Facing the World. Alger Horatio Jr.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and here and there the road ran through the woods. He could hear the singing of birds, and, notwithstanding what he had heard he felt in good spirits.

      At length the stage entered the village of Colebrook. It was a village of moderate size—about two hundred houses being scattered over a tract half a mile square. Occupying a central position was the tavern, a square, two-story building, with a piazza in front, on which was congregated a number of villagers. After rapidly scanning them, the driver said:

      “Do you see that tall man over there leanin’ against a post?”

      “Yes.”

      “That’s your guardeen! That’s John Fox himself, as large as life, and just about as homely.”

      CHAPTER II

      THE DANGER SIGNAL

      The man pointed out to Harry as his guardian was tall, loosely put together, with a sharp, thin visage surrounded by a thicket of dull-red hair. He came forward as Harry jumped to the ground after descending from the elevated perch, and said: “I reckon this is Harry Vane?”

      “That is my name, sir.”

      “Glad to see you. Just take your traps, and come along with me. Mrs. Fox will have supper ready by the time we come.”

      Harry was not, on the whole, attracted by the appearance of his guardian. There was a crafty look about the eyes of Mr. Fox which seemed to make his name appropriate. He surveyed his young ward critically.

      “You’re pretty well grown,” he said.

      “Yes, sir.”

      “And look stout and strong.”

      “I believe I am both.”

      “My boy, Joel, is as tall as you, but not so hefty. He’s goin’ to be tall like me. He’s a sharp boy—Joel.”

      “By the way, you didn’t write how much property your father left.”

      “After the funeral bills are paid, I presume there’ll be only about three hundred dollars left.”

      Mr. Fox stopped short and whistled.

      “Father hadn’t much talent at making money,” said Harry, soberly.

      “I should say not. Why, that money won’t last you no time at all.”

      “I am old enough to work for a living. Isn’t there something I can find to do in Colebrook?”

      “I guess I can give you work myself—There’s always more or less to do ‘round a place. I keep a man part of the time, but I reckon I can let him go and take you on instead. You see, that will count on your board, and you don’t want to spend your money too fast.”

      “Very well, sir. There’s only one thing I will stipulate; I will wait a day or two before going to work. I want to look about the place a little.”

      While this conversation was going on, they had traveled a considerable distance. A little distance ahead appeared a square house, painted yellow, with a barn a little back on the left, and two old wagons alongside.

      “That’s my house,” said John Fox. “There’s Joel.”

      Joel, a tall boy in figure, like his father, came forward and eyed Harry with sharp curiosity.

      “How are ye?” said Joel, extending a red hand, covered with warts.

      “Pretty well, thank you,” said Harry, not much attracted to his new acquaintance.

      “Here’s Sally, too!” said John Fox. “Sally, this is my ward, Harry Vane.”

      Sally, who bore a striking family resemblance to her father and brother, giggled.

      Mrs. Fox, to whom Harry was introduced at the supper table, was as peculiar in her appearance and as destitute of beauty as the rest of the family.

      The next day, Harry, feeling it must be confessed, rather homesick, declined Joel’s company, and took an extended stroll about the town. He found that though the railway by which he had come was eight miles distant, there was another, passing within a mile of the village. He struck upon it, and before proceeding far made a startling discovery. There had been some heavy rains, which had washed out the road for a considerable distance, causing the track to give way.

      “Good heavens!” thought Harry, “if a train comes over the road before this is mended, there’ll be a wreck and loss of life. What can I do?”

      Just across the field stood a small house. In the yard the week’s washing was hung out. Among the articles was a red tablecloth.

      “May I borrow that tablecloth?” asked Harry, in excitement, of a woman in the doorway.

      “Land sakes! what for?” she asked.

      “To signal the train. The road’s washed away.”

      “Yes, yes; I’m expectin’ my darter on that train,” answered the woman, now as excited as our hero. “Hurry up! the train’s due in fifteen minutes.”

      Seizing the tablecloth, Harry gathered it quickly into a bundle and ran back to the railroad. He hurried down the track west of a curve which was a few hundred feet beyond the washout, and saw the train coming at full speed. He jumped on a fence skirting the tracks, and waved the tablecloth wildly.

      “Will they see it?” he asked himself, anxiously.

      It was an anxious moment for Harry as he stood waving the danger signal, uncertain whether it would attract the attention of the engineer. It did! The engineer, though not understanding the meaning of the signal, not knowing indeed, but it might be a boy’s freak, prudently heeded it, and reversing the engine, stopped the train a short distance of the place of danger.

      “Thank God!” exclaimed Harry, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

      The engineer alighted from the train, and when he looked ahead, needed no explanation.

      “My boy!” he said, with a shudder, “you have saved the train.”

      “I am glad of it, sir. My heart was in my mouth, lest you should not see my signal.”

      By this time the passengers, whose curiosity had been roused by the sudden halt, began to pour out of the cars.

      When they saw the washout, strong men turned pale, and ladies grew faint, while many a fervent ejaculation of gratitude was heard at the wonderful escape.

      “We owe our lives to this boy!” said the engineer. “It was he who stood on the fence and signaled me. We owe our deliverance to this—tablecloth.”

      A small man, somewhat portly, pushed his way up to Harry.

      “What is your name, my lad?” he asked, brusquely.

      “Harry Vane.”

      “I am the president and leading stockholder of the road, and my property has come very near being the death of me. Gentlemen”—here the president turned to the group of gentlemen around him—“don’t you think this boy deserves a testimonial?”

СКАЧАТЬ