Part 29

"Come inside, Mr. Johnson," said Blackstock, "an' sit down. We must talk this over a bit. It is kind o' sudden, you see."

"I don't want to seem unsympathetic," said the visitor kindly, "and I know my little nephew is going to resent my carrying him off." (At these words Woolly Billy began to realize what was in the air, and clung to Blackstock with a storm of frightened tears.) "But you will understand that I have to catch the next boat from New York--and I have a thirty-mile drive before me now to the nearest railway station. You know what the roads are! So I'm sure you won't think me unreasonable if I ask you to get my nephew ready as soon as possible."

Blackstock devoted a few precious moments to quieting the child's sobs before replying. He remembered having found out in some way, from some papers in the drowned Englishman's pockets or somewhere, that the name of Woolly Billy's mother, before her marriage, was not Johnson, but O'Neill. Of course that discrepancy, he realized, might be easily explained, but his quick suspicions, sharpened by his devotion to the child, were aroused.

"We are not a rich family, by any means, Mr. Blackstock," continued the stranger, after a pause. "But we have enough to be able to reward handsomely those who have befriended us. All possible expense that my nephew may have been to you, I want to reimburse you for at once. And I wish also to make you a present as an expression of my gratitude--not, I assure you, as a payment," he added, noticing that Blackstock's face had hardened ominously. He took out a thick bill-book, well stuffed with banknotes.

"Put away your money, Mr. Johnson," said Blackstock coldly. "I ain't taking any, thank you, for what I may have done for Woolly Billy. But what I want to know is, what authority have you to demand the child?"

"I'm his uncle, his mother's brother," answered the stranger sharply, drawing himself up.

"That may be, an' then again, it mayn't," said Blackstock. "Do you think I'm goin' to hand over the child to a perfect stranger, just because he comes and says he's the child's uncle? What proofs have you?"

The visitor glared angrily, but restrained himself and handed Blackstock his card.

Blackstock read it carefully.

"What does that prove?" he demanded sarcastically. "It might not be your card! An' even if you are 'Mr. Johnson' all right, that's not proving that Mr. Johnson is the little feller's uncle! I want legal proof, that would hold in a court of law."

"You insolent blockhead!" exclaimed the visitor. "How dare you interfere between my nephew and me? If you don't hand him over at once, I will make you smart for it. Come, child, get your cap and coat, and come with me immediately. I have no more time to waste with this foolery, my man." And he stepped forward as if to lay hands on Woolly Billy.

Blackstock interposed an inexorable shoulder. The big dog growled, and stiffened up the hair on his neck ominously.

"Look here," said Blackstock crisply, "you're goin' to git yourself into trouble before you go much further, my lad. You jest mind your manners. When you bring me them proofs, I'll talk to you, see!"

He took Woolly Billy's hand, and turned towards the door.

The stranger's righteous indignation, strangely enough, seemed to have been allayed by this speech. He followed eagerly.

"Don't be unreasonable, Mr. Blackstock," he coaxed. "I'll send you the documents, from my solicitors, at once. I'm sure you don't want to stand in the dear child's light this way, and prevent him getting back to his own people, and the life that is his right, a day longer than is necessary. Do listen to reason, now." And he patted his wad of bank-notes suggestively.

But at this stage, Woolly Billy and the big dog having already entered the cottage, Blackstock followed, and calmly shut the door. "You'll smart for this, you ignorant clod-hopper!" shouted Mr. Heathington Johnson. He clutched the door-knob. But for all his rage, prudence came to his rescue. He did not turn the knob. After a moment's hesitation he ground his heel upon the doorstep, stalked back to his gig, and drove off furiously. The three at the window watched his going.

"We won't see him back here again," remarked the Deputy. "He wasn't no uncle o' yours, Woolly Billy."

That same evening he wrote to a reliable firm of lawyers at Exville, telling them all he knew about Woolly Billy and Woolly Billy's father, and also all he suspected, and instructed them to look into the matter fully.

Several weeks went by, and the imposing stranger, as Blackstock had anticipated, failed to return with his proofs. Then came a letter from the lawyers at Exville, saying that they had something important to communicate, and Blackstock hurried off to see them, planning to be away for about a week.

On the day following his departure, to the delight of all the children and of most of the rest of the population as well, there arrived at Brine's Rip Mills a man with a dancing bear. He was a black-eyed, swarthy, merry fellow, with a most infectious laugh, and besides his trained bear he possessed a pedlar's pack containing all sorts of up-to-date odds and ends, not by any means to be found in the very utilitarian miscellany of Zeb Smith's corner store.

He talked a rather musical but very broken lingo that passed for English, flashing a mouthful of splendid white teeth as he did so. He appeared to be an Italian, and the men of Brine's Rip christened him a "Dago" at once. There was no resisting his childlike bonhomie, or the amiable antics of his great brown bear, which grinned through its muzzle as if dancing to its master's merry piccolo were its one delight in life. And the two did a roaring business from the moment they came strolling into Brine's Rip.

"Tony" was what the laughing vagabond called himself, and his bear answered to the name of Beppo. Business being so good, Tony could afford to be generous, and he was continually pressing peppermint lozenges upon the rabble of children who formed a triumphal procession for him wherever he moved. When Tony's eyes first fell on Woolly Billy, standing just outside the crowd, with one arm over the neck of the big black dog, he was delighted.

"Com-a here, Bambino, com-a quick!" he cried, holding out some peppermints. Woolly Billy liked him at once, and adored the bear, but was too shy, or reserved, to push his way through the other children. So Tony came to him, leading the bear. Woolly Billy stood his ground, with a welcoming smile. The big black dog growled doubtfully, and then lost his doubts in curious admiration of the bear, which plainly fascinated him.

Woolly Billy accepted the peppermints politely, and put one into his mouth without delay. Then, with an apologetic air, the Italian laid one finger softly on Woolly Billy's curls, and drew back at once, as if fearing he had taken a liberty.

"Jim likes the bear, sir, doesn't he?" suggested Woolly Billy, to make conversation.

"Everybody he like-a ze bear. Him vaira good bear," asserted the bear's master, and laughed again, giving the bear a peppermint. "An' you one vaira good bambino. Ze bear, he like-a you vaira much. See, he shak-a you ze hand--good frens now."

Encouraged by the warmth of his welcome, the Italian had from the first made a practice of dropping in at certain houses of the village just at meal times--when he was received always with true backwoods hospitality. On Woolly Billy's invitation he had come to the house of Mrs. Amos. The old lady, too rheumatic to get about much out of doors, was delighted with such a unique and amusing guest. To all he said--which, indeed, she never more than half understood--she kept ejaculating. "Well, I never!" and "Did ye ever hear the likes o' that?"