CHAPTER VI

NEW VICTIMS

"His children are far from safety, and they are crushed in the gate, neither is there any to deliver them."--Job v, 4

Momentous events followed the children's transfer to the barn loft. In many respects they found themselves better off than in the small, windowless alcove into which they had been thrust so summarily on the night of their arrival at the farm-house.

In the barn there was more freedom. They were not subjected to annoyance from the insufferable Ambrose nor to the brutality of Peter. They could talk without fear of restraint and, when there was no likelihood of interruption, could pore over the picture books which Stephen had so thoughtfully secreted.

"Don't ever let Pete get hold of those books," Stephen warned Mollie. "He'd only tear them up and throw them in the bog."

"Or give them to that fat cry-baby," supplemented Mollie, whose dread of the Grimes child increased daily.

So the gaudy little booklets of animal and Biblical stories which had been given to the orphan lad on the previous Christmas were treasured with the utmost care. To the isolated children they represented their only connection with a happy past, the link that united them with the world from which they would otherwise have been completely severed.

There were long hours in the early evening before darkness descended during which the books could be studied with impunity. As long as the children were quiet and out of sight and hearing of their persecutors they were unmolested. For this they were mutely grateful.

During these same evening hours the Grimes family was sufficient unto itself. In silence its members sat about, each absorbed according to individual bent or preference.

Peter chewed tobacco and schemed how to increase his little hoard of money with the least amount of labor. Maria alternately dipped snuff, quaffed corn liquor and attended her well-nigh ungovernable child.

Ambrose, however, was quiet at intervals, until roused to a fit of temper by some unexpected result of his own folly. His favorite pastime was that of torturing insects and other small, living creatures. His parents' only fear for him was that some day he might, inadvertently, pick up a poisonous reptile instead of the lizards and grass snakes which he had been repeatedly told were harmless. These possessed for him a fascination bordering upon mania. In anticipation of such an untoward event Maria not infrequently dosed the child with corn liquor, that he might be the better able to imbibe it in quantity when the emergency arose.

The barn was polluted by none of these features. To Mollie and Stephen it was a home, a place of retreat, a haven of rest, a city of refuge, a school and a recreation hall all in one. To them the "play-house" of the past had, in the loft, become a reality. Chairs, tables and beds were improvised with the facility which childhood alone possesses.

Mollie's persistency, and Maria's susceptibility to the little girl's magnetic personality, resulted in their retaining possession of the few personal belongings with which each child had been provided upon arrival.

Had either Maria or Peter realized the value of such a concession to children reared as Mollie and Stephen had been, the request would undoubtedly have been denied. But a casual inventory of the contents of Stephen's traveling bag, and of the small box of wearing apparel for Mollie which later arrived at the farm, revealed nothing that appealed to Maria or which Peter considered of use. So for the time being, at least, the children's creature comforts were not lacking.

With remarkable sagacity for their years the two little ones husbanded their meagre resources and endeavored as far as possible to regulate their daily life after the manner of the routine to which they had been accustomed. They had no idea what was before them in the way of hardship and privation nor how long would be the time of their exile. Stephen buoyed Mollie's hope as well as his own by the oft-repeated assertion that the mistake which had consigned him into the hands of Peter Grimes was bound to be discovered and rectified.

Secure in this hope they patiently resigned themselves to an existence in the barn loft and at times were even able to forget their unhappiness and home-sickness in the enjoyment of its novelties.

Light and ventilation came into the loft principally by means of the great window opening through which hay would ordinarily be tossed for storage purposes. In times of storm this opening would, of course, have to be closed. For this purpose there was a great door, made of uneven boards, roughly nailed together and which must be held in position by a stout stick braced against a plank in the floor. But even with this shutter in place light and air, and also rain, had ample circulation through chinks and crevices on every side.

To this aerie retreat the children had already been forced to flee in haste several times at the ringing of the jangling bell which Peter Grimes had suspended above the newly constructed gateway. It had been difficult at first for little Mollie to mount the perpendicular ladder, with its widely placed rungs, which was the only means of access to the loft and which came up through a hole in the floor. Stimulated to frantic effort by the shouts of Peter in the yard without, the clamorous bell down at the gate and demoniac chuckles from Ambrose as he rounded the barn door with a wriggling green creature in his hand, the spritelike little girl performed a series of acrobatic feats without knowing it and arrived at the top of the ladder almost as quickly as Stephen. On the occasion of her first ascension Stephen had carried her on his back. Each successive mounting of the ladder only served to increase their agility. They soon went through the exercise as automatically as if it had been a fire drill at school.

Few persons, however, came to the remote hog-farm. Peter Grimes was both feared and distrusted by the majority of those who knew him. Only when good and sufficient reasons prevailed to warrant their turning off the highway and traversing the precarious way to Peter's farm could they be induced to stop and dicker with him. During the several days following the installation of the children in the barn-loft it chanced that one man came, bringing a box. It was the box that held Mollie's clothes. From their place of observation in the loft Mollie and Stephen both recognized him as the "buggy man with the funny mustache" who had consigned Mollie to Peter. Another visitor to the Grimes estate was a farmer who argued at considerable length with Peter and, after inspecting his hogs, refused to pay the price demanded. He departed with some show of temper. The third person to ring the bell at the gate was a pedestrian who had lost his way and wanted directions.

During the interim between each of these legitimate bell-ringings there were half a dozen others, purely rehearsal affairs, staged by Peter for the purpose of training the children to effect their disappearance in an ever lessening period of time.

Thus it happened they were in the loft on the day Peter drove out the gate behind old Walter after having mentioned to Maria that their family would be increased before nightfall. From their perch in the loft Stephen and Mollie watched him depart. They saw Maria come forth from the kitchen, seat herself on the door-step, place her unkempt head against the post supporting the lean-to roof that covered the entrance to the house and compose herself for a nap. The child, Ambrose, was already asleep under a tree, lying on his back with his mouth open, while flies swarmed over his one scanty and much begrimed garment.

"Don't let's go down, Splutters," said Mollie to Stephen. "I'm tired of picking potato bugs. Let's stay here awhile and look at the pictures."

Stephen willing agreed. His back ached from pulling weeds and carrying heavy pails of water and feed for the farm animals.

"Then I'll hear you read and spell and we'll make believe we're in school," he said, as he procured the treasured books from their hiding place.

To this naturally studious child the disappointment of not arriving at the school he had so joyfully looked forward to was a deeper wound than any purely physical burden his captor could lay upon him. Whatever his occupation Stephen was always thinking of that school. Again and again the vision of its tall buildings and broad campus appeared before him like a mirage. The more he thought about it the more difficult it became to take any degree of interest in his immediate surroundings.

For Mollie's sake he tried to be cheerful and to make conversation but in his heart was an ache too deep for words and a sense of calamity it was impossible to shake off. He had not Mollie's effervescent nature nor her impulsiveness. With him every word, every act, every decision must be carefully thought out in advance. In this way he very seldom made mistakes but Mollie's alertness and keen imagination were often able to bring results of one kind or another while he was yet deliberating.

Now, Mollie designated the book she preferred for the moment and the two children flung themselves down before the great, open window from which they might quickly detect any sign of an impending interruption, and were soon absorbed in the story of Moses in the bulrushes. It greatly appealed to Mollie. Many of the words were too large even for Stephen to pronounce. Others were meaningless. But Stephen's sedate reasoning and Mollie's intuition bridged whatever difficulties there were and they contrived to read into the narrative much more than the printed page contained.

"I don't guess they had a bog like this one anywhere around," Mollie remarked at the conclusion of the reading. "Something awful might have happened to that poor little baby."

Mollie's sympathies were easily roused, and she loved babies. Had Ambrose been a normal child she would have devoted herself to him without hesitation.

The story of Moses was followed by other child stories from the scriptures, each seemingly of greater interest than the one preceding. Time passed unnoticed. Just at the beginning of what promised to be a beautiful story of a kindly shepherd, sitting with many little children grouped about him, the soft, summer stillness was shattered by cries from Ambrose.

Stephen and Mollie sprang up in dismay and hastily restored the picture books to their hiding place. A glance from the window revealed Ambrose tugging at his mother's limp, calico dress, imploring her to get him some bread and molasses. Maria, coming slowly back from dreamland, was preparing to arise.

"Perhaps we stayed here too long," said Stephen, anxiously. "If she finds out we're not down in the garden she'll tell him."

Neither of the children referred to Maria and Peter as Mr. and Mrs. Grimes. They were merely "he" and "she." Mollie frequently designated Peter as "that ogre", and Stephen in moments of great bitterness took satisfaction in letting the name of "Pete" pass between his teeth with a viciousness indicative of his inward desire to bite the despicable appellation in fragments.

They cautiously descended the ladder into the stable below and peeked through the doorway until they saw Maria and Ambrose safely within the house. Then, darting from cover to cover like little rabbits, they fled to the garden patch and resumed their labors. A loud halloo that was almost a yodel halted the work almost before it was commenced. Maria, thinking they had been steadily engaged upon it ever since Peter's departure, was summoning them to partake of the bread she was dispensing to Ambrose.

Had they but known it, this supposed generosity was not so much due to Maria's thoughtfulness of them, as to her own laziness. She wanted Stephen to fetch a bucket of water and Mollie to "red up" the house.

It was while engaged upon these tasks they witnessed Peter's return. Not wishing to descend from the ramshackle conveyance in which he was seated, he shouted loudly from without the gate for Maria to come and open it that he might drive in. Stephen was amazed to see with what alacrity Maria could move when she so desired. Mollie, dish-towel in hand, watched proceedings from the doorway. Maria swung open the gate. Peter raised the whip in his hand. Walter the horse, eager for oats and, like all other living creatures on the place, not willing to incur his master's displeasure, gave a sudden start forward. Maria sprang to one side. One wheel of the vehicle careened against the side of the gate. The buggy tilted. Something bounced out and fell to the ground. With a piercing scream a barefoot girl in rough attire leaped from the moving buggy, fell, rose and dashed madly back toward the gate.

It had already been closed by Maria, but close beside it lay a small, motionless heap. The woman stooped, curiously, to investigate what seemed to be a bundle of clothes. Before she could touch it the girl who had leaped from the buggy bore down upon her like a small cyclone.

[Illustration: _Scene from Mary Pickford's Photoplay_. _Sparrows_. "HE WAS BORN IN A BARN JEST LIKE THIS ONE."]

Without a word she brushed Maria aside and examined the little heap tenderly. Then Maria observed that it was a child about a year old. It was not dead at all events, for as the girl raised it in her arms, crooning softly the name of "Buddy", the child raised its voice in piteous, heart-rending wails.

Its tiny arm was broken!