Brian was checked, but only for a moment. “I ’ll say that there was five dollars in the wallet.”
“You won’t get up much interest in that,” remarked Pelham.
“Well, then,” declared Brian, “I ’ll catch that fellow, even if I have to tell the truth. There was a hundred and seventy-five in the wallet.”
Pelham whistled. ‘“That ’s worth offering a reward for. We can turn out the boys and even the mill-hands on the strength of that. They ’re all free on Saturday afternoon.”
They drove on for a while in silence. The road wound slowly upward until, reaching the “height of land,” it paused for a moment before its descent, and gave a single view of a round valley, in the center of which lay a village. Then once more the travelers, descending, were among trees.
“Brian,” ventured Pelham at length, consoling, “that ’s a pretty big loss.”
Brian answered sharply: “Don’t speak about it.”
Pelham looked at him in surprise. Brian was sitting huddled together, with both his hands in his pockets. His face was red, and he did not look at his cousin.
“Oh, very well,” said Pelham, slowly. The uncertainties of his cousin’s temper irritated him, but he reminded himself that Brian’s loss was heavy, and that his fall in the road must have shaken him roughly. He said no more, therefore, but drove on until the woods gave way to fields, and the village lay in sight,
It was a typical New England town, spread on both sides of a narrow stream which, from its depth and swiftness, almost merited the name of river. The road crossed it near the woods, and met it again in the center of the village, where the best houses of the place were spaced at generous intervals. From one opening in the houses and trees could be seen, not far away, a collection of long, stone buildings, the mills of Pelham’s father. Finest of all the houses of the village stood the Dodd homestead, likewise of stone, square, and solid, and simple. It stood well back from the street, amid lawns, shrubberies, and flowers. Beyond it showed glimpses of a wide mill-pond. Pelham turned the horse in at the gate, and drove toward the house. There, seeing his father sitting upon the piazza, Pelham stopped the horse, and spoke.
“Father,” he said, “back here in the woods Brian dropped his wallet from the carriage, and when we went back for it, we found that a boy, one that I never saw before, had picked it up. He got away from us, and ran into the woods.”
Mr. Dodd rose and came to the railing. He was a man of middle height, stockily built, and with a short, grizzled beard. His keen eyes looked at his nephew. “How much money did you lose?”’
“Only five dollars,” answered Brian.
Pelham looked at him quickly. Brian, still uncomfortably slumped in his seat, did not look up to meet his uncle’s eye.
“Don’t feel so badly about it,” said Mr. Dodd. “Perhaps we can make it up to you.”
“Oh, no!” protested Brian. His face, under Pelham’s gaze, slowly reddened deeply.
“We ’ll see,” said his uncle. “Lucky it was n't more!”
The two boys drove to the stable. “So!” said Pelham, after a pause, “you ’d rather lose the money than tell Father the truth of it?”
Brian, still very red, made no answer,
Charter II
THE STRANGER AGAIN
On a hillside, three girls were picking berries. Clumps of blueberry bushes, which here yielded their earliest fruit, dotted the pasture. The wide field was fringed, at its upper edge, with woods, beyond which rose the weather-worn face of a cliff that topped them by a dozen feet. Turning and looking down the slope, the girls could see a valley shaped like a bowl], in whose bottom reposed a little town. Five miles away, a gap in the surface of hills showed the outlet to the river.
There was but one of the girls worth our attention. The others were nobodies, the hand-maidens of Nausicaa, whose self she was. But they felt themselves quite her equals, never suspected her of being a princess, and called her Harriet. Their talk was girls’ talk, happy and careless, except when one of them asked: “Are n't you scared to be so far away by ourselves?”
Harriet straightened her slender figure, shook down the berries in her basket, and looked at the town. “Three miles home,” she said. “I can see our own roof. But it ’s only a mile to Nate's. Why should we be scared?”
Her voice was clear, her tone light. The other asked her: “Are n’t you ever scared?”
“Are you?” returned Harriet. Her gray eyes showed amusement.
“Oh, I am, often,” cried the third of the girls. “I hate to be out after dusk; and I loathe the garret and the cellar. I don't like any lonesome places. I would n’t come here all by myself for anything!”
Harriet smiled. “What is there to hurt us?”
