Glengarry Schooldays

R >> Ralph Connor >> Glengarry Schooldays


But above all, it seemed to him a standing disgrace that the habitant
teamsters from the north, who in former days found it a necessary and
wise precaution to put their horses to a gallop as they passed the
school, in order to escape with sleighs intact from the hordes that
lined the roadway, now drove slowly past the very gate without an
apparent tremor. But besides all this, he had an instinctive shrinking
from Foxy, and sympathized with Betsy Dan in her creepy feeling whenever
he approached. Hence he refused allegiance, and drew upon himself Foxy's
jealous hatred.

It was one of Foxy's few errors in judgment that, from his desire to
humiliate Hughie and to bring him to a proper state of subjection,
he succeeded in shutting him out from the leadership in the game
of "Injuns," for Hughie promptly refused a subordinate position and
withdrew, like Achilles, to his tent. But, unlike Achilles, though he
sulked, he sulked actively, and to some purpose, for, drawing off with
him his two faithful henchmen, "Fusie"--neither Hughie nor any one else
ever knew another name for the little French boy who had drifted into
the settlement and made his home with the MacLeods--and Davie "Scotch,"
a cousin of Davie MacDougall, newly arrived from Scotland, he placed
them in positions which commanded the store entrance, and waited until
the settlers had all departed upon their expedition against the invading
Indians. Foxy, with one or two smaller boys, was left in charge of the
store waiting for trade.

In a few moments Foxy's head appeared at the door, when, whiz! a
snowball skinned his ear and flattened itself with a bang against the
slabs.

"Hold on there! Stop that! You're too close up," shouted Foxy, thinking
that the invaders were breaking the rules of the game.

Bang! a snowball from another quarter caught him fair in the neck.

"Here, you fools, you! Stop that!" cried Foxy, turning in the direction
whence the snowball came and dodging round to the side of the store.
But this was Hughie's point of attack, and soon Foxy found that the only
place of refuge was inside, whither he fled, closing the door after him.
Immediately the door became a target for the hidden foe.

Meantime, the Indian war was progressing, but now and again a settler
would return to the fort for ammunition, and the moment he reached the
door a volley of snowballs would catch him and hasten his entrance. Once
in it was dangerous to come out.

By degrees Hughie augmented his besieging force from the more
adventurous settlers and Indians, and placed them in the bush
surrounding the door.

The war game was demoralized, but the new game proved so much more
interesting that it was taken up with enthusiasm and prosecuted with
vigor. It was rare sport. For the whole noon hour Hughie and his
bombarding force kept Foxy and his friends in close confinement, from
which they were relieved only by the ringing of the school bell, for at
the sound of the bell Hughie and his men, having had their game, fled
from Foxy's wrath to the shelter of the school.

When Foxy appeared it was discovered that one eye was half shut, but the
light that gleamed from the other was sufficiently baleful to give token
of the wrath blazing within, and Hughie was not a little anxious to know
what form Foxy's vengeance would take. But to his surprise, by the time
recess had come Foxy's wrath had apparently vanished, and he was willing
to treat Hughie's exploit in the light of a joke. The truth was, Foxy
never allowed passion to interfere with business, and hence he resolved
that he must swallow his rage, for he realized clearly that Hughie
was far too dangerous as a foe, and that he might become exceedingly
valuable as an ally. Within a week Hughie was Foxy's partner in
business, enjoying hugely the privilege of dispensing the store goods,
with certain perquisites that naturally attached to him as storekeeper.



CHAPTER VIII

FOXY'S PARTNER


It was an evil day for Hughie when he made friends with Foxy and became
his partner in the store business, for Hughie's hoardings were never
large, and after buying a Christmas present for his mother, according
to his unfailing custom, they were reduced to a very few pennies indeed.
The opportunities for investment in his new position were many and
alluring. But all Hughie's soul went out in longing for a pistol which
Foxy had among his goods, and which would fire not only caps, but powder
and ball, and his longing was sensibly increased by Foxy generously
allowing him to try the pistol, first at a mark, which Hughie hit, and
then at a red squirrel, which he missed. By day Hughie yearned for this
pistol, by night he dreamed of it, but how he might secure it for his
own he did not know.

Upon this point he felt he could not consult his mother, his usual
counselor, for he had an instinctive feeling that she would not approve
of his having a pistol in his possession; and as for his father, Hughie
knew he would soon make "short work of any such folly." What would a
child like Hughie do with a pistol? He had never had a pistol in all his
life. It was difficult for the minister to realize that young Canada was
a new type, and he would have been more than surprised had any one told
him that already Hughie, although only twelve, was an expert with a gun,
having for many a Saturday during the long, sunny fall roamed the woods,
at first in company with Don, and afterwards with Don's gun alone, or
followed by Fusie or Davie Scotch. There was thus no help for Hughie at
home. The price of the pistol reduced to the lowest possible sum, was
two dollars and a half, which Foxy declared was only half what he would
charge any one else but his partner.

"How much have you got altogether?" he asked Hughie one day, when Hughie
was groaning over his poverty.

"Six pennies and two dimes," was Hughie's disconsolate reply. He had
often counted them over. "Of course," he went on, "there's my XL knife.
That's worth a lot, only the point of the big blade's broken."

"Huh!" grunted Foxy, "there's jist the stub left."

"It's not!" said Hughie, indignantly. "It's more than half, then. And
it's bully good stuff, too. It'll nick any knife in the school"; and
Hughie dived into his pocket and pulled out his knife with a handful of
boy's treasures.

"Hullo!" said Foxy, snatching a half-dollar from Hughie's hand, "whose
is that?"

"Here, you, give me that! That's not mine," cried Hughie.

"Whose is it, then?"

"I don't know. I guess it's mother's. I found it on the kitchen floor,
and I know it's mother's."

"How do you know?"

"I know well enough. She often puts money on the window, and it fell
down. Give me that, I tell you!" Hughie's eyes were blazing dangerously,
and Foxy handed back the half-dollar.

"O, all right. You're a pretty big fool," he said, indifferently.
"'Losers seekers, finders keepers.' That's my rule."

Hughie was silent, holding his precious half-dollar in his hand, deep in
his pocket.

"Say," said Foxy, changing the subject, "I guess you had better pay up
for your powder and caps you've been firing."

"I haven't been firing much," said Hughie, confidently.

"Well, you've been firing pretty steady for three weeks."

"Three weeks! It isn't three weeks."

"It is. There's this week, and last week when the ink-bottle bust too
soon and burnt Fusie's eyebrows, and the week before when you shot Aleck
Dan, and it was the week before that you began, and that'll make it
four."

"How much?" asked Hughie, desperately, resolved to know the worst.

Foxy had been preparing for this. He took down a slate-pencil box with a
sliding lid, and drew out a bundle of crumbled slips which Hughie, with
sinking heart, recognized as his own vouchers.

"Sixteen pennies." Foxy had taken care of this part of the business.

"Sixteen!" exclaimed Hughie, snatching up the bunch.

"Count them yourself," said Foxy, calmly, knowing well he could count on
Hughie's honesty.

"Seventeen," said Hughie, hopelessly.

"But one of those I didn't count," said Foxy, generously. "That's the
one I gave you to try at the first. Now, I tell you," went on Foxy,
insinuatingly, "you have got how much at home?" he inquired.

"Six pennies and two dimes." Hughie's tone indicated despair.

"You've got six pennies and two dimes. Six pennies and two dimes. That's
twenty--that's thirty-two cents. Now if you paid me that thirty-two
cents, and if you could get a half-dollar anywhere, that would be
eighty-two. I tell you what I would do. I would let you have that pistol
for only one dollar more. That ain't much," he said.

"Only a dollar more," said Hughie, calculating rapidly. "But where would
I get the fifty cents?" The dollar seemed at that moment to Hughie quite
a possible thing, if only the fifty cents could be got. The dollar was
more remote, and therefore less pressing.

Foxy had an inspiration.

"I tell you what. You borrow that fifty cents you found, and then you
can pay me eighty-two cents, and--and--" he hesitated--"perhaps you will
find some more, or something."

Hughie's eyes were blazing with great fierceness.

Foxy hastened to add, "And I'll let you have the pistol right off, and
you'll pay me again some time when you can, the other dollar."

Hughie checked the indignant answer that was at his lips. To have the
pistol as his own, to take home with him at night, and to keep all
Saturday--the temptation was great, and coming suddenly upon Hughie,
was too much for him. He would surely, somehow, soon pay back the fifty
cents, he argued, and Foxy would wait for the dollar. And yet that
half-dollar was not his, but his mother's, and more than that, if he
asked her for it, he was pretty sure she would refuse. But then, he
doubted his mother's judgment as to his ability to use firearms, and
besides, this pistol at that price was a great bargain, and any of the
boys might pick it up. Poor Hughie! He did not know how ancient was that
argument, nor how frequently it had done duty in smoothing the descent
to the lower regions. The pistol was good to look at, the opportunity
of securing it was such as might not occur again, and as for the
half-dollar, there could be no harm in borrowing that for a little
while.

That was Foxy's day of triumph, but to Hughie it was the beginning of
many woeful days and nights. And his misery came upon him swift and
sure, in the very moment that he turned in from the road at the manse
gate, for he knew that at the end of the lane would be his mother, and
his winged feet, upon which he usually flew from the gate home, dragged
heavily.

He found his mother, not at the door, but in the large, pleasant
living-room, which did for all kinds of rooms in the manse. It was
dining-room and sewing-room, nursery and playroom, but it was always
a good room to enter, and in spite of playthings strewn about, or
snippings of cloth, or other stour, it was always a place of brightness
and of peace, for it was there the mother was most frequently to be
found. This evening she was at the sewing-machine busy with Hughie's
Sunday clothes, with the baby asleep in the cradle beside her in spite
of the din of the flying wheels, and little Robbie helping to pull
through the long seam. Hughie shrank from the warm, bright, loving
atmosphere that seemed to fill the room, hating to go in, but in a
moment he realized that he must "make believe" with his mother, and the
pain of it and the shame of it startled and amazed him. He was glad that
his mother did not notice him enter, and by the time he had put away
his books he had braced himself to meet her bright smile and her welcome
kiss.

The mother did not apparently notice his hesitation.

"Well, my boy, home again?" she cried, holding out her hand to him with
the air of good comradeship she always wore with him. "Are you very
hungry?"

"You bet!" said Hughie, kissing her, and glad of the chance to get away.

"Well, you will find something pretty nice in the pantry we saved for
you. Guess what."

"Don't know."

"I know," shouted Robbie. "Pie! It's muzzie's pie. Muzzie tept it for
'oo."

"Now, Robbie, you were not to tell," said his mother, shaking her finger
at him.

"O-o-o, I fordot," said Robbie, horrified at his failure to keep his
promise.

"Never mind. That's a lesson you will have to learn many times, how to
keep those little lips shut. And the pie will be just as good."

"Thank you, mother," said Hughie. "But I don't want your pie."

"My pie!" said the mother. "Pie isn't good for old women."

"Old women!" said Hughie, indignantly. "You're the youngest and
prettiest woman in the congregation," he cried, and forgetting for the
moment his sense of meanness, he threw his arms round his mother.

"Oh, Hughie, shame on you! What a dreadful flatterer you are!" said his
mother. "Now, run away to your pie, and then to your evening work, my
boy, and we will have a good lesson together after supper."

Hughie ran away, glad to get out of her presence, and seizing the pie,
carried it out to the barn and hurled it far into the snow. He felt sure
that a single bite of it would choke him.

If he could only have seen Foxy any time for the next hour, how gladly
would he have given him back his pistol, but by the time he had fed
his cow and the horses, split the wood and carried it in, and prepared
kindling for the morning's fires, he had become accustomed to his new
self, and had learned his first lesson in keeping his emotions out of
his face. But from that night, and through all the long weeks of the
breaking winter, when games in the woods were impossible by reason
of the snow and water, and when the roads were deep with mud, Hughie
carried his burden with him, till life was one long weariness and dread.

And through these days he was Foxy's slave. A pistol without ammunition
was quite useless. Foxy's stock was near at hand. It was easy to write a
voucher for a penny's worth of powder or caps, and consequently the pile
in Foxy's pencil-box steadily mounted till Hughie was afraid to look at
it. His chance of being free from his own conscience was still remote
enough.

During these days, too, Foxy reveled in his power over his rival, and
ground his slave in bitter bondage, subjecting him to such humiliation
as made the school wonder and Hughie writhe; and if ever Hughie showed
any sign of resentment or rebellion, Foxy could tame him to groveling
submission by a single word. "Well, I guess I'll go down to-night to see
your mother," was all he needed to say to make Hughie grovel again.
For with Hughie it was not the fear of his father's wrath and heavy
punishment, though that was terrible enough, but the dread that his
mother should know, that made him grovel before his tyrant, and wake at
night in a cold sweat. His mother's tender anxiety for his pale face and
gloomy looks only added to the misery of his heart.

He had no one in whom he could confide. He could not tell any of the
boys, for he was unwilling to lose their esteem, besides, it was none
of their business; he was terrified of his father's wrath, and from his
mother, his usual and unfailing resort in every trouble of his whole
life, he was now separated by his terrible secret.

Then Foxy began to insist upon payment of his debts. Spring was at hand,
the store would soon be closed up, for business was slack in the summer,
and besides, Foxy had other use for his money.

"Haven't you got any money at all in your house?" Foxy sneered one day,
when Hughie was declaring his inability to meet his debts.

"Of course we have," cried Hughie, indignantly.

"Don't believe it," said Foxy, contemptuously.

"Father's drawer is sometimes full of dimes and half-dimes. At least,
there's an awful lot on Mondays, from the collections, you know," said
Hughie.

"Well, then, you had better get some for me, somehow," said Foxy. "You
might borrow some from the drawer for a little while."

"That would be stealing," said Hughie.

"You wouldn't mean to keep it," said Foxy. "You would only take it for a
while. It would just be borrowing."

"It wouldn't," said Hughie, firmly. "It's taking out of his drawer. It's
stealing, and I won't steal."

"Huh! you're mighty good all at once. What about that half-dollar?"

"You said yourself that wasn't stealing," said Hughie, passionately.

"Well, what's the difference? You said it was your mother's, and this is
your father's. It's all the same, except that you're afraid to take your
father's."

"I'm not afraid. At least it isn't that. But it's different to take
money out of a drawer, that isn't your own."

"Huh! Mighty lot of difference! Money's money, wherever it is. Besides,
if you borrowed this from your father, you could pay back your mother
and me. You would pay the whole thing right off."

Once more Hughie argued with himself. To be free from Foxy's hateful
tyranny, and to be clear again with his mother--for that he would be
willing to suffer almost anything. But to take money out of that drawer
was awfully like stealing. Of course he would pay it back, and after all
it would only be borrowing. Besides, it would enable him to repay what
he owed to his mother and to Foxy. Through all the mazes of specious
argument Hughie worked his way, arriving at no conclusion, except that
he carried with him a feeling that if he could by some means get that
money out of the drawer in a way that would not be stealing, it would be
a vast relief, greater than words could tell.

That night brought him the opportunity. His father and mother were away
at the prayer meeting. There was only Jessie left in the house, and she
was busy with the younger children. With the firm resolve that he would
not take a single half-dime from his father's drawer, he went into the
study. He would like to see if the drawer were open. Yes, it was open,
and the Sabbath's collection lay there with all its shining invitation.
He tried making up the dollar and a half out of the dimes and
half-dimes. What a lot of half-dimes it took! But when he used the
quarters and dimes, how much smaller the piles were. Only two quarters
and five dimes made up the dollar, and the pile in the drawer looked
pretty much the same as before. Another quarter-dollar withdrawn from
the drawer made little difference. He looked at the little heaps on
the table. He believed he could make Foxy take that for his whole debt,
though he was sure he owed him more. Perhaps he had better make certain.
He transferred two more dimes and a half-dime from the drawer to the
table. It was an insignificant little heap. That would certainly clear
off his whole indebtedness and make him a free man.

He slipped the little heaps of money from the table into his pocket, and
then suddenly he realized that he had never decided to take the money.
The last resolve he could remember making was simply to see how the
dollar and a half looked. Without noticing, he had passed the point of
final decision. Alas! like many another, Hughie found the going easy and
the slipping smooth upon the down incline. Unconsciously he had slipped
into being a thief.

Now he could not go back. His absorbing purpose was concealment. Quietly
shutting the drawer, he was slipping hurriedly up to his own room, when
on the stairway he met Jessie.

"What are you doing here, Jessie?" he asked, sharply.

"Putting Robbie off to bed," said Jessie, in surprise. "What's the
matter with you?"

"What's the matter?" echoed Hughie, smitten with horrible fear that
perhaps she knew. "I just wanted to know," he said, weakly.

He slipped past her, holding his pocket tight lest the coins should
rattle. When he reached his room he stood listening in the dark to
Jessie going down the stairs. He was sure she suspected something.
He would go back and put the money in the drawer again, whenever she
reached the kitchen. He stood there with his heart-beats filling his
ears, waiting for the kitchen door to slam.

Then he resolved he would wrap the money up in paper and put it safely
away, and go down and see if Jessie knew. He found one of his old
copybooks, and began tearing out a leaf. What a noise it made! Robbie
would surely wake up, and then Jessie would come back with the light. He
put the copy-book under the quilt, and holding it down firmly with one
hand, removed the leaf with the other. With great care he wrapped up the
dimes and half-dimes by themselves. They fitted better together. Then
he took up the quarters, and was proceeding to fold them in a similar
parcel, when he heard Jessie's voice from below.

"Hughie, what are you doing?" She was coming up the stair.

He jumped from the bed to go to meet her. A quarter fell on the floor
and rolled under the bed. It seemed to Hughie as if it would never stop
rolling, and as if Jessie must hear it. Wildly he scrambled on the
floor in the dark, seeking for the quarter, while Jessie came nearer and
nearer.

"Are you going to bed already, Hughie?" she asked.

Quickly Hughie went out to the hall to meet her.

"Yes," he yawned, gratefully seizing upon her suggestion. "I'm awfully
sleepy. Give me the candle, Jessie," he said, snatching it from her
hand. "I want to go downstairs."

"Hughie, you are very rude. What would your mother say? Let me have the
candle immediately, I want to get Robbie's stockings."

Hughie's heart stood still.

"I'll throw them down, Jessie. I want the candle downstairs just a
minute."

"Leave that candle with me," insisted Jessie. "There's another on the
dining-room table you can get."

"I'll not be a minute," said Hughie, hurrying downstairs. "You come
down, Jessie, I want to ask you something. I'll throw you Robbie's
stockings."

"Come back here, the rude boy that you are," said Jessie, crossly, "and
bring me that candle."

There was no reply. Hughie was standing, pale and shaking, in the
dining-room, listening intently for Jessie's step. Would she go into his
room, or would she come down? Every moment increased the agony of his
fear.

At length, with a happy inspiration, he went to the cupboard, opened the
door noisily, and began rattling the dishes.

"Mercy me!" he heard Jessie exclaim at the top of the stair. "That boy
will be my death. Hughie," she called, "just shut that cupboard! You
know your mother doesn't like you to go in there."

"I only want a little," called out Hughie, still moving the dishes, and
hearing, to his great relief, Jessie's descending step. In desperation
he seized a dish of black currant preserves which he found on the
cupboard shelf, and spilled it over the dishes and upon the floor just
as Jessie entered the room.

"Land sakes alive, boy! Will you never be done your mischief?" she
cried, rushing toward him.

"Oh!" he said, "I spilt it."

"Spilt it!" echoed Jessie, indignantly, "you needn't be telling me that.
Bring me a cloth from the kitchen."

"I don't know where it is, Jessie," cried Hughie, slipping upstairs
again with his candle.

To his great relief he saw that Jessie's attention was so entirely taken
up with removing the stains of the preserves from the cupboard shelves
and dishes, that she for the moment forgot everything else, Robbie's
stockings included.

Hurrying to his room, and shading the candle with his hand lest the
light should waken his little brother, he hastily seized the money upon
the bed quilt, and after a few moments' searching under the bed, found
the strayed quarter.

With these in his hand he passed into his mother's room. Leaving the
candle there, he came back to the head of the stairs and listened for
a moment, with great satisfaction, to Jessie muttering to herself while
she cleaned up the mess he had made. Then he turned, and with trembling
fingers he swiftly made up the quarter-dollars into another parcel. With
a great sigh of relief he put the two parcels in his pocket, and seizing
his candle turned to leave the room. As he did so, he caught sight of
himself in the glass. With a great shock of surprise he stood gazing at
the terrified, white face, with the staring eyes.

"What a fool I am!" he said, looking at himself in the glass. "Nobody
will know, and I'll pay this back soon."

His eyes wandered to a picture which stood on a little shelf beside the
glass. It was a picture of his mother, the one he loved best of all he
had ever seen of her.

There was a sudden stab of pain at his heart, his breath came in a great
sob. For a moment he looked into the eyes that looked back at him so
full of love and reproach.

"I won't do it," he said, grinding his teeth hard, and forthwith turned
to go to his father's study.

But as he left the room he saw Jessie half-way up the stairs.

"What are you doing now?" she cried, wrathfully. "Up to some mischief, I
doubt."

With a sudden, inexplicable rage, Hughie turned toward her.

"It's none of your business! You mind your own business, will you, and
leave me alone." The terrible emotions of the last few minutes were at
the back of his rage.

"Just wait, you," said Jessie, "till your mother comes. Then you'll hear
it."

"You shut your mouth!" cried Hughie, his passion sweeping his whole
being like a tempest. "You shut your mouth, you old cat, or I'll throw
this candle at you." He raised the candle high in his hand as he spoke,
and altogether looked so desperate that Jessie stood in terror lest he
should make good his threat.