In School and Out Part 5

"I don't know," replied Richard, vacantly, as though the whole matter was as much a mystery to him as to the others.

"Where were you when the alarm was given?"

"Out on the roof of the conservatory."

"On the roof!" exclaimed his father. "How came you there?"

"I don't know," answered Richard, shaking his head.

"Don't you know any thing about it?"

"No, sir. I woke up, and heard some one halloo, Robbers! thieves! I was close by the window, and I jumped in, and hallooed with the rest of them."

"Were you standing on the roof?"

"No, I was flat on my face."

"I see," interposed Mr. Presby, holding up his hands with astonishment, "I understand it all. The poor boy is a sleep walker."

"Richard?" said Mr. Grant, who had never known his son to do such a thing before.

"Yes, sir; your boy is unquestionably a somnambulist. He has been wandering about the garden, and rolling in the mud, in his sleep. There have been no robbers or thieves here to-night. The poor boy fell on the roof; that was what waked him up; and the noise of his fall was what caused me to give the alarm."

"Very singular," added uncle Obed.

"I never had any suspicion that he got up in his sleep," said Mr.

Grant.

"There are instances on record of persons addicted to the practice who have followed it for years, without discovery. Now, if you will come to my room, I will read you several accounts, given by competent medical authority, of cases just like this," observed Mr. Presby.

But none of the party, at that hour of the night, were disposed to consult the authorities on the subject. If they had looked on the table in Richard's room they might have found there a yellow-covered pamphlet novel, ent.i.tled "Sylvester Sound, the Somnambulist." It is a very curious and amusing account of the antics of a sleep-walker, describing the wonderful feats he performed in his slumbers, without having the least idea of what he was doing.

The ingenious young rogue had been reading the book that very day, and in the drama of the "Midnight Alarm," played at Woodville, he had chosen for himself the part of Sylvester Sound. While his father went for a hammer and nails, to secure the window, Richard removed his telltale trousers, and jumped into bed.

CHAPTER V.

RICHARD IS DETERMINED TO BE REVENGED.

Mr. Grant nailed up the window in Richard's room, so that when he should again walk in his sleep, he might not be exposed to the peril of breaking his neck by falling off the roof of the conservatory. When this important work was accomplished, the party retired. Mr. Presby was a philosopher, and his library had not been a merely ornamental appendage of his house. He had read a great deal, and thought a great deal; and mesmerism, biology, psychology, somnambulism, and kindred subjects, had each in its turn been considered, and a conclusion reached.

Mr. Presby, therefore, was not disposed to return to his bed when the excitement had subsided. So splendid an ill.u.s.tration of the phenomenon of sleepwalking was enough to kindle his enthusiasm. He tried to draw uncle Obed into a discussion on the topic, but the latter was too sleepy. Mr. Grant made a home question of the matter, and did not care to indulge in any philosophical inquiries. One after another the family retired, till the old gentleman was left alone, and then, in despair, he resorted to the "authorities" as he termed his books, and read till the inmates of the hennery began to sound the morning call.

Richard did not come down stairs the next morning till nine o'clock, when Mr. Grant and uncle Obed had both gone to the city. He was so stiff that he could hardly walk; but he had washed himself clean, and thrown aside the soiled garments he had worn on the expedition.

Already the story of Richard's wonderful doings in his sleep had been circulated all over the estate, and when he limped into the breakfast room, every body supposed he was suffering from the injuries he had received during his nocturnal ramble. Mr. Presby, whose researches were not yet completed, had taken pains to tell the people of the house, that somnambulists were peculiarly sensitive in regard to their involuntary rambles, and, very much to the surprise of Richard, no one even alluded to the events of the night.

There was upon the faces and in the actions of all with whom he came in contact, an expression of abundant sympathy. He was treated with increased kindness and consideration by the family and by the servants.

When he had eaten his breakfast, the thought occurred to him that something which might betray him had been left on the Greyhound, and he hastened down to the pier to remove any such evidence.

As he pa.s.sed the boat house he heard the voices of Mr. Presby and Ben in the building. The former had by no means slept off his enthusiasm in the cause of science; and as soon as the dew was off the gra.s.s, he commenced exploring the premises, in search of any appearances that might throw new light upon the conduct of the "poor boy" during his midnight ramble. He recalled the dirty and foul condition of the patient when discovered in his room, and he examined all the vile and filthy places in the neighborhood, for the marks of some terrible struggle that might have taken place between the sleep-walker, and any real or imaginary demon.

The patient seeker after the hidden truths of science had been to the pigsty, to learn whether he had been wrestling with the pigs; he had looked into the cow yard, the horse stables, and the dog kennels for information upon the dark subject; he had patiently explored the cornfield and the potato patch, and every dirty hole he could find; but not a single fact or hint could he obtain to a.s.sist him in solving the difficult problem.

In the course of his investigations he had reached the department of Ben, the boatman. He had carefully noted the appearance of the earth on the banks of the river, and, quite fatigued by his unusual exertions, he had seated himself in the boat house, where Ben was at work.

"Have you noticed any thing unusual about the boats, Ben?" asked the old gentleman, after he had given the boatman a full exposition of his views on somnambulism.

"Yes, sir; I noticed that the Greyhound was in a very dirty, slovenly condition this morning. She wasn't so last night, when I looked at her," replied the boatman.

"Ah, indeed!"

"The white seats in the standing room were covered with black mud, and upon the edges there were stains of blood."

"Blood?" queried the philosopher.

"Yes, sir, blood; I have seen blood in my day, and I know what it looks like."

"Can it be possible! Blood! What could have happened to the poor boy?"

"I don't know, sir."

"It is really awful. There is no knowing what the poor boy may have suffered."

"He got back all right, for the boat was made fast, as usual, to her moorings."

"The poor fellow must have been off somewhere in the boat, in his sleep."

"May be he did, sir," answered Ben, respectfully.

"O, there can be no doubt about it. Isn't it a wonder that he wasn't drowned?"

"Mr. Richard, knows how to handle a boat as well as any boy of his years on the river."

"Yes, but you forget that he was asleep all the time."

"Perhaps he was, sir," said Ben, who did not seem to appreciate Mr.

Presby's philosophy.

"But he did not get all that mud and filth upon him while he was in the boat."

"No, sir, of course he didn't; for I wash down the boat every time she is used, and she was as neat as a new pin when I looked into her at sundown last night."

"Then he must have landed somewhere," added the logical Mr. Presby.