CHAPTER VIII

_Friend or Enemy_

When she awoke the next morning and saw her familiar surroundings, for a moment Marianne forgot that she had been from home all these weeks; but gradually the events of the night before came back clearly, and she sprang out of bed, remembering that Jerusha would need her help. She found this maid of all work had already a good fire started, and was stirring around, making breakfast ready. "What can I do, Jerusha?" Marianne asked.

"You can go and see if the men folks are getting up; and if they are, you might ask that little whiffet of a pedler how the wounded boy is, and if he can eat any breakfast. I ain't had time to see to him this morning, and I don't know as I need to. They was all quiet when I got up. I listened at the door, and I didn't hear nothin' but a snore."

"Where is father?"

"Land! he was up and off before daybreak! He ain't going to let grass grow under his feet when it comes to getting back to camp. He said last night that he wouldn't be back to breakfast."

Leaving Jerusha vigorously stirring up a johnny-cake, Marianne went to the door of the room where the three men were, and timidly knocked. The door was opened by Asa, who was keeping cheerful watch over the two prisoners. On the bed lay Jack, laughing, actually laughing, at some of Asa's witticisms. Marianne stood still in the doorway, surprised at this levity on the part of the wounded prisoner.

"Come in," called Jack, cheerfully. "Isn't this a huge joke? Peaslee has been telling me about it."

"I don't see the joke," said Royal, looking grum.

"Roy has no sense of humor," Jack went on. "For my part, I think it is the funniest thing I've heard for many a long day. You must have been surprised when you got here and saw who your prisoners were."

"It was owing to the dark that we didn't know sooner," Marianne replied. "I don't see now why we didn't recognize Royal; but he had no chance to speak, and I was so scared, and altogether we didn't seem to have our wits about us. Are you much hurt?" She felt a little more kindly disposed toward this young man, now he was helpless.

"No, not so much," Jack made reply. "I was stunned by the bullet, and I got a rough tumbling rolling down hill; but, beyond a few bruises and a sprained ankle, I'm not so badly off. Asa says your father has gone to see if we can be set free on parole."

"Oh, then will you stay here?" She turned to Royal.

"Not necessarily," he replied. "I, for one, am not willing to promise not to take up arms again."

"Nonsense!" broke in Jack. "I am willing enough to do it; and, moreover, I don't object to staying where I am. I should think you'd be glad enough of your luck, Roy, when here's your home, and you've a good excuse for not fighting against your people. You've shown your colors, and that's all that is necessary for you to do. So far as that goes, if it hadn't been for grandfather's being so set upon my joining the army, I don't believe I should have done it; at least, not till things were a little more lively. I suppose you think I would have been perfectly right if I had remained a neutral, Miss Marianne."

"I don't like half-hearted people," she replied coldly. Then she added: "I came up to see if you could eat any breakfast."

"I? Oh, yes. Can't I?" He turned to Asa.

"I'd be a little keerful," returned the pedler. "A bit of porridge, maybe, with a little milk."

"Porridge!" Jack made a wry face. "I'm not a baby."

"You've a bit of fever," Asa warned him.

"Jerusha will fix you up something, if there's anything to be had," Marianne promised him. She felt her responsibility with a sick man in the house. So she bustled about, and hunted here and there till she was able to provide a couple of poached eggs for Jack; and Jerusha had made ready quite an abundant meal for the others, for Mark had started out early, and had brought in some game to supply the larder. It was well he did, and that Jerusha was capable of exhibiting her merits as a cook, for Mr. Reyburn came in just before the meal was ready, and with him was no less a person than the colonel of his regiment. He was quite a young man, but tall and distinguished looking, and he met the little frontier maid with all the courtesy in the world. "So this," he said, "is the young lady of whom you were telling me, and to whom the success of your escape is due."

[Illustration: "'_This ... is the young lady of whom you were telling me._'"]

"Oh, no," returned the blushing Marianne, "not to me, for it was Asa Peaslee and his Indian friends who carried out the plan."

"But it was your plan, to begin with," insisted the colonel. "Now about these prisoners of yours, Miss Reyburn; since they are young, and don't know any better, I think we shall have to release them on parole. I have consulted the general, and that is his opinion. Will that suit you?"

"Indeed, yes."

"You are specially interested in them, of course."

"In my brother, of course, sir; and as the other is the brother of some very good friends of mine, I should like to see him receive the same generous treatment."

"Only because he is the brother of your friends?" said the colonel, quizzically.

Marianne drew herself up to the full extent of her height. "That is the only reason. Do you suppose I could have any other with regard to one who is my country's enemy?"

The colonel laughed, and asked to see this terrible foe. Jack, with his boyish face and his bandaged head, did not seem very formidable; and he was so ready to give his word not to take arms within the time proposed by the colonel, that there was no trouble at all in settling his case. Royal was more stubborn; yet there was something in the dignified courtesy of the colonel, something in the half sarcastic way in which he referred to the lad's birthplace, to his ancestry, and his father's loyalty to his country, that finally broke down the boy's obduracy, and he confessed that it was not so much a matter of principle as of bravado which had caused him to take the other side, and he gave his parole with Jack.

"Then you are safe not to fight against your country for a year," said the colonel. "At the end of that time you may see more clearly that it would not show a lack of manhood to fight for her."

Royal made no reply, but accepted with a good grace the colonel's advice to stay at home quietly. It is doubtful if he had been quite so ready to accept the situation, if his father had been present at the interview; but he with good judgment stayed away, and, indeed, Royal did not see him again till the matter was half-forgotten.

He rode back to camp with the colonel, but not before he had had a talk with Marianne. "I think it is best for all concerned that I remain at camp," he told her. "I shall, perhaps, be able some day to tell my son that I am not ungrateful to him for having saved my life, but now does not seem the best time for it."

"He wasn't in a very good humor this morning," Marianne confessed. "I suppose he thinks you had something to do with his capture."

"Well, you can tell him I didn't. It's best that we should not meet for a time, and I can leave, feeling secure in your safety. I hope we can get your mother home before long."

"And I, too. Jerusha is very capable, but one does want one's own mother."

"Yes, I can well imagine that. I want her, too. Jerusha will attend to our wounded man; you will not have anything to do there."

"He isn't very badly hurt. I thought he must be, at first. I should like to get word to his family."

"Asa tells me that he sent them a message by Fire-Eyes."

"That was thoughtful of him. He is such a funny, queer old fellow, that Asa; but I think he has a very good heart."

Mr. Reyburn smiled. "Yes, he is a queer Dick, but he is all right. Now I must be off, daughter. I see the colonel coming. Do the best you can, and if I don't see you soon, I will let you hear from me." He rode off, and Marianne returned to the house feeling rather disappointed that her father was not to be on hand to consult, and to direct affairs.

She found her days passed busily enough. There was more or less excitement at this time, for there was the constant expectation of an attack upon the British from the Americans, and, indeed, several abortive attempts to advance upon Canada were made. There were days when the thunder of guns from the batteries on one side or the other of the river, struck terror to those living near by; but little was accomplished beyond the destruction of some stores at Black Rock and the injuries to General Porter's house, in which he made his headquarters, being then in command of a body of New York militia.

Had she willed it otherwise, Marianne at that time had few moments for Jack, a fact of which he complained, but only laughed good-naturedly when she remarked severely that he was treated a thousand times better than he deserved, and that a prisoner, even on parole, could not expect more than toleration from his enemies. "Are you really my enemy?" Jack would ask, and Marianne with dignity would tell him that she most decidedly was.

The noise of the cannonading brought war almost to their very door, and gave Marianne a big scare, but Royal and Jack laughed at her fears, and Jerusha tried to comfort her by saying that death must come to all, and those that took the sword must expect to die by the sword; consequently, she had no reason to expect death from a cannon ball. Rather peculiar logic, but it had a certain effect. Jerusha, be it said, was a real comfort. She had been with the family for some fifteen years, having first appeared at Madame Desvouges's, where she applied for work, and later she was taken into the Reyburn family. She had little to tell of herself. She was originally from Maine, and had married a Canadian, whom the Reyburns supposed to have been a worthless sort of fellow. Jerusha, however, seldom made references to her past life, but she had a fine scorn of men in general. She was brusque of manner, plain of speech, energetic, capable and trustworthy to a degree, and quite content and grateful for the home offered her. She was specially fond of Marianne, whom she always called Mary Anne, to the girl's discontent. Whether Jerusha preferred the name, or whether she used it from a grim sense of humor and a desire not to cater to small vanities, no one ever knew. She was in her element with the responsibility of the housekeeping and a sick man to look after; for the greater call upon her, the better she liked it. Though usually a taciturn and rather melancholy person, her spirits rose in an emergency; and the more depressed were those around her, the more cheerful she became, accentuating her speech with trite maxims and quotations from Scripture.

It was one day when Marianne felt particularly despondent that Jerusha's prophecies came really true. All the morning Marianne had complained of loneliness, seemed possessed of forebodings, and longed for her mother, and Jerusha had answered her with, "It's always darkest before day" and "Every cloud has a silver lining," concluding with "Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord will deliver him out of them all."

"I'm afraid I'm not very righteous, then," said Marianne, petulantly.

"Now, Mary Anne, don't you go speaking lightly of Scripture," Jerusha chided her by saying. "I guess we all fall short, if it comes to that. I ain't a saint, but the Lord has delivered me from the hand of the ungodly. This is a vale of tears, to be sure, but sometimes them very tears waters joy and gladness. I rather guess your ma's more anxious to see you 'n you are to see her."

"If she were, she'd try and come home."

"Now, that's what I call right down undutiful," returned Jerusha. "You'll forget your fifth commandment next. There's your brother removed from the device of the enemy, and your father freed from the pit digged for him, and you're safe and sound. What's the use of complaining? Count your mercies, child; count 'em over."

Marianne leaned her head against the woman's shoulder. "But I am homesick for mother."

"I guess you ain't the only one's been homesick in her life," returned Jerusha, giving a vicious dig to the pumpkin she was paring. "There's some that never expects to git a sight of their home ag'in, and they live and move and have their bein' just the same. Your mother'll come when you ain't looking for her."

And sure enough, about dusk the very next evening, who should appear but Mrs. Reyburn, laughing, crying, chattering half in French, half in English: "Nomme de Grace! but I am glad to embrace you again, my daughter. Ciel! but I have a mind not to love you at all. Oui, ma chère, vous êtes mechante to steal away from your poor mother in such fashion. Grand'mère, how she was mystified, and how she was outraged that you did not confide in her! As for me, I wept tears, such tears that my pillow was damp from them. But they send love, all. And Victor, he goes about as a sick owl. Royal we have not seen at all. I know not where he is. We are afraid he has been made responsible for your father's escape. I am anxious, yet I make my first opportunity to come over, and here I am."

"Oh, mother, mother, but I am glad to see you," Marianne murmured, patting her face. "And yes, I forgot, you did not know; Royal is here."

"Mon Dieu!" screamed Mrs. Reyburn, raising her hands. "My son is here?"

"Yes." Marianne told her the story, concluding with: "Mother dear, it is well you have come home, for you see we need you, and besides, you are forgetting your English which you spoke so well."

"Naughty child, I do not forget."

"But you are speaking French half the time, and the other half it is with the accent of my grandmother."

Mrs. Reyburn laughed. "It is because I am excited. I will soon become accustomed to my English, now I am at home." But the hands went up again. "Tiens! I have forgot. Our guest, where is she?"

"She? Who is she? You mean, I think, the wounded Jack Silverthorn."

"No, no; I did not tell you in my joy to embrace you again. It is the sister of your wounded prisoner, your Silverthorn. She came with me. It was she who procured the passes through the lines, that she might come and see her brother."

"Kate, or Sue, is it?"

"The one called Kate. I left her with her brother, whom we found on the porch outside, too late in the evening for a man who has been ill, I thought. I sent them inside, and there they must be now."

"Then I must go to her at once. I am very glad to have dear Kate. Ah, but I am happy now, with my mother and my good friend of whom I am so fond. Dearest mother, if you but knew how mother-sick I have been."

Her mother gathered her again in her arms, and they stood in a silent embrace for a moment. Then Marianne withdrew herself and said, "I must go and give Kate a welcome, but I shall not stay long, for I want to hear all you have to tell me."

She found Kate in animated conversation with Jack. "Am I not an impertinent piece?" Kate cried. "I invite myself here without so much as a 'by your leave.' But the message alarmed us so! The Indian brought it, you know, and we felt sure that Jack must be much worse than he said; but see him, as lively as a cricket! Sue at first insisted that she would come, but she gave in when grandfather said that she was halfway an American already, and we might count upon never seeing her again if she once escaped to this side. Behind his back she told me that she thought after all that I might as well come and learn her way of thinking, which speech, if grandfather had heard, he would have scolded her well for."

"You would both have been welcome," Marianne assured her, "and now we have one of you here, we will try to keep you till you do become Americanized. Your brother does not need much nursing. His sprained ankle seems now to be the worst of his troubles, and it is but a question of time when that will be well. Royal and Jerusha and Asa Peaslee have been his nurses, so he has not lacked for attention, I can assure you."

"Royal?" The color flamed up into Kate's cheeks, and she stooped over to caress a purring cat which had followed Marianne into the room.

"Yes, Royal. You didn't know he was here?"

"No, I hadn't heard," Kate returned, in a low voice. "We had not seen him, but that was not strange, seeing that Jack was away from home; and, besides, a soldier's duties make him rather an uncertain visitor." She was a little confused, but quickly regained her composure, and then Marianne bore her off to her own little room in a corner of the sloping roof, and there they chattered as girls will, till Marianne, jumping up, declared that she was neglecting her duties, and would Kate come with her to the kitchen.

A big cheerful room it was, with white-washed walls, great open fireplace, and well-scrubbed floor. Mrs. Reyburn was already bustling about, exclaiming at this and that thing, and excusing all deficiencies upon the ground of her absence. "Not that you and Jerusha have not done famously," she said to Marianne, "but I see many things to be made ready for winter. My faith! but I am glad to be at home again, with my husband safe and both my children beside me."

"And other people's children as well," put in Kate. "You are very good to take us in, but I really see no reason why we should remain long to burden your hospitality, for Jack is comparatively well now, though the hypocrite pretends he is not." She looked up lovingly at her brother, who had followed the girls into the kitchen, using a crutch to assist him.

"Comparatively well," he repeated. "If you had been knocked over by a bullet, and sent rolling down a cliff, banging your head and arms and legs against every tree in your way, I don't believe you'd call yourself comparatively well for a year."

"A year! Am I given to suppose that you mean to stay here a year?" Kate asked.

"I'll stay here as long as they'll keep me," returned Jack, with a laugh. "There's no use in going home when I can't fight; besides, I am told our troops are half starved and half clothed. Do you imagine I could think of going with that ragout of Mrs. Reyburn's in my nostrils?"

They all laughed, and Marianne declared that since it was all a matter of loaves and fishes, and though the Bible said, that if our enemy hungered, we should feed him, yet she thought that Master Silverthorn might have found a better excuse for staying. Whereupon Jack told her that he had excuse enough, which he had more than once sought to reveal to her, but that she would not hear it. Marianne tossed her head impatiently at this and announced that it was her intention to go immediately to the dairy, and would Kate go with her. As for Jack, he would best remain where he was and tell her mother his fibs; perhaps she could be made to believe them, but as for Marianne herself, she knew better.