DAN saw no prospect of his question being answered immediately, so, after listening to the retreating footsteps of the stranger he resumed his journey to the village.
“I hope Mr. Lee isn’t in,” said the boy to himself, as he neared the store. “He might say something unpleasant, and there are usually a lot of men in his place evenings. I hope I don’t meet him until he has had a chance to forget about the bull.”
As Dan was walking along the village street he was hailed by a youth about his own age.
“Hi, Dan! When ye goin’ t’ give an exhibition?”
“What sort of an exhibition, Tom?”
“Masterin’ wild bulls! I herd ye was pretty good at it,” and the boy laughed.
Dan knew by this that his experience with the animal, which had treed Mr. Lee, was pretty well known in the village. Still he hoped that he would not meet the storekeeper when he went in for the yeast cake. Nor did he, a clerk waiting on him and giving him what he wanted.
There was no sign of Mr. Lee about the store, which was filled with the usual crowd of loungers. Nobody, however, seemed to notice Dan.
“I’m glad I didn’t see him,” thought the boy as he was on his way home.
As Dan neared the place where he had met the mysterious stranger he thought he saw the figure of a man crossing the lots, near the turn of the road. He had half a notion to investigate, and see if it was the man who had appeared to take such an interest in him, but the thought of Mrs. Savage waiting for the yeast cake made him fear this would not be advisable. So he kept on, although as he walked along the grass by the roadside, he was almost sure he heard the footsteps of some one on the highway.
“Wa’al, why didn’t ye stay all night?” demanded Mrs. Savage very ungraciously when Dan, who was very tired, came in. He did not answer, and, as there was no further demand made on him, except to see that the henhouse was locked, he went up to bed.
Hard work is a good thing in one way, for it brings refreshing sleep. When Dan awoke the next morning he felt much better, physically and mentally. It was a bright, beautiful day, and when he was dressing he could hear the songs of birds, in the trees opposite his window.
“I hope things go well to-day,” the boy thought. “I haven’t got much to be thankful for, but I can be glad it isn’t raining. Still, if it was, I suppose I’d have to shell corn in the barn.”
He started to whistle a merry tune, but was rudely interrupted by a call from below:
“Come now!” cried Mr. Savage. “Going t’ lay abed all day? Stir yer stumps up there, Dan. There’s work t’ be done, an’ I hope ye don’t expect me t’ do all of it! Move lively, git yer breakfast an’ shell some more corn!”
Dan hurried with his dressing, spent little time over his washing operations, and was soon hurrying with his breakfast. Everything seemed to be “hurry” with him. He had no time for leisure with such a task-master over him as Peter Savage.
Dan was about half through with his morning’s work of shelling corn for the horses, when Mr. Savage appeared in the barn.
“Is that all ye got done?” he asked.
“I worked as fast as I could.”
“Fast! Humph, I guess ye must a’ turned it backward part of th’ time. Now git a move on ye. Mrs. Savage want’s ye t’ go t’ th’ store fer some molasses. Don’t be all day, nuther.”
“Shall I hitch up?”
“Hitch up? Not much. Ye kin walk, can’t ye?”
“Certainly, but I thought I might bring back some bran; we need it.”
“I’ll tend t’ that. Hustle now, an’ walk fast.”
Dan did not mind the walk so much this morning, as it would rest his back from the wearisome labor of turning the corn sheller. He got the molasses jug and started off, striking up a whistling chorus.
“Oh, let up on that!” exclaimed Mrs. Savage who was in no very good humor, because the bread had not “come up” properly. “Boys is always makin’ useless noises. Ye’ll walk faster ef ye don’t whistle, an’ I want that molasses t’ make a Johnny cake fer dinner.”
Dan ceased his whistling until he was out of the hearing of Mrs. Savage, and then he began again.
“It looks as if I’d get into trouble again before night,” he thought. “I wonder what makes some people so mean, anyhow?”
Dan’s meditation was interrupted by hearing a wagon coming behind him. He looked to see who it was, and the man driving the horse called out, at the sight of the boy:
“Hello, Dan. Going to the village, I suppose? Don’t you want a ride? There’s plenty of room.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harrison. I wouldn’t mind a lift,” and Dan climbed up on the seat beside Holman Harrison, the village blacksmith, a kindly old man, and a veteran of the Civil War. He had known Dan’s father and mother, and had been acquainted with Dan ever since the lad was a baby. In fact Mr. Harrison was the one person in the village whom Dan could think of as a friend.
“Going after vinegar?” asked the blacksmith, noticing the jug Dan carried.
“No, Mr. Harrison, molasses.”
“Going to catch flies?”
“Catch flies? What do you mean?”
“Well, you know there’s an old saying, that it’s easier to catch flies with molasses than it is with vinegar, and I thought perhaps Mrs. Savage was going to try it.”
“I guess she wouldn’t waste vinegar or molasses that way. She’d drive the flies out with a broom.”
“Yes, she and Peter are pretty ‘close’ I guess. How do you like it there?”
“It might be worse.” Dan was not going to “tattle” about his employer.
“And that means it isn’t very good,” said the blacksmith shrewdly. “I know Peter Savage, and he’s a hard man to work for. I wish I could help you, Dan, for the sake of your mother and father, who often did me good turns, but I can barely make a living for myself. Times are very hard. I had to walk five miles to-day to get the job of repairing this wagon. The man said if I’d come after it I could fix it for him, so I tramped after it, borrowed his horse and I’m taking the wagon to my shop. When I get it fixed I’ll drive back with it. Otherwise you wouldn’t see me riding around like this. As it is I’ll have to walk back.”
“I hope you will meet some one who will give you a lift,” said Dan, with a smile.
“Perhaps I will. Still I’m good and strong yet, if I am old, and have a bullet in my leg from the battle of Antietam. I can limp along with the best of ’em.”
“Only just before a storm. Curious, but that Confederate bullet is as good as a barometer. I can tell for sure when it’s going to rain. When I can’t make a living blacksmithing any more I’m going to hire out as a weather prophet,” and the veteran laughed heartily at his misfortune.
The two chatted pleasantly during the ride, the blacksmith, at Dan’s request, relating some of his war experiences. In turn Mr. Harrison sought to draw from the boy something about his life at the Savage farm, but Dan was not the one to complain, even if he did have it hard.
“I know it can’t be very pleasant there for you,” said the old soldier, “and I wish I could take you with me, but, as I said, I have hard enough work to get along. Still, Dan, don’t forget I’m your friend, no matter what happens, and if I can ever do anything for you, just let me know.”
A little later they drove into the village, and, as Mr. Harrison turned the horse down the side street leading to his shop, Dan saw the mysterious stranger standing in front of Mr. Johnson’s shoe store.
“There he is again!” exclaimed the boy. “I wonder what he can be doing around here.”
“That man,” and Dan pointed to him.
“What? Do you know him too?”
“Well, I don’t exactly know him, but I’ve talked with him,” and Dan related what had passed between himself and the man. “Do you know who he is, Mr. Harrison?”
“No, except he says he’s an inventor. He came into my place yesterday, and got me to fix some sort of a tool. I never saw one like it before. It was like a long chisel, or a big tack lifter. I thought it might be for taking up carpets, and I asked him, but he said it was a new tool he had invented, and that he wasn’t at liberty to tell me what it was for. It had broken in two, and I welded it together for him. When I saw he didn’t want to talk, I didn’t ask him any more questions. He’s a queer man, but he seems to have plenty of money. But, if you’re going to Mr. Lee’s store, you’d better get out here. Sorry I can’t give you a ride back.”
“You’ve given me a good lift as it was,” said Dan, as he alighted with the molasses jug. The blacksmith turned off into another street, and, as Dan started for the general store, he saw the stranger waving his hand to some one. Turning to see who it was, Dan beheld a rather poorly dressed individual join the man in front of the shoe store.
“Well, he evidently knows some one in the village,” thought Dan.