Bart Ridgeley Part 8

"Bart, think of all our splendid times in the woods!"

"What a funny dream I had: I dreamed I was a young Indian, not John Brown's 'little Indian,' but a real red, strapping, painted young Indian, and our tribe was encamped over on the west side of this Indian lake, by Otter Point; and I was dreadfully in love with the chief's daughter."

"Who didn't love you again," said Theodore.

"Of course not, being a well-brought up young Indianess: and I went to the Indian spring, that runs into the pond, just above 'Barker's Landing,' that you all know of."

"I never knew that it was an Indian spring," said Young.

"Well, it is," replied Bart. "It has a sort of an earthen rim around it, or had a few minutes ago; and the water bubbles up from the bottom. Well, you drop a scarlet berry into it, and if it rises and runs over the rim, the sighed-for loves you, or she don't, and I have forgotten which. I found a scarlet head of ginseng, and dropped the seeds in one after another, and they all plumped straight to the bottom."

"Well, what was the conclusion?"

"Logical. The berries were too heavy for the current, or the current was too weak for the berries."

"And the Indianess?"

"She and all else faded out."

"Oh, pshaw! how silly!" said Young. "Will you take the spear, or won't you?"

"Will you take the spear, or won't you?" replied Bart, mimicking him with great effect.

"Have you heard from Henry lately?" asked Uncle Jonah.

"A few days ago," answered Bart, who turned moodily away like a peevish child angered with half sleep, and a pang from the thrust he had received.

"Henry is the most ambitious young man I ever knew," said the Doctor; "I fear he may never realize his aspirations."

"Why not?" demanded Bart, with sudden energy. "What is there that my brother Henry may not hope to win, I would like to know? He will win it or die in the effort."

"He will not, if he lives a thousand years," said Young, annoyed at Bart's mimicking him. "It ain't in him."

"What ain't in him, Old Testament?" demanded Bart, with asperity.

"The stuff. I've sounded him; it ain't there!"

"You've sounded him! Just as you are now sounding this bottomless pond, with a tow string six feet long, having an angle worm at one end, and an old hairy curmudgeonly grub at the other."

"There, Brother Young," said Uncle Jonah, "stop before worse comes."

"Mr. Young," said Bart, a moment later, with softened voice, making way towards him, "forgive me if you can. I've done with coa.r.s.e and vulgar speeches like that. You believe in Henry, and only spoke to annoy me. I take it all back. I will even spear you some ba.s.s, if Theodore will light up the jack. Give me the oars, and let me wake up a little, while we go to better ground below."

For a few moments he handled the polished, slender-tined, long-handled spear with great dexterity and success, and told the story of old Leather Stocking spearing ba.s.s from the Pioneers. He soon ceased, however, and declared he would do no more, and his companions, disgusted with his freaky humor, prepared to return. Bart, casting down his spear, remained in moody silence until they landed. Theodore picked up his rifle, the fish were placed in baskets, the tackle stowed away, the boat secured, and the party proceeded homeward.

Bart lived further from the pond than any of the party, and Theodore, who loved him, and was kind to his moods, taking a few of the finest fish, accompanied him home. As they were about to separate from Uncle Jonah--the father of Theodore--he turned to Bart, and said: "Something has happened, no matter what; don't be discouraged, you stick to them old books; there's souls in 'em, and they will carry you out to your place, some time."

"Thank you, thank you, Uncle Jonah!" said Bart, warmly; "these are the only encouraging words I've heard for two years."

"Theodore," said Bart, as they walked on, "what an uncomfortable bore I must have been to-night."

"Oh, I don't know! we thought that something had happened, perhaps."

"No, I'm trying to change, and be more civil and quiet, and have been thinking it all over, and don't feel quite comfortable; and we have both something to do besides run in the woods. You were very good to come with me, Theodore," he said, as they parted at the gate.

CHAPTER X.

AFTER THE FLOOD.

The next morning Bart was not up as usual, and George rushed into the low-ceiled room, under the roof.

"Bart! breakfast is ready! Ma thinks it strange you ain't up. That was a splendid big ba.s.s. Where did you take him? Are you sick?" as he came in.

"No, Georgie; I am only languid and dull. I must have been wofully tired."

"I should think you would be, running all day and up all night. I should think you'd be hungry, too, by this time."

"Georgie, how handsome you look this morning! What a splendid young man you will be, and so bright, and joyous, and good! Everybody will love you; no woman will scorn you. There, tell mother not to wait! I will get up soon."

Some time after, the light, quick step of his mother was heard approaching his door, where she paused as if to listen.

"I am up, mother," called out Bart; and she found him partly dressed, and sitting listlessly on his bed, pale and dejected.

"It is nothing, mother; I'm only a little depressed and dull. I'll be all right in an hour. I ran in the woods a good deal, took cold, and am tired."

She looked steadily and wistfully at him. The great change in his face could not escape her. Weary he looked, and worn, as from a heart-ill.

"What has happened, Barton? Did you go to anybody's house? Whom did you see?"

"No; I went to the pond, and met the Doctor and Uncle Jonah, and Theodore came home with me."

"Did you meet Julia Markham anywhere?"

"I did; she was going home from Coe's by the old road, and I went out of the woods with her."

A long, hard-drawn breath from his mother, who saw that he took her question like a stab.

"It is no matter, mother. It had to be over some time."

"Barton! you don't mean, Barton--"

"I do, just that, mother," steadily. "She was kinder in her scorn than she meant. It was what I needed."

"Her scorn! her scorn, Barton!"