CHAPTER V

BANISHMENT

"As a sparrow alone upon the housetop--"--Ps. cii, 7

"Hey, Maria!"

"I'm a-comin'."

The woman rose from the door-step where she had been sitting, adjusted her snuff dip firmly in her mouth and slouched across the muddy door-yard to meet Peter. From his manner and expression of countenance it was evident he was laboring under the burden of a new idea.

"Who was a-wantin' me?" he asked gruffly as Maria approached.

"Thar hain't nobody ben hyar."

He studied her for a moment.

"Thar war somebody a-sneakin' 'roun'."

"Nobody I seen."

"She seed 'em."

With his thumb he gestured over his shoulder. Maria understood that he referred to Mollie.

"She mought ha' saw somebody a-lookin' in th' gate."

A wry smile twisted the man's face in a grimace a little worse than usual.

"Thar hain't a-goin' ter be no more lookin'," he declared. "I be gwine ter fix hit right now. Fotch me them tools frum th' barn an' th' can o' nails thets a-settin' on the beam over th' door."

Maria obeyed, without a word, as was her wont, slouching along, barefooted, in the direction of the barn. She did not wonder or speculate as to where the children might be. To do so would require mental effort. Any mental effort demanded a degree of energy which Maria did not possess.

As for Peter, he had solved his problem in mathematics. With all the cunning of the abnormal criminal, he was planning for the future in a manner entirely beyond her dull-witted conception, even had he been disposed to explain.

The house stood some little distance from an old highway. The section roundabout was a wilderness of tortuous passes, skirting perilously near the series of formidable bogs. For years these bogs had proved as much of a barrier between denizens of isolated districts as any mediæval moat. Peter Grimes knew nothing of castles nor moats. But the chance remark of the man who had placed little Mollie in his care had resulted in his grasping the basic principle upon which the theory that a man's house is his castle had been founded. He proposed now to convert the old moonshiner's covert retreat into an impenetrable castle.

From a heap of old boards back of the house he selected those best needed for his purpose, cut himself a large chew of tobacco, then sat down to await the return of the woman whose ancestral estate he had so calmly appropriated.

Maria reappeared in due season, laden with saw, hammer and the can of nails.

"Now lend me a hand with these hyar planks," ordered Peter.

Maria took hold and together they carried, one by one, some half dozen of the long pieces of timber down to the fence.

There was no need of a fence on the side of the house where the bog lay. No one but a plumb fool would ever attempt to get away by that hazardous route, Peter reasoned. Not by chance had he demonstrated the bog's resistless suction to the children that morning. He now made a noise that might have been meant for a chuckle but which sounded more like the grunt of an animal at the recollection of his cleverness.

"I 'low they'll remember thet a spell," he muttered aloud, "an' they'll tell t'others."

"Hey?" said Maria, thinking he was addressing her.

The interruption passed unheeded. Peter placed one of the boards across a chunk of wood and bent himself to the task of sawing it the desired length. Maria was already sitting listlessly upon the other boards, gazing vacantly into space, her hands resting limply on her knees. Peter raised his head as the severed end of the plank fell to the ground.

"Git up thar," he commanded, "an' do es I tell yo'. H'ist up thet end whilst I nail this-un in place."

Maria pulled her lean frame upright, took hold of the board and, stretching her arms as high above her head as she was able, held it against an upright already in place, while Peter nailed it in position. She asked no questions. He vouchsafed no remarks. Thus occupied, the long absence of the children was unheeded. Ambrose ultimately joined his parents, sitting down in the dirt and amusing himself digging a hole with a stick.

It was evident that the fence repair and extension work would not be completed at one time. The farther the work progressed the more grimly eager Peter became to behold the finished structure. After a time he told Maria to go to the house and get something ready to eat.

There she came upon Mollie and Stephen, seated forlornly upon the step. They were snuggled close together, like two motherless kittens, as if to strengthen and encourage one another. They rose at Maria's approach and stood aside, expectant. Mollie's little face was strained out of its natural shape in her desperate effort to keep back the tears which welled into her eyes as the harsh, forbidding country woman bore down upon them. Stephen tucked the child's tiny hand within his own, scarcely larger, and nerved himself for whatever fate held in store for the immediate future.

To their surprise, Maria passed them without a word and entered the house, the door of which stood open. Two chickens scurried out and ran, cheeping and squawking, across the yard.

The next moment Maria reappeared at the door. Her initial preoccupation had been due to her desire to replenish her snuff dip. She was now thinking of less important things.

"Yo' Mollie," she called, "come in hyar an' lay th' table. Steve, yo' g'wan down ter th' 'tater patch an' fetch a mess o' 'taters."

Mollie hesitated, loath to leave Stephen's protection.

"Do as she says," the boy whispered as Maria turned back toward the cook stove. "We'll have to. They won't hurt us if we keep quiet and mind them quick."

It was wise counsel. Mollie released her hold upon his hand and went into the house with a step so unlike her accustomed bird-like lightness that it was apparent the pall of the bog-lands was already beginning its blight. Stephen started off in the direction of the garden. He had never seen potatoes except in a store or when they were served at a meal. He had only a vague idea as to how they grew but he feared to ask a question. Over by the fence he could see Peter at work. Ambrose had ceased digging a hole and was now engaged in chasing a white butterfly. The butterfly was darting from bush to bush, ever coming nearer to Stephen. Finally it passed him, the fat child still in pursuit.

Stephen watched the chase until Ambrose stumbled and fell. Before Stephen could decide as to the wisdom of his extending a helping hand, the youngster scrambled to his feet and rushed forward straight into the garden patch. The butterfly eluded him and disappeared amid some high shrubbery.

Enraged, Ambrose commenced pulling up stalks of what seemed to Stephen to be small bushes. He noticed there were bright colored little bugs, somewhat larger than the bright-coated lady-bug, clustered on the leaves of the strange plant. With a howl of disappointment at having lost his winged prey, the hog-farmer's child hurled one of the uprooted plants at Stephen. It fell at the boy's feet. From its roots small tubers depended, some of which became detached and rolled to one side. He stooped and examined one. A potato! For the moment the dejected lad was honestly grateful to Ambrose. Without his fortunate, and for Ambrose unfortunate, chase of the butterfly Stephen realized he might have again been plunged into difficulty.

Patiently he collected the potatoes Ambrose uprooted until he concluded he had enough for a meal. Ambrose, sensing that his actions were conferring a kindness, immediately desisted and entered upon a new diversion. He ran with all his might and precipitated himself like a battering ram against the boy who was carefully trying to balance a goodly supply of potatoes mounted in a very shallow receptacle that he had picked up from a refuse heap to transport them to the house. The result was disastrous. The potatoes rolled in divers directions, Stephen fell and Ambrose rolled over on top of him.

During the whole performance the strange child had uttered no sound. He now bellowed lustily. No one responded. He yelled louder. Still no response.

In the distance Peter's voice sounded.

"Maria!"

From the house the woman answered.

"I'm a-comin'."

"Go see what Ambrose es a-bellerin' about."

Both Stephen and Ambrose heard the dialogue. The former made haste to collect the scattered potatoes. Ambrose started, still bawling, to meet his mother.

Maria met them midway between the house and the barn. She made no comment but, stooping, brushed enough dirt off her son to assure herself that he was uninjured, then took him by the hand and dragged him, protesting at every step, into the house. Stephen followed. Maria dropped into a chair and took the crying, striking youngster up into her lap. Little Mollie, standing on a chair, was taking cups and spoons down from the cupboard. Stephen placed the potatoes upon the table. Under Maria's direction he prepared them for boiling and got them on the stove. Then, also under her orders, he made coffee. There was no conversation, other than that required to prepare the meal. Maria rose and fried the thick slices of salt pork herself. Once she sent Stephen to fetch a bucket of water.

Returning with the water the little boy encountered Peter. The latter made no reference to the episode of the morning. He paused for a moment, looked at Stephen reflectively and delivered himself of that upon which he had been cogitating ever since he commenced work on the fence.

"Kin yo' climb?"

"Yes sir."

"Well, arter dinner me an' yo' es a-goin' ter finish this hyar fence, an' I wants yo' ter holp me string bob wire on top o' hit."

"Yes sir."

"An' beginnin' ter-night yo' air a-goin' ter sleep outten th' loft in th' barn."

"Yes sir."

"An' I'm a-goin' ter fix me a big bell on top o' this hyar gate. An' when thet thar bell rings I wants thet yo' and thet gal Mollie, an' ary others I fetch hyar, should git up the ladder into thet loft lickety-split. D'y understan'?"

"Yes sir."

Peter turned again to his labor. "G'wan. Git along ter the house with thet water," he said, shortly.

Stephen proceeded on his way.

As he neared the kitchen door Mollie came flying forth, screaming. Behind her came Ambrose. He was chuckling with glee at seeing her terror.

"Don't let him!--Don't let him put it on me," she cried, piteously, dodging behind Stephen that the lumbering Ambrose might not come near her. Stephen barred the path of the infant terror.

"Here, what are you trying to do?" he asked. There was no reply but Stephen, looking down, saw that the loathsome object the child held by one leg in his hand, was a huge toad. Without a thought of consequences he struck the grewsome creature from the fat fingers which held it and, taking Mollie's hand led her, weeping, into the kitchen.

Ambrose's howl of rage echoed in their wake. He did not attempt to follow them but carried his grievance to his father. Peter paid scant attention to the incoherent utterances of his son, but after a moment put down his tools and started for the house, the youngster, still bawling, lumbering at his heels.

As the afternoon waned and the hens about the door-yard commenced flapping to roost in the limbs of convenient trees, Mollie and Stephen were conducted by Maria to the roost prepared for them in the loft under the barn eaves.

Below them Walter, the horse, whinnied softly as he sensed their nearness. Birds twittered in their nests about them. One or two late comers flitted swiftly past their heads to join their feathered families.

"I like it better than being in the house," exclaimed Mollie, much less dismayed by the prospect of living in the barn than Stephen had expected. "I'd rather be in a barn with God's sparrows and a horse than with an ogre in the most beau-ti-ful castle in the world."

"So would I," said Stephen, after a moment's reflection.

The ogre who had banished the children rubbed the palms of his horny hands together and smiled greedily as he counted his ill-gotten money. The high, newly constructed portal to his terrible castle was locked and barred; the warning bell was silent. The surrounding moat gave forth a heavy, fetid odor that poisoned the breath of summer blossoms borne on the still night air. But up in the barn loft the two little prisoners knelt by the open window, above all sordid things, and watched the moon rise over the tree tops while they inhaled the pure air of heaven.