Bill Drock's investment

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CHAPTER I. Under the pines, where the sun looked down

Flecking with light all the carpet broAvn ;

•Lulled by the music of summer’s breeze,

Fairy-like whispers, through stately trees.

There slept a child, on whose tear-stained face Pain and suffering had left their trace.

HE faintest summer breeze swept through the tall pines, bearing from them a health-giving aroma, and making strange, weird music, like the rush of far off waters, or the sighs of mighty liearts, struggling to burst the chains which bind them.

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Since first the sun had risen in the east, it j had glowed and burned as a furnace, seven ; times heated. Man and beast were fain to j shelter themselves from its scorching rays, 1 while the very grass grew dry and crisp. Flowers drooped, and even the leaves of the forest trees rolled themselves together as tiny scrolls. Only the grand old pines seemed to rejoice in this fervid heat, as the brown carpet beneath them, was flecked, here and there, with the light which found its way through their swaying branches.

For miles, one might wander where the footfall would give back no sound, and where, to the uniniated, there was nothing to mark the progress made. Lost in this belt of woodland, one would need rare sagacity to extricate himself, and yet, on the afternoon my story opens, a negro, panting beneath the burden he carried, threaded his way, among these pines, as carelessly as though treading the streets of a familiar city.

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Pausing, occasionally, to rest, he gave utterance to some characteristic expletives. Toting supplies for three was no child’s play on a day like this, as the headed drops on his foreliead testified. Just a mile he had come, from the old turnpike, and there was quite a distance between him and the camp, where he acted as purveyor general, cook, and man of all work. He would have been glad to sit down and rest, but the thought of those who waited, quickened his steps. Yet, directly, he fell into the old pace, mutteidng to himself, ‘‘ ]\Iighty hot, and them bOys can wait ! ”

He toiled on slowly, until near the camp, then he stopped, threw down his burden, and turned aside to examine an object which had arrested his attention. Mighty ! ” he whispered, between his clenched teeth, and knelt down by tlie prostrate form of a boy, who was all unconscious of his presence. Our sable friend. Bill Drock, was seldom astonished or

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surprised ; but here was a case beyond his comprehension.

Traces of tears were upon the boy’s cheeks, and around his mouth were lines of suffering. His hands, even in sleep, were clasped closely, as though in his last waking moments, he had striven to control some painful emotion.

An old, well-patched jacket lay beside him ; but his shirt was sadly torn, revealing one shoulder, blistered by the sun. Other marks there were too, made by a whip or rattan, which now showed purple and livid.

Bill Drock bent lower that he might be quite sure of this ; and the boy moved uneasily, an expression of pain flitting across his face. Still the negro continued his scrutiny. There was a mystery here he proposed to solve.

At length the child, for child he really was, opened his eyes and gazed wildly around. Large, hazel eyes, tliey were, tender and ap-

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pealing, despite the fear they now expressed.

‘‘ Had a good sleep, boy ? ”

‘‘ Yes,” was the reply. ‘‘ I forgot I was tired and lonesome.”

“ And was you tired and lonesome, before you went to sleep ? ”

Yes, and hungry, too. I’ve lost my way.”

“ Where do you want to go ? ”

‘‘ I don’t know. Somewhere. I can work and earn some money.”

‘‘ Mighty ! ” exclaimed Bill Brock. ‘‘ You don’t look much like earning money. Why, you ain’t much more than a baby, any way. You ought to be at home with your mother. That’s the place for such a boy as you.

Instantly the long lashes drooped, and sobs shook the frame of the little way-worn traveler. He covered his face with his hands, and turned, so that his back and shoulders were still more exposed ; and there was

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another ejaculation, from his, companion, still more expressive.

“Where did* you come from ? ” he asked, directly ; and was then obliged to wait for an answer, until he grew impatient. “ Them boys ” at the camp would want him.

Nothing ever moved this coarse, rough man, like the tears of a child. He had, himself, some sad memories, reaching far back to the days when he should have been loved and sheltered ; but when, alas, he had been forced to fight his way unaided.

“ Won’t you send me back, if I tell you ? ” interrogated the boy, who had not been unmindful of the question asked.

“ I never T1 send you where you don’t want to go,” was the answer. “ You won’t catch this chap doing that, unless you’ve run away from your mother.” ’

Another burst of tears, and another hiding of the face. ‘‘ My mother is dead.” This

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said, a long silence followed, while Bill Brock wiped the tears from his own eyes.

lie bethought him, then, that the boy was hungry. There were some crackers in the bag he had brought from the village. ‘‘ Poor fodder,” he^ called them, but they were better than nothing, and he was unwilling to take the boy to the camp, until he had learned something of his history. “ Would you like something to eat ? ” he asked.

“ Oh, yes, I am so hungry.”

The negro did not wait for another word. Lost from sight a moment, lie returned, with a dozen crackers, which the boy seized eagerly. He must have been hungry. All other feeling seemed lost in the pleasure of satisfying his craving for food.

‘‘ You ’ll want some water now,” said his companion.

“ I should like some.”

“ Then you stay here till I come back.

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Fm going on, and I’ll bring you some water, if you’ll promise not to run away.”

‘‘How soon will you come? I must find tlie road before dark ; because — ” and here the child’s voice was lost in a sob.

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“ There, now, don’t cry any more. I shan’t be gone long, and I’ll look after you, to-night. There’s worse places, to sleep in, than these woods. You just lay still where you are, and I’ll see what can be done for you. Shall I find you here ? ”

“ Yes, sir. I’ll wait fof you.”

It was not often any one addressed Bill Drock as “ sir ; ” and this may have had some effect upon his movements, which were, certainly,, much more rapid than they had been before he caught sight of the sleeping boy. The camp reached, something was said in regard to his long^absence.

“ Tote that bag, three miles, and see how fast you’ll go ! Mighty hot day, Mr. Parsons. Besides, I had some business to attend to.”

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“ What kind of business ? ” asked a young man, reclining upon a couch made of the fragrant pine boughs. “ I should think you had enough on hand here, without looking for more.’’

“ I didn’t look for more. It came in my way, and I must take it up. ’Twas duty.”

“ That is enough. Never shirk duty ; ” and with a smile at the consequential air assumed, Hugh Parsons took up a book and commenced to read.

Seated by a rude table, was an older man, who wrote rapidly, scarcely heeding the conversation, and giving no heed to the new comer after he first entered the hut. He was too much accustomed to hear his brother talk with this humble friend, to be disturbed by the sound of their voices ; but, presently. Bill stood before him, in the attitude of waiting.

“ Well,” he said, laying down_ his pen. “ Any letters ? ”

“ Yes, sir,” replied Bill, taking quite a package from liis pocket. “ I forgot all about them. There’s a boy out here, hungry and tired.”

“ Out here ! Where do you mean ? In the woods ? ”

“ Yes, sir, about forty rods off, and the worst sight I ever see. His back and shoulders are blistered, and marked like they tell about down South.”

‘‘ What’s that. Bill ? ” exclaimed Hugh, springing from his couch, with an eagerness which sent the blood rushing to his usually pale face.

“ Be careful,” said his brother, kindly. ‘‘ Don’t excite yourself. Remember you are not quite well, yet,” he added, as the flush faded from his cheek.

“ But I want to hear about the boy.”

“ Then go back to your bed, and I’ll tell you. I shan’t talk, while you stand there,

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looking like a ghost ; ” and Bill spoke as one having authority. No stress of circumstances would have compelled him to talk, until the invalid had complied with his conditions.

Hugh once more upon the couch, he gave a description of the boy in few words.

, It is very , strange,” said William Parsons. “ This is the last place I should expect to find a boy. He must have lost his way.”

“ Yes, sir, that’s what he said ; but he cried so I couldn’t find out much else about him. I promised to carry him some water, and it’s time I went back. I am going to bring him over here.”

“ So do, as soon as possible,” said Hugh. “ I want to see him myself. Why don’t you go to him, William ? ” ^

‘‘Because Bill understands the case better than I do ; and the boy will speak more freely, if there is- but one to listen. Take the boy here as soon as he is willing to come, and

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we will endeavor to help him. I didn’t look for an adventure in the old pine forest.”

It required a few minutes for the negro to dispose of his groceries satisfactorily, after which he drew from the well a bucket of sparkling water. Then, with a small tin pail, filled with the cool liquid, he started on his errand of mercy.

The boy had not stirred from the spot where he was left. There he lay, watching and waiting for his new found friend.

Hunger and thirst appeased, a wan smile broke over his face, as he asked, “ Do you live here in the^ woods ? ”

“ I live here now, though ’taint my home. There’s two young men out here in the camp. You can go there with me, and stay to-night.”

“ Perhaps they won’t want me ; and I ought to go on.”

‘‘ On where ? You need rest, and perhaps if you tell me your story, I can help you.

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I’m only a poor man ; but I’ve helped some folks before now. Can’t you tell me where you came from ? ”

The boy whispered low the name of the town he had left. “ I came away in the night, and there didn’t anybody know,”

he added.” “ Mother died, and father ”

Here he paused, and seemed debating whetherit was best to proceed. “ Father used to whip me after he’d been drinking, and I thought I’d come away.”

This was the mystery. There was a drunken father ; curse enough for any child. No wonder that he came away, even though he knew not whether he went.

The memory of what he had suffered caused another fit of weeping, and poor Bill, after several awkward attempts at consolation, broke down himself.

Don’t cry,” said the boy ; it don’t hurt you.”

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Don’t it, though ? Something hurts me. You come over to the camp now.”

“ Perhaps they won’t want me,” was the reply, in a tone of apprehension.

“Trust me for that. I told them something about you, and they said, ‘ Bring him along.’ Mr. Parsons would be glad to see you, any way. He’s kind of a minister, and knows the right thing to say to everybody. Come,” and he took hold of the boy’s hand, to assist him to rise.

A half subdued cry of pain escaped the boy, as he said, “ Let me get up alone.”

This was no easy task. His 'limbs were stiff, and every motion was attended with suffering. He fell back heavily.

“ Now you just let me take you right up, and carry you. You won’t be no more weight than a baby ; and I’m used to toting.”

The child made another effort to rise. This time, he stood upon his feet, and before

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he could remonstrate, Bill Brock had taken him in his arms, and was striding towards the camp.

“ There’s my jacket, and my bundle. Mother’s Bible is in that ; I can’t leave it.'’

‘‘I’ll come back after all we leave behind. Don’t be afraid. I’m going to look out for . you.”

The camp, as it was called, consisted of a log house, a smaller one adjoining, used as store-rooms, and a rough shanty of boards. This last was the negro’s apartment, where no one presumed to intrude. There was a stone chimney, with a capacious fire-place, around which hung his cooking utensils. A heap of boughs was his bed; while for chairs and table he had little need. Just outside the door was a well, sunk years before, by the choppers, for whose accommodation the log house was built.

This tract of timber land had not reached

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the perfection of its growth. Only some of the larger trees were cut down from time to time ; and the camp would have been seldom occupied, but for those who came seeking health and strength.

William and Hugh Parsons were spending the summer here, the former studying, writing, and making the most of every hour, ^ while the latter read, idled, or slept, as his mood might dictate. They had been fortunate in securing the services of Bill Drock, who knew every inch of the forest, and was skilled in rustic cooking.

Hugh had already improved, during the month spent in camp ; yet he was far from well. Every over-exertion or excitement was followed by the ominous flush, and hollow cough. He was coughing, as the boy and his bearer came within hearing.

“ Oh, that sounds like mother. She used to cough so, and the doctor said it killed her. Who is it ? ”

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“ It’s Mister Hugh. But he’s a heap better

than when he came here, and I’m going to

cure him all up.”

“ Be you a doctor ? ” asked the child.

‘‘ Not much of one. I never studied physic, and I don’t know anything about the things big doctors give to sick folks ; but I’ve done some jobs in my day. Guess I can bring Mister Hugh round, if he don’t get tired of this country too soon. But there, you hain’t told me your name, and I must call you something besides boy.”

“ My name is Philip Melvin. My mother called me Phil.”

There was just time enough for this to be said, before Bill Brock passed the door of the larger boy’s house.

‘‘ Here, Bill,” called Hugh Parsons, ‘‘ I want you to bring that boy in here. I am waiting to receive company. William, why don’t you' insist upon it ? ” he added, as the

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negro strode on, without appearing to hear what had been said.

‘‘ Let him have his own way,^’ was the reply. “ Bill knows what he is about, and don’t fancy interference.”

Supposing he don’t. There are others in the same condition, of whom I am one,” responded Hugh.

“ A fact of which I have been aware,” said his brother, quietly ; and yet he was himself impatient to see the boy.

Meanwhile, Philip Melvin had been laid down carefully in the kitchen of the es-* tablishment, glad to escape meeting the strangers.

‘‘ There, now, I’m going to give you some supper, bime bye, and fix you up for the night,” said Bill. “ I’ll go back and get the things we left, and you needn’t be afraid of anything while I’m gone. I guess your troubles are pretty much over ; so don’t cry any more.”

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This speech, intended to be consolatory, had the effect to open the fountain of tears, but Pliil made a brave effort to restrain its overflow, and succeeded in so doing, until he was left alone. Then, thinlving of his dear mother, whom he had seen laid in the grave but two days before, and of the darling baby sister, whose cold lips he had kissed ere the cofflii lid was closed over them, it was impossible to be brave or calm. He was but a child, and a child’s grief must have its way.

He did not think much of the present or future. The wretehed past engrossed him. Perhaps he wondered a little how his father felt towards him, now that he was away ; yet the_ scars he bore had been inflicted too recently to have the giver’s hand seem other than it was that of a brutal master. His mother’s Bible was the only thing in all the wide world left to comfort him ; and this his friend had promised to bring.

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But there, beneath the old pine, lay jacket and bundle, just as he had left them, while Bill Drock talked with his employers.

“ I thought I’d better carry the boy right home,” he said, in answer to Hugh’s complaints. “ You haint any room for him, and I have. Besides, I’ve got to doctor him, and it’s handier to have him close by.”

“You’ll have your hands full with two patients,” said Hugh. “ But you didn’t tell us he was sick.”

“ I don’t know as he is sick, exactly ; but he’s lame, and his back is awful. Why, he couldn’t walk any more than a baby.”

“Did you learn any thing more in regard to him ? ” asked William Parsons.

“ His mother is dead, and his father is a drunkard,” was the laconic reply. “ He says his father whipped him, and he carries the marks.”

^ “ Now, Mister Hugh, I’m going sure,”

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exclaimed Bill, after telling all he had heard, and venturing upon some conclusions, which afterwards proved to be not far from the truth.

“ Well, go, if you will, and if I find my way to your kitchen, blame innate curiosity, and not me.”

“ Just wait for that till I get back, and the hoy has got used to his quarters. I promised him there shouldn’t anybody come while I was gone.”

“All right, then. Hurry on, and I’ll endeavor to keep tlie peace, though it will be hard work, and decidedly against nature.^ Bill carries a high hand.”

This last remark was addressed to his brother, who answered, “ The boy is his protege, not ours. You must learn to possess your soul in patience.”

“ An oft repeated lesson, brother. Shall I ever learn it ? ” and the voice was modulated to a softer tone.

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I trust so, Hugh, and that without too stern discipline. He who can do his best, and calmly wait for answer and return, has made success so sure, he need not doubt.”

“ Your favorite motto, William ; and judged by that, your success in life is doubly sure.”

“ As I count success, 1 believe it is, and can bide my time.”

‘‘ Sermonizing always,” exclaimed Hugh, after a short silence. ‘‘ There is nobody like you. One might think it the pleasantest thing in the world for you to be here in tliis old log hut, while I know that you had other plans for your vacation. It is too bad that I should always be a drag upon you.”

The elder brother turned at this, and ^answered with his eyes. Words were not needed.

Presently Bill appeared in sight, and the conversation drifted back to the subject upon which it had commenced.

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“ I guess I’ll call you before long,” said the negro, as lie passed.

Phil was sobbing bitterly when his host returned. He suffered from physical as well as mental pain. Oh, for his mother’s gentle hand and loving sympathy !

As yet. Bill Drock had not spoken to the boy of his bruised and blistered shoulders, although they had seemed so dreadful.

“ Mr. Parsons wants to see you,” he said. ‘‘ You’d better have him come right in. He’s good, and loves the same Bible your mother did. That’s what we all do, too. Mister Hugh and me, besides ; but he knows best about it. You’ll feel better to have him talk with you. Shall I tell him to come ? ”

“ Yes, sir,” answered Phil, reaching out for his jacket.

“ Why, child, you don’t waut that on. It will make your back worse to be so warm, I’m going to dress it with leaves bime by.”

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‘‘ But I don’t want him to see,” urged Phil. ‘‘ It hurts so, and father did it. He’d been drinking, and I wouldn’t go to buy him any more rum. Mother told me not to.”

“Well, we’ll see about it. But I can’t have you putting on that hot jacket. ’Twould be the worst thing you could do.”

- William Parsons was expecting the summons which he made haste to obey, and Philip Melvin looked up into a kindly face. The negro did not return ; so there was only this good man sitting by the low couch.

Neither could afterwards have told how confidence was established; but in the next lialf hour, Phil had given a graphic outline of his life. It was such a relief to talk to one who seemed to understand how hard and bitter it had been.

“ It wasn’t wrong to come away, was it ? ” he asked, in conclusion.

“ I think not,” was the reply.

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“ Then you won’t send me back.”

‘‘No, never,” answered the young man, decidedly.

“ Because if you did, father would almost kill me, and I should hate him, though mother told me I ought to pray for him. 1 try to, but — ” and an involuntary motion of his hand showed that he thought of the blows he had received.

“ Don’t think of that now,” said the boy’s companion. “ Tell me what you would like for supper.”

“ Can you have what you want, here in the woods ? ”

“ Usually. We arc wise enough to want what we can have,” replied William Parsons, laughing. “ Isn’t that a good way ? ”

“ Yes, sir, and I should like just what you do for supper.”

“And you shall have it. Then, after a good night’s sleep, you will feel pretty well.

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and can make us a visit. How should you like that? ’’

“ I should like to come and see you. But aint there somebody with you ? ’’

“ Yes, my brother. You and he will be good friends.”

“ Is he like you ? ”

“ You can judge when you have seen him. He is not so old as I am.”

And have you got a mother ? ”

“ No, Phil, we have neither father nor mother. They both died before Hugh was as old as you are now.”

Then perhaps my mother has seen your mother before this time,” said the boy, eagerly. Mother used to say she should see Nellie in heaven. Isn’t your mother in heaven ? ”

“ I trust so, child.”

“ Perhaps they know all about us, and can look right down here. Mother said she

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sliould know if I was a bad boy. I wanted her to take me to heaven with her.’’

‘‘ You will go to her when your work here is done,” responded Mr. Parsons. “ I hope we shall all go.”

‘‘ Will that black man go, too ? ”

“ Yes, he is a Christian.”

“ I knew he was real good, when he took me up in his arms. He said I might stay here to-night. But what shall I do in the morning ? ” exclaimed Phil, with a troubled voice.

“ I will tell you what to do,” was the kind answer. ‘‘You needn’t think anytliing about it.”

“ Mighty hot, Mr. Parsons ! ” said Bill Brock, entering at that moment, throwing down a handful of leaves, and wiping tlie perspiration from his forehead. “ Pve had a tramp, but I found what I wanted ; ” and taking up tlie leaves, lie began to bruise them

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ill his horny palms. This done, he laid them in an old earthen dish, and poured water upon them.

Never mother dressed a wound more carefully than were these cool, moist leaves, applied to Phil Melvin’s inflamed shoulders, and never was child more grateful than he. William Parsons went out when this was done, and the boy asked for his mother’s Bible.

‘‘I want to read a chapter b^efore I go to sleep,” he said.

“ You must have supper before you go to sleep,” replied his friend. “ I am going to make up another bed for you, too.”

Supper was sure to be what he liked, since he was unaccustomed to luxuries, and thought enough of any thing a feast. He ate it with a grateful heart, and read a chapter, while his bed was prepared. Fresh leaves replaced those which had become heated; and the

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boy slept before the shades of evening liad fallen round him.

By this time, Hugh Parsons had heard all which his brother had learned of the child. “ What will you do with him ? ” he asked.

“ I have hardly thought of that,” was the reply. “ Bill must be consulted, and light will come with the morning.”

Rest came with the night ; rest more perfect than dwellers in the city may know ; and again the August sun looked down on that far stretch of woodland.

Bill Brock was early astir ; but the other inmate of his lodge slept soundly until he began making preparations for breakfast. Then the boy sprang up and cried, “ Where am I ? ”

“ Here in the woods, with friends. Don’t you remember ? ” asked the smiling cook. “ Don’t you remember ? ”

“Oh, yes,” answered Phil, “I remember now. Motlier died, and I came away. Do you suppose father cares ? ”

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‘‘ Can’t tell about that. I guess I should care, if I was in his place.”

‘‘ But he aint like you,” said Phil.

“ No, he’s white, and I’m black.”

“ I didn’t mean that,” responded the boy, with a sigh. “ He don’t care about what you do. He don’t read the Bible, nor go to meeting. Sundays he goes fishing. You don’t go fishing, do you ? ”

“ No, child,” and here, by a dexterous movement, a cake, to which Bill gave the name of “ flapjack ” was turned in the iron skillet ; and the attention of his companion was for the moment absorbed by this.

Philip Melvin, who liad been accustomed to see cooking done only by women, thought it strange how this man could have learned to do so many things. Great slices of pork were broiled upon the glowing coals, potatoes drawn from their hiding-place in the hot ashes, eggs boiled, and last, but not least, coffee was ‘‘ set

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boiling.” A savory smell filled the shanty, and mingled with the fragrance of the outer air.

Nobody* could have convinced Bill Drock that pork was unhealthy ; and few, with appetites sharpened by coming out would have attempted it. The boy, who watched its cooking, thought nothing had ever looked so good ; and even Hugh Parsons was induced to test its merits.

The gentlemen having been served in their house, Bill gave attention to his young guest. A huge block, the face of which was worn smooth by constant use, was all the table of which he could boast, and upon this breakfast for two was arranged.

“ Pretty well this morning, aint you ? ” said the host, as he poured the second bowl of coffee for Phil.

Yes sir,” was the reply. “ I feel pretty well, and I guess you’ve cured my shoulders.”

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“ I thought I could doctor as much as that. There’s nothing like the roots and leaves. God puts them here for us. You must have a bath, and then you’ll be all right.” ’

“ Then will you show me the way to the road ? ” asked Phil.

“ Do you want to go and leave us so soon ? ” was asked, in reply, “ We haint got really acquainted yet. ’Taint often we have company here in the woods.”