Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 45, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 July 1886 — A NOBLE BOY. [ARTICLE]

A NOBLE BOY.

BY STANLEY VERNET.

It was a rainy afternoon, a slow drizzle that showed no signs of ever stopping, and made out-door work impossible. The men employed on Adam Barnsley’s farm were having a holiday. They sat around in the barn and told stories until someone of the number proposed breaking the monotony by equipping themselves in rubber coats and boots and going to Smiths Corners to see the 3 o'clock stage come in, and hear any news that happened to be afloat. Rachel Rumsley had ready a hearty, appetizing supper when the men returned. She was a slender, wiry woman. 30 years of age, with bright, black eyes and thin red lips that were seldom seen smiling. Two perpendicular lines upon her otherwise smooth brow gave her face a stern expression. and there were few who liked to oppose Miss Rachel. Her mother died when she was 16, and since then she had been her father’s housekeeper and counselor in all things. The men. stood much more in awe of her than of their easytempered employer. “Any mail, Jack?” she asked, in her sharp, quick way, as a broad-shouldered, sandy-haired, good-natured tiller of the soil appeared in the kitchen doorway. “No mam; leastwise nothing but the Weekly trflzette. but we heerd some startling dews,’’ answered Jack. “What did you hear?” inquired Miss Rumsley. but before Jack had time to open his mouth to reply she ejaculated in cutting tones:*“Jack you haven’t half cleaned your feet! None of you men seem to know what a door-mat is for.” “I beg your pardin', Miss Rachel, but you see I am that shook up by what we’ve heerd that I forgot myself,” with a look at the white floor upon which were two or three muddy tracks. “Why don’t you tell what wonderful news you have heard, and not keep a body waiting all day?” said Miss Rachel, and Jack proceeded to relate all about the sensation that was the only topic of conversation at Smiths Corners. Stephen Brink, a close-fisted, hardhearted farmer■ pf an adjacent neighborhood, had been struck .down and nearly’ killed by a boy that be had taken from the poor-house and “brought up,” if kicks and blows, poor fare, and hard work could be called a bringing up. Stephen Brink sober, was a bad enough character, but when he was drunk upon the hard cider with which he kept his cellar well supplied, he was like a wild beast, especially if anything crossed him. Everybody wondered how -Sid Clark had .managed to live through his tortured boyhood, but as Stephen Brink was a rich man no one ever interfered in the manage-wert-of-tte-boy. = —— A few tender-hearted mothers with boys Of their own, felt a thrill of pity now and then for the friendless wait, but no one had ever been sorry enough for the lad to brave Stephen Brink’s wrath.' Everyone’s sympathy was kept down and out of sight, and their Christaih and humane feelings smothered in the thought that it was none of their business. They would all have liked someone else to have done something. At last the boy had rebelled and dealt the tyrant such a deadly blow that he was.now lying in a senseless condition and hourly expected to die. Seth Brink, old Stephen’s son, had officers out looking for Sid Clark, who had managed to escape immediately after his insubordinate deed. It was seldom that anything happened in that quiet community, and naturally a tragedy created a great deal of horrified comment Notwithstanding the fact that Stephen Brink had been generally despised, he .had now the sympathy of the public. Even those who had secretly pitied the boy, did not suggest that possibly he had committed the crime in self-defense. All agreed that he was a young desperado, and were willing to tarn out and help to hunt him down. Seth Brink offered a large reward for the capture of the fugitive, and the Sheriff was stirring himself as he had not done for years. Respectable citizens must be protected, and it would be well to make an example of a wretch like Sid Clark.

The pith of this narrative Jack Allen repeated to Miss Rumsley, as he stood upon the door mat awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and rolling and unrolling the old wool hat that he held in his big freckled hands. “Steve Brink ought to have been killed years ago?” Miss Rachel said, decisively, when Jack had finished, “but I dare say the boy is no better. It is to be hoped that he’ll he caught and hung. Honest people are not safe in their beds when such cutthroats are abroad. Jack, call the men to •upper.” and Miss Rumsley whisked the biscuit out of the oven and put the tea in the tea-pot. ' An hour later in the evening. Miss" Rumsley, arrayed in ‘Water-proof and rubbers with her skirts tucked up and an old hood drawn over her head, sallied forth to look after the turkey hen that was setting | in the last year s straw stack back of the barn. Great was the lady's indignation

when she found the nest had been disturbed. The turtrey was nowhere in sight, and the eggs were scattered and broken. Miss Rachel began poking alxuit in the straw to find the missing foul anjl-the causa, of the despoiled ncM. She' was pushing her way into a hole in the stack made by the cattle when she stepped upon something that writhed trader her weight. “ Mercy sake*! ” she ejheulateH, expecting tn, see a bilge . snake, but instead a bare human foot caught her eye. Miss Rumsley was not a timid woman. Delighted to-think she had captured a sneak-thief, she took a firm hold of the foot that protruded from the stiaw and dragged out the body t.Q which U belonged, “Sid Clark! As sifye as I live!" was the exclamation that fefi ftom her lips, as the trembling, forlorn object rose before her. “You young murderer! How dare you hide in this stack and break up my turkey's nest?" said Miss Rachel, emphasizing her words with a vigorous shake. The boy fell on his knees before her. “Don’t give me tsp, Miss Rumsley,” he cried. “Kill me if you want to, but don't give me up to them’ that is huntin! me.” , “Get up!” commanded Miss Rachel. What do yon mean by kilithg your master aind expecting me to protect you?” “I didn't mean to kill him,” pleaded the bey, “aud-maybehe won't (TtA. He’skridcked me around ever Aiuce JJdn remember, and neier give a kind word, but 1 didn't want to kill him.” “What did you strike him with a heckyoke for?” asked Miss Rachel, in a doubting tone.

‘Til tell you just how it was,” answered the culprit. “I was bitching up the horses in the bam yard, when my little humpbacked sister, Susie, came to see me. She had walked all the Way from the poor-house to speak a word to me, and had hid in the bushes by the fence till she see me alone, cause old Brink had forbid her to come to the house just to spite me, cause he knows I think my eyes of Susie. She is all I’ve got in the world,” and the boy drew a ragged sleeve across his eyes. “I stood talking, with her a minute, when Brink happened to see her, and came tearing out of the house swearing a blue streak. He was half drunk and didn’t care what he did, arfd I expected to catch it, but he drew up his fist and struck Susie on her poor humped shoulders, and was going to kick her when 1 knocked him over with a neck-yoke that I had in my hand. I didn’t wean to kill him, and if his head hadn't hit a stone when he fell, I don’t believe he would a been much hurt. “If he’d a licked ine I’d stood it same as I alwus has, but I couldn't see him abuse my sister. When mother died she told me to take care of Susie, but I’ve never had a chance to do anything for her, cause they bound me out to be a nigger for old Brink. Seth Brink stood in the barn door and see the whole row, and laughed ’till he see his father didn’t get up. then he said, he would have me hung for murder. Seth always hated me, and is just as mean as his father. I’d rather die than be caught. Please don't tell on me, Miss Rumsley,” and the boy caught her waterproof m his hand and looked into , her face with his wild, sunken eves.

Miss Rumsley gave a little sniff and wiped something from her eyes that looked suspiciously like tears. . “Are you hungry?” she asked brusquely. “I hain’t had nothin’ to eat since yesterday noon, then nothing but sour milk and mush,” replied Sid. “I have always been a law-abiding citizen," exclaimed Miss Rachel, “and you needn’t think that I uphold you for what you have done, but I can't let you starve, and I don’t know what good it would do to send you to jail, or let them lynch you. Go back into that hole in the "stack and stay there until the men folks go to bed, then watch until you see all the fights in the house put out. After that cotoe and rap on the kitchen window very softly and I'll let you in.” For a week Sid Clark found refuge in the unused garret over the woodshed where Miss Rumsley secreted him and carried him food.

Stephen Brink remained unconscious, but the doctors began to talk as though there were a chance that he might live after all. The excitement had somewhat abated, but the Sheriff and two detectives were still searching for the bound boy. There was a rumor afloat ■ that he had hidden in a freight car that stood on the track at a little station five miles distant, and had been shipped out of the State. Miss Rachel bustled about the house as brisk and energetic as ever, with her eyes a trifle blacker than usual, and her tongue a trifle sharper. It was she who had incidentatty p'res'eiic"e' C>'f''suTii ; 6‘'iSf’ the hired men that it might be Sid Clark had escaped in the above-mentioned way. and as the idea was not improbable, it was repeated and became generally believed, although no one knew or thought who had suggested it first. : One evening Miss Rachel was in the cellar when Jack Allen brought in the foaming pails of new milk. , ‘‘Shall I help you strain it?” he meekly asked. Jack was fond of doing little things to help Miss Rachel, but it was not often she would allow him to do so. ; On this occasion, however, she mildly answered: “If you’ve a mind to,” and for once seemed inclined to be rather talkative.

As Jack w.asleaving the cellar she said: “I wish you would hitch up old Dobbin for me. Jim Ballet’s aunt came here this afternoon to get some carpet rags to sew, and I want to take her home. She is too old to walk so far and carry a big”satchel of rags-” ...j— _ ———_ “1 didn’t know Jim Ballet's aunt had got back from York State,” remarked Jack. “It’s too bad you can’t keep track of everybody, snapped Miss Rachel, suddenlylosing her good nature. “Bitch up the horse if you are a-going to, and bring him around to the side door.” Thus admonished, Jack hastened away, and in a few moments old Dobbin was at the post by the side door. Being a little curious. Jack managed to loiter about until Miss Rachel and Jim Ballet’s aunt came out of the house. Miss Rachel seemed in a hurry, and hustled the old lady into the buggy before Jack could catch a glimpse of her face. She wore a lone, dark cloak, a large bonnet, and a dark-brown veil. Jack came forward and put a good-sized valise (supposed to contain carpet rags) in the buggy. As he did so he looked sharplv at the old lady and asked: “Has Jim got bis corn planted yet?” Miss Rachel flashed him a look that plainly told him to go about his business, and said in a crisp tone: “She has had a bad spell of neuralgia and it makes her as deaf as a post.” Then, turning to the old - lady, she shrieked: “Better tie up your head with this little shawl. The wind blows pretty sharp from the west.” At this old Dobbin received a reminder with the whip that it was time to start, and Jack had no opportunity to repeat his question in a key to suit Jim Ballet’s aunt's defective hearing. Miss Rachel drove as rapidly as she could urge old Dobbin along to the little railway depot that seemed cast down byaccident in a dreary waste of marsh. Here she purchased a ticket and saw the old lady aboard a train that would convey her to Canada. A few months later she received the following ill-spelled, badlywritten missive: Deeb Mis Ratchxix-. I got hear al rite and

»ot wwrY. lam going to b« » man. your a angati Mi« Ratchell. I «h*nt forgit what you dona for >u«. Mab* i cap pay you sum day If I ait to be a man. if you aver neo Susi* u>ll bar i send my best love and dopt mean to let her alW*> »livf the poor ho us Si n Clark.. Mis? Rachel's eyes grew dim ns she read ' these words and murmured: “God help th,- boy,” 1 i Koon afterward she announced the fact that she needed some sort of a girl to “take steps" for her, and accordingly rode to the poor-hdusn and brought home Sid Clark’s little sister Susie. . Mr. Rumsley remarked that it seemed to him the girl was too small and sickly to be of any use, but Miss Rachel replied that “she was big enough to feed chickens, hunt hens’eggs, and no . doubt the child would grow if she had enough to oat.” Mr. Rumsley was far too good-natured to object to any plan of his daughters, and poor little Susie was made comfortable and happy. \ Fifteen years rolled by. Miss Rachel’s eyes are scarcely as bright and her step a little.slower than when she helped Sid Clark tq escape the officers of the law. Her smooth, dark hair is streaked with gray and her face is thinner and more careworn than of old. Miss Rachel has beme a heavy burden during the last ten years. Her kind father was one morning struck down with paralysis, and for ten years he has not been able to move hand or foot:

His daughter has been his faithful, uncomplaining nurse. Her voice has lost much of its sharpness. With the invalid she is always patient and gentle. She loved her father very dearly, and could not endure the thought that he must lie Tike a log waiting for death to claim the part of 'him not already lifeless. When the country physicians exhausted their skill Miss Rachel mortgaged the farm to employ an eminent specialist, but it was all in vain. Adam Rumsley could never move again, though he had lived beyond every one’s expectations. He had lived until the mortgage had nearly eaten up the farm. Miss Rachel had striven manfully to master the foe, but the times had been hard, and most of her time was occupied in caring for her father. Jack Allen was married and settled in a home of his own out West, and she had never found another overseer as honest and capable as he.

One thing she had resolved upon, and that was that her bed-ridden father should never want any comfort that made his existence more tolerable, even if there were not a cent left for her after he was gone. A stranger had appeared in the neighborhood named Sidney Clarkson. He was a gcod-looking, quiet gentleman, of about 35 years. His business was stock buying, and he was evidently wealthy, although he made no ostentatious show of his money. His first move had been to buy Stephen Brink's farm, pull down the dilapidated buildings, and build handsome new ones in their stead. Old Stephen did not die from the effect of his bound boy’s rebellion. People said that the injury that he had received affected his brain, but as it only tended to make him more peaceable it was really a benefit to him, or at least to those who eame in contact with him. He drank, hard cider as copiously as. ever, but instead of being insanely belligerent; he is now foolishly good-naturea, and no longer a terror to the community. Seth Brink is a faithful copy of what his father was fifteen years ago. He has not, however, his father's former knack that so few drunkards possess—that of making and saving money. Seth had squandered a large share of the estate that he-expected to inherit, and was glad to sell to the first would-be purchaser. One evening late in October, Rachel Rumsley sits before the fire in her bright, old-fashioned sitting-room, with her elbows upon her knees and her face in her hands. She is utterly sad and disheartened. It is not her nature to often succumb to tears, such as are now trickling through her fingers. The mortgage on their home is over due, and she has no money to meet the demand. The thought of being turned from the old house in which she was bom is terrible to her.

There seems to be no alternative now. Her wheat crop was a failure, and the early frosts have damaged her corn, beans, and sugar-cane, and she would have to manage wisely to pay their living expenses, without attempting to lighten the mortgage. ■ A rap at the door arouses her from her reverie. Rising hurriedly, she-brushes away the glistening drops that stand in her eyes and opens a door into an adjoining rooni. where n deformed girl sits' ing“Susie, there is somebody at the front door. I wish you would go and see who it is,” said Miss Rumsley, anxious to avoid meeting anyone while the trace of grief remains upon her face. Susie ushers in a gentleman, who inquires for Miss Rumsley and gives his name as Mr. Clarkson. Susie hastens to find her mistress, and remarks that “the gentleman looks like someone she has seen before.” Miss Rachel assumes-her stiffest air when she goes in to meet her visitor, who rises to shake hands in an exceedingly friendly manner.

It is not apparent for some time why Mr. Clarkson has called. He chats pleasantly on different subjects, and tries to draw Miss Rachel into conversation, but she is in no mood for idle talk, and her manner is freezing in the extreme. Finally Mr. Clarkson says: “I called, Miss Rumsley, to inform you that I have purchased the mortgage that Squire Thompson held against you.” Miss Rachel’s head drops for a moment, then she says: g “I have known that this hour would come, although I have prayed God to spare me a home as long as my poor old father lives, but’if it is your right to turn us out 1 suppose it must be so. I shan’t have enough left to keep us out of the poor-house long, though none of our kin ever did go there, and I never supposed it possible that we might. As for myself. I can work yet awhile, but poor old father is helpless and needs me all the time.” Again Miss Rachel’s head that had always been held so independently drops upon her hands, and the tears she has "been so much ashamed of fell unrestrained. Mr. Clarkson rises and walks toward the fire. “Miss Rumsley,” he says. “I had another motive in coming here to-night. I owe you a far greater debt than this paltry mortgage. I owe you my life, my liberty, and everything that I possess. You were the kindest friend in an hour of need that a poor boy ever had, and lam glad to be able to relieve you of further trouble in regard to this matter,” and he quietly drops the mortgage into the fire. Miss Rumsley looks in amazement at the man before her. r “Is it possible that you are Sid Clark?” she says. “Yes, I am the miserable lad whom you saved from a prisoner's cell and a ruined mhnhood. whose sister you rescued from the hard charity of the county poor r house and reared into a respectable woman. J vowed that I would prove that your kindness was appreciated, and what I have done to-night does not seem half enough.” “I don’t know how to accept such a gift,” says Miss Rumsley, with a slight return of her old pride.

; “Consider it only as the bread you cast upon the waters,” answered Mr. Clarksoni Th® following day jMr. CJarksot took his sister Susie to his 'new home, and sent Miss Rumsley an honest German and his sturdy wife to lighten her cares and carry : on the work of the farm. It soon became .known that Mr. Clarkson Was none other than’ Si<l Clark, the boy who ran away from justice fifteen years ago. Strange as it may seem, none of the noble officers were inclined To arrest him. Beth Brink would have been C leased to make trouble on the old score, ut as Mr. Clarkson was much the richer man, Seth was advised to “let the matter rest.” Popular opinion was now entirely on the side of _Mr. Clarkson, Every one thoroughly aprproved of his conduct in protecting his feeble little sister from the brutal attack of old Steve Brink. Il was now pronounced a brave and gallant act. Fifteen years ago it might have done to bring a charge of “assault with intent to , kill," against a poor, friendless boy, but now that the boy had grown into a prosperous, intelligent man, of course it was different. p