CHAPTER II

BERTHA FINDS HERSELF SHORT OF FUNDS

Woodville was situated on the right bank of the Hudson. About one mile above was the village of Dunk’s Hollow, as it was called. It was only a small collection of houses, occupied by boatmen, fishermen and laborers--American, Irish and Dutch, all blended together in the most inharmonious manner.

Dunk’s Hollow had a very bad name in the neighborhood, and man, woman or child who came from there was deemed a reproach to the race. There was only one shop at the Hollow, and that was the principal source of all its misery, for its chief trade was in liquor, pipes and tobacco. The oldest inhabitant could not remember the week in which there had not been at least one fight there, and the number was often half a dozen. The men did small jobs, and spent most of their earnings at the tap-room of Von Brunt, while the women maintained an almost ineffectual struggle to obtain food enough to keep themselves and their children alive. This was Dunk’s Hollow, to whose poor and neglected little ones Bertha Grant had become a ministering angel.

On the opposite side of the river was the thriving village of Whitestone, in surprising contrast with the place just described. It contained four or five thousand inhabitants, with all the appointments of modern civilization, including a race course, half a dozen billiard saloons, where betting and liquor drinking were the principal recreations, and as many bowling alleys and fashionable oyster shops. All these traps to catch young men were frequented by the elite of the village, as well as by the sons of rich men, whose estates adorned the hills and valleys of the surrounding country. Here Richard Grant had taken his first lesson in dissipation.

About halfway between Woodville and the Hollow was the Glen. It was a beautifully shaded valley, on the bank of the river, through which a crystal brook from the hills above bubbled its way over the shining rocks to the great river. It was a fit abode for the fairy queens, and Bertha was a constant visitor at the spot, even before she made the acquaintance of the savages from Dunk’s Hollow, as Richard persisted in calling them.

The Glen was situated in a curve of the river, which swept in from Woodville to the Hollow. Off the Cove, as it had been named, was a small island, containing not more than a quarter of an acre of land, called Van Alstine’s. It was covered with rocks and trees, and was a frequent resort of boating parties, especially those from Woodville. This island, as well as the Glen, was owned by Mr. Grant, and he had taken some pains to clear up the underbrush and furnish it with seats and arbors.

Merry voices were heard in the Glen, even while the tones of anger and reproach were ringing in the lofty rooms of the mansion at Woodville. The savages from the Hollow were already gathered there, and the repeated glances which they cast down the river indicated the earnestness with which they expected the coming of their apostle of mercy. But Bertha was not ready to join them yet. The attitude of her brother was far from promising, and with a sad heart she realized that the heathen had invaded her own house.

After Richard rushed out of the house, angry and disappointed, her eyes filled with tears, and she tried to think of some method by which she could save him from the error of his ways. She knew that Tom Mullen and the other young men with whom her brother had lately begun to associate were the vilest of the vile. Tom had been seen intoxicated in the streets of the village, and it was well known that he and his companions were gamblers, if not thieves.

What could she do to save him? Alas! there was nothing that she, a child, could do; but she resolved never to cease pleading with him to reform. She wept and she prayed for him. She had faith to believe that He who lets not a sparrow fall unseen could save her brother from ruin and death, and with Him she pleaded that Richard might be redeemed.

Bertha’s heart was full of love and gentleness; and while she wept over her brother, she rejoiced in the little flock to whom she had been the messenger of so many blessings. She had taught them to read, and imparted to them that wisdom which is higher and purer than any which flows from earthly fountains. As she thought of them, she glanced at the two gold pieces in her hand, and a smile lighted up her sweet face, when she imagined the pleasure they would purchase for the lambs of her fold.

Taking her hat and shawl, she left the house and walked down to the boathouse. It was located on the bank of the river, by the side of a small wharf extending out into the deep water.

“Waiting for you, Miss Bertha,” said the old boatman, who had been told to row her over the river.

“I am all ready, Ben,” replied Bertha, as she took her seat in the boat.

“What ails Mr. Richard this morning?” continued Ben, as he glanced at the sailboat, which was moored in the river a short distance from the shore, and in which Richard was seated, looking very gloomy and dejected. “He is uncommon cross this morning.”

“Something happened at the house which did not please him.”

“I thought so. He wanted to borrow five dollars of me; but I could not lend it to him, for I did not happen to have it about me. I am sorry Mr. Richard feels so bad.”

“I hope he will feel better,” replied Bertha.

“He tried to borrow the money of the cook, and of the hostler, but none of them had so much about them. Wouldn’t his father let him have the money?”

“He would not. But I am all ready, Ben,” said Bertha, who was very willing to change the subject.

“Where are you going, Bertha?” called Richard from the boat.

“Over to Whitestone.”

“Wait a moment, and I will go with you,” replied Richard, as he pulled ashore in his skiff. “What are you going to do over at Whitestone?” he asked, as he stepped into the boat.

“I am going over to buy some things.”

“For the savages, I suppose,” sneered Richard.

“Yes,” answered Bertha, unmoved by the sneer. “If you knew how much pleasure my work affords me, you would want to join me.”

“I think not; I would not disgrace my family by mixing with the slime and filth of the Hollow. Your ragged disciples stole half the strawberries in the garden last night.”

“Not my children, I know.”

“I will bet five dollars they were the same ones to whom you taught the Ten Commandments and ‘Now I lay me,’” laughed Richard.

“I am sure it was none of mine. We are ready, Ben. You can push off. I feel like rowing a little this morning, and I will take one oar, if you please.”

Bertha placed her reticule and shawl on the seat in the stern, and seated herself at one of the oars. Ben pulled a gentle stroke to accommodate that of Bertha, and the boat moved forward toward Whitestone. Richard kept bantering his sister all the way about the savages of the Hollow, and seemed to have entirely recovered from his disappointment and anger. In about half an hour they reached Whitestone. Bertha put on her shawl, and, taking her reticule in her hand, walked up to the principal street of the village, while Richard departed in another direction.

Bertha stopped at a dry goods store, where she bought two pieces of cheap calico, some jean and a number of other articles, amounting to ten dollars and fifty cents.

“Dear me!” exclaimed she, as she put her hand into her reticule; “I have lost all my money!”

“Lost your money?” said the salesman.

“I had two half eagles in my reticule, and both of them are gone,” added she, looking upon the floor and searching the bag again. “I have not opened the reticule since I started from home, and I am sure they could not have fallen out.”

“Didn’t you put them in your pocket?”

“No; I am sure I put them in my bag. But it cannot be helped. Of course I cannot take these things now.”

“Oh, yes, you can. You are Mr. Grant’s daughter, and I shall be glad to give you credit for any amount you may desire.”

“Thank you, sir. Then I will take the things and pay you for them the next time I come to Whitestone.”

“Any time, Miss Grant. I will send them down to your boat.”

But Ben had followed her up from the wharf, and carried the goods down for her. On their way to the river she told him that she had lost her money.

“Did you lose it in the boat?”

“I don’t know where I lost it. I am sure I put it into my bag, which has not been opened since I left the house.”

“I saw you put the reticule on the seat in the stern. Mr. Richard sat there all the way coming over.”

Bertha blushed at these words, and looked earnestly at the boatman to discover what he meant by them; but Ben looked perfectly blank.

“Perhaps I dropped them out before I fastened the reticule,” added Bertha.

“Perhaps you did, Miss Bertha; but----”

Ben stopped after the “but,” and looked upon the ground, as though he had made a mistake. Bertha’s face was crimsoned with shame, as she thought what that terrible “but” might mean. Richard had sat upon the bag containing the money during the passage across the river. Ben had taken pains to state this fact in so many words. What could he mean by it?

When they reached the wharf they found Richard in the boat, ready to return with them.

“Come, Berty; I have been waiting this half hour for you,” said he; “I am in a hurry.”

“Going to have the race to-day, Mr. Richard?” asked Ben, as he placed the bundle of goods in the bow of the boat.

“Yes, certainly. I told you yesterday it would come off to-day at eleven o’clock,” answered Richard.

“You told me there was some little difficulty about the matter this morning,” added Ben, with a smile, which was intended to remove any appearance of impudence which the words might otherwise convey.

“I have got over that difficulty, and am all ready for the race. We shall have a good wind to-day, and I am just as certain that I shall win the race as I am that I sit here. Bear a hand, Ben; I am in a hurry.”

“Then you raised the money, Mr. Richard?” said Ben, carelessly, as he adjusted his oars.

“To be sure I did. I told you there were a dozen persons who would be glad to lend it to me. Bob Bleeker lent me ten dollars, though I did not ask him for but five.”

“There!” exclaimed Ben, suddenly rising up and slapping his hands upon his trousers pockets; “I have forgotten my tobacco, and I shall die a thousand deaths without it. Will you excuse me for five minutes, Miss Bertha?”

“Certainly, Ben.”

“Hurry up,” added Richard.

“I will be back in less than five minutes;” and Ben ran up the wharf as if the house of his dearest friend had been on fire.

He rushed up one street and then turned into another, which brought him to the Empire Saloon, of which Mr. Bob Bleeker was the owner and proprietor. Taking a two-dollar bill from his wallet, he bolted into the saloon and thrust it into the face of the keeper of the establishment.

“What is the matter, Ben? You are all out of wind,” said Bob, as he glanced at the two-dollar bill.

“Mr. Richard wants you to give him a better bill for this one,” replied Ben, puffing like a porpoise from the effects of his hard run.

“A better bill? What does he mean by that?”

“You know all about it. Didn’t you just give him this bill?”

“No, sir! I did not,” replied Bob, quick to resent any trick, or any imputation of unfairness. “I did not give him that bill, or any other.”

“Did you lend him ten dollars just now?”

“No, sir! I did not!” answered Bob, with emphasis.

“Then I have made a bad blunder, and I beg your pardon.”

“All right, Ben.”

“Give me half a pound of that best Cavendish, and I will call it square.”

Ben having obtained his tobacco, which he had really forgotten, hastened back to the boat. Taking his place at the oars, he pulled his steady, even stroke, which in a short time brought them within hail of the Woodville wharf, where the boatman, without any apparent reason, suddenly suspended his labor, and the boat soon came to a dead halt.

“What are you stopping for, Ben?” demanded Richard. “You may put me on board of the _Greyhound_, if you please.”

“Not yet, Mr. Richard. When I get into a fog, I always stand by, and wait till I can see my way out of it.”

“What do you mean by that, Ben?”

“Hold on a minute, Mr. Richard, and I will make the daylight shine through what I have said in a very short time.”

“Bear a hand, then, Ben, for you know I am in a hurry.”

“So am I,” added Bertha.

“Miss Bertha lost ten dollars in this boat, which goes right against my conscience.”

“Perhaps I lost it in the house,” suggested Bertha.

“Perhaps you did, but----” And Ben made a long pause before he added: “I don’t believe you did.”

“Well, what has all this to do with me, Ben?” asked Richard, his face as red as Bertha’s had been.

“Not much, perhaps, but I don’t want Miss Bertha to think now, or at any future time, that I took the money.”

“Of course I don’t think any such thing, Ben,” added Bertha, reproachfully.

“But you may think so at some future time, if the matter isn’t cleared up now.”

“I certainly shall not, Ben,” interposed Bertha. “Please don’t keep me here, when all my children are waiting for me in the Glen.”

“Only a minute, Miss Bertha. I did not take your money; but----”

“Another ‘but,’ Ben,” said Richard. “If you have got anything to say, why don’t you say it?”

“I will say it,” replied Ben, as he proceeded, in the most mysterious manner, to turn all his pockets inside out, to open his wallet, and shake out his handkerchief. “The half eagles are not in my pockets, you see.”

“Ben, you are a fool!” exclaimed Richard.

The boatman seated himself again, and gazed in silence upon the bottom of the boat.