"Ah--umph! A-ah--oomph--ph--h----h!"

That prolonged bray so electrified him that he got up, to his knees, then to his swaying feet, a ghostly figure in his white suit, and with a last spurt of breath, cried:

"Billy! It's--_Billy_!"

Billy it was. Why then and there his mulish brain couldn't understand.

He had come a tiresome way, through woods and along country roads and found it a painfully new experience. Of course, he had rested often and long. He had been bidden, innumerable times: "Billy, lie down!"

and after an interval: "Billy, get up." Now, as he was wearily trudging through the night came this apparition in white, right in his path.

Billy had heard the stumbling of human feet long before his rider had, and had announced the fact by mild remarks about it. But, sidewise upon Billy's broad back--his head pillowed on Billy's neck, the Colonel had known nothing of this until the mule's abrupt stop shocked him awake and to a sight of the ghostly apparition on the roadside.

"h.e.l.lo, Spook!" exclaimed the Colonel, inclined to be friends with anybody or anything which would relieve the loneliness of his night ride.

"Hel--h.e.l.lo, yourself! Ha, ha, ha!" returned Gerald, in great delight yet half-confused by fatigue and the surprise of this meeting. They were mutual "apparitions," arisen out of the earth to confront one another. "Where you come from? Where you going? I'm--I'm awful tired."

"So 'm I. Always tired. Always expect to be. I come from going to and fro upon the earth seekin' that I cayn't find. No, I cayn't. And of all the bad luck I've had this is the worst. Ah! hum."

"I'm sorry," murmured Gerald, stumbling near enough Billy to lay his head on the animal's shoulder, where he immediately went to sleep.

"Sho! That's odd! But everything is in this topsy-turvy world. I'll be glad to be out of it. I never had no luck, Billy, an' you know it.

This yeah 's a piece with all the rest. To have this boy, or his spook, rise up this-a-way, an' go to sleep, standin'. Well, Billy, it cayn't be helped. The trouble is I was born with a heart, and it's always gettin' us into trouble. It's that old heart o' mine makes me feel I cayn't just shove this creatur' off an' leave him to his own deserts. Ah! hum."

In his mournful tones the Colonel thus addressed the intelligent beast, who responded with a sympathetic bray; but he stood rigidly still while his master loosened and slipped from his back the blanket strapped there and spread it on the gra.s.sy bank beside the road. Then, as if Gerald had been a little child, the Colonel carried him to the blanket, laid and covered him in it. He even took off his own coat and made a pillow of it for Gerald's head. Next, he ordered: "Billy, lie down!" and having been obeyed, calmly composed himself for another nap upon the back of "his only friend."

The night pa.s.sed. Gerald slept as he had never done in all his life.

The healthful fatigue of his tramp across lots and the pure outdoor air did more for him than all the medicine he'd swallowed. When he awoke the sun was shining in his eyes and Billy was braying an injunction to get up, while the Colonel sat on the roadside pensively reading out of his little brown book.

"My! You're an early student!" cried Gerald, who had lain still for a moment after waking, trying to understand the situation. "Must be an interesting story, that!"

"Story? Life's too short--or too long--to waste on stories, young man.

This is Marcus Aurelius, the sage of all the ages. Now, talk, tell, how come, et cetery. For me, I'm seekin' a lost wallet, and I don't expect to find it. I shan't. Course. But I'm on the road to that pickaninny and if I cayn't squeeze the wallet out of his clo'es I'll squeeze the truth out of his insides, what he done with it. The idee!

'T one measly little n.i.g.g.e.r could force me to break the vow of years an' come here, where I never meant to set foot 's long as I lived. Ah!

hum."

"Eh, what? Lost wallet? Why, I know something about that. Jim Barlow had it. He picked it up."

"Where is he? Quick, young man! That wallet's mighty precious and it's mine--mine, I tell you! Mine by the right of findin' and preservin'.

Where's he at, quick?"

The Colonel had never shown such excitement, nor such depths of depression as when Gerald answered:

"I don't know. I haven't the least idea."

"Ah! hum. Course you haven't. I didn't suppose you had. They couldn't be any such good luck in this world. 'Don't know'! Course not. Don't reckon you know anything."

"Ah! yes I do! I know that I'm so hungry I could almost eat this gra.s.s. Where can we get a breakfast?"

The Colonel scanned the surrounding country. Had there been even a melon-patch in sight he wouldn't have troubled himself to answer. He was hungry himself, but he often was that and food always came his way sometime and of some kind. Why worry or hurry?

Fortunately, the rumble of approaching wheels was heard just then, and presently there came into sight around the bend in the road a mule-team, driven by a man in a blue smock. Gerald recognized him at a glance--the same teamster who had brought him and his mates through the "gust" from the Landing. He had a sadly confused remembrance of how that ride had ended, and this was a good thing; for he was now able to hail the man in real pleasure and no anger.

"h.e.l.lo, there, driver! Do you want a job?"

A startled expression came to the teamster's face as his own mind returned to the hour when these two had last met. However, he braced himself for whatever was to come, and answered:

"That depends. What job?"

"To carry us two and lead the mule to wherever the Water Lily is now.

That's my boat--I mean, it was--and they're my friends aboard. Do you know her and where she lies?"

The man knew perfectly well. On the morning after his ugly treatment of his four pa.s.sengers, he had repaired to Deer-Copse on the Ottawotta and collected from Mrs. Calvert the sum of five dollars. This was more than double the price asked of the lads but none of them happened to be in sight, and he made a great matter of delivering the row-boat uninjured. Knowing no better she promptly paid him. Though he was sober now, he was just as greedy as ever for money and cautiously answered:

"I might guess. But I'm off for the Landing and some hauling there. It would be with a couple dollars for me to turn about an' hunt her up now."

"All right, I'll pay it. I mean, if I can't my sister will. She's on the Water Lily and would about give her head to see me back again.

I've been sick. I've been--"

But the teamster had no sympathy for Gerald's past ailments. He was busy getting his wagon turned about and in another moment Gerald was on the seat beside him, the Colonel riding at the back of the wagon, feet dangling, leading Billy. This last task was needless, for the mule would have followed his master anywhere and unguided.

The teamster "guessed" so accurately that he drove straight and swift along the road bordering the Ottawotta and to the beautiful spot where the Water Lily shone in all the glory of white paint and gilt, her bra.s.ses polished to the last degree by Ephraim, and all her little company pressing to the front at the rumble of wheels.

Not many vehicles pa.s.sed that way and the coming of each was an event in the quiet life of the house-boat. It was Dorothy who first recognized the newcomers and her cry of delight which brought Aurora around from the nook where she was busily embroidering a cushion for the Lily.

"Gerald! Oh! Gerald, my brother!"

The lad had never felt her so dear nor thought her so pretty as when her arms closed about him and her happy face looked into his. But the face clouded when he asked:

"Got any money, Sis?"

"Huh! Can't you be glad to get home without begging for money? Popper gave you just as much as he did me when he started and----"

The stumping of crutches interrupted them. It was the old captain who had caught sight of the teamster, waiting for his money, and was hurrying forward in anger.

"Step aside, younkers! Lemme deal with him! _Lemme!_ Oh! you old villain, here again be ye? Tryin' to cheat widders an' orphans outen their livin' substance! Oh! I know. I've heered. I've been told. Two dollars was the price agreed--a quarter a-piece for us folks an' fifty a-piece for the monks! The boat was throwed in. That was the bargain fixed an' fast, an' deny it, if ye can, with this here Melvin an' me an' this poor sick Gerry for witnesses. You haul in your sails an'

put for sh.o.r.e! Don't ye come around here a-tryin' to cheat no more.

I've been layin' for ye ever sence that night. I've 'lowed I'd meet up with ye an' get even. Pay? Not this side Davy Jones's locker! Be off with ye an don't ye dare to show your face here again till you've l'arnt common honesty, such as ary yuther Marylander knows. What would these here women an' childern do if it wasn't for Cap'n Jack Hurry a pertectin' of 'em? Tell me that, you ornery land-lubber, you!"

But the teamster was already gone. He had not tarried the completion of the Captain's tirade. He saw that there was little prospect of receiving pay for that morning's ride except after much discussion and many hard words, and decided that if he were ever to secure further patronage from these silly people who lived on a boat he would better not quarrel with them now.

With his departure peace was restored and the welcomes bestowed upon Gerald made him very happy and roused a wish in his heart to become as good a fellow as they all seemed to imagine him to be. With some shame he remembered his often ungrateful treatment of Mrs. Lucetta and her children, and described the family so graphically that Dorothy clapped her hands, exclaiming:

"I'm going right away to know them! I am! What darlings they must be, those little 'Saints' and sinners, and what a charming woman the mother must be. Melvin has told us how she served them with that poor pudding and sour b.u.t.termilk, just as if they were the greatest luxuries."

Mrs. Calvert nodded, smiling:

"Yes, dear, I shall be glad to have you know her. She is a born gentlewoman and a good one--which is better. But now, has everybody had all the breakfast wanted? If so, let's all go off to our arbor in the woods. 'The Grotto,' the girls named it, Gerald, and it's beautiful. But where is Jim? Why should he have gone away from the Stillwell cottage before you, in that sudden way you mentioned?"

"I reckon he went to search for a runaway kid. The one they called Saint Augustine. Fancy such a name as that for the wildest little tacker ever trod shoe-leather--or went barefoot, I mean. That youngster looked like an angel and acted like a little imp. I should think his folks'd be glad to lose him."