Smith Ruel Perley
The Rival Campers Ashore: or, The Mystery of the Mill

CHAPTER X
HENRY BURNS MAKES A GIFT

It was evening, and the streets of Benton's shopping section were lighted; the illumination of windows serving to display the attractions arranged therein to best advantage. The night was warm and pleasant, and the passers-by moved leisurely, enjoying the sights, or pausing now and then to gaze in, as some object caught their eye.

Three boys, sauntering along one of the principal thoroughfares, stopped abruptly as one of their number called them to a halt and pointed on ahead. The object to which he pointed was a fourth youth, who was standing, with hands in his pockets, intently absorbed in the display in one of the shop windows.

"Sh-h-h!" whispered young Joe Warren to his companions, his brother George and Bob White, "look at Henry Burns. My, but that's rich. We've got one on him, all right. Hold on, let's come up on him easy."

The boys drew a little nearer to Henry Burns, grinning broadly. Henry Burns, all unmindful of such concerted observation, continued to gaze in at the brilliantly lighted window.

The contents of the window-case were, indeed, such as one would hardly have supposed to be of interest to a youth of his age. The shop was one of Benton's largest dry-goods establishments, and the particular window was devoted wholly to an assortment of women's and misses' dresses. Several more or less life-like figures, arrayed in garments of the season, occupied prominent positions in the display.

Directly in line with Henry Burns's vision was one of these: the figure of a girl, dressed in a neat summer sailor suit, the yellow curls of the head surmounted with a dashing sailor hat; its waxen cheeks tinted a most decided pink; its blue, staring eyes apparently returning the gaze of Henry Burns, unabashed at his admiration.

There was no mistaking Henry Burns's desire to form a closer acquaintance with the wax figure, for presently he approached closer to the window and stood studying it with undisguised interest.

"Seems to like the looks of her, don't he?" chuckled Young Joe, nudging Bob White and doubling up with laughter. "Wish Jack Harvey was here now to see him. Come on, let's wake him up."

Approaching softly, the three neared the unsuspecting admirer of the yellow-haired, waxen miss.

Still lost in contemplation of her, Henry Burns was suddenly greeted by a series of yells and hoots of derision that would have done credit to a wild west performance. Then roars of laughter followed, as he turned and faced them.

It was not in the nature of Henry Burns to be startled or easily disconcerted, however, and, although taken by surprise, he turned slowly and faced the three.

"Hello," he said coolly.

"Hello, Henry," snickered Young Joe. "Say, what's her name?"

"Yes, who is she?" echoed the other two; whereupon all three went off again into mingled roars of laughter and yells of delight.

"Dunno," responded Henry Burns. "I'll go in and ask, though, if you want."

"Isn't she sweet?" said Bob White. "How long have you known her?"

"Oh, not so long as you've known Kitty Clark," replied Henry Burns.

"Ow! wow!" squealed Young Joe; an exclamation which began in great satisfaction and terminated in a howl, as he felt the force of a punch from Bob's vigorous right arm.

It wasn't so easy getting the best of Henry Burns, in spite of his disadvantage.

"Seen Jack?" he inquired.

"No – yes, there he comes now," answered George Warren, pointing back in the direction whence they had come.

Henry Burns left them abruptly, and they went along, calling back at him mockingly. But he paid little heed. Anyone familiar with the youth would have known that he had something particular in mind; and in such case, Henry Burns was not to be turned aside by bantering.

Some five minutes later, Henry Burns and Harvey stood looking in at the very same shop window, whither Henry Burns had conducted his companion.

"Say – er – Jack, what do you think of that?" inquired Henry Burns, pointing in at the wax figure.

Harvey looked at his companion and grinned.

"Think of what!" he exclaimed. "The curls?"

"No, hang the curls!" said Henry Burns. "The dress."

Harvey stared at him, open-mouthed.

"Oh, yes," he said at length, as though endeavouring to grasp the meaning of so extraordinary an inquiry; "looks like Bob White's sister. What of it?"

"Oh, nothing," replied Henry Burns, "only you and I are going to buy it."

Harvey's grin expanded.

"Sure," he responded. "You'd look nice in it, Henry. Only you need the curls, too – "

"And give it to Bess Thornton," continued Henry Burns, unmindful of his comrade's remark.

Harvey whistled.

"Well, I'll be skinned if I don't think you're in earnest!" he exclaimed.

"I am," said Henry Burns. "It's eight dollars and eighty-seven cents – marked down – they always are, ain't they? Half of that's four dollars and something or other apiece. Come in with me?"

"Not much!" cried Harvey, turning red at the very thought of it. "I'll pay half, though, if you'll get somebody to buy it. It's worth more than that to me, to win that race. Well, if you don't beat all thinking up queer things. What put it into your head?"

"Why, she spoiled hers, showing us how to come through that sluice, didn't she?" said Henry Burns.

"Guess not," replied Harvey. "Spoiled long before that, I reckon. They're poor enough. Get somebody to buy the dress, and I'll pay for half, all right."

"I'm going to buy it now," said Henry Burns, coolly; "that is, if you've got any money. I've got five dollars."

Harvey produced his pocket-book and the necessary bills.

"Gee!" he exclaimed. "I wouldn't do it for a hundred dollars. Go on; I'll watch you through the window."

In no wise daunted, Henry Burns, whose critical study of the model and the garment through the window had satisfied him that the figure was of Bess Thornton's size, boldly entered the store, calmly made the purchase, ignored the inquiry of the clerk if he was thinking of getting married, and returned with it to his companion.

"Say," exclaimed Harvey, "I don't wonder you learned to sail the Viking quick as you did. You've got the nerve."

"Now we've got to take it up there," said Henry Burns.

Harvey stopped short.

"Take that dress and give it to a girl?" he asked.

"No, we won't give it to her," replied his comrade. "She might not like to have us – and I wouldn't know what to say, would you?"

"Would I!" exclaimed Harvey.

"We'll just leave it and cut and run," explained Henry Burns. "Then she won't know who sent it, and she'll have to keep it. See?"

"It's most nine o'clock," remarked Harvey.

"I'm going," said Henry Burns.

"Oh, well, I'll stand by," said Harvey. "Let's be off, then. It's a good two miles and a half, nearer three."

Shortly after, one might have seen the two comrades trudging along the road leading out of Benton, in the direction of Ellison's mill.

They walked briskly, and in a little less than three quarters of an hour a light from a window on a hill-top warned them that they were approaching the farmhouse of Farmer Ellison. They turned in from the road that ran along the bank of the stream, and made their way through his field on the hillside, in the direction of the brook.

"Does Ellison keep any dog?" asked Harvey, once.

"I don't know, any more than you do," replied his companion. "Never saw any. We'll keep well down near the brook, though, so they can't see us from the house."

They passed through some clumps of small cedars and thin birches, stumbling now and then over cradle-knolls and pitching into little depressions. It was a clear night and starlit, but the shadows in the half darkness were confusing. A lamp gleamed in the kitchen window, above them, and they could see someone moving past the window from time to time.

"Ellison hasn't gone to bed," remarked Harvey.

"Well, what of it?" replied Henry Burns. "Not scared of him, are you?"

"No," answered Harvey. "But he's touchy about this brook. Ever since he caught Willie Dodd setting a net there one night he's been crazy for fear he'd lose some of these trout."

"I know what's the matter with you," said Henry Burns. "It's this dress. You wouldn't have anyone catch us with it for a million dollars."

"You bet I wouldn't," answered Harvey.

Harvey's nerves, usually the steadiest, were not proof against even a slight alarm; for when, a few moments later, his companion touched him lightly on an arm and motioned for him to be still, he waited, keyed up to a high point of excitement and ready for a dash across the fields.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"Sh-h!" replied Henry Burns, clutching his bundle tight under one arm, and peering through the scattered alders, into which they had penetrated. "I heard a step."

They waited, anxiously.

It was Harvey's turn, however, to enjoy a laugh at the expense of his comrade, as the steps that the quick ear of Henry Burns had heard were continued, this time with an unmistakable crackling of undergrowth.

"There's your prowler, Henry," he said, laughing softly and slapping his friend between the shoulders. "She's got two horns, but I guess she won't hook, unless she sees through that box and gets a sight of that dress."

A look of relief overspread Henry Burns's face, as a Jersey cow stalked slowly through the brush and stood gazing inquiringly at the two boys. But, observing her for a moment, it did not escape Henry Burns that the animal suddenly gave a spring and turned and faced the other way, as though some noise behind had surprised her.

Henry Burns clutched his comrade and pointed back past the cow. Harvey's eyes followed where he pointed.

The figure of a man was plainly to be seen, stealing along in the shadows of the clumps of bushes.

They paused not another instant, but dashed forward, heedless now of the noise they made, thrusting branches aside and leaping from one knoll to another where the soil was boggy. At the same moment Farmer Ellison, brandishing a club, emerged into plain view and darted after them, crying out as he ran.

"Stop there!" he shouted. "I'll shoot yer if yer don't stop. I'll have no nets set in this stream. Just let me lay this club on your backs."

They only fled the faster.

"He won't shoot," gasped Henry Burns. "Make for the foot of the dam. We'll cross the brook."

As for Harvey, threats of a fire of infantry wouldn't have stopped him. He followed his slighter companion, who led the way, despite the incumbrance of the box he carried.

Through pasture and swamp the chase continued. The boys were fleeter of foot, but Farmer Ellison knew the ground. And once he skirted a boggy piece of land and nearly headed them off. They turned toward the brook, gained its shore and sped along to the foot of the dam. There the water, diminished by the obstruction, flowed from a little basin out on to shallower bottom, from which here and there a rock protruded.

Springing from one to another of these, slipping and splashing to their knees, aided here and there by a bit of half decayed log or drift-wood, they got across and scrambled up the opposite bank just as Farmer Ellison, out of breath, appeared on the nearer shore.

"You poachers!" he cried, "Ye've got away this time. But look out for the next. Remember, it's a shotgun full of rock salt and sore legs for yer if yer come again."

He seated himself by the foot of the dam, nursing a bruised shin, and watched them disappear through the fields.

"Scared 'em some, anyway, I reckon," he remarked. And was most assuredly correct in that. The two boys had not stopped in their flight, and were a mile above the crossing before Farmer Ellison turned himself homeward.

Safe from pursuit at last, Henry Burns threw himself down at the foot of a tree and laughed till he nearly choked for want of breath.

"How we did scoot," he said. "Did you see old Ellison slip once and go into the bog?"

"I didn't see anything," replied Harvey, "but a pair of legs in front of me, cutting it through the mud and brush. How's the dress?"

"Oh, it's all right," said Henry Burns. "Come out if you've got your wind. We'll leave it and get home."

They were at a point above Grannie Thornton's cottage, and they proceeded now cautiously, making a circuit to bring them to the brook some way above the house, pausing now and then to look and to listen. But no one disturbed them. Farmer Ellison had had enough of the chase and had gone home to nurse his shin.

They came down to the old house. It was dark, and all was still. Harvey waited on watch near the gate, while Henry Burns stole up to the door and laid the box down carefully against the front door. Then they sped away.

"Go back the way we came?" inquired Henry Burns, slyly.

"Not much," said Harvey. "Straight out to the main road. No more swamps for me."

They went out that way, then; took the main road, passed down by the old inn and the mill, and swung into a rapid stride for home. It was half past eleven o'clock when they turned into their beds.

Two days following this adventure, toward the latter part of the afternoon, Henry Burns was walking up the same road by the stream, in the direction of the camp, where he was to meet Tom Harris for a spin in the canoe. He had heard no footsteps near, and was therefore not a little surprised when a hand touched his arm and a laugh that was familiar sounded close by his side.

He turned quickly, and there was Bess Thornton.

"Hullo," she said, "I hoped I'd see somebody on the road. I'll walk along with you."

Henry Burns said "all right" in a tone that was not over-cordial; for, though not easily abashed, he was, to tell the truth, just a bit shy with girls, and wondered what Tom Harris would say if he saw him coming up the road with Bess.

Perhaps the girl's quick intuitiveness perceived this, for a mischievous light danced in her black eyes as she said, "I thought perhaps you'd like to have company. You would, wouldn't you?"

"Yes – oh, yes," responded Henry Burns. "Going home from school?"

"Yes," she answered. "But I didn't want to go this morning, a bit. Gran' made me, though."

"What's the matter?" asked Henry Burns.

"Well," said the girl, "I had to wear this new dress, you see. And when you wear a new dress they always say things, don't you know? Danny Davis hollered 'stuck up' once, but I punched him."

"Good for you," said Henry Burns, laughing. "I'd like to have seen you – that a new dress?"

"Course it is," she answered, with a touch of half-offended pride. "Can't you see it is?"

Henry Burns made a quick survey of the trim little figure, clad in the dress that had cost him and Harvey the hard scramble of the recent night. It was surprising what a difference the pretty suit made in the appearance of the girl. He made a mental note of the fact that it seemed just the right size for her, and that she certainly looked very nice in it. Its dark red set off the black of her glossy hair, and she wore a neat straw hat that went well with the dress. At least, it looked all right to Henry Burns.

"You don't look stuck up," he ventured. "You look first rate."

He felt the colour come into his cheeks as he said it. It was the first time in his life that he had ever complimented a girl. They were passing a dingy little store, with its windows filled with farming tools, odds and ends of household stuff and some fishing tackle, and he thought it a good chance to get away.

"Got an errand in here," he said. "Good-bye."

Some ten minutes later he emerged, looked sharply up the road and pursued his journey. He had gone scarcely a rod or two, however, when the girl's voice brought him to a halt, much taken aback. She was seated by the stream, close to the water.

"I thought you'd be along," she said. "I've been watching the pickerel. There's one sunning himself close to the top of water now, just by the lily pads. See me hit him."

She picked up a stone as she spoke, and threw it with surprising ease and accuracy. It struck the water about six inches from the dark object to which she had pointed. Henry Burns's chagrin at this second meeting was lost in admiration.

"Good shot!" he exclaimed. "How'd you know 'twas a pickerel?"

"Oh I catch 'em," she answered. "And once in a while I show one to Benny Ellison so he can shoot it. I don't like him much, though. He's mean and – fat."

Henry Burns chuckled.

"He can't help that," he said.

"No, but he's always stuffing himself with candy and things," said the girl. "And he won't ever give you any. I like people that give away things once in a while, don't you?"

Henry Burns came the nearest to blushing that he ever had, as he answered that he guessed he did. There was something in the girl's voice and manner and in her beaming countenance, telling of her happiness in the possession of her new finery – though she had feared the ordeal of wearing it to school, perhaps because of the contrast it made to her usual garment – that he felt a queer feeling in his throat. But relief was at hand for him in his embarrassment, for the path that led down to the camp was in sight, and he bade her good-bye.

He struck off along the path, through the bushes and thin growth of woods; but had gone only a little way when the sound of voices, one sharp and angry, made him pause. He retraced his steps, hurrying as he recognized the voice of Bess Thornton, the tone of which indicated grief.

He emerged into the road in time to see the girl scramble out of a clump of brakes and burdock plants by the roadside, the tears standing in her eyes as she picked the burs from the latter out of the new dress. Just in front of her, noting her distress with satisfaction, stood Benny Ellison.

"That's what you get for being so proud," he said bluntly. "You needn't get so mad, though. I was only in fun."

The girl's eyes blazed, angrily; but it was not the Bess Thornton of every day that now faced the youth. Some of her fearlessness and dash seemed to have departed, with the taking off of the old dress.

"Let me past," she said, stepping forward; but the boy blocked her way.

"Let me look at the new dress," he demanded. "Where'd you get so much?"

He caught her by an arm, as she attempted to brush past him. Greatly to his surprise, however, he felt his hand cast off and, at the same time, he was nearly upset by a vigorous push. The youth who had done this, apparently not the least excited, stood facing him as he recovered himself.

"Let the girl alone," said Henry Burns. "Let her go past."

One could hardly have noted a trace of anger in his voice, but there was a warning in his eye that Benny Ellison might have heeded. The latter, however, was no longer in a mood to stop at any warning. His flabby face reddened and his fist clenched.

"You'll not stop me!" he cried, taking a step toward the girl. "I'll push both of you in there, if you don't get out."

"Just try it," said Henry Burns, quietly.

Benny Ellison, larger and heavier than the youth who thus dared him, hesitated only a moment. Then he rushed at Henry Burns and they clinched. The struggle seemed over before it had hardly begun, however, for the next moment Benny Ellison found himself lying on his back in the road, with Henry Burns firmly holding him there.

"Let me up!" he cried, squirming and kicking. "You don't dare let me up."

By way of answer, Henry Burns relinquished his hold and allowed his antagonist to regain his feet. Again Benny Ellison, wild with anger, made a rush for Henry Burns, aiming a blow at him as he came on. Dodging it, and without deigning to attempt to return it, Henry Burns closed with him once more, and they reeled together to and fro for a moment.

If Benny Ellison had but known it, he had met with one whom Tom Harris and Bob White, who prided themselves on their athletics, and even stalwart Jack Harvey, had often found to be their match in wrestling. Slight in build, but with well-knit muscles, Henry Burns was surprisingly strong. And, above all, he never lost his head.

The contest this time was a moment more prolonged; but again Benny Ellison felt his feet going from under him, and again he went down – but this time harder – to the ground. He lay for a moment, with the breath knocked out of him.

"Want another?" inquired Henry Burns, calmly. He had not even offered to strike a blow.

Benny Ellison, picking himself up slowly from the dust, hesitated a moment; then backed away.

"I'll have it out with you again some time," he muttered. "I'll get square with you for this."

Henry Burns's eyes twinkled.

"Why not now?" he asked.

Benny Ellison made no reply, but went on up the road.

Bess Thornton's face, radiant with delight as Henry Burns turned to her, suddenly clouded.

"Guess I'll have to look out now," she said. "He'll give it to me, if he catches me."

Henry Burns's face wore an expression of mingled perplexity and embarrassment. Then, as one resolved to see the thing through, he replied, "Come on, I'll get you home all right."