CHAPTER XXVI.
FROM BAD TO WORSE.
The arrest of Mary Little for theft at Deacon Cornhill’s was a bitter blow to her friends, none of whom could believe her guilty.
Rob lost no time in going to the Cornhill home, hoping that he could enlist the folks in her favor, or, at least, get at the truth of the matter. But he found Mrs. Cornhill fully convinced of Mary’s guilt, and severely blaming herself that she had ever let the “idle hussy into the house.”
It was in vain that Rob pleaded that Mary had been a faithful servant. The fact remained that Mrs. Cornhill had been missing article after article from the household ever since the girl had come to work for her. She had not spoken of this at first, as she had been so favorably impressed by her that she had hesitated about accusing her of such misdoings. Finally, after watching and waiting for weeks, she had felt obliged to act in the matter.
Deacon Cornhill was now so far recovered from his recent illness as to sit up in his great easy-chair, though he was but a shadow of his former genial self.
“Don’t be hard on the gal, Mandy,” he said, compassionately. “No doubt she was driven to it. The articles were not worth very——”
“Tweren’t the wurth, but the principle in it,” snapped his wife. “Arter the way I treated her, to hev the idle hussy turn on us just at this time of all others,” and the good woman fell to crying.
“Don’t break down, Mandy,” said he, but his own voice was husky and Rob was sure there were tears in his eyes.
Mistaking the cause of this emotion Rob spoke more hopefully, when he learned that he and his friends were not alone in their misfortunes, as disaster had overtaken this family. It proved that Deacon Cornhill had become responsible for large sums of money through another individual, and this person proving worthless, he was held for the full amount. When paid, practically every dollar would be swept away, and he and his family would be turned out of their home penniless.
“The earnings of two lives, my father’s and mine, are thus lost, and Mandy and I are homeless and friendless; for, at this time, when we need our friends most, there is not one to speak a consoling word. I eenamost wish the fever had done its work, for I had rather been laid in my grave than to have lived to see this day.”
“Oh, Elihu! it is wicked to talk like that,” said his wife. “But it is dreadful to be robbed of our home at this time in life.”
Rob went away feeling that he was not alone in his misfortunes, and when he told the others at Break o’ Day good Deacon Cornhill had several sincere sympathizers, if they were helpless to aid him.
The arrest of Mary, who was then taken to jail, where she must remain until her trial, nearly two months later, cast a gloom over the entire party, as they could do nothing for her.
Rob returned to work at Deacon Cornhill’s, where he was greatly needed, every other hand having deserted him at this critical time, on the ground that he could not pay them. As much as he needed his wages, Little Hickory resolved to take his chances, pitying the unfortunate man in his distress, and believing he would eventually pay him all that was due to him.
Larry remained at Mr. Howlitt’s, probably the happiest of the entire number who had come to Basinburg.
So far Tom and Jerry had not found situations to work, and had remained at home. But Rob secured a chance for employment in a portable sawmill, where they went to work.
This was a severe “breaking in” for them, and more than once both were on the verge of throwing up their jobs. Probably the only thing that kept them at work was the fear that Little Hickory would send them back. Their task was to take away boards after they had been thrown from the carriage by the sawyer, and at times they had to hustle to keep the “run” clear. Not a night but found them glad to seek their rude bunks at an early hour, where they slept “like Turks,” as the expression goes.
As the mill was located more than three miles from home, and stood in the midst of the timber-lot, they did not go home oftener than once a week.
They boarded with the rest of the hands in the “shanty,” but, as there was not room enough for them there to sleep, they had to make up “shake-downs” in the mill. As it was warm weather they rather liked this arrangement.
They were reasonably faithful to their employer, and everything appeared to be going on well, until one afternoon, while the sawyer was crowding them uncommonly hard with boards, they got behind, so that the course got completely filled.
Now, it is always easier to keep square with one’s work than to catch up, once any time is lost. The fault, such as it was, was really Tom’s, as he had taken half an hour’s rest, saying it would be an easy matter to clear the run.
But the time lost could not be recovered, and in vain they worked to gain what they had neglected to keep. The sawyer was a crusty old man, who shouted angrily to them to clear the way. Unfortunately, the boss happened along just then, and, seeing the situation, he ordered that another hand should be put on the work.
Tom resented this, and answered back somewhat hastily. Bitter words followed, and almost before he knew it, Tom had lost his situation and Jerry was frightened over the affair.
It was then nearly night, and, having a dread of going home, Tom resolved to remain with his brother until morning, intending then to acknowledge his fault and beg of the boss to be allowed to return to his post. Had he done this then and there it would have saved him an ordeal of which he little dreamed.
It could not have been far from midnight, as he was tossing uneasily on his rough couch, while he pondered upon his recent mistake, when he heard some one moving about the mill. Then he discovered two youths a little older than himself moving cautiously about the premises.
One of the couple carried a lighted torch in his hand, and which he kept moving to and from as he led his companion over the place.
“Look out, Phil,” said the latter, “or you will set the old shell on fire.”
“Sho! this wouldn’t burn, it’s so green,” and, as if to prove his words, he thrust the burning brand into the midst of a pile of combustible matter. To his dismay, the dried material instantly ignited, and the flames sprang upward with a suddenness and fury that frightened the newcomers.
“You have set the mill on fire!” gasped the other.
“Quick!” exclaimed the one who had done the mischief, dropping the torch in his terror, “run for your life, Nate. We must not be found here.”
By this time Tom had sprung from his couch, but he was too late to stop the runaway boys, though he did reach the scene of the fire and just picked up the smoldering torch as one of the millmen, who had been attracted by its light, appeared on the scene.
“Here, you little devil!” he roared. “Trying to burn up the mill, are you? It’s lucky I have caught you at your devilish work.”
Tom was powerless to flee, if he had wished to, and in a moment he found himself flung to the floor by a pair of strong arms, and just as his brother reached the spot he was tied hands and feet.
Jerry was then seized and treated in the same manner.
Though others came speedily to the scene the fire had gained such headway in a short time that the mill was burned down in spite of all that could be done to save it.
In vain Tom and Jerry pleaded their innocence. The latter had not seen the two boys prowling about the place, and Tom’s story was ridiculed until he held his tongue in bitter silence. His quarrel with the boss of the previous afternoon was retold, and, with the hatred of their former associates raised against them, the hapless brothers were taken as prisoners, on the serious charge of incendiarism.
“That’s good for twenty years apiece,” said ’Squire Hardy, rubbing his hands in a pleased manner. “We’re picking them off, one by one, and now the deacon has got shut off, the work will be easier.”