Jess of the Rebel Trail Part 5

"No you're not; you are just getting them, Captain. It's better to break a pipe than a girl's heart, isn't it?"

"I s'pose so, Miss. But a pipe means a good smoke, while a woman means----"

He paused, and looked helplessly around.

"What?" The girl's eyes twinkled.

"Trouble; that's what."

"But isn't she worth it?"

"That all depends upon what an' who she is."

"Certainly. Now you are talking sense. Isn't your daughter worth all the trouble she has been to you?"

"Sure, sure; yer sartinly right thar, Miss. Flo's given me a heap of trouble, but not half as much as Eben. That boy's a caution, an' he's given me an' Martha no end of worry."

"In what way?"

The captain scratched his head in perplexity, and s.h.i.+fted uneasily from one foot to another.

"I kin hardly explain," he at length replied. "He don't drink, nor swear, nor do nuthin' bad. But the trouble is, he don't do nuthin', an' don't want to do nuthin' but sleep an' eat."

"Perhaps you have not brought him up right, Captain."

"Not brought him up right!" Samuel's amazement was intense. "Why, Miss, we've done nuthin' but bring that boy up. Me an' Martha have slaved fer the raisin' of Eben. We started when he was a baby to raise him, right, an' the very next Sunday after he was born didn't they sing in church--

"'Here I'll raise my Ebenezer'."

"And so you've been singing it ever since, even when scrubbing the cabin?" The girl smiled at the recollection of the suddenly discontinued tune.

"Sure, why shouldn't I? It's a great hymn, it sartinly is, an' it's inspired me many a time. It has kept before me my duty, an' if Eben doesn't amount to somethin', it won't be my fault, nor Martha's, either, fer that matter."

"Have you taken the same care with your daughter?" the girl asked.

"No, not as much," was the reluctant confession. "Gals don't need sich special care. They ginerally grow up all right, an' git along somehow.

But it's different with boys. They're a problem, they sartinly are."

"And so you have given most of your attention to your son, and let your daughter grow up any way. Is that it, Captain?"

"That's about it, Miss."

"And how is your daughter getting along?"

"Fust rate. We've no trouble with her. She's a good worker, happy an'

cheerful as a bird, an' does what she's told. She's a fine gal, Flo is, an' thar's no mistake about that. I wish to goodness Eben was like her."

"It seems to me, Captain, that you tried too hard to raise your son, and spoiled him. Isn't that it?"

"D'ye think so?"

"I am sure of it. You are not the only ones who have spent all their care upon their sons and let their daughters grow up as they please. I know too much about it."

"Ye do!" Samuel's eyes opened wide in wonder. "An' you only a young gal, too."

"But I am old in experience, and know what I say is true. But what is that?" A startled look leaped into her eyes. "Do you suppose it is someone after me?"

With a bound the captain sprang up the stairs. He paused for an instant, however, and glanced back.

"Don't be scared, Miss," he encouraged. "It's only Eben. He's b.u.mped hard aginst the boat. You keep close under cover, an' I'll do what I kin with the boy."

CHAPTER IV

UNDER COVER

By the time the captain reached the side of the boat, Eben had his small skiff tied to the deck-rail. He was standing up, a tall, gaunt, ungainly youth, freckled faced, and sandy haired. He wore a dark-brown sweater, and a pair of overalls, baggy at the knees. He did not speak as his father approached, but mechanically handed up to him a jug of mola.s.ses, and several paper parcels. He then leaped lightly upon deck, and headed for the cabin. But the captain detained him by laying a firm and heavy hand upon his shoulder.

"Keep out of thar," he ordered. "I've jist been scrubbin' an' don't want ye to dirty the place up."

The tone of his father's voice caused Eben to swing suddenly around.

"Me feet ain't dirty," he drawled. "An' s'pose they are, what's the difference? The cabin ain't no parler. Let me go; I'm most starved."

But the captain's grip increased as he yanked his son a few feet back.

"I'm in charge of this craft," he reminded, "an' what I say goes. Yer not goin' down into that cabin to-night, so jist make up yer mind to that fust as last."

The boy now stared in speechless amazement. Never before had he seen his father so agitated, nor heard him speak to him in such a manner.

"D'ye understand?" the captain asked.

"Understand what?"

"That yer not goin' down in that cabin. Isn't that what I jist said?

Where are yer ears?"

A sullen look leaped into the boy's eyes, and with an effort he shook himself free from his father's grasp.

"D'ye mean it?" he growled.

"Sartinly I mean it. An' what's more, I don't want ye to ask any fool questions. We'll eat an' sleep on deck to-night, up forrad. I'll bring the grub an' clothes from the cabin, but you stay out."

Eben was about to reply in an angry manner, when the form of his countenance instantly changed, and a peculiar expression, half-humorous, appeared in his eyes. He stood looking at his father for a few seconds in an absent-minded manner. Then, without a word, he picked up the jug of mola.s.ses and strode up forward. The captain gazed after him in astonishment, greatly wondering what had come over his son to make him so obedient all of a sudden. He said nothing, however, but went at once down into the cabin where he found the girl making herself perfectly at home tidying up the place.

"Eben's come," the captain laconically remarked,