of age, whom he held firmly by the hand.

He was a delicate-looking boy, and, though he was dressed in a coa.r.s.e, ill-fitting suit, he had an appearance of refinement and gentle nature, as if he had been brought up in a luxurious home. He looked sad and anxious, and the glances he fixed on his companion indicated that he held him in fear.

"Where are you going?" he asked timidly, looking about him apprehensively.

"You'll know soon enough," was the rough reply.

"When are you going to take me home, Mr. Ford?" asked the boy, in a pleading tone.

"Don't trouble yourself about that."

"Papa will be so anxious about me--papa and Grant!"

The young man's brow contracted.

"Don't mention the name of that boy! I hate him."

"He was always good to me. I liked so much to be with him."

"He did all he could to injure me. I swore to be even with him, and I will!"

"But I have never injured you, Mr. Ford."

"How could you--a baby like you?" said Ford, contemptuously.

"Then why did you take me from home, and make me so unhappy?"

"Because it was the only way in which I could strike a blow at your father and Grant Thornton. When your father dismissed me, without a recommendation, not caring whether I starved or not, he made me his enemy."

"But he wouldn't if you hadn't--"

"Hadn't what?" demanded Ford, sternly.

"Taken Mrs. Estabrook's bonds."

"Dare to say that again, and I will beat you," said Willis Ford, brutally.