Just his luck

WHEN WADE SAW HE COULD NOT ESCAPE, HE LEAPED UPON THE RAIL, AND THEN JUMPED OVERBOARD.--Page 220.

BY
OLIVER OPTIC

BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

JUST HIS LUCK

CONTENTS.

PAGE
CHAPTER I.
PEACHES AND A HORSEWHIP 7

CHAPTER II.
SUPPERLESS TO BED 15

CHAPTER III.
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE NIGHT 23

CHAPTER IV.
LODGINGS AFLOAT 31

CHAPTER V.
HOW IT WAS DONE 39

CHAPTER VI.
DOWN THE RIVER 47

CHAPTER VII.
A STRIKE FOR INDEPENDENCE 55

CHAPTER VIII.
THE BATTLE IN THE BOAT 63

CHAPTER IX.
CAUGHT IN THE ACT 71

CHAPTER X.
A STRAIGHTFORWARD STATEMENT 79

CHAPTER XI.
A HUNGRY SKIPPER 87

CHAPTER XII.
WADE BROOKS MAKES A TRADE 95

CHAPTER XIII.
TWO WRONGS DON’T MAKE A RIGHT 103

CHAPTER XIV.
WADE BROOKS’S FRIEND 110

CHAPTER XV.
A NEW YORK SAINT 118

CHAPTER XVI.
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 126

CHAPTER XVII.
AT THE LODGING-HOUSE 133

CHAPTER XVIII.
A NIGHT ADVENTURE 141

CHAPTER XIX.
AN EARLY BREAKFAST FOR TWO 149

CHAPTER XX.
A LATE DINNER 157

CHAPTER XXI.
THE GHOST OF THE STATE-ROOM 165

CHAPTER XXII.
CAPT. BENDIG’S PROMISE 173

CHAPTER XXIII.
IMMENSE RICHES 181

CHAPTER XXIV.
UNWELCOME PASSENGERS 189

CHAPTER XXV.
BOUND TO A SICKLY CLIMATE 197

CHAPTER XXVI.
ANOTHER UNEXPECTED MEETING 205

CHAPTER XXVII.
ESCAPED OVERBOARD 213

CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE LORDS OF THE SEA 221

CHAPTER XXIX.
CAPT. BENDIG’S BLUNDER 229

CHAPTER XXX.
THE SEARCH AND THE ARREST 237

CHAPTER XXXI.
A FULL CONFESSION 245

CHAPTER XXXII.
EVEN-HANDED JUSTICE 253

CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR 261

CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE EMPLOYMENT OFFICE 269

CHAPTER XXXV.
THE BENEVOLENT BROKER 277

CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE NEW CASHIER 285

CHAPTER XXXVII.
JUST HIS LUCK AGAIN! 293

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
HOLDING THE FORTRESS 301

CHAPTER XXXIX.
HOW IT WAS IN THE MORNING 309

CHAPTER XL.
GATHERING UP THE SWINDLERS 318

CHAPTER XLI.
THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 327

JUST HIS LUCK.

CHAPTER I.

PEACHES AND A HORSEWHIP.

“There are some peaches worth eating,” said Lon Trustleton to his two companions, as they passed an orchard of this delicious fruit on the river road, as it was called.

“Them’s tip-top,” added Matthew Swikes: “I go for havin’ some on ’em.”

“So I say,” replied Lon; and he leaped over the fence, followed by Matt. “Come along, Wade.”

“No: I’m not going to steal anybody’s peaches,” answered Wade Brooks.

“Oh, come along!” called Lon, the son of the rich Captain Trustleton, who lived on the hill near the village of Midhampton.

“No: I won’t have any thing to do with the scrape. Besides, I have to go on an errand to the village,” said Wade.

“See here, Wade Brooks, if you don’t come over here, I’ll break your skull,” continued Lon Trustleton, shaking his head to emphasize his words.

“What for? for not stealing peaches?” added Wade, with a smile at the absurdity of the idea.

“You want to set up for a goody; and when any thing is said about hooking peaches, you blow on Matt and me, that’s the way of it; and if you don’t come over here I’ll go over there--that’s all.”

Matt Swikes was already shaking a tree filled with peaches, which were even more tempting to Wade than to his companions; for he was a friendless boy, whom no one fed with nice peaches. As the fruit was fully ripe, a great quantity came down when Matt shook the tree. He and Lon filled their pockets, and returned to the road as quickly as possible; for the consequences of stealing peaches were not always pleasant, though stolen fruit may be the sweetest.

The first thing that Lon did when he was in the road was to bat Wade Brooks over the head, as he had promised to do.

“What are you about, Lon?” demanded Wade Brooks, as he dodged the blow.

“I told you I’d do it, and I will,” replied Lon, following up his victim, who tried to escape from him; but in the end he received several heavy blows.

“What’s that for, I should like to know?” said the victim, when his persecutor seemed to be fully satisfied with the punishment he had inflicted.

“I told you what it was for, while I was in the orchard. Now, if you ever say a word about this thing, I’ll give you a broken head that will last you longer than this one will. I don’t want any fellow canting where I am.”

“I didn’t meddle with you,” replied Wade, who thought it a very hard case to be pounded for not stealing peaches. “If you want to steal peaches, that is your affair, and not mine.”

“If you say any thing more about stealing, I’ll give you another dose now. Can’t a fellow help himself to a few peaches without it’s being called stealing?” demanded Lon, with a look of injured innocence.

Wade Brooks did not think it was worth while to discuss the matter any more in just that manner, and he was silent. He walked behind his two companions, and wished they had been half a mile or more from him. He was a nobody, and Lon was the son of a rich man, even Matt Swikes, though only the son of a poor farmer, was a good deal better off than he was, though they both lived under the same roof.

As the party approached the house of Mr. Garlick, who owned the peach-orchard they had entered, they found its occupant in the road, with a horsewhip in his hand. By his side stood his two hired men; and on the grass near him lay a large dog which had a very bad reputation and very sharp teeth.

“I think we had better be moving in some other direction,” suggested Matt Swikes, when he saw the array of force before them.

He halted as he spoke, and Lon did the same. Wade, who was innocent, continued on his way till he came up with Mr. Garlick, who, without any ceremony, gave him several hard cuts on the legs, and each one of the blows seemed to the victim to take the skin off.

“I’ll teach you to steal my peaches,” said the exasperated farmer.

“I did not touch your peaches: I did not get into the field,” pleaded Wade, who thought it was even harder to be whipped for stealing the peaches than it had been to be pounded for not stealing them.

The farmer hit him several times more before Wade got out of the way; or, rather, till the attention of the persecutor was called to the other two. Lon and Matt were disposed to make their escape by jumping over the fence, and retreating in another direction.

“Stop, there! if you try to run away, I’ll send my dog after you!” shouted Mr. Garlick.

The dog was more dangerous than the man: indeed, he was so fierce that he was kept chained in the daytime, or Lon would not have dared to enter the orchard. The brute had no discretion in the use of his teeth, and had never read the law of the State relating to assaults. The farmer would be careful in the use of the whip; and Lon did not believe Garlick would dare to strike the son of Captain Trustleton. He put a bold face on the matter, and continued his walk towards his father’s house, which was on the same road.

But Lon under-rated the pluck of the farmer; for, as soon as the boy was within his reach, he hit him the hardest cut he could administer with the whip; and, not satisfied with this, he gave him half a dozen more. The two hired men had placed themselves behind the boys in the road, so that they could not retreat; and the farmer thrashed them to his heart’s content.

“Let me alone!” yelled Lon, and the whip cut his soul as much as the skin of his legs.

“I’ll teach you to steal my peaches, you young villains!” roared the farmer.

“I’LL TEACH YOU TO STEAL MY PEACHES, YOU YOUNG VILLAINS!”--Page 11.

“My father will give it to you for this!” cried Lon, smarting under the pain.

Then Mr. Garlick rested Lon by giving it to Matt.

“Let me alone,” groaned Matt, writhing under the torture. “I did not touch your peaches. It was the fellow that has gone ahead.”

That was the sort of a fellow Matt Swikes was; and a little more of the whip would do him no harm.

“I tell you it was the fellow that has gone ahead,” repeated Lon, when Garlick spelled Matt by turning his attention to the rich man’s son. “It was Wade Brooks that stole the peaches.”

“I saw two of them in the orchard; but I don’t know which they were,” said one of the hired men.

“They have got peaches in their pockets now,” said the other hired man.

“Take hold of them, and empty their pockets,” said Mr. Garlick angrily.

The hired men were stout fellows, and they rather enjoyed the job. They took the peaches from the pockets of the culprits, and laid them on the grass as carefully as though they had been little babies; for the fruit was of the choicest kind on the farm of the owner.

“That proves that you did steal peaches; and my man saw you take them,” said Mr. Garlick, out of breath with excitement. “Here, Jacob, run after that other fellow, and see if he has got any in his pockets.”

The man obeyed the order. Wade Brooks had not gone far; for he had halted at a safe distance from the scene to witness, if not to enjoy, the castigation of his tyrants. He was near enough to hear what was said, for the farmer spoke as though all the listeners were as deaf as posts.

“Come, youngster, give up your peaches,” said Jacob, when he came to the place where Wade had halted.

“I haven’t any peaches: I haven’t touched a peach this year,” pleaded Wade. “You will not find any about me; and I did not go into the orchard, and Lon Trustleton licked me because I wouldn’t.”

“I must see for myself,” answered Jacob; and he did see for himself that the boy spoke the truth.

“No peaches here; but you had better come up here, and tell the old man about it yourself. You do not look like one of the boys I saw in the peach-orchard.”

“I was not one of them: I wouldn’t steal peaches,” pleaded Wade; and he felt as though his legs would not have smarted any more if he had stolen them; and being honest was very poor consolation at this time. As he approached the place where farmer Garlick was meeting out justice, he saw the judge give Lon and Matt another dose of the horsewhip; and he came to the conclusion that he had got off easy, compared with his more guilty companions.

Jacob reported that he had found no peaches in the pockets of Wade Brooks, and that he thought he was not one of the boys he had seen in the peach-orchard.

“He is the only one of us that did go into the orchard,” said Lon, uttering another abominable lie.

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the farmer gave him half a dozen cuts with the whip. Lon was so mad, that he swore like a young pirate: his father used profane language, and why shouldn’t he?

“Don’t tell me any more lies, you villain!” roared farmer Garlick. “Don’t tell me that this boy stole all the peaches, when I find he has none in his pockets, and yours are full of them.”

“He asked us to keep them for him,” answered Matt, wishing to back up his friend; but the farmer gave him another dose for the lie he invented.

“My boy, I am sorry I struck you with the whip; for I believe you did not go into the orchard,” said the farmer, turning to Wade.--“Give him three of the handsomest peaches of the lot.”

“Lon Trustleton licked him because he would not go into the orchard,” said Jacob, as he gave Wade the fruit.

“And he’ll do it again as soon as he gets a chance,” said Wade.

“That’s so,” added Lon; and the remark cost him half a dozen cuts on the legs.

“Now, Wade Brooks, you go along, and I will keep these fellows here till you are out of sight,” said the farmer.

Wade went his way; and, when he was out of sight, Garlick told the thieves he had done with them till they stole some more of his fruit. It was no use for him to go to law to save his property, and he should look out for it himself.

“You have not heard the last of this,” growled Lon, shaking his head in his wrath. “I will get even with you in some way. This will cost you more than all the peaches you will raise this year.”

“It has given me some satisfaction, at any rate, whatever it may cost me. I want you to understand that a rich man’s son can’t rob me of my property without something being done.”

The culprits departed as fast as their smarting legs would permit.

CHAPTER II.

SUPPERLESS TO BED.

Wade Brooks had no long history to be related. He was an orphan, but not a foundling or any thing of that sort; and there is no chance of his turning out to be the son of an English baronet or of an American nabob. He was just what he seemed to be. His father had died a miserable sot, six months before the peach-orchard was invaded, and was buried at the expense of the town. Only a year before that event, his mother had passed away, the victim of a hard lot. But she had not lived in vain; for she was a good woman, and had left many good principles in the mind of her son and only child. No stone marked her resting-place in the churchyard, but her memory was preserved in the heart of her boy.

Midhampton consisted of a considerable village, with a large farming territory. Not a few wealthy men who had made fortunes in the city had homes within its limits, for it was not more than sixty miles from New York City. On the river road were the residences of several such; though, after the highway passed the hill, it was bordered by no more handsome houses. The next dwelling was that of Philip Garlick, a decided man, who believed that his own property belonged to him. The next house was that of Obed Swikes, the father of Matthew Swikes. Matt was a bad boy; but he came honestly by the evil in his nature, for his father was the meanest man, by all odds, in the town of Midhampton.

Just beyond Swikes’s house, which was an old, black, and rickety mansion, was the brook, by the side of which ran a lane down to the river. At its mouth the little river widened out into quite a bay, at the head of which were the ruins of the cabin in which Wade’s father had lived and died. It had been set on fire by some bad boys, it was thought, and had burned to the ground. It was owned by Obed Swikes, who had not been able to find another tenant for the shanty in this out-of-the-way place.

Wade’s father had been a loafer: he had spent all his time wandering about the country on foot or in his boat, gunning and fishing for his living. In this way he made a scanty living, for, when he sold the product of his trips, he spent most of the money for liquor; and Wade often had to pick up his own food after his mother died. The old sail-boat which the sportsman used was still at the creek, as the place was called. Anybody used it who wished to do so. It had been a good boat in its day, and had a cuddy forward where the fisherman had often slept in his wanderings.

After the death of Wade’s father, Obed Swikes had taken the boy into his own family. The orphan was twelve years old; and Swikes kept him at work so that he more than paid his keeping, for the keeping was about as mean as ever a boy knew. Wade lodged in the garret; and, as the house was badly out of repair, he was hardly sheltered from the weather. In the winter he often slept in a snow-bank; and, as his clothing was very meagre, he suffered a great deal from the cold.

After Wade parted with his companions, he went to the village to do his errand. He hurried home, so as to make up the time he had lost in the peach scrape. He took care to eat the three peaches before he went into the village, for he knew that Lon and Matt would take them away from him if they found them in his possession. They were going to the village, and he might expect to meet them there.

“Where on airth have you been all this time, Wade Brooks?” demanded Mrs. Swikes, as he entered the house on his return. “You’ve been gone over an hour.”

“I couldn’t get back any sooner,” pleaded Wade; and, as the distance to the village was two miles, he had made the four miles in very good time, considering the time of which the bad boys had robbed him.

“Yes, you could! you’ve been stopping on the way,” continued the old woman. “I’ve a great mind to give you a hiding for your laziness. We have to board and clothe you, and you don’t airn your salt. You belong in the poorhouse; and, if you don’t do better, we shall have to send you there.”

But this was only a specimen of the abuse to which the boy was subjected every day of his life; and, with poor food and little clothing, he was almost disgusted with his efforts to get along in the world. If Obed Swikes’s tongue was not as cutting as that of his wife, he made it up by putting heavy burdens on the boy. He called him from his bed at daylight in the morning, and kept him at work till into the night on the farm and about the barn.

When he had done his errand, he was set to work without any delay, at digging early potatoes in the garden, which Swikes was to take to the village to sell in the morning. He worked till dark, and then he was called to supper. He went into the house hungry as every growing boy is, and seated himself at the table. The family, consisting of five persons, had taken the meal an hour before; but Wade was required to work as long as he could see.

Wade’s supper was a bowl of milk and a plate of brown bread,--very good if there had only been enough of it, and if it had not been his diet every night in the week. The boy did not complain of his food, for he had often seen the time when he could not get even this.

“Have you seen any thing of Matthew?” asked Mrs. Swikes, as Wade seated himself at table.

“Yes, marm: I saw him and Lon Trustleton as I was going over to the village,” replied the weary boy; but he was careful not to say any thing more. He knew it would cost him a pounding if he told the whole truth.

“He hain’t been home to his supper yet,” added Mrs. Swikes. “Do you know where he is, Wade?”

“No, marm. He didn’t tell me where he was going,” answered Wade.

But at this moment Matt came into the kitchen to speak for himself. He was limping, and seemed to be very sore, as well he might be after such a castigation as he had received.

“Where have you been, Matthew?” asked his mother, as the stealer of peaches dragged himself into the room. “What ails you? What makes you limp and squirm so?”

Matthew was the only boy of the family: the other children were all girls; and, for this reason, his parents thought more of him than of all the others, and did their best to spoil him, and succeeded remarkably well. Mrs. Swikes was anxious when she saw that something ailed her son; and her tones were quite tender, compared with those she had used to Wade.

“Garlick has been licking me with a horsewhip,” moaned Matt, bursting into tears, and breaking down completely in the presence of his mother.

“Lickin’ you! What on airth did he do that for?” demanded the indignant mother.

“He said I stole his peaches,” sobbed Matt; “but I didn’t. It was Wade Brooks that stole ’em, and laid it to Lon and me.”

Without waiting to investigate this statement, Mrs. Swikes, who was a great raw-boned woman,--her husband had married her because he thought she would be able to do a good deal of work,--seized poor Wade, and dragged him from his chair at the table, upsetting his bowl of milk, and pitched him on the floor. The boy was an infant in her grasp, and he did not offer any resistance. The Amazon gazed at her prostrate victim, while her eyes glowed with hate and rage; then, resorting to a masculine accomplishment, she savagely kicked him in the ribs.

“I didn’t steal any peaches,” pleaded Wade, as humbly as the case seemed to require: “I didn’t touch one of them.”

“Yes, he did, mother. He told Garlick we did it; and Garlick give him three peaches for telling,” howled Matt, still blubbering like a baby.

“Mr. Garlick did give me three peaches, but it was because he licked me when I did not deserve it,” pleaded Wade. “You can ask Mr. Garlick, and he will tell you the same thing.”

“Ketch me asking Garlick any thing about it!” exclaimed Mrs. Swikes furiously. “I’ll take it out of his hide for licking my boy.”

Wade was entirely willing she should do this, if she did not take it out of his own hide, which she was more likely to do.

“He licked Lon Trustleton too; and, if you ask him, he will tell you just what I say,” whined Matt.

Mrs. Swikes seized a green-hide, which was her husband’s wagon-whip, and began to belabor poor Wade with it. It was a terrible instrument of torture when applied to a boy’s skin, covered only with a pair of thin overalls. The boy did not cry out with the pain, for he had found that it did no good, and, the more he screamed, the worse he got it; but he could not endure the blows, and he made a spring for the open door. Mrs. Swikes followed him, and attempted to catch him; but, goaded by the instinct of self-preservation, he succeeded in getting out of the way.

“Stop, you rascal!” shouted the Amazon. “Do you mean to run away from me? I’ll give you a double dose for this.”

“What’s the matter now?” demanded Mr. Swikes, coming in from the barn at this point in the difficulty.

The angry woman told him what the matter was; and Wade rested while she was doing so. He did not think it was prudent to run away. He felt that Mrs. Swikes’s promise would be redeemed, and he wished to make the penalty as light as possible. The father was as indignant as the mother had been at the punishment bestowed upon the only male hope of that old black house; but he was sometimes more reasonable than his wife. In a low tone he told her she must not lick the boy with a green-hide: they might have her up before the court for cruelty, as had been the case with Ethan Small. He would punish the boy. Possibly he had a suspicion that Wade told the truth, and Matt the lies. But Wade had been whipped enough, even if the charge against him was true; and he escaped any further beating, though he was sent to bed without his supper.

Matt ate his supper, which was a better meal than that provided for the boy of all work, and he went to bed with a full stomach. The young villain was not half so badly damaged as he pretended to be. His legs did smart in the first of it, but he got over this before he reached his father’s house.

But Wade’s complaining stomach did not allow him to sleep. He lay till he thought the family were all asleep; and then he left his garret, and crept down the stairs, which landed in the back room. All the family slept on the first floor, and Wade paused at the foot of the stairs to ascertain if any one was stirring. It was very dark in the back room, but he heard sounds as of some one creeping across the room. He retreated up two steps, and then saw the back-door opened. By the light it let in, he saw Matt go out, and close the door.

CHAPTER III.

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE NIGHT.

For a moment, Wade forgot that he was hungry. Matt was up to something. He moved as though he was not very lame. Wade opened the door, and looked to see which way the young rascal went. He saw him take the river road towards the village. Then Wade made his way to the pantry, where he found plenty of brown bread, but no butter or any thing else that was eatable; for Mrs. Swikes did not leave white bread (when there was any in the house) and pies where they could tempt the boy of all work. She thought he might be wicked enough to help himself.

When he had secured all he wanted, he put out the match he had lighted, and was about to bear his plunder to the garret where he could appease his hunger without danger, when he heard the door of Mr. Swikes’s chamber opened. It was next to the kitchen. Poor Wade felt that he was in a scrape. Taking a few pieces of black bread was a high crime for him to commit in that house. The pantry was large, and he crawled behind the door.

“I’m sure I heard some one in the kitchen,” said Mrs. Swikes; and she was one of those who often insist upon finding a man in the house.

“I guess you was dreaming,” replied Mr. Swikes.

“No, I wasn’t: I heard the floor squeak as it does when any one treads on it,” persisted the woman. “You’ve got two hundred dollars of money hid in that closet, and it’s worth coming here arter.”

“But nobody knows I’ve got it.”

“Strike a light, and see if it is safe,” continued Mrs. Swikes in the chamber.

The farmer did light a candle; and, through a crack of the pantry door, Wade saw him put his hand in the lower left-hand corner of the closet over the fireplace.

“It’s all right,” said Mr. Swikes, when he had completed his examination: “I don’t believe there is anybody in the house that don’t belong here.”

With this he went to bed; but Wade heard them talking together for some time, and he dared not leave his hiding-place. He thought they would never go to sleep, after he had waited some time. The door leading to the cellar-stairs opened from this pantry, or “buttery” as Mrs. Swikes called it, and Wade saw that he might escape from his hiding-place in that way; but he was afraid to open the door while the old man and his wife were awake.

At last they ceased to talk, and Wade decided to make the attempt to reach his chamber in the garret. He crept like a mouse to the buttery door; but before he could come out he saw a form between himself and a window, creeping into the kitchen from the back room. He could also see that the back-door was left open. The figure was of about his own height, and he did not suspect that it was a ghost or any other bird of the night. He concluded at once that it was Matt Swikes returning from some mischief-making tour. He knew that Matt did such things, and he believed that he had burned the shanty by the creek.

Wade retreated to his former position behind the door of the pantry, thinking that Matt only intended to pass through the kitchen to his own room on the other side of the house. But the bad boy had other business in the kitchen. The door of the farmer’s bedroom was closed, and Wade had heard him lock it when he shut it. Matt struck a match, which threw a little light on the subject. Wade watched him with intense interest, and saw him place a chair before the mantle-piece, and then get up into it. It was clear enough to the observer by this time, that the objective point of the bad boy was the closet in which the money was concealed.

Wade was filled with something like horror, as he saw Matt open the door of the closet; and he hoped the little villain’s father would wake, and discover what he was about. He knew that Matt was a bad boy, but he had not supposed he was wicked enough to steal his father’s money. He was on the point of interposing to prevent Matt from doing so bad a thing, but a noise in the farmer’s chamber prevented him from doing so. Besides, if he did so, Matt would lay it to him. But it was evident that the lady of the house had been disturbed again, for her voice could be heard in the bedroom. Matt took something from the closet, put it in his pocket, and then stepped down from the chair. He had put out his match, and Wade could see no more.

Matt was not a very cunning rogue, for he did not cover his tracks by removing the chair in which he had stood. As soon as he had obtained his booty, he retreated from the room by the back-door. He could hardly have got out of the house before his father came from his chamber with a candle in his hand. Wade was by this time alarmed for his own safety. He might be found, and the crime of stealing the two hundred dollars laid to him. They certainly would do so if he was found out of his room at this time of night.

Farmer Swikes looked at the chair before the mantle-piece, and he knew that he did not leave it there. He stopped to think about the matter for a moment. That chair could not have been there when he put his hand in the closet before: if it had been, he would have fallen over it.

“I am sure I heard somebody in the kitchen,” said Mrs. Swikes, in the bedroom.

“This chair wasn’t here when I came out before,” replied Mr. Swikes: “somebody has been here since I was.”

“Is the money safe?” asked the woman; and to her this was the great question.

The farmer put the chair out of the way, and thrust his hand into the closet. He felt all about for the old wallet that contained the treasure. His heart came up into his throat when he missed it. He tried to think just where he had placed it; but the little cupboard was not more than six inches deep, and it could not have strayed very far. It was not there; it was certainly gone. Somebody had stood in that chair, and reached into the closet for the money.

“It is gone!” exclaimed farmer Swikes, as soon as he had satisfied himself of the fact.

“Gone!” repeated Mrs. Swikes. “Who on airth could have taken it?”

When she had partially dressed herself, she came out into the kitchen; and Wade saw on their faces an expression of utter despair. The boy of all work was satisfied that it would not be prudent for him to step out, and tell them their son was the thief. It would not be safe for him to do so, after the experience he had had that day.

“It would been safer to put the money in the bank,” groaned farmer Swikes.

“But who did it? It must be some one that knows about the house took it,” added Mrs. Swikes.

“I found that chair under the mantletry-piece,” said the farmer, as he pointed to the chair he had found directly under the closet.

“Then it must be somebody that couldn’t reach up to the closet without gittin’ into a chair,” added the logical Mrs. Swikes. “It was some boy; and I shouldn’t wonder if it was Wade Brooks. He’s bad enough to do sich a thing. Run right up to the garret, Obed, and see if he is there; and, if he is, sarch his pockets, and look all about the bed,” continued the woman, as she lighted another candle for her husband’s use on this mission.

“Oh, dear!” groaned Wade, not audibly, but in spirit. “They’ll find I’m not there, and it will be all up with me.”

The farmer went up stairs, and his wife stepped into her chamber for something as soon as he was gone. Wade took advantage of this momentary uncovering of the position to open the cellar door; but he did not trouble himself to close it, for fear that the noise might betray him. He dared not go down the stairs; for, like every thing about the house, they were old and rickety, and they would certainly creak when they were expected not to do so. He was still in a position to hear what was said in the kitchen.

“He isn’t there!” groaned Swikes, returning to the kitchen. “He’s gone, and he may be half way to New York or some other place.”

“I knew he done it!” exclaimed the female Swikes.

“He done it because you licked him so in the evening,” groaned Swikes. “He’s gone and done it now.”

“But we shall ketch him yet, and get the money back,” replied Mrs. Swikes, who did not like to be considered as the cause of the loss.

“You’ll never see nothin’ more of that money,” added Swikes, with a heavy sigh. “You might been a little easier with him, and let him had some supper.”

“He didn’t do it because he was licked, but because he is a bad boy,” retorted Mrs. Swikes. “I told you I was afraid he was corruptin’ our boy.”

“He did it because he was licked with a green-hide; and boys won’t allus stand every thing,” replied Swikes petulantly.

“Well, Obed, what are you a-doin’ on? while you stand here scoldin’ me, that boy is gittin’ away.”

“What can I do?”

“Harness your horse, and drive down to the village; you may ketch him, or hear sunthin’ on him.”

“What’s all that noise out doors?” said Swikes, as he went to the window, and threw it wide open. “The bells is ringin’; and I hear folks in the road yellin’.”

“There is a fire, as sure as you live!” exclaimed Mrs. Swikes, going to the window. “I can see the light on’t on the corn-house.”

Swikes opened the door, and went out to the front of the house.

“It’s Garlick’s barn, as sure as you was born!” cried Mrs. Swikes. “Somebody set that barn afire: it didn’t ketch without some help.”

They passed out of Wade’s hearing. He knew they must go to the front of the house to see the barn which the woman said was on fire. They would not be likely to come in for a few minutes; and Wade came out of the cellar-way, and ran up to his room as fast as he could go, though he was careful not to make any unnecessary noise. In a moment he had gathered up all the clothes he had, consisting of a very indifferent suit he wore in the winter, and made haste to leave the house by the back door. He had not made up his mind what to do; but he made haste to leave that house.

When he got out doors, he was afraid to leave the shadow of the house, for the fire made it as light as day all around him. He got behind the corn-house, where he could see the blazing barn: it was burning with tremendous fury, and in a few minutes there would be nothing left of it. Wade Brooks could form some idea of the person or persons who set that fire: he thought he could see a little way into Matt Swikes’s plans.

CHAPTER IV.

LODGINGS AFLOAT.

Wade Brooks felt like an innocent boy; and, being innocent, he was not willing to accept the penalty of guilt. He was to be a sort of sacrifice for the sins of Matt Swikes. Behind the corn-house he had time to think what he should do. He felt that he needed a friend. He wanted simple justice, which he could not get in the Swikes mansion. Then it came to him that Mr. Garlick, after he had whipped him for what he did not do, was sorry for his harshness, and had atoned for it by giving him three of the handsomest peaches he had ever seen.

Mr. Philip Garlick was a just man, if he had taken the law into his own hand. Wade was almost sure that Matt had something to do with burning that barn. He had left the house in the night after his father and mother had gone to bed. He had come back again, stolen the wallet from the closet, and then left again. The fire broke out a short time after he went out the second time. Perhaps Lon Trustleton was concerned with him in the wicked deed. If so, they had burned the barn in revenge for the whipping they had received from Mr. Garlick.

Wade Brooks was willing to tell Mr. Garlick what he knew about the movements of Matt Swikes. He was certainly under no obligations to the Swikeses, and he knew that it was not right to cover up a crime. He would see Mr. Garlick in the morning, and tell him all he knew about the business. It was not likely that Matt would be anywhere near Midhampton in the morning, for it was plain to Wade that he had stolen the money from the closet to pay his expenses on a runaway trip.

In fifteen minutes the fire had consumed all the matter in the barn that would burn, and the light had subsided. Wade deemed it safe for him to retreat now, and he moved off in the rear of the house. A short walk brought him to the brook, which reminded him of the old sail-boat his father had owned. The cuddy would be a good place for him to pass the rest of the night, for there was some meadow hay in it for a bed. This was the best arrangement he could think of for the night, and he hastened to carry out the plan. When he reached the river road, which he was obliged to cross to get to the creek, he saw several vehicles approaching. He concluded that they were filled with persons who had been to the fire, and he concealed himself under some bushes till they had passed.

“The fire was set, you may depend upon it,” said a man in a wagon, as he passed the place where Wade was concealed.

“I heard that Garlick suspects it was done by Capt. Trustleton’s son and Swikes’s boy,” said another man in the wagon.

“I heard that; and also that Garlick had horsewhipped these boys for stealing his peaches,” added the first speaker.

The wagon passed on, and Wade heard no more that was said. The truth was coming out sooner than he expected. Though it was nothing but a suspicion, it had a correct foundation. He wondered what Swikes and his wife would say the next day when they heard the news. So far as Wade knew, Matt’s father and mother had not discovered his absence from the house. If his mother went to his chamber to tell him about the fire, and found he was not there, she would naturally suppose he had seen it, and gone to it.

Wade crossed the road as soon as the vehicles had all passed, and made his way to the sail-boat in the creek. He hauled her in, and went on board of her. For a boat so old, and which had been so much abused since the death of her owner, she was very dry and tight. The night was rather chilly, and Wade felt cold in his thin overalls. He dressed himself in the clothes he had brought from his chamber. Rolling up the garments he had taken off, he used the bundle for a pillow, and lay down on the bed of hay. It was not the first time he had slept in the boat; and, on the whole, he thought it was a better place than the garret he occupied.

He closed the door of the cuddy so as to keep out the night air, and fastened it on the inside, for the hook his father had put on the door for this purpose was still available. Wade had worked very hard all the day, to say nothing of the excitement he had passed through; and he was tired and sleepy. He had eaten the brown bread taken from the pantry while he was behind the corn-house; for he did not forget at any time before that he was hungry, or not for more than a few minutes at a time. He was therefore in good condition to go to sleep, and he did go to sleep as soon as he was comfortable in his bed of hay.

It was not more than ten o’clock in the evening when the fire broke out, and it was not after eleven when Wade went to sleep. He slept very soundly, as a weary boy should. If any one had pounded on the half-deck above his head, it would hardly have waked him. After the fire had burned out all the remnants of Mr. Garlick’s barn, the people of Midhampton went to their homes; and not even a detail of firemen was left to watch the smouldering embers. No doubt the people of the town slept better after they returned to their beds.

While the fire was still burning, Capt. Trustleton walked over to the house of Obed Swikes. It was not till the worst of the fire was subsided, that he appeared; and Wade had gone to the creek.

“I suppose you have heard the bad news,” said the captain to the Swikeses, whom he found still in front of the old black house, watching the dying-out of the fire.

“No! what bad news?” demanded Swikes, with a start.

“Haven’t you heard any thing about it?” continued the retired shipmaster, in evident surprise.

“Heard about what? I don’t know what you are talking about,” replied Swikes.

“I supposed you must have heard it, for it is in everybody’s mouth, and it has come to me a dozen times since I came out of the house to see where the fire was,” added Capt. Trustleton, still giving no hint of the nature of the bad news.

“What’s in everybody’s mouth? I haven’t been any further from the house than this; and I hain’t heerd a word about any thing,” said the puzzled farmer.

“What on airth is it, Capt. Trustleton?” asked Mrs. Swikes, whose curiosity had been roused to the highest pitch.

“It will come hard on you as it did on me when I first heard it,” added the captain, who did not seem to be very willing to tell the hard news, or at least to be the first to break it to the Swikeses. “It is said that your boy and mine are concerned in setting that barn on fire.”

“Good gracious!” exclaimed farmer Swikes.

“It’s a wicked lie!” protested Mrs. Swikes.

“I hope it is, marm; but I confess it looks rather bad for the boys,” replied Capt. Trustleton.

“I know it ain’t so!” repeated the woman. “My boy would no more do such a thing than he would cut his father’s throat. Now I think on’t, Matthew hasn’t been out of the house to-night. He was so tired that the noise didn’t wake him, and he has slept through the whole on’t.”

“Are you sure of it, Mrs. Swikes?” asked the captain with deep interest; for, if Matt was abed, it might be that his own boy was also innocent.

“Of course I’m sure on’t,” replied the mother of the hopeful son. “I haven’t seen nothin’ on him; and I know I should if he had been about.”

The heart of the captain sank within him as the hope died out of his heart.

“I think you had better look into his chamber, and see whether he is there,” suggested Capt. Trustleton.

“I’ll do it this minute; and you’ll find that Matthew hasn’t been out of the house,” said Mrs. Swikes confidently.

She led the way into the house by the front door, followed by her husband and the captain. Matt’s chamber opened out of the front entry; and his mother, after getting the candle in the kitchen, passed into the boy’s room. The solution was full of interest to the parents of both of the bad boys, and the two fathers followed the confident mother into the apartment of Matt.

The bed was empty. Capt. Trustleton had expected this result of the investigation. He was afraid the charge against the boys was true.

“I was never so astonished in all my life!” exclaimed Mrs. Swikes. “I was sure Matthew was in his bed. He is a very good boy, and I never knew him to do any thing wrong.”

If she spoke the truth, she was almost the only one in town who had never known Matt Swikes to do any thing wrong. But then, Matt was a spoiled child.

“I have had a talk with Garlick; and he says he horsewhipped my boy and yours for stealing his finest peaches,” said Capt. Trustleton. “He thinks they set his barn on fire to be revenged on him.”

“But Matthew said it was Wade Brooks that stole the peaches,” interposed Mrs. Swikes, “and then laid it to your boy and mine.”

“Garlick told me about that. It seems that Alonzo and Matthew laid it to Wade; but the peaches were found on your son and mine.”

“I declare. I don’t believe my boy would steal peaches, or any thing else,” persisted the mother of the hopeful son. “But we know that Wade Brooks will steal, for husband had two hundred dollars in the house, and he stole it this very night,” continued Matt’s mother.

“Wade stole it! Are you sure of that?” asked the captain.

“The money is gone, and so is Wade.”

“And so is Matthew,” added Capt. Trustleton.

“You don’t mean to say that you think my son stole the money?” demanded the mother of Matt indignantly.

“I think it more likely than that Wade Brooks stole it,” replied the captain. “This is a bad scrape for the boys, and it may cost them some years in the penitentiary. I do not know that money will save them. If it will, it will cost us about a thousand dollars apiece.”

Farmer Swikes groaned in anguish at the prospect.

“I am afraid the stealing of the money only shows that the boys are guilty, and intend to clear out to avoid the penalty of the crime. The money was stolen to pay the expenses of the journey. Perhaps I shall find that my boy has robbed me of some money. We had better look these things fairly in the face, and provide for the worst. I will see you again in the morning.”

Capt. Trustleton departed for his elegant house; and he would have given the whole of it to have his son out of this scrape. The Swikeses had enough to keep them awake that night.

CHAPTER V.

HOW IT WAS DONE.

Mrs. Swikes hardly closed her eyes on the night of the fire; and half a dozen times before morning she went to Matt’s room to see whether he had returned or not. He was not seen again that night.

When Capt. Trustleton reached his magnificent house, he went to the chamber of Alonzo to see if he was there. The room was without its occupant, though it was eleven o’clock. The bed was not tumbled, and the son had not been into it. The captain was a widower; so that there was no mother in this beautiful home to worry over the departure of a son, and to grieve over his error.

But where were Lon and Matt? The son of the rich man had threatened Mr. Garlick, and declared that he would “get even with him.” It now appeared that he had done so. Possibly Garlick believed by this time that it did not pay to protect his own property in just the way he had done it, though his barn and the stock it contained were fully insured. He had an idea that those boys would spend a long term in prison. He was not sure that the boys had set the fire, and perhaps he could not prove it; but he was very well satisfied in his own mind, and so were his two hired men.

Lon and Matt had agreed to meet near the house of the latter at nine o’clock in the evening. The Swikeses went to bed in summer as soon as it was dark, not only to save candles, but to be in condition to get up as soon as it was light in the morning. Matt had been punctual to the time; but Lon was half an hour late, for his father was in such a position that he could not get out of the house any sooner. They were ready to do the wicked job to which their smarting limbs still prompted them. But Lon was wise enough to look up the means of retreat before the battle was fought.

If they were seen in the vicinity of the burning barn, it would be evidence against them. The first blaze of light might betray them to Garlick and his hired men. Perhaps Lon was not a worse boy than his companion; but he had more genius for mischief, and more calculation in getting out of a scrape.

“It won’t do for us to be seen anywhere near the barn when the blaze begins,” said he, after they had talked it over in the cornfield near the doomed building.

“But we can’t do any thing without being near it,” reasoned Matt.

“We must get out of the way before the people come to the fire; and it won’t do for us to show ourselves on the river road.”

“How shall we get home, then?”

“I’ll tell you the best way to do it,” said Lon, who fathered all the bright thoughts. “I will go home, and make sure that my father sees me before I go to bed; and you will do the same with your folks. You live close by the barn; and you can get out of bed, come over here, and touch off the fire, and then get back to your room, without being seen.”

“And where will you be all the time I am doing this?” asked Matt; and the idea did not strike him as a very bright one.

“I shall be in my bed, sound asleep, so far as my father may know; and I shall not go out of the house, or know any thing about the fire, till to-morrow morning. Then I shall be very much surprised at breakfast-time when my father tells me that Garlick’s barn has been burned in the night. I shall ask him what time it was, and all about it.”

“That’s all very nice for you,” replied Matt coldly, and without giving his friend much credit for his inventive genius.

“Don’t you think that’s a good plan?” asked Lon, with no little enthusiasm.

“First-rate for you, but not worth a straw for me,” answered Matt. “You are going to do nothing at all, and I am to do it all: you are going to bed, and I am to do the job.”

“But you live close by the barn, while I live half a mile from it. You can make the blaze without any risk; and if I am caught it will make it just as bad as for you.”

“I’m not going to do the thing all alone, and run all the risk. If that is the way you mean to manage it, we will give it up, and go home and go to bed.”

“I only mentioned that as one way.”

“It’s no way at all.”

“Very well, then I will stay with you. But what are we to do when the blaze breaks out?” asked Lon.

“We must get out of the way, I suppose,” added Matt vacantly.

“We must keep clear of the river road. I think we shall have to stay out all night; and then we shall be sure to be suspected.”

It was a hard problem to adjust, and Lon beat his brains till he hit on something that pleased him.

“If we only had some money, I should be in for going to New York. We could have a good time for two or three weeks; and by that time your father and mine could fix up the matter of burning the barn, if they lay it to us.”

“They will lay it to us if we clear out,” added Matt.

“But they can’t prove any thing: and I rather want Garlick to think we did the job,” added Lon, rubbing his sore legs; “but I don’t want him to be able to prove it.”

“I don’t believe he will be able to prove any thing, for the barn is a long way from his house: and I know his hired men do not live with him, but over in the village.”

“If we only had some money, I could fix it all in two seconds,” continued Lon. “If my father had any about the house, I would help myself.”

“Perhaps I can raise some,” suggested Matt, as he thought of the wallet concealed in the closet over the mantle-piece.

“If you can, we shall be all right.”

“You hold on here for three minutes, and I will see what I can do,” said Matt.

“How long will you be?” asked Lon.

“Not more than five or ten minutes.”

Matt returned to his father’s house; and the events before related occurred while Wade Brooks was looking through the crack of the pantry door. Matt obtained possession of the wallet, and went back to the cornfield.

“Did you get it?” asked Lon.

“I did.”

“How much?”

“About two hundred dollars,” replied Matt; and we will do him the justice to say that he trembled all over, he was so agitated by the crime he had committed.

“Two hundred dollars!” exclaimed Lon. “That is a big haul.”

“If it’s too much, I will carry part of it back; for my father will howl terribly when he finds it is all gone,” replied Matt.

“The more the better,” added Lon lightly. “Now we are in condition to do business. My father says no one should ever attempt to do business without capital; and I shall heed his opinion.”

Matt did not seem to feel that he was doing more than his share of the business; but then he had the honor of being a friend of the rich man’s son, and that was something.

“Well, now tell us what you are going to do,” said he with deep interest; so deep that for a time he forgot the crime he had already committed, in his desire to add another to it.

“There is no trouble about it now. We can manage it now as easy as you can fall off a wood-pile. Money makes the mare go; and we can reward old Phil Garlick for his kindness to us, without making anybody weep but himself,” rattled Lon; in whose mind there was a vision of a “good time” in New York, with plenty of theatre, fun, and frolic.

“Well, why don’t you tell how it is to be done?” said Matt impatiently.

“I will tell you all about it,” answered Lon, who had no intention of bothering his companion, and had only delayed the explanation of his plans because his thoughts were running faster than his words. “In the first place, the barn is between the road and the river. As soon as we have got the things ready for the blaze, we will touch them off, and then make for the river; then we shall meet nobody to molest or make us afraid.”

“That’s good,” added Matt approvingly.

“Of course it is; and there is no such thing as fail about this plan. We will keep out of sight in the bushes by the river, till everybody in town has gone to sleep.”

“Do you mean to stay in that hole till morning?” asked Matt, who did not like the idea.

“Not at all; only till the folks are gone. You see, it wouldn’t do to move about while the people are looking at the fire, for we should be seen.”

“But won’t the engines come to the river for water?” suggested Matt.

“No: the pond at the foot of the hill isn’t half as far from the barn as the river, and they will take water from that. Nobody will come near us, you may depend upon that.”

“Where shall we go after the folks in town have all gone to bed?” asked Matt.

“About midnight we will follow the river up to the creek, and go on board of the old sail-boat. There is a nice little breeze blowing now, and it would carry us down to the Sound in two or three hours.”

“Bully for you, Lon!” exclaimed Matt, who was delighted with this plan.

He had often thought of making a trip to the Sound in this boat; for, like most boys, he was fond of adventure. In accordance with this plan, the young villains made their way to the barn. Lon had prepared the combustibles. He had a slow-match, which was to burn down when they had placed half a mile or more between themselves and the barn; then it was to light a bunch of block matches, and this would communicate the fire to a heap of combustibles under the floor of the barn. Unfortunately, every thing worked as had been intended, and the boys were in their hiding-place some time before the fire broke out. Of course no one would see them in the road, or anywhere near the fire.

Each kept up the courage of the other; and, if either had been alone, he would not have had the pluck to do the evil deed. If they had been alone they might have repented of the crime, and considered the consequences; but they talked of the trip to New York, and stifled their consciences with the glories of the excursion to the great city. It was late in August; and the weather was pleasant, though rather cool at night. It would be fine sailing on the Sound. At midnight they walked to the creek, and got into the old boat.

CHAPTER VI.

DOWN THE RIVER.

“Now we are all right,” said Lon, as he stepped into the boat.

“I don’t think any one has seen us,” added Matt, following his companion.

“No one could have seen us.”

“Shall we start now?”

“Yes: we may as well be moving. It must be twelve o’clock by this time,” added Lon, as he looked at his watch; but it was so dark he could not see a figure on the dial.

“Do you expect to get to New York in this boat, Lon?” asked Matt, as he seated himself in the stand-room.

“Of course I do: what’s to prevent? It don’t leak, and there is water all the way to New York.”

“But you don’t know how to manage a boat any more than I do,” said Matt, to whom this seemed to be a difficulty.

“It is easy enough to manage her; and, if I don’t know how, I can soon learn,” replied the master spirit of the enterprise. “I have seen how the thing is done, and I’m pretty sure that I can do it.”

“But your father would never let you have a boat, or even sail in this one.”

“Though he has been to sea for thirty years of his life, he is afraid of a sail-boat. He says he can handle a ship, but not one of these little things.”

“If we are going, why don’t we go?” asked Matt.

“Because you don’t hoist the sail.”

“I don’t know any thing about the sail, and I don’t believe I can hoist it. If Wade Brooks was here, he could do it; and he knows how to sail the boat, for he learned of his father. I heard some one say that he is a good boatman.”

“But Wade Brooks isn’t here; and I am glad he is not,” replied Lon. “He is a goody; and I’ll half kill him, if I ever see him again, for telling old Phil Garlick that we licked him for not stealing peaches.”

Matt went to the sail, and began to fumble it over in the darkness; but he could make nothing of it. On the whole, he was a rather stupid fellow, and he was not likely to learn any thing in the dark. He could not undo the sail; and he gave up the task in a moment in despair. Then Lon tried his hand, and succeeded in removing the stops. After trying all the ropes about the mast (for the boat was a sloop), he found the halyards. By observing what part of the sail moved when he pulled at these lines, he found which was the peak, and which was the throat halyard. Giving one to Matt, he heaved on the other; and at last they managed to get the sail up, though not in very good shape.

“Now you take an oar, Matt, and shove her out from the shore, while I mind the helm,” said Lon, as he assumed the duties of skipper.

There was no wind in the creek; and Matt worked the boat out into the river with the oar. As soon as she had passed a wooded point, the sail took the breeze, and the boat heeled over so as to scare Matt half out of his wits; for he had hardly ever been out in a sail-boat.

“Mind what you are about, Lon!” exclaimed Matt. “You will upset her, and then where shall we be?”

“In the water,” coolly replied Lon.

“But I don’t want to be in the water.”

“Nor I either; and I don’t think there is any more danger of it than there is of the sky falling. The boat is doing very well.”

The wind was north-west, and the course of the river was about south at the place where the adventurers embarked; and it was not very difficult to make the boat go after she felt the breeze. Lon had a tolerable idea of the handling of the tiller; for he had tried his hand at it in a stolen sail in this old boat. As long as it was plain sailing, he was likely to do very well. He experimented with the sail and the helm till he got the hang of them. When a bend of the river made the course south-west, he soon learned to haul in the sheet. The wind was so light that the boat did not make more than two miles an hour, and, as long as the skipper kept the old craft in the middle of the river, there was nothing to prevent her from going, and it was not very perilous navigation.

“I can handle her first-rate now,” said Lon, when the boat had been moving about half an hour. “Long before we get to the Sound, I shall know all about this business.”

“It will be another thing when we get out of the river, and we have to go out to sea,” croaked Matt.

“What odds does it make whether we are in the river, or on the sound? Both of them are water; and the boat will go as long as she has any wind.”

“Suppose the wind comes from the wrong way: what are you going to do then?” inquired Matt.

“I know how to do it then. You keep her zigzagging towards the point where you want to go.”

“I have heard my father tell about some kind of a bad place which the steamboats have to go through when they go to New York: how will you get through that?” And Matt thought he had given Lon a poser this time.