I'm c-c-c-comin'!"

In an instant he had leaped down beside her and put his arm around her quivering shoulders. In all his life he had never been so sorry for anybody or anything as now for her and for his own neglectful selfishness, which had brought her to such a pa.s.s. Yet, heedless Monty had had many causes for regret during his previous career!

"I thought I should die! Oh, it was so awful! I thought I should certainly die here alone in this place. The wind would almost tear the roof off, and Punchy howled--he thought he was dying, too, maybe. But it was he kept me from it--quite. I never loved him so in all my life!

Can--is there a way--you've got in, too, but is there a way out? I was hungry, I thought I would starve. Then I forgot that--listening. And the lightning--I was sure it had struck again and again. I waited to see the hay blaze up. Lightning always does strike barns, doesn't it?"

With a philosophy beyond his years Montgomery changed the subject.

"I shall have to boost you, i-i-if you c-c-can't climb without. P-p-put your feet right th-th-there--I'm b-bo-boo-boostin' my best! Catch hold the s-sill! Cracky! Up you g-g-go!"

Up she went, indeed, fear forgotten, every nerve strained, eager already to attain and excel in this new feat of climbing. Folks who lived in the country had to climb--or perish--it seemed. And once upon the sill she rolled over it to the broad floor of the barn and felt herself at last in safety.

But there still remained that other climb, to reach the broken window and through it freedom and friends outside. However, this was a trifle.

Montgomery brought a short ladder, which he placed beneath the window that he had had the forethought to unbolt from the outside, and when the sash rolled back in its groove Katharine was already on the ledge, Susanna's strong arms clasping her and Aunt Eunice standing near.

Such an hour as followed! Such indigestibly delightful foods as Susanna brought from her storeroom--harbingers of holiday feasts to come--and of which the children were permitted to partake without any harm or restriction.

"Let the poor little creatur's get their stummicks full for once, sence nary one hain't had a mouthful of victuals, scurce that, to-day," cried Susanna, herself feasting her eyes upon the now joyous faces of the youngsters.

Then what a tap-tap-tapping sounded on the floor of the kitchen chamber! Aunt Eunice interpreting the same to mean:

"Poor Moses is feeling left out of all our rejoicing and feels aggrieved. He wants us all to come up and tell him the whole story, since he cannot himself come to us. But alas for Deacon Meakin! I don't envy him his forthcoming interview with my hired man to-morrow morning.

It is Moses' right to still direct matters, even if he cannot work. Both men are what Mrs. Meakin calls 'sot,' and I foresee some jarring of wheels, so to speak, before they run smooth. But let us go up at once, and then Monty must be starting home."

The boy sighed. This was all delightful. Badly as he had behaved, he had received no reproof. Instead of that, there was such rejoicing over Katharine's safety that his sins had, apparently, been forgotten. Yet it must end--there still remained the long and desolate road home!

Monty talked as fast as ever a boy could, nor did Katharine's tongue lag far behind, and for a time Moses listened eagerly. Then there came pangs of physical suffering which banished interest in all else, and while he was meditating how now best to rid himself of his guests, the hall clock struck nine.

"Nine o'clock! My suz! I didn't know it was half so late!" cried Susanna, honestly surprised. "Time you was home and abed, Montgomery Sturtevant, keepin' your poor grandmother up all hours like this, just account your pranks. My suz! and such a day. May I never see another like it!"

"Amen!" echoed poor Mr. Jones, so devoutly and in a voice of such suffering that they all silently withdrew.

"Only nine o'clock? Does n.o.body ever sit up till a respectable hour, here in Marsden? Why, at home, our evenings never began till after this time," remarked Katharine, now so wide-awake, and, it must be confessed, having had her nerves freshly excited by the recital of her woes to the sympathizing ear of Uncle Moses.

"Pooh! N-n-nine o'clock's n-n-nothing," a.s.sented Monty, who had never been out so late before in all his life.

"Isn't it?" asked Aunt Eunice, smiling. "Well, all the same, though it is rude to dispatch a guest, I'm sure it is full time for you to be with your grandmother, as Susanna justly remarked. She is doubtless anxious about you; and as for you, Katy dear, you are living in quiet Marsden now and not your city home."

The storm was fully over when they opened the great front door, and the moonlight set all the rain-drenched shrubs and trees a-glitter, so that Katharine exclaimed:

"Oh, look! It seems as if the world was just laughing at itself for having been so naughty a little while ago!"

Aunt Eunice gave the child a little squeeze, thinking how "Johnny" would have had just such a fancy, and Monty, wondering if all girls had queer ideas, bade them good night and started whistling down the path.

"We'll stand here till you get beyond the first big tree, my lad, and we'll follow you in our minds all the way," said Miss Maitland, kindly.

Then to Katharine she added, softly: "He's doing that to keep his courage up."

"All the same he whistles beautifully," answered the girl, loyally. "If he could only speak as well as he whistles it would be splendid. Why, up there on the hay-mow to-day, some sort of bird--I think he said it was a meadow-lark, or skylark, or something--anyhow, it sang ex-quis-ite-ly!

And he mimicked it so well I almost thought another bird had come through the window into the barn. He's a real nice boy, Monty is, but--but he needs some 'retouching,' as papa darling used to say of his pictures."

"G.o.d bless him--and his own 'Kitty Quixote,'" murmured the old guardian, touched to a tender softness by--ah, many things! and promptly marshalling her latest charge to bed.

Lights were out all along the street as Montgomery's pa.s.sing whistle disturbed the early naps of these quiet folk, who had been so greatly interested and wearied by that day's unusual events. But the clear, birdlike tones were comfort to one hara.s.sed wanderer.

Shivering in his wet rags, he crept out from the shelter of a porch to hearken, as those boyish lips sent forth in flute-like tones the melody of "Home, Sweet Home." Hearkening, he followed, fearing he should lose the music which impressed him, all unknowing why; and as the whistler left the last village house behind him and set out to run over the long stretch of lonely road, which lay between that and the Mansion, the follower also ran.

Had Montgomery known this his pace would have been even swifter than it was, and the mere fear he now felt would have become abject terror.

But he did not know; and the unknown tramp soon lagged far behind. He had neither strength nor desire left to overtake the fleeing lad, since the whistling had ceased, and consciousness of his own misery returned upon him. So, presently he left the highway and limped across the fields toward the woods where instinct told him was safe hiding; and Montgomery reached the stately home of his forefathers in good time. Between the man and the boy there seemed no possible connection, yet circ.u.mstances were already linking their lives together as with a chain.

CHAPTER XIV.

ON A SAt.u.r.dAY AFTERNOON

When Deacon Meakin found that a barn window had had to be broken because of his forgetfulness to mention where he had put the keys, he insisted upon paying for and inserting the new gla.s.s himself. This distressed Miss Maitland and delighted Moses; but the new caretaker carried his point, declaring:

"If I can't do that I'll throw up the job. My own hired men, 'fore I moved in, had to pay for their breakin's, and sence I've turned myself into a hired man, well, it's a poor rule that don't work both ways, as the poet says, an' what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, or visy versy. There'll be no foolin' done on these premises whilst I'm in charge, an' the very first thing I'll tackle is--cleanin' up."

"Why, is that necessary? Beyond the work that comes with every day?

Surely, Moses is very neat," protested Eunice, on behalf of her old disabled helper.

"Hm-m. There's neatness--an' neatness; an' my friend Jones, he's a fisherman first, an' a farmer afterward;" returned the deacon, grimly.

The real truth was that the deacon had an idea of the wonderful casket's being hidden somewhere in that barn. As he reasoned with himself: "A barn's the least likely place for robbers to search for hid treasure, whether it is a gold box or a gold mine. Eunice, she is long-headed. She wouldn't want things in the house that might induce folks' breakin's in, more particular sence Widow Sprigg seen that tramp. She was tellin' me 'bout it when I come on the place this mornin'; an' n.o.body needn't tell me it was just to get a girl out the bay that that winder was stove in.

That's all c.o.c.k-an'-bull yarn; to throw me an' others off the track. But I'll find out, I'll find out."

Which shows how far one's imagination may lead in the wrong direction; and also explains why the curious, but well-meaning, man put himself to endless trouble, yet also did his own part in silencing the rumors of the previous day. Though, of course, his labors occupied him for several days, since the barn was big and his work so thorough. After emptying and refilling every bin and box, after cleaning every set of harness which had or had not been used for years, brushing the few cobwebs from the rafters, sweeping the floors over and over, he repaired to the hay-mow and industriously forked over the whole ma.s.s.

While he was engaged in this operation Susanna visited the barn and asked if he had gone crazy. His answer was:

"No, not crazy, but come to common sense. Don't suppose I'd feel very Christian-like, do ye, to loaf around doin' next to nothin' an' lettin'

a neighbor's hay heat? Might burn ye all up in your beds."

The widow reentered the house laughing, but indignant. "Says your hay's in danger o' heatin', Moses! As if you hadn't cured it till it was dry as tinder 'fore you mowed it up. Well, 'twon't do no harm, an' will keep him out of mischief. He's a reg'lar poke-noser, Deacon Meakin is. But he's routed them hens so there won't be no more egg-layin' in high places, breakin' a body's neck to hunt 'em. But, my suz! I wish you could ha' seen that man's face when he handed me over your fishin'-tackle. You'd ha' thought 'twas poison, the way he touched it."

Moses was both angry and amused, but contented himself with remarking:

"Si Meakin never could catch fish even when he was boy goin' to school.

He was always a gabbler, an' fish has got sense. They won't bite for noisy folks. Slow an' gentle, bide your time an' keep your mouth shut--that's fishin' for ye. Oh, shall I ever get to go again!"

"Sure. But it's time for your chicken broth. I've stewed it down rich an' tasty, an' there's one good thing 'bout broken legs an' ribs: they ain't broken stummicks. I'd ruther you'd have forty broken legs than the dyspepsy, 'cause when I take the pains to cook good victuals, I like to have 'em et. Now, turn your head a mite. Here's a nice new straw to drink your broth through, an' a pile more for you to chew on, like you're always doin'. Seems if a man must always have somethin' in his mouth, an' if it ain't tobacco it's straws. Spriggs he--"

"Don't give me no 'Spriggs,' to-day; I couldn't stand him. You've told more things 'at Spriggs done in his thirty years of life than would ha'

kept most men busy till they was a hundered!" cried Moses, petulantly.

"And if Kitty Keehoty, or Monty, ary one, comes 'round, do for pity's sake send 'em up. Here I lie, ball-an'-chained to a bed and things--Oh, dear!"