CHAPTER XX.
BERT IS PLACED IN AN EMBARRASSING POSITION
Bert regarded his employer with surprise.
"Your wallet?" he repeated.
"Yes," answered Silas Wilson impatiently. "I had it in my pocket when I was at work here. I didn't think about it till just now, after Mr. Dexter had left me. Then I found that my pocket was empty."
"I haven't seen it, but you may have dropped it somewhere."
"Just help me look for it. Has anybody been here?"
"No; at least not in the field. Percy Marlowe passed in his buggy, and–"
"Never mind about that. Help me look for the wallet."
The rows of corn were of considerable length, and there were a good many of them. At least ten minutes elapsed before anything was seen of the missing article, and dark suspicions of his young assistant entered the mind of Mr. Wilson. But at last Bert's sharp eyes espied a faded leather wallet between two hills in one of the rows which the farmer had hoed.
"Is this it?" he asked, holding it up in his hand.
"Yes!" exclaimed Silas delighted. "Where did you find it?"
"Just here."
Mr. Wilson opened it, anxious to see whether the contents were intact.
"It's all safe," he said, with a sigh of relief.
"Was there much money in it?" asked Bert.
"Yes; two dollars and sixty-seven cents. It's a narrow escape! Suppose a dishonest person had found it?"
"It would have been terrible!" said Bert, successfully checking his disposition to laugh.
"I'm much obliged to you, Bert, for findin' it. I suppose you don't want any reward?"
"Oh, no! I am working for you, you know, and it wasn't my own time I was using."
"That's true! Still, I am willin' to give you two cents to encourage you to be honest."
"Thank you, Mr. Wilson; but I don't need any reward for that."
"You're a good boy, and if you stay with me I'll make a man of you."
"Thank you."
Bert was privately of opinion that if he remained till the age of twenty-one in Silas Wilson's employ, boarding at his table, he would grow into a very thin, under-sized man indeed.
Supper was a less substantial meal than dinner in the Wilson household, consisting of bread and butter and tea, with the addition of a plate of doughnuts, which were so tough and hard that it occurred to Bert that they would make very good base-balls if they had been of the right shape.
After supper he went home for an hour.
"Don't you feel very tired, Bert?" asked his mother.
"Yes, mother, but I feel still more hungry. If you've got anything left from supper I think I can dispose of it."
"Certainly, Bert; but didn't you eat supper at Mr. Wilson's?"
"Mother, they don't know what good living is there. I'd rather have one of your suppers than a dozen of Mr. Wilson's. I begin to think that the board part won't be worth over fifty cents for three days. I am sure it won't cost them any more."
"I wish you were going to sleep here, Bert. I shall feel lonely."
"So do I, but I shall only be away two nights. Silas Wilson promises to make a man of me if I'll stay, but I'd rather grow to manhood somewhere else."
Bert returned to the farm-house, and about half-past eight went to bed. He knew he must be early astir, and he felt fatigued by his day of labor in the field. Besides, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson went to bed at this hour. The farmer was not fond of reading, nor indeed was there anything in the house to read, for neither he nor his wife had a literary taste. Once he took an agricultural paper for a year at a cost of two dollars, but whenever the paper arrived he groaned in spirit over the cost, and deplored his extravagance in subscribing for it.
The room assigned to Bert was over the kitchen, which was in the ell part. The roof was sloping, and, toward the eaves, very low. There was one window near the bed which he occupied.
Bert went to sleep in ten minutes, and slept soundly for three or four hours. Then something roused him, and he opened his eyes. What he saw startled him. By the bright moonlight he perceived a man climbing in at the window.
To say that Bert was perfectly calm would not be true. He was very much startled, as I think almost any boy, or man either, would have been under the circumstances.
"It is a burglar!" thought Bert in excitement. "What can I do?"
Some one evidently had heard of Silas Wilson's miserly disposition, and judged that there would be a good chance to secure booty in the farm house. Bert, though he did not admire Mr. Wilson, felt that it was his duty to protect him from being plundered, if possible. He knew that he was in some personal peril, but he was naturally a brave boy, and his spirit rose to the occasion.
He waited until the supposed burglar was in the room, and then, sitting up in bed, asked stoutly: "Who are you? What brings you here?"
The man turned swiftly toward the bed, and fixed his eyes on Bert, but did not immediately speak.
"If you are a burglar," continued Bert, emboldened by the man's hesitation, "you had better get out of the window again, or I shall call Mr. Wilson."
"No, don't call him, at least not yet," said the intruder, sinking into a chair a few feet from the bed. "Are you working here?"
"Yes."
"Who are you?"
This seemed a singular question. What could his name matter to a burglar? However, Bert answered mechanically, "My name is Bert Barton."
"The widow Barton's boy?"
"Yes; how do you know that?" demanded Bert, in bewilderment.
"Don't you know me?" was the unexpected rejoinder.
He drew nearer to the bed, and Bert gazed at him earnestly, but no light dawned upon him.
"No, I don't know you," he said, shaking his head.
"I am Silas Wilson's son," said the stranger.
"Phineas Wilson?"
Now Bert remembered that eight years before, the farmer's son, a man grown, had left Lakeville, and, so far as he knew, had not been heard of since. He had contracted a habit of drinking and had tired of farm work. Moreover, when he left, he had taken fifty dollars of his father's money with him, which had led to bitter feelings on the part of the farmer, who appeared to mourn the loss of his money more than that of his son. And this was the young man who had crept into his father's house like a thief in the night.
"Why did you get into my window?" asked Bert. "Why didn't you come to the door?"
"I—didn't know if I would be welcome. I wanted to ask. Do you know how my father feels toward me?"
"No; I have only been here one day. He ought to be glad to see his son."
"I took some money with me when I went away," said Phineas hesitating. "Father's very fond of money."
"Yes," assented Bert.
"And he would find it hard to forget that."
"Why didn't you come back before?"
"I didn't dare to come till I could bring the money. I have got it with me, but not a dollar more. If you want to know what brings me back, look in my face and see for yourself."
The moon came out from behind a cloud, and by its light Bert saw that the young man's face was thin and ghastly.
"I am sick," he said; "irregular hours and whiskey have done their work. I am afraid I have got to pass in my checks."
"What does that mean—die?"
"Yes."
"Don't give up!" said Bert, feeling his sympathies go out toward this prodigal son. "You are young. It takes a good deal to kill a young man."
"You're a good fellow, Bert. That's your name, isn't it? Will you do me a favor?"
"To be sure I will."
"I am famished. I haven't had anything to eat for twenty-four hours. Can you slip downstairs and fetch me something to eat—no matter what—and a glass of milk?"
Bert hesitated. He could get what was required in the pantry, but suppose the farmer or his wife should wake up! It would make his position a very awkward one.
"Hadn't you better go down yourself?" he asked.
"I can hardly stand, I am so tired. Besides, I don't know where mother keeps things."
"I will try," said Bert; and he slipped on his pantaloons, and went softly downstairs.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE PANTRY
"Suppose Mrs. Wilson sees me?" thought Bert uncomfortably. "She will take me for a thief."
He was actuated by the kindest motives, but he heartily wished his errand were done. As he stepped into the kitchen he heard the deep breathing of Mrs. Wilson and the noisy snore of her husband, and rightly judged that it would not be easy to rouse either of them. He opened the pantry door, and by the light of the moon was able to inspect the shelves. There was a half loaf of bread on one shelf, half a dozen doughnuts on a plate on the shelf below, and a few cold beans close beside them. Then there was a small pitcher half-full of milk.
"I don't think the beans or doughnuts will set well on an empty stomach," Bert reflected. "I'd better take the milk and two or three slices of bread."
Here the cat, who had been asleep on the hearth, roused herself, perhaps at the sight of the milk pitcher, and, mewing loudly, rubbed herself against Bert's legs.
"Scat!" cried Bert, in a low voice, anxiously looking toward the door of the bed chamber in which the farmer and his wife lay asleep.
The cat got between his legs and nearly tripped him up, but he managed to get out of the room and upstairs. Phineas looked at him eagerly.
"I have some bread and milk here," said Bert. "I couldn't find any butter. There were some cold beans and doughnuts, but—"
"The bread and milk are better. Give them to me. I am almost famished."
The bread was dry and stale, but Phineas was not in the mood to be particular. He ate like one famished, and drained the pitcher to the last drop.
"I feel better," he said then, with a sigh of relief.
"I suppose I had better take the pitcher back to the kitchen. It will be missed," reflected Bert, and he started downstairs again in his bare feet. He paused at the kitchen door, and heard the farmer talking in his sleep. This alarmed him. He decided that it would not do to replace the pitcher in the pantry, as he would be likely to be heard. He waited where he was for five minutes, and then ventured into the kitchen. This time he was successful, and with mind relieved returned to his chamber.
Phineas was dozing in his chair.
"You had better get into the bed, Mr. Wilson," said Bert, filled with compassion for the weary wayfarer. "I'll lie on the floor."
"If you don't mind. I am fagged out."
Bert made a pillow of his coat and trousers, and stretched himself on the floor. He found that there was an inside bolt, with which he fastened the door, to guard against any unexpected visit from Mr. or Mrs. Wilson.
He fell asleep again, and was only roused by a loud voice at the foot of the back stairs.
"Time to get up!" called the farmer.
"All right!" responded Bert in a loud tone.
Fortunately Silas Wilson did not think it necessary to come up. Had he done so it would have been embarrassing, for Phineas was sound asleep on the bed. Bert thought it best to rouse him before he went down stairs.
"Are you not afraid some one will come upstairs and find you here?" he asked.
"No; mother never comes up till after she has got breakfast out of the way and the dishes washed."
"I suppose you know best," said Bert doubtfully.
"If necessary I shall tell her who I am."
Bert went below, and sat down at the breakfast table. It was clear from the expression on Mrs. Wilson's face that she had something on her mind.
"Silas," she said solemnly, "something mysterious has happened during the night."
"What is it?" asked the farmer in a tone of surprise.
"We have been robbed!"
"What of?" he asked, turning pale. "Do you miss any of the spoons?"
"No."
"Or—or money?" and he pulled out his wallet hurriedly.
"No, no, it isn't that."
"What is it, then?"
"I left that pitcher half full of milk when I went to bed last night. This morning there wasn't a drop in it, and the pantry door was open."
"Cats are fond of milk," suggested Silas, with a glance at Tabby, who was lying near the fire-place.
"It wasn't the cat. She couldn't get her head inside the pitcher. Besides, there are three slices of bread missing."
"Won't cats eat bread?"
"It was a two-legged cat!" replied Mrs. Wilson significantly.
Bert reddened in spite of himself, and tried to look unconscious. He saw that Mrs. Wilson was on the point of making a discovery, and that suspicion was likely to fall upon him. This he could clear up, but it would be at the expense of the poor fellow who was asleep upstairs.
"But how could anybody get into the house?" asked Silas. "The doors were locked, weren't they?"
"Yes, Silas. In forty years I have never failed to lock the door before I went to bed."
"Then I don't see–"
"Nor I—yet!" said Mrs. Wilson significantly, and Bert thought—but he may have been mistaken—that her eyes turned for a moment in his direction.
"At any rate it isn't much of a loss. Was there anything else in the closet?"
"There were some doughnuts and beans."
"Were any of them taken?"
"No, not that I can see."
"Cats don't care for them."
"Don't be a fool, Silas! That poor cat had no more to do with the robbery than I have."
"Mebbe you're right; but cats have been known to steal. I like dogs better myself."
"I don't!" cried Mrs. Wilson with emphasis. "I'm not going to have any dog trapesing over my floors with his muddy feet."
"Just as you like, Sophia. You'd better lock the pantry door in future."
"I'm not sure that that will answer, unless I hide the key."
"Do you seriously think a human being took the things?"
"Yes, I do—in the middle of the night."
"By gracious! that's serious, He might have come into our room and taken my wallet and watch."
"And maybe murdered us in our beds!" added Mrs. Wilson grimly.
"Did you hear anybody walking round the house last night, Bert?" asked the farmer, who was by this time worked up into a state of agitation.
"No," answered Bert.
"I am glad he did not ask me whether I
saw
anybody," thought he. "I don't want to tell a lie."
"I usually sleep pretty sound," he added, a little ashamed of his duplicity, yet not knowing how else to avert suspicions.
"So we all do!" said the farmer's wife. "We might be all murdered in our beds without knowing anything about it."
"I shouldn't want to know anything about it if that was going to happen," observed Silas, not without reason. "I don't think it could have been a very desperate ruffian, if he contented himself with taking bread and milk."
"He may come again to-night," suggested Mrs. Wilson.
"I hope not," said Silas fervently. "I—I couldn't sleep if I thought so."
"We must get to the bottom of this," went on his wife resolutely. "I am not willing to have such goings on in my house."
"How are you going to do it, Sophia? Probably the thief's miles off by this time."
"He may be, or he may not be!" said Mrs. Wilson in an oracular tone.
"I've heard of folks walking in their sleep," she added, after a pause.
"You don't mean me?" asked Silas.
"No; if you did it I'd have had a chance to find out in forty years. Do you ever walk in your sleep?" she asked, turning suddenly to Bert.
The question was so unexpected that he could not help changing color, and this served to increase Mrs. Wilson's dawning suspicions.
"Not that I ever heard of," Bert answered, after a pause.
"I knew a boy once that did—it was a second cousin of my brother's first wife."
"I am sure I never get up in my sleep."
The door leading into the entry from which the back-stairs ascended was open, and through this, just at this moment, was heard a sound that startled all three who were sitting at the breakfast table.
It was a loud, unmistakeable sneeze, and it came from the chamber which Bert had occupied.
The farmer and his wife started as if the house had been shaken by an exploding bombshell. Both turned as pale as death, looked fearfully at each other, and clutched tightly at the edges of the table.
"Silas!" said Mrs. Wilson, in a hollow voice, "the burglar is upstairs!"
CHAPTER XXII.
A PANIC AT FARMER WILSON'S
Silas Wilson was not a brave man, and at his wife's suggestion he turned pale, and looked panic-stricken.
"Do—you—think so?" he asked feebly.
"Do I think so? I know so," returned Mrs. Wilson energetically.
"How could he get up there?"
Mrs. Wilson walked to the window, and her lynx eyes detected the ladder by which Phineas had climbed to the window of Bert's room.
"Do you see that?" she asked.
It is rather surprising that she did not suspect Bert of knowing something about the matter, but she had not yet had time to put two and two together.
"It's terrible!" murmured Silas, mopping the cold perspiration from his forehead. "What can we do?"
"What can we do? Go and get your gun, Silas, and go up and confront the villain. That's what we can do."
Somehow the suggestion did not seem to find favor with Mr. Wilson.
"He would shoot me," he said. "He's probably waitin' for me with a loaded weepun upon the landin'."
"Silas Wilson, I am ashamed of you. Are you going to let a villainous burglar rampage round upstairs, stealin' whatever he can lay his hands on? Come now!"
"I believe you care more for the few things upstairs than for your husband's life," said Silas reproachfully.
"Do you want
me
to go, Silas? What'll the folks in the village say when they hear of it?"
"I don't know as I know where the gun is," said Silas nervously.
"It's out in the woodshed behind the door."
"I don't know as it's loaded. Besides I wouldn't want to be took up for murder."
"Not much danger, Silas Wilson! Such men as you don't get into such scrapes as that."
Mrs. Wilson went out into the woodshed, and returned, holding the gun in such a way that it pointed directly at her husband.
"Don't you know no better than to p'int that gun at me, Sophia?" exclaimed Silas in no little terror. "Beats all what fools women are about firearms."
"They may be fools, but they ain't cowards," returned Mrs. Wilson. "Come, are you going up or not?"
"Hadn't I better go to the foot of the stairs and fire up?" asked Silas with a bright idea.
"And then he'd come down on you, when your gun was discharged, and run his bayonet into you," said Mrs. Wilson, who knew that at the battle of Bunker Hill the muskets had bayonets attached.
"I'll give him warnin'!" continued Silas. "It'll only be fair. He'll probably be frightened and climb down the ladder."
"I never did see such a 'fraid cat in my life!" quoth Mrs. Wilson contemptuously.
"Mebbe you're braver'n I be. If you are, go up yourself!" said Silas Wilson angrily.
"You want to put your wife in danger, do you?" returned Mrs. Wilson, who was as averse to facing the burglar as her husband, though she talked more courageously.
"And you want to expose your husband to danger," retorted Silas, "so it's an even thing, so far as I can see."
It is hardly necessary to say that Bert enjoyed the dispute between the husband and wife, though he maintained an outward gravity which helped him to conceal his secret amusement. By this time he thought it time for him to take part.
"I'll go up," he said.
"You will?" exclaimed Silas in surprise and relief.
"Yes, I am not afraid."
"To be sure! The burglar wouldn't do you no harm. You're only a boy. Do you know how to fire a gun?"
"Yes, but I shan't need the gun. I am sure the burglar wouldn't harm me."
"You're a brave boy, Bert," said the farmer. "You're doing just what I would have done at your age."
"You
never
would have done it, Silas! I should be ashamed anyway to own up I was more of a coward as a grown man than as a boy."
"Sophia, you don't know much about burglars and their ways. Don't be afraid, Bert; I'll back you up; I'll stand at the door of the kitchen with the gun in my hand, and help you if you need it."
Bert smiled, for he knew just how valuable Silas Wilson's assistance would be, but he made no comment, and started on his perilous enterprise.
"I hope he won't come to no harm," said Mrs. Wilson. "I don't know but I'd better go with him."
"It would be safer for you, Sophia, for burglars don't shoot women."
"Much you know about it, Silas."
The two moved toward the kitchen door, Silas handling the gun as if he were afraid of it. They listened with painful attention, and presently heard the sound of voices, though they could not make out what was being said.
"The boy's speakin' to him!" said Silas, awe-struck. "I never see such a terrible time. I wish I'd told Bert to tell the burglar to go back the same way he came, and we wouldn't fire at him. I don't want to be too hard on the transgressor. Mebbe he's driven to his evil ways by destitution."
Mrs. Wilson paid very little attention to what her husband was saying, being more intent on what was passing upstairs.
After a short interval Bert came down.
"Well?" said Silas eagerly. "Did you see the burglar?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"In my room."
"What is he doin' there?"
"He is lying on the bed."
"Well, if I ever saw such impudence!" ejaculated Mrs. Wilson.
"Has he got a gun with him? Did he offer to shoot you?"
"No," answered Bert gravely. "The poor fellow is sick."
"Poor fellow, indeed!" sniffed Mrs. Wilson. "What does he mean by getting into a respectable house through a window? He'll end up his days in jail."
"Does—does he look desperate?" inquired Silas Wilson. "Would he be likely to hurt me or Mis' Wilson?"
"No; he says he would like to have you come up."
"Well, of all things!" ejaculated Sophia.
"I've got something to tell you," went on Bert, turning from one to the other. "He wants me to tell you before you go up. It is some one whom you both know, though you haven't seen him for a good many years."
Silas did not understand, but a mother's instincts were quicker.
"Is it our son—Phineas?" she asked.
"Yes," answered Bert; "it is your son."
"Who stole fifty dollars from his father, and crept away like a thief in the night!" exclaimed the farmer indignantly.
"He has suffered, and is very weak," rejoined Bert. "He hadn't had anything to eat for twenty-four hours, and I may as well tell you that it was I who came downstairs in the night and took up the bread and milk to him."
"You did quite right," said Mrs. Wilson, who was half-way upstairs by this time. He was her own son in spite of all, and though she was not an emotional woman, she yearned to see the face of her only child, with a mother's feelings all aroused within her.
"He took fifty dollars!" repeated Silas Wilson, still harping on a wrong which he had never forgotten nor forgiven.
Bert was rather disgusted at the farmer's meanness, but he relieved his anxiety.
"He's brought you back the money!" he said shortly.
"He has!" exclaimed Silas in a tone of gladness. "Did he tell you so?"
"Yes; it is all the money he had, and he wen