Part 20

"There, you clumsy thing, you've stepped in the cat's saucer and spilled the milk. Be gone from here," and the crabbed old aunt, who kept house for the Toogoods, switched her broom after Tom as he moved good-naturedly out the back door.

Thomas Toogood was overgrown, and awkward, and seemed always to be doing the wrong thing. He now sauntered out to the shed, where his father was feeding the cows and his sister tossing grain to the hens.

"Tom," said his father, pointing to a gun in the corner, "I traded some corn for a gun for you, in Dover yesterday. They say that wild ducks are now found on the Cocheco. Thought you might like to try for them."

Tom picked up the gun, looked it over, and said, "All right," but the look of pleasure on his face told that it was the first gun he had ever owned.

"Now that you have a gun," spoke up his sister joyfully, "you can take me to the quilting party in Dover, next week. All our friends are to be there."

Tom had reasons of his own for wishing to attend that gathering, but he was especially pleased to be considered manly enough to play the part of escort. Though Dover was but a few miles away, it was never safe to take even that trip without a gun for protection.

With his father's suggestion of ducks in mind, Thomas picked up his new gun and whistled his way along the path to the river, where he kept his canoe. As he pushed his bark into the stream, he thought that he might now appease his aunt's anger by a brace of fine ducks for dinner.

Two hours later poor Tom, dripping wet, with one small bird in his hand, faced the assembled family in the home kitchen.

"Where is your gun?" asked his father immediately.

"At the bottom of the river," replied the boy. "I was reaching for my duck, and the canoe upset."

"Oh, Tom, you'd upset a sailing vessel if you stepped on it!" came from his sister. "Now you can't take me to the quilting party. It is just too bad!"

"You go over to neighbor Roger's and chop his wood," ordered Tom's father with disgust in his tone. "I told him one of us would do it, for he is bad in his limbs."

After changing his clothes, Tom started off to the Roger's home, a good two miles through the woods. The family attitude had dampened his usual good spirits, and his sister's words had stung. An afternoon's work of wood splitting brought cheer, at least to the forlorn neighbors, and Tom started home again whistling.

It was a bad habit, in those days, to make one's presence known in the woods, and in this case Tom's whistling proved most serious, for suddenly, he realized that three dusky figures were creeping up the hill slope behind him. Quick as could be, he bounded up the crest of the hill and over the other side; but quite as quickly came one of the three Indians in hot pursuit. The other two, confident of their companion's speed, waited below for him to return with his prisoner.

Tom was too heavy to run far, and soon the Indian had him in his ugly clutch.

"Name?" asked the Indian, taking Tom by the shoulders.

"Thomas Toogood," was the boy's frightened reply.

"Ugh!" grunted the Indian. Then, appreciating Tom's clumsiness, the Indian loosened his grasp for a moment to straighten some cords with which to bind his captive. As the red man stooped with gun under his arm, for an instant he turned his back. Tom, for once in his life not slow, in a flash seized the gun and aimed it at the Indian.

"You shout for help, and I'll shoot," he cried, backing away, and then with more dexterity than hitherto seemed possible, Tom continued to back with gun still pointed at the Indian, who muttered, "Tom no good, no good!"

Once out of momentary danger, before the Indian could signal to the others, Tom had plunged into the thicket and taken a short cut home. He was again in possession of a gun, and he had met an adventure which must command the respect of the family and prove to his sister his worth as an escort.

THE ESCAPE

"This, my little Dick, is a fine holiday for us," exclaimed Mrs. Waldron as she lifted her baby from his hooded crib. "Your father has promised an outing, and you shall go with us to the farm far up the river. Some day, my little boy, you shall gather the strawberries there yourself, and play in the hay, and hunt for eggs."

As she tossed her baby while she chatted, he seemed to be caught in mid-air by the tall soldierly gentleman who had entered. After a moment of play, Mrs. Waldron turned soberly to her husband.

"Now, Richard, will you use every argument possible to persuade Madam Ursula Cutt to return with us to Portsmouth? The French have so stirred the Indians in the East that it is not safe for her to remain on that remote farm."

"She has insisted," protested Col. Waldron, "that the haying must be done first. Until the crop is safely stored, it will be hard to start her. However, the weather has been warm and dry, so it may even now be done. Our boat is ready, can you go soon?"

It was a wonderful July day in 1694. Mrs. Waldron followed her husband down the garden slope to the sparkling river and had already passed little Dick into his arms while she stepped into the boat. A servant, hurrying over the arbored path, announced--

"Your friends from the Manor have arrived and are waiting to see you."

"Oh, Richard," came in disappointed tones from Mrs. Waldron, "we cannot take our trip. They have come so far we must offer them at least a day's hospitality."