CHAPTER VII.

A WILD GOOSE CHASE.

CONSETT FARM was a notable place in its way, and the well-to-do farmer was highly respected in Boston. That he was a Methodist was something to laugh over among those who had known him before, but anything in the way of persecution, such as the followers of Mr. Wesley met with in England, was unknown in America.

But although persecution would not have been tolerated for one moment among the liberty-loving colonists, there was another way of making these people feel that they were unpopular among the giddy and thoughtless throng, and that was by trying to get the lads he employed to join in some wild adventure whenever they went into town.

"Consett's lads" were always well-known figures in the streets of Boston, for they generally led a little crowd of well-groomed, sleek-coated horses, that had either been out to the farm to recruit, or were horses recently bought by customers and brought to The Old Bell tavern for delivery to their various owners.

Now, to get the lad in charge of them, make him half tipsy, and then go off with one of the horses for an hour or two, or induce him to send the horses to the wrong owners, was a favourite device of some of the idle wights of the city, as well as of those who ought to have known better.

There was no particular ill-will felt against master or man, only Mr. Consett was known as a Methodist, and very particular, and so fun at his expense, or that of his servants, was more piquant than that which could be got out of any one else.

Eric was told of this before he had been at the farm long, and at the same time was informed that he would have to go to the city with his master the following week, to take some horses to The Old Bell yard, and to bring home some packages which Mrs. Consett needed for her housekeeping.

Eric smiled at the tales he heard about the tricks that had been played upon his predecessors, but at the same time felt sure no one would catch him loitering or drinking when he ought to be attending to his master's business.

They set off on their journey soon after breakfast one bright summer morning, and Eric was not a little elated to find himself mounted on a spirited little pony in charge of half a dozen other horses, tethered one behind the other, and fastened to his own saddle. Mr. Consett had as many under his charge, and led the way along the road, while Eric as proud and happy as a king, followed at a short distance, wondering as he went along whether the Osprey had sailed yet, or whether he might see his dear friend once more in the streets of Boston.

She had left Consett Farm to stay in the city, that she might be at hand whenever the Osprey should have made up her cargo and be ready to sail. She also hoped to see some of those who had come out with her, that she might have an opportunity of saying a word to them of comfort and cheer in their new and strange surroundings.

Eric knew about this, and hoped that the Osprey had been detained longer in the harbour than was expected, that he might have an opportunity of seeing this dear friend once more before she sailed for England.

Mr. Consett knew all about this, and when they reached The Bell yard, and found that only two of the expected customers were waiting, he said to Eric, "You will have to stay here while I go up to the barracks with these horses, and look at one or two others belonging to the British officers. I may be detained some time, so if Treve and Mason come for their beasts, you can hand them over, and then go and look for Sister Martin. Go to Chestnut Street first, and then inquire if the Osprey is still in harbour; for she said she might have to sleep on board the last night or two of her stay. Now you will be careful not to give up the horses to any one but the rightful owners," added Mr. Consett, as he gazed round the yard to see whether there were any loungers about, likely to lead the lad into mischief.

But for a wonder the place seemed to be deserted this morning, which so far satisfied Mr. Consett, that as he mounted his own horse once more, he called out, "Be sure you get back here by four o'clock, if you go to the Osprey; I will meet you at that time."

And then he cantered down the street, with his horses following.

After he had gone, Eric had time to look round this stable-yard, and found it much larger and altogether more imposing in appearance than that of The Magpie, though at present there did not seem to be much business going on, there were so few people about.

But presently a young fellow came out of one of the stables, and looked first at the horses, and then at Eric himself.

"Consett's lot, I suppose?" he said, with a nod.

"Yes," replied Eric; "I am waiting here to see Mr. Mason, who has bought two of these horses."

"You're a Methodist, I suppose, like Consett himself?" said the other.

"No, I am not," replied Eric; and he felt rather proud that he could say so.

"I wonder you can get on with Consett, then, if you stick to your own opinions about things; for I know he don't allow anybody to think for himself outside Methodist lines."

"Oh, he will allow me that liberty," said Eric proudly.

If he had been looking at the young man's face just then, he would have seen a peculiar smile part his lips as he said, "Oh, well, not being a Methodist, and under Consett's thumb, you can have a glass of small ale with me, just for friendship's sake, for we shall often be able to do each other a good turn, I expect, when you are waiting here for Consett's customers."

Eric hesitated for a moment about this, but the young man went to fetch the ale while he made up his mind what he ought to do, and when he came back with the foaming tankard in his hand, Eric thought he had no further choice in the matter.

Having drunk to their future good fellowship, Eric thought he had done enough, but the young man pressed him to drink again and again, and he, not liking to seem churlish or afraid, followed his example, drank more than he had ever done before, and of stronger ale than was brewed at the farmhouse.

Presently another young man came in, and without seeming to notice Eric, asked the other if he knew whether Consett or his lad were coming to town. "There's a sailor from some ship in the harbour been asking about them; she sails to-morrow, and there's somebody aboard that wants to see Consett's lad," he went on.

"Where is the sailor?" asked Eric quickly, and running to the gateway to look down the street.

"Oh, he's gone; he was in a hurry, he said, for if they could get all the cargo aboard before the next tide, the captain said he wouldn't wait till the next day."

"That's just like Captain Simpson, and I shall never see her again!" exclaimed Eric, in a little fever of dismay. He was excited by the ale he had drunk, and the thought of being so near the Osprey, and yet not able to see Sister Martin once more, well-nigh drove him wild; and the questions and exclamations of the two young men were by no means calculated to calm him and give him a right judgment in the matter.

To go down to the harbour, take a boat, and get on board the Osprey for a parting word with his friend, and let Captain Simpson see how well he was looking, became the one thought and desire of which he was capable, and to gratify which he was ready to do almost anything.

He did not know that this was the work of the two pretended friends, who had coaxed and flattered him for this very purpose, so that now he was like an instrument in their hands, which they could easily use for the purpose they had in view when they first began the talk with him.

As soon as it suited them to do so, one of them proposed that the horses should be left in charge of his friend while he went down to the harbour with Eric.

The one who had first spoken proposed to take them under his care, while he went on this jaunt, or to deliver them to the men who were to come for them.

"It's a chance you may never get again, and it's a pity to lose it. The horses are safe enough here; Mr. Consett always puts up at The Old Bell, so you may as well go off and enjoy yourself," said this new friend.

"I'll go with you to the harbour," said the last comer; "you're a stranger, and may easily lose your way."

And as he spoke he gave the other a look which, if Eric had seen, he must have known that some mischief was intended.

But with the ale and under the urging and artful insinuations of these two, Eric thought of nothing but the getting away for a few hours, and so he soon agreed to the proposal, and the two started out.

"How far is it to the harbour?" he asked, as his guide led him down a narrow street, which he said was a short cut to the other end of the town.

"Not more than a mile. We shan't be long getting there," he added.

But they were a long time, or it seemed so to Eric, as they turned first one way and then another. But at last they did come in sight of the quay, and then his companion said,—

"There you are, my hearty! Now you can find your way, or shall I speak to one of the boatmen for you?"

"Oh, see the boatman, and ask him if he knows where the Osprey is lying now. She was over there when I left her."

"Oh, she may have been in half a dozen places since then; but one of those fellows over there is sure to know where she is to be found." And as he spoke, he pointed to a group of boatmen, and then ran across to where they were standing, slowly followed by Eric.

The bargain had been made when he joined them, and his friend said; "You're all right now; she lies a little way out, ready for sailing, but this man can take you to her." And with that, he nodded and left Eric to get into the boat by himself, while he returned to The Bell by a much shorter route than that by which he had come.

The tide was running into the harbour, and it was hard work and took a long time to go to the outer side of it, but a vessel was reached at last, and the man said, "Here we are; this is your ship."

"But I don't think this is the Osprey," said Eric, looking up at the vessel that was near them.

"The Osprey!" repeated the boatman. "You said you wanted the Dolphin, and here she is."

"Oh, but this is not the ship I want; my friend must have made a mistake," said Eric, looking all round, in the hope of seeing the vessel he thought he should know so well.

The man looked at him very hard. "Do you know what ship you do want?" he said crossly.

"Yes, the Osprey; I am quite sure of the name, and I thought my friend had told you."

"You're a fool, or your friend is, to come on a wild goose chase like this. You'll have to pay me for the time, I can tell you. Do you know where the Osprey lies?" called the boatman to one of the sailors who looked over the side of the Dolphin at this moment. There was no mistake about her name, there it was painted as plainly as paint could make the letters.

"The Osprey?" repeated the sailor. "She lay over there a few days ago." And he pointed over to where a crowd of masts stood out clear against the sky.

So the boat was turned in the direction indicated, and the boatman rowed away, grumbling, with his passenger feeling very uncomfortable. After a time these other vessels were reached, and again the Osprey was asked for, but no one knew anything about her at all here.

"The next time you come out on a fool's errand don't ask Tom Higgins to go with you," said the surly boatman at last, turning his boat towards the shore, and giving up further search for the vessel. "I shall want a crown of you, young man," he went on.

"Then it's no good going back until we do find the Osprey," said Eric in a fright. "I haven't got so much money as that, but if we find the ship, I can get it, I daresay."

Under this stimulus, the boatman made a detour round the harbour, which occupied nearly an hour; but, alas, there was no Osprey to be seen, and the man was more ill-tempered than ever before the shore was again reached, for the wild goose chase would expose him to the ridicule of his rivals, which would be as hard to bear as the loss of the money itself to a man like Higgins.

"How much money have you got?" he demanded, as Eric was stepping out of the boat.

The lad put his hand into his pocket and drew out a shilling and a few coppers. "That is all I have got, but I will bring you the rest the next time I come to Boston," said Eric, now wishing he had never left the horses, and feeling a wild desire to get back and see that they were all right.

"Where do you live?" asked the man.

"At Consett's Farm," replied Eric.

"Never heard of it before. I don't believe a word you say about this; you've just come out for a spree, and to get an hour or two on the water without paying for it. It ain't the first trick that's been played on me by you Britishers, but I don't mean to put up with this, I can tell you. You pay me a crown before you land, or I shall have you taken to the lock-up till you do pay."

Eric thought of his master and the horses that had been left in his charge, and turned hot and cold by turns as he looked at the man's hard face. "I have no more money than this," he said; "but if you will let me go, or send up to Consett Farm to-morrow, you shall have your money, and something over for waiting."

He spoke in a pleading, anxious tone, but he might as well have pleaded with the stones in the street as to this man, and finding that there was no more money to be got from him, he gave him in charge of the dock watchman for robbing him of his rightful fare.

The man was a little more inclined to think that Eric himself was the subject of a practical joke when he heard the whole story, but what could he do? The boatman insisted upon Eric being taken before the justice, as a warning to others against imposing upon poor boatmen, and so he was obliged to do his duty, as he said, though he might feel sure that Eric was not the thief the boatman thought him.

The Old Bell was too far from the dock for anybody to send there on the lad's behalf. The justices could order that to be done the next day if they thought it necessary. This was all the comfort Eric could get, and so, about the time that Mr. Consett would be riding back to The Bell to meet him, he was thrust into the dreary building chiefly used for the detention of drunken and quarrelsome sailors, or people suspected of theft, as he was now.

In the semi-gloom and quiet of this place, he had time to go over in his own mind the events of the day. The fresh air had cleared away from his brain the fumes of the strong ale he had drunk at The Bell, and recalling all that had happened, he wondered how he could have been so foolish as to be persuaded to give up the care of his master's horses to strangers, while he went off in search of his own pleasure.

He had boasted to his mistress that he knew too much of what went on at an inn yard to be persuaded by anybody to neglect his duty, and here he was, the very first time he went into town, accused of being a thief; and perhaps his master, with far greater reason, would think him one too, for he felt sure now that he had been sent out to the Dolphin purposely, and that it was by no means the mistake he had first thought it, now that he had time calmly to review all the circumstances that led up to it. But of course these thoughts did but increase his misery, and as hour after hour passed, his anguish of mind grew more intense.

He was a fool, and worse than a fool, he said to himself, to be deluded into leaving his duty at the persuasion of a couple of strangers who had undoubtedly acted from some interested motive in the matter. Perhaps the men had gone off with the horses now, and there would be no one to tell his master what had happened, that he might take steps to recover them.

The thought of his ingratitude and folly drove him almost mad, until at last the thought that even over this he could pray and seek God's help and guidance, came to him as healing balm, and he fell on his knees and poured out his whole soul before his Father in heaven.

He had done wrong, he had gone astray like a lost and foolish sheep; just when he felt so confident, so sure of himself, he had fallen. But, oh, the rest and comfort of the thought that though he had sinned, there was forgiveness for sin—that the Lord Jesus Christ could and would help him to conquer and overcome it, and He could bring light out of this darkness, order out of this tangled skein of circumstances.

After this, he decided that his first duty now was to let his master know where and how he had left the horses, and whatever punishment he deemed he ought to suffer, to take it meekly. That his Father in heaven could and would help him to decide aright was a great comfort to him; and at last, he curled himself up in one corner of the cell and went to sleep, and, despite his misery and the uncomfortable place he was in, he slept soundly until the morning.