CHAPTER VI

_Scheming_

Nearly every day Royal and Jack made their appearance at the house of Madame Desvouges, but it was a rare chance that gave them a sight of Marianne. She was more disposed to become good friends with Sue and Kate than with their brother, for while the exchange of visits between the girls was frequent, Marianne took care that her visits were made when Jack was not at home.

Her father was now nearly well, and the question of his being transferred to some other point became one that must be settled very soon. Only out of consideration to Royal and by the influence of his friends had his case been left unsettled.

"If they take him away," Marianne made her plaint to Victor, "they will perhaps send him to some of those dreadful places we hear about; and even if he were allowed a parole, he would not be able to fight."

"Perhaps he will soon be exchanged," Victor tried to comfort her by saying. "That would not be a bad fate at all. It has been very pleasant, I am sure, for the family to be all here together, even if your father and brother do not meet."

Marianne turned away impatiently. "You don't understand what it means to father and me not to be actively at work for our own country. You have no special country, and what do you care which side wins? There is no use asking your help in the matter; that is plain to see."

"I have a country, and I am loyal to it," Victor returned.

"No, no, you are not, for this is not a struggle between French and English, and you are French. Don't talk to me about your being loyal, I don't want to hear it."

Victor was discomfited; he realized that he was not making much headway in Marianne's good graces.

"I'd help any way that I could, but I don't see what can be done," he said helplessly. "If you would only tell me."

"If you can't see of your own accord, there is no use trying to make you," returned Marianne, impatiently.

"You know I'd do anything in the world to please you."

"Then use your wits and find me a way to get back home with my father," she said, as she walked away.

Victor felt that he was between two fires. His desire to please Marianne, and his desire to keep her where she was, conflicted. She would never cease to reproach him if he did not make some effort to liberate her father, and yet he was a British prisoner whose own son was his captor. If Royal could not find a means to get him decently exchanged, how could he be expected to do it? Victor was faithful, but he was not brilliant, though inadvertently he did play into Marianne's hands.

He came to the girl with an air of mystery one day. "There is some one out in the barn who wants to speak to you," he said. He looked cautiously around as he made the announcement.

Madame Desvouges and Victorine were busy in one corner of the kitchen; Marianne in the other was at work paring apples. She looked up quickly. "Very well," she replied. "I will come directly I have finished these, that is--Who is it, Victor?"

"The old pedler. He says he has something to tell you about the bracelet."

Marianne nodded. "I will come as soon as I have pared these apples."

Victor sat down beside her. "I will help you."

Madame Desvouges from the other side of the room watched them with a pleased look. "They grow confidential, those two," she whispered to Victorine. "It is an ill wind that blows no one good; and when two young people are thrown together day after day--well, one knows what is likely to be the result. We have never been able before to keep Marianne with us for so long a time."

"Why is Asa Peaslee so secret in his coming? Why didn't he come to the house?" Marianne asked in a low tone.

"That I cannot say, but he seemed desirous of not being seen."

"I wonder how in the world he happened to know I was here."

"He did not know till he asked me of your whereabouts. He knew I lived here, it seems."

"They do not wish to be heard," said grandmamma, significantly. "We will not try to overhear them, will we, Victorine?" She laughed a little pleased chuckle. "Start the loom and let them talk."

But presently Marianne brought the apples over to the table. "They are all ready, grandmamma. I am going to the barn to hunt eggs. With the army so near it is hard to keep supplied, and we have not an egg left in the basket."

"Go, then," said her grandmother. She watched the two depart, and her satisfied air was very obvious to Marianne; it half annoyed her. Grand'mère was too ready to thrust Victor upon her, she was beginning to see, and it would have been better for his cause if there had been less eagerness on the part of the good lady.

Once out of the house, Marianne ran ahead to the barn, where, sitting on a pile of hay, she found Asa Peaslee. "Go, you, and hunt the eggs, and don't come back till I call you," she ordered Victor. "I want to talk to our friend here. How are you, Mr. Peaslee?"

"Wal, I'm 'bout as usual; pretty smart in body, though I must say I'm considerable upset in mind."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, these blamed fools o' gin'rals make me sick. That pompous old Smyth is the biggest idiot that I ever did see. He's all gab; and if he 'mounts to a row of pins, I'm mistaken. But there! I didn't come over here to talk about him. It's a wonder I got acrost at all, but I did. They know me, and I jest snuck over above here. Found an Injun that showed me a way."

"Oh, how did you come? Do tell me," Marianne broke in eagerly.

Asa nodded his head with a sly wink. "I wa'n't born yist'day. You don't ketch me. What I come to this here place is to see if you'd got that there bit of a bracelet yit. Ain't lost it, hev ye?"

"No, I have it safe enough; but why do you want to know?"

"'Cause that there old Injun squaw's been pesterin' the life out o' me to git it back for her; says it's a sort o'--what d'ye call it?--amulet or somethin', and she's had bad luck ever sence she parted with it; wants to git it back at any cost."

"Oh, and you think you'll make a good bargain with her; I see."

"Now, ain't you a suspicious young miss? Jest you wait a bit. I don't calc'late to make nawthin' off the old soul. Lord! she's wore out the calico I give her for it long ago; but, wal, her and her son's been pretty good to me, and I'd ought to show 'em some 'preciation of it. Now, jest let's us come to business. What'll you take for it?"

Marianne considered the matter. "I don't know. I am not sure that I want to part with it. I shall have to think about it."

"Mebbe I've got suthin' along with me that you'd like better. I ain't over here peddlin', to be sure, but then I dunno's I couldn't git ye what ye want, and send it to ye when I git back."

"You are goin' back? When? How?"

"That's neither here nor there. There's more ways of killin' a dog than by chokin' him with soft butter. I'm a-goin', and, as the Bible says, an' that right airly."

Marianne leaned forward and looked at him steadfastly. The shrewd gray eyes met hers honestly, and the humorous mouth gave her a twisted smile. "I'm a purty crittur, ain't I?" he said with a chuckle. "Look as long as ye want. I ain't the blushin' kind."

Marianne laughed. Then she said in a low voice: "I thought you were a true, loyal American."

He looked around cautiously, put both hands on his knees, leaned forward, and whispered back, "So I am. Ain't you?"

"To my heart's core."

"That's what I thought."

"My father was wounded in the attack on Queenston."

"So I heerd tell."

"He is a prisoner there in my grandmother's house."

Asa nodded.

Marianne leaned still closer and whispered still lower, "Are you a spy?"

Asa drew down his face. "Don't like the eepithet. You're true blue? I kin trust ye?"

"To the utmost."

"Wal, then, I'm here for my country's intrus'. I guess I've found out what I come for, and I'm goin' back with what no man kin find on my pusson. Good reason why--'tain't there; it's all in this timepiece." And he tapped his head.

Marianne sat with her chin in her hands, her thoughts busy.

"What about that bracelet?" Asa asked, breaking the silence.

"I will let you have it upon one condition. I think the good God has sent you to help us. If you will help me to invent a plan for my father's escape, you shall have the bracelet. I know you are a shrewd man, and the Yankees, they tell me, are very inventive; so, now, here is a chance to exercise your wits."

"Blamed if I don't do it." He thought a moment, then struck his knee hard. "You've hit it; the bracelet will do the business. That's a happy thought. The old squaw can help us out."

Marianne clapped her hands. "To be sure, and that will carry out my first plan. Let me tell you about it. I started out one day, thinking I would go to the Indian village and see if I could get some paint and things to disguise my father, and then I thought he could at least escape from the house undetected. I thought we would dress up like Indians, he and I, and escape to the woods and hide there, and maybe we could avoid the pickets and get across the river in some way. I was going to offer the bracelet to the Indians; for father told me it was not a common thing, and that it might be of use some day. I hadn't quite settled it all, for I fell into a bog, and since then they have not let me go off by myself."

Asa regarded her admiringly. "You've got a headpiece, and I guess two heads is better than one, if one is a pumpkin head. You've got the right idear, and we'll work on that, and see how's the best way to carry it out."

"It must be soon, for my brother is responsible for my father. He is his prisoner."

Asa stared. "What ye talking about? Yer brother?"

"Yes, my brother is on the enemy's side. He belongs to the militia; and it was he who found my father wounded, and rescued him from the Indians. I should hate to have any trouble come to Royal, but father must be helped away. Do you suppose they would think Royal had contrived his father's escape? He has given his word that he will deliver him up when it is required of him, and my grandmother, too, promised that he should be guarded as any other prisoner. It was only on that account that they were allowed to take him to her house."

"We'll have to see into that. You're like that old fellow we used to read about when I was a little chap: avoidin' Scylly he fell onto Charybdus." He leaned back against his pile of hay, and meditatively pulled his beard, much the color of the hay itself. Presently he began to chuckle to himself. "That would be a joke," he said, "a big joke." He wagged his head in enjoyment of the thought. "Brother's in militia?"

"Yes."

"'Spose they ever give him picket dooty?"

"I suppose so. Yes, I am sure of it."

"Wal, if fortune favors us, and we happen on a dark night, we might be able to kill two birds with one stone. I'd like nawthin' better. Jeehosophat! but that would be fun. Now, sissy, you keep quiet, and to-morrer I'll come along 'bout this time. Meanwhile, I'll see the old Injun woman, and mebbe we kin git this straightened out. She done me a good turn oncet upon a time,--cured me up with her yarbs,--and I happened to be able to do her son a favor, so we keep on tryin' to git quits; and this time she thinks she's in my debt, and if I promise that bracelet, I guess that will clinch matters."

Marianne arose to her feet. "Then I will trust it all to you."

"Ye kin."

"I know I can." She held out her hand, and the old man took it gingerly, but did not fail to give it a squeeze before he dropped it.

"Call yer young man, and I'll git out," he said.

Victor obediently appeared at Marianne's summons. He had been patiently sitting up in the loft with his hat full of eggs. "You did find some; that's good," said Marianne, in a satisfied tone. "You may bring them in for me, and don't, for your life, let any one know that we did not hunt them together; and keep it a dead secret about Asa Peaslee."

"What about the bracelet?"

"Oh, the old squaw wanted to get it back again, that was all."

"Did you let him have it?"

"No, Asa is going to see what she will give for it, and will let me know to-morrow."

All the next day Marianne was excited and watchful. As evening approached, she waited her chance to make an excuse to absent herself from the house. Victor, her usual willing cat's-paw, was busy in the garden. She would fain have offered to go and help him, but she had never been too ready with such offers, and she would best not do anything to arouse suspicion. She knew that Roy and Jack might appear that day, and she had set Victor upon the watch for them. There were no eggs needed? Yes, there should be. She would see to it that there were; and before the afternoon was over, there was a crash in the pantry, an exclamation of dismay, and Marianne appeared at the door, crying out: "Oh, grandmamma, I have overturned the egg basket in trying to reach the top shelf, and alas! I have broken every egg. Was ever such an unfortunate? It is all due to my being such a mite. If I had been taller, I would not have had to stand upon that treacherous stool. What shall I do? I will clear up the mess at once; but there will be no eggs for supper, and you had promised my father one of your own best omelets. Is it not unfortunate?"

She seemed so genuinely distressed that her grandmother tried to comfort her. "Never mind, my child. Of course, one is sorry for such a waste, but there are others to be found, I have no doubt, and your only punishment shall be that you go and hunt for them."

"That I will do gladly," replied Marianne, brightening up.

"I will help you," Victorine volunteered.

"Oh, I can never allow that," Marianne hastened to say. "You are too good, Victorine. I ought to do it all by myself for having been so naughty and careless. If I allow any one to help me, it shall be Victor, for it is partly his fault; he should have made a better stool."

"True enough," put in Madame Desvouges, well pleased. "You have a cold, Victorine; I would not go out in this keen air."

So Marianne made her escape unsuspected and found Asa waiting for her, as before. "Wal, you don't keep a feller long coolin' his heels," was his greeting, "and it's well you don't, for we've got to make hay while the sun shines. Ye see, grandma and brother and them mustn't know, or else it may be wuss for 'em. Me an' them Injuns hev concocted a plan. Old squaw wunt leave a stone unturned to git back that jig-a-me-rig armlet, so says I, 'Ef you help me to git a man back to his hairth and hum, the bracelet you shell have, as sure as my name's Asy Peaslee.' An' I says to Fire-Eyes,--that's the old woman's son, 'We'll call it quits if you git us all over safe.' So here's the scheme: About dark this evening you and pop steals out of the house and meets me here. I've got stuff to rig you up Injun shape, and we'll go along, striking into the woods unmolested. Pop kin walk a bit, I s'pose. Ain't too weak?"

"No, I think not. He grows stronger all the time, but has pretended weakness that he might still remain here, and does not venture beyond the gate. He has orders to keep within bounds. We think it is intended that he shall be sent to Quebec or elsewhere with the next company of prisoners sent."

"Pray God there'll be no next ones," remarked Asa, fervently. "Wal, then, we're all right if we don't git nabbed. Pop kin talk Injun, I guess. I see some of them red cattle comin' in here yist'day."

"Yes, they come with various things to sell."

"That's good. We'll pretend we have various things to sell if we meet up with any Britishers. Now all you've got to do is to make your chance to git out here, and leave the rest to me. We'll flank them pickets and git acrost, for it's goin' to be a dark night, no moon and cloudy. Now run in, or they'll suspicion ye."

"I've got to hunt for eggs; that is my excuse."

"I'll help ye. I guess nob'dy is better at findin' things than Asy Peaslee." He was as good as his word, and was not many minutes in finding a nest of eggs, which he made over to Marianne, who ran quickly to the house with them.

It required some contriving to arrange it so that her father could leave the house unobserved. First Marianne must find a chance to give him a whispered account of her interview with Asa. Then Mr. Reyburn declared that he must not leave his wife, and Marianne was in a quandary. "I don't want to leave mother, either," she said. "But, father, if you are carried off and should be sent to England to prison, you would have to leave her, and in much worse manner. We will find a way for her to come to us; and if she knew, she would feel that her mother ought to be told, so you see--you know how it would be."

Her father nodded. "I see, but it seems a cowardly thing to leave women behind to bear the brunt of my escape."

"You would do worse to bear the brunt of your being carried off. This is much less dreadful. Do, dearest father, consent. The time is short, and mother will be so glad to know that you are safe at home. She would stand by you, of course, if she knew, but she is excitable, and could not keep it to herself. Every one would know that something unusual was on hand."

At last Mr. Reyburn was won over, and consented to announce that he would take a nap, and being left alone would climb out the window, his room being on the ground floor, and would meet Marianne in the barn. To Marianne's relief all went well so far, and if Mrs. Reyburn wondered why her husband and daughter were so unusually affectionate to her when she left the latter to cover up her father for his proposed nap, she ceased to wonder when she found the note which announced their flight. Yet, good woman that she was, she did not tell her secret that night, and rejoiced rather than regretted their going, being anxious only that they should reach their destination in safety.