Little Hickory by Victor St. Clair - HTML preview

CHAPTER XXX.
 THE TRIUMPH OF RIGHT.

It was not until he had been folded in the arms of his new-found father that Little Hickory could realize the truth of what had been spoken.

They had reached the floor now, and his mother stood close beside them, while the others stood apart, silent but appreciative spectators.

“I am so glad,” murmured Mrs. Bayne. “Your father did come yesterday, though I had not the opportunity to tell you. It seems strange but natural that he should have come here. Then the officers came, and knowing he was again a hunted man, he concealed himself in the opening made in the old chimney for that very purpose by his eccentric uncle, Timothy Bayne.”

“What your mother says is true, my son,” said the father. “At last I am free from the law, and no longer a fugitive. I sought for you and your mother in the big city till I was forced to give up. Then I came here simply because Uncle Tim lived here when I was a boy, and I was naturally attracted hither. I reached the village in the night to see these miscreants here just as they left the store on their depredation. It proved that I was wretched, and, instead of hunting for the real culprits, I was again made a fugitive. But I did not know this until I had reached here.

“You may judge of my surprise and pleasure at finding your mother here.”

The others were deeply moved by the simple story of a man who had been more wronged than guilty. He was a man still in the prime of life, with a stalwart form and clear, fearless manner.

“Now that I have found you,” he resumed, “I mean to stay by you, unless you drive me away, or the law does. At any rate, I shall consider myself a fugitive no longer.”

“Neither are you,” spoke up Dr. Menter. “If I mistake not, these men in captivity here have a story to tell which will lift much of the cloud that hangs over you. At any rate, I am not going to let Rob remain any longer the victim of a man who has persecuted him out of a matter of a little spite against another.”

“You are very kind,” replied Rob.

“Not half as kind, nor one-hundredth part as brave as you were when you staked your life to save my dear boy and girl.”

“This is a happy moment,” said Aunt Vinnie, “and if my boys were only here I could enjoy it with the rest of you.”

“And my Mary,” said Mrs. Little.

“Mary will be with us again before another night,” spoke up Larry. “Only this evening I learned of a strange thing, and I was coming to tell you of it. Lucy Howlitt was up to Deacon Cornhill’s this afternoon, and Mrs. Cornhill told how Mary, as she thought, had been taking things, and it wasn’t half an hour after that before Lucy caught a tame crow belonging there carrying off a silver spoon in its bill. She called Mrs. Cornhill, and they watched the crow go straight to a place where he had hidden all the things that had been lost. Then Mrs. Cornhill knew that the crow, and not Mary, had stolen what she had missed, and she cried, she felt so bad over it.”

“That will set Mary free, and Mrs. Cornhill is willing to do anything she can to be forgiven.”

“I am so glad,” murmured the mother. “I knew my daughter could not be guilty of such a thing as stealing.”

“It looks as if we were coming out all right,” said Rob.

“So you are, my boy,” said the doctor. “Right always triumphs in the end. I had rather be in your place than ’Squire Hardy’s, by a big difference. Now listen, Aunt Vinnie, for I have a bit of news that will give you joy as well as the others.

“The boy who was out on a night’s lark with Phil Hardy has confessed that he and Phil were at the sawmill the night it burned, and that young Hardy set it on fire. Of course Phil denies it, but it is a crushing blow for the Hardys, and it will save your boy from jail.”

“Hurrah!” cried Aunt Vinnie, shaking her apron in the air. “This is the happiest moment in my life, or will be when I clasp my boys once more in my arms. I did not never see anything like this,” getting her language somewhat twisted, but her heart was all right, and the others felt as joyous as she did.

Leaving the inmates of the old red house to enjoy their new peace of mind, and to anticipate the happiness of the coming day, Dr. Menter looked to the safety of their prisoners.

When he had seen that they were still secure, he called Rob to one side, saying:

“While our friends here stand guard over the captives, how would it do for you and I to do a little investigating on our own hook?”

Little Hickory and his father willingly assented, when the three returned to the cellar.

“I thought it might be as well to keep our business to ourselves in part,” said the doctor, as soon as they were alone. “I have reason to think that we are about to make important discoveries.

“I do not think it good policy to say so now to every one, but I am ready to say to you that one of these precious fellows upstairs is the murderer of Timothy Bayne. They have said enough to let us know that they were here after a buried treasure. Do you know anything about this, Mr. Bayne?”

“Only that uncle was supposed to be very wealthy, but eccentric. He was killed for his money, as it was supposed, by a man who had been working for him. I am sure the ruffian upstairs is the man. Whether he got uncle’s money is more than I know. They were seeking for something of the kind here to-night.”

“Well, we will do a little digging ourselves.”

Mr. Bayne then took the shovel, and in a few minutes a skeleton of a man was divulged to their sight. Nothing more.

“It is probably that of Mr. Bayne,” said the doctor. “I do not believe we had better dig any more, and we will leave the bones just as we found them.”

“I thought the shovel struck something that was not a rock. Let me take it,” said Little Hickory.

Beginning to dig a little to one side of the exposed skeleton, he soon unearthed an iron box of considerable size, and which proved to be of great weight.

With what feelings the three raised the buried box may be imagined.

“Hold, my son!” said his father. “This treasure, if it shall prove such, has been found on the property of another man. It is not ours.”

“By as good a right, and better, than any one else’s,” said Dr. Menter. “This property is now in the hands of Deacon Cornhill, who came into possession by a collector’s deed, it being sold for taxes some eighteen or nineteen years ago. A deed of this kind is open to contest for twenty years. So as the heir to Timothy Bayne, it looks to me as if you could hold the treasure. But here we are arguing over what may be a valueless thing. Then, too, the deacon is an honest man, and will not try to hold what does not belong to him.”

It was decided not to open the box until another day, and further investigation had been made, so the three returned to those who were anxiously awaiting in the room above.

It was not told to the outsiders of the discovery that had been made, but the inmates of the house listened to the description of the find with unbounded interest.

Never was day waited for more eagerly than by the party here, and as its first rosy light appeared, the harbinger of a fair and a happy day, Dr. Menter started for the village, taking one of the men with him. In a few hours Sheriff Stanyan came, but he brought no terror to the members of Ragged Rob’s young republic.

He spoke graciously to them, and complimented Rob on his good fortune.

“The ’squire is pretty badly cut up over Phil, and well he should be, for he is a bad boy. It will take a good slice of the old man’s property to settle this matter, but I do not think Phil will have to go to jail.”

With these words the sheriff took away the sullen prisoners from the red house, leaving the others in easier spirits.

Half an hour later Dr. Menter returned accompanied by Deacon Cornhill, who greeted his colonists with great affection.

“The light is breaking,” he said, gladly, “and you are coming out all right, thanks to Rob, here.”

“Not more to me than to our friends,” said Little Hickory.

The deacon had aged in appearance more than ten years since the others had last seen him, and the hearts of all went out to the kind-hearted man, who had done so much for them, and had himself suffered so much.

But the moment of darkness was already fleeting, and a new light was coming into their lives.

The iron-bound box was soon broken into, and the overjoyed spectators beheld a sight which made them fairly wild with strange visions of joy and of mystery.

It was a treasure box indeed.

Made up of bank notes, government bonds, gold and silver, it held the equivalent of over fifty thousand dollars.

Is it a wonder there were dancing and wild exclamations?

The more sober of the party could not realize it as true, while the others did not try to realize anything but their joy.

At last, when something like rational feelings again held sway, Rob suggested that it belonged to Deacon Cornhill, but he would not admit it. But there was a happy compromise.

Little Hickory proposed that a portion go to him, and this, under consideration of his difficulties, he accepted with tears in his eyes, and blessings upon his lips.

So the hoardings of Timothy Bayne at last came to do much good. It cleared Deacon Cornhill from his debts. It placed the members of Rob’s young republic all in comfortable circumstances, for it was his own wish and that of his father and mother, that it should be shared among all alike.

What followed can be imagined.

First of all, Mary Little and Tom and Jerry were restored to home. The prisoners were given a fair trial, at which it was shown that one of them was the murderer of Timothy Bayne, and that he had buried the miser’s body in the cellar. He had afterward got a clew of the treasure buried in the cellar near where he had made the grave of his victim. He was induced to accompany his companions to dig for the treasure. The result is known. He and his pals were the ones who had robbed the store and post office, also the masked men who had tried to rob our hero on Flying Jump.

They were sentenced as their crimes demanded, and the public felt safer.

Phil Hardy, as Dr. Menter had said, escaped the jail. It was evident he had not really intended to set the fire, and the mill owner was more willing to receive pay for his property than to see the boy go to prison. It was a good lesson to Phil. Nor was it lost on his father, who afterward treated Rob and his friends as they deserved.

In fact, the families of Break o’ Day were now looked upon as the equals of any others in town. Rob knew this came about largely from the fact that they were among the richest now, but he did not mind that, having resolved to merit the good bestowed upon him.

Three new houses were built that fall on Break o’ Day, so it was a busy season. They had decided to live there, though the village people had hoped they would come into town.

Then followed plans for the future. As ours is a story of to-day, these cannot be followed to any great extent. Mr. Bayne and his happy wife live in a comfortable home, eagerly waiting to welcome their son home from college, while Mrs. Willet, quite recovered from former illness, lives with them, waiting, too, for a daughter to graduate, when the two young people expect to join their fortunes in married life.

There will be another marriage at the same time, when Larry Little will wed sweet Lucy Howlitt, and go to her home to live. Larry is destined to be a prominent citizen of Basinburg, and the coming Fourth he is to deliver the oration of Gainsboro, without having to borrow anything from that consummate snob and worthless fellow, Pluto Snyder.

The other boys and girls of Break o’ Day are also finishing their education, for they believe in acquiring such knowledge as they can to help them in after life. I do not know what their plans are, but I do know that Rob intends to begin the study of medicine with Dr. Menter, and when next I go to Basinburg I expect to find him the regular physician there.

Deacon Cornhill has fully recovered his old-time spirits, and happy in the good work that he was instrumental in bringing about. He is honored and respected in Basinburg, and everywhere he is known, while he never tires of telling the story of his visit to “the big, wicked city, where houses are built edgewise, and men live under the streets.”

I do not think I have left anything unsaid which cannot be readily understood. Of course the strange sounds heard at the old house were not of a supernatural origin, unless the branch of a tree moved by the wind so as to scrape on the roof of the dwelling could be called such.

It has been nearly twenty years since I last visited Break o’ Day, but I remember distinctly the old red house where I stopped overnight, listening that evening to the thrilling story of the murder and mystery of “Old Tim Bayne.” I remember with equal vividness the dreary camps of the coal burners, then falling into decay, and but one of them occupied. I also remember the picture of utter loneliness the dismal scene presented, as the setting sun sank behind the distant forest. But all this has changed, and where then existed darkness and desolation are now to be found life and activity, comfort and happiness, peace and prosperity, for here, on the site of that thriving village known by the happier title of Mount Delight, was founded, under such adverse circumstances as must have discouraged a less courageous heart, Ragged Rob’s young republic.

THE END.