Alger Horatio Jr.
Mark Manning's Mission
CHAPTER I.
THREE YOUNG HUNTERS
Two boys, with guns on their shoulders, were crossing a meadow towards the Pecasset woods. These were situated about a mile from the village, and were quite extensive. The two boys were James Collins and Tom Wyman, the first, the son of a large shoe manufacturer, the other the son of the village postmaster. They were about of a size, and had the appearance of being sixteen years of age. They were very intimate, the second being a satellite of the first, who in right of his father's wealth considered himself the first boy in Pecasset. Tom flattered his vanity by acknowledging his pretensions, and this gave him his position of favorite with the young aristocrat.
"I should like to be a hunter," said Tom, as they walked along.
"A fine hunter you'd be," said James, in a tone by no means complimentary, for he didn't feel it necessary to flatter his humble companion. "You never hit anything, you know."
"Come, James, that's a little too strong," said Tom, in a tone of annoyance. "I don't pretend to be as good a shot as you are, but still I have hit a bird before now."
"When it was perched on a fence, eh?"
"No, on the wing."
"Who saw you do it?"
"I was alone."
"So I thought," said James, laughing.
"I did it, really. Of course I can't shoot as well as you."
"I don't think there is a boy in the village can come up to me in that line," said James.
"Of course not; though Mark Manning isn't a bad shot."
"Mark Manning! He's one of the peggers in my father's shop, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"Son of the poor widow that lives near the schoolhouse?"
"Yes."
"What can he know of gunning? He had better stick to the shop."
"I didn't say he was equal to you," said Tom apologetically, "but I have seen him shoot well."
"Has he a gun of his own?"
"No, but he often gets the loan of Farmer Jones's."
"I suppose he could hit a barn door if he were within fifty feet of it," said James, contemptuously.
Tom was silent. It was not the first time he had noticed how distasteful to James was praise of any other boy.
At this moment, from another direction came a third boy, of about the same size and age as the two already introduced. He also had a gun on his shoulder. He had on a well-worn suit of mixed cloth, which had been darned in one or two places. His face was open and attractive, his form was well-knit and muscular, and he was evidently in vigorous health.
Tom Wyman was the first to notice the newcomer.
"Talk of the—old Harry," he said, "and he is sure to appear."
"What do you mean?" asked James, who had not yet espied the new arrival.
"There's Mark Manning coming towards us."
James condescended to turn his glance in Marks' direction.
"What brings him here, I wonder?" he said, with a curl of the lip.
"The same errand that brings us, I should judge, from the gun on his shoulder," answered Tom.
By this time Mark was within calling distance.
"Hallo, boys!" he said. "Have you shot anything yet?"
"No," answered Tom. "Have you?"
"No, I have only just come."
"Why are you not in the shop?" demanded James, with the air of a young lord.
"Because we work only half-time to-day."
"I suppose you were glad of the holiday?"
"No, I would rather have worked. Half-work, half-pay, you know."
"I suppose that's quite an important consideration for a—a working boy like you," drawled James, with an air of patronage.
Mark surveyed James, with a quizzical smile, for he had a genuine boy's disdain for affectation, and James was a very good specimen of a self-conceited dude, though the latter term had not yet come into use.
"Yes," he said, after a slight pause, "it is a consideration—to a working boy like me."
"How much now does my father pay you?" inquired James, with gracious condescension.
"Seventy-five cents a day—that's the average."
"Very fair pay! I suppose you take it home to your mother?"
"Yes, I do," answered Mark.
"She's—ah—very poor, I hear."
Mark began to find his patronage on the whole rather oppressive. He had a sturdy independence of feeling that grew restive under the young patrician's condescension.
"We are poor," he answered, "but we have enough to eat, and to wear, and a roof to cover us—"
"Exactly. You are indebted to my father for that."
"I don't see how."
"Doesn't he employ you and pay you wages?"
"Yes, but don't I earn my wages by good work?"
"Really, my good fellow, I can't say. I presume you do passably well, or he wouldn't keep you in his employ."
"Then it seems to me we are even on that score. However, I didn't come here to talk about myself."
Here there was a sudden diversion.
"Look, James! See that bird!" exclaimed Tom, in excitement.
The other two boys looked in the direction indicated, and saw a hawk flying swiftly, perhaps two hundred feet above them. The three simultaneously raised their guns, and Tom and James fired. But Mark, upon second thought reserved his fire, in order to give his two companions a chance.
Their guns were discharged, but in vain. The bird flew on, apparently unconcerned, considerably to their disappointment.
"Now it is my turn!" reflected Mark.
He raised his gun, and quickly pulled the trigger; the effect was soon seen. The bird fluttered its wings, then dropped quickly through the air.
"By Jove, Mark's hit him!" exclaimed Tom in excitement.
James frowned in evident displeasure.
"Yes, he was lucky!" he said significantly.
Mark had run forward to pick up the bird.
"I told you Mark was a good shot!" said Tom, who had not so much vanity to wound as James.
"I suppose you think him a better shot than I, because he hit the bird and I didn't?" said James, reddening.
"No, I don't say that!"
"I tell you it was pure luck. I've heard of a man who shut his eyes when he fired, but he succeeded when all his companions failed. You can't judge of one by a single shot."
Here Mark came up with his trophy.
"I congratulate you on your success," said James, unpleasantly. "I suppose this is the first bird you ever shot?"
"Oh, no!" answered Mark smilingly. "I have shot a few before now."
"A fly lit on my nose just when I was pulling the trigger, or I should have brought him down."
"That was lucky for me," said Mark.
"Come, Tom," said James, drawing his companion away to the left. "We'd better separate, or we shall all be shooting at the same object."
"Good luck to you then!" said Mark, as the two left him.
"Thanks!" said Tom, but James deigned no notice of Mark's civility.
CHAPTER II.
THE HERMIT'S CABIN
Mark smiled to himself as the boys left him.
"James doesn't care to associate with us working boys," he thought. "Well, I fancy he cares as much for my company as I do for his."
Mark was thoroughly independent and self-reliant, and had no disposition to trouble himself because a particular boy didn't care to associate with him.
He was not self-conceited, but he respected himself, and never would have been willing, like Tom Wyman, to play the part of an humble satellite to the son of a wealthy shoe manufacturer.
He reached the edge of the woods, and plunged into their shaded recesses. Here and there were paths more or less worn. One of these he took. It was a considerable time before he found anything to shoot at. Finally he fired at a squirrel, but the active little animal eluded him, and made his way to some covert, whence possibly he peeped out with twinkling eyes at his enemy.
Farther on he reached a small clearing, in the center of which rose an humble log dwelling, of the most primitive description.
Mark regarded it with curiosity, for, though it was no new object to him, he knew that it was occupied by a man who for five years had baffled the curiosity of the neighborhood.
Now and then he was seen in the village, whither he went to procure supplies of food and other necessaries. A striking figure he was, with his long flowing sandy beard, thickly flecked with gray hairs, high forehead, and long, circular cloak wrapped around his tall, spare form.
On his head he wore a Spanish sombrero, and his appearance in the streets never failed to attract the curious eyes of the children.
Once some rude boys followed him with jeers, but were never tempted to repeat the rudeness. With his long staff upraised, he gave chase to them, looking so terrible that they were panic-stricken, and with pale faces, scattered in all directions.
While Mark was standing near the hermit's cabin, he thought he heard a smothered groan proceeding from within.
"What can be the matter," he thought, "can old Anthony be sick?"
This was the name, correct or not, by which the hermit was known in the village.
He paused a moment in indecision, but on hearing the groan repeated, he overcame his scruples, and pushing open the door, which stood ajar, he entered.
On a pallet, at one corner of the main room, lay the old man, with his limbs drawn up, as if in pain. His back was towards the door.
"Who is there?" he asked, as he heard the door open.
"A friend," answered Mark. "Are you sick?"
"I have a severe attack of rheumatism," answered the old man.
"And you have no one to take care of you?" said Mark, pityingly.
"No; I have no friends," answered the old man, in a tone half sad, half bitter. "Come round to the foot of the bed; let me look at you," he added, after a pause.
Mark complied with his request.
Old Anthony regarded him attentively, and said, half to himself, "a good face! a face to be trusted!"
"I hope so," said Mark, with a feeling of pleasure. "Can I do anything for you?"
"You are willing to help old Anthony? You see I know what they call me in the village."
"Yes. I shall be willing and glad to do anything for you."
"You are a good boy. What is your name?"
"Mark Manning."
"I know who you are. Your mother is a widow."
"Yes."
"And poor."
"We have little money, but we have never wanted for food."
"You work for your mother?"
"Yes; I am employed in the shoe factory."
"A good son will make a good man. You will never repent what you are doing for your mother."
"No; I am sure I shall not," returned Mark, warmly. "I ought not, for she has done everything for me."
"What brings you here?" asked the old man.
"I had a spare afternoon, and came out gunning. I was wandering about these woods and happened to come this way. How long have you been sick?"
"For several days; but I was able to be about till yesterday."
"Have you taken no medicine?"
"No. I thought I might do without it; but I find I am mistaken."
"Shall I call the doctor?"
"No; my disease is of old standing, and I know what to do for it. If you are willing to go to the drug store for me you may take the bottle on yonder shelf and get it filled. The druggist will understand what is wanted. You may also get me a box of rheumatic pills."
"Yes, sir; I will go at once."
"You will want money. Look in the box on yonder shelf, and select a gold piece. Pay for the articles and bring back the change."
"Yes, sir."
Mark went to the shelf, and in a square wooden box found a collection of gold and silver coins from which he selected a five-dollar gold piece.
"I have taken five dollars," he said.
"Very well."
"Are you not afraid to leave this money so exposed while you are sick and helpless?" Mark ventured to inquire.
"I have no visitors," answered old Anthony.
"But you might have. Some tramp–"
"That is true. Perhaps it would be well to provide for that contingency. Will you take it all, and take care of it for me?"
Mark regarded the old man with surprise.
"What—take it away with me?" he asked.
"Yes. I shall have to employ you as my man of business till I get better. I will speak with you about it further when you return with the medicines."
"Do you know how much there is here?" asked Mark.
"No; you may count it, if you like."
Mark did so and announced as the result of his count, "Twenty-nine dollars and thirty cents."
"Very well! You may keep an account of what you expend for me," said the old man, indifferently.
"He seems to put a good deal of confidence in me," Mark reflected, with some satisfaction.
"Is there nothing else you want in the village?" Mark asked, as he prepared to go.
"You may bring me a loaf of fresh bread and a quart of milk, if it will not be too much trouble. You will find a tin measure for the milk on the shelf."
"Here it is, sir."
"Very well."
"If you would like something nourishing—some meat, for instance—I can get my mother to cook you some," continued Mark.
"Not to-day. Another day I may avail myself of your kind offer. You are very kind—to a poor recluse."
"I am afraid you don't pass a very pleasant life," said Mark. "I should be miserable if I lived alone in the woods, like you."
"No doubt, no doubt. You are young and life opens before you bright and cheerful. As for me, I have lived my life. For me no prospect opens but the grave. Why, indeed, should I seek to prolong this miserable life?"
Mark hardly knew how to answer him. He could not enter into the old man's morbid feelings.
"I will be back soon," he said as he left the cabin.
CHAPTER III.
A TIMELY RESCUE
Mark Manning left the cabin and made his way as quickly as possible to the edge of the wood. He hadn't got over his wonder at the hermit's commission and singular confidence in him.
"It seems strange," he said to himself, "to have so much money in my pocket. Nearly thirty dollars! I wonder whether I shall ever have as much of my own?"
In truth, thirty dollars seemed a much larger sum to our hero, brought up in a hand to hand struggle with poverty, than it would have appeared if he had been ten years older.
"He must have more money," thought Mark, "or he would not care so little for this sum as to trust it all to me. How does he know that I will prove honest?"
Nevertheless it was a satisfaction to Mark to reflect that old Anthony was justified in his confidence. Had the sum been ten times as large, he would not have been tempted to retain any of it for his own use.
He kept on his way to the drug store, and asked for the medicines already referred to.
"Is your mother sick?" asked the druggist, who was very well acquainted with Mark and his family.
"No, sir," answered Mark.
"Oh, then it is you who are rheumatic," said the druggist jokingly.
"Wrong again," answered Mark. "I am buying the medicines for old Anthony."
"Then he is sick? That accounts for his not having appeared in the village for several days."
Thereupon Mark described his chance visit to the cabin, and the condition in which he had found the hermit.
"These remedies will do him good," said the druggist, "if he is otherwise kept comfortable. A strange man is old Anthony!" he continued musingly.
Mark produced a gold piece, from which he requested the druggist to take pay for the articles purchased.
"Did the hermit give you this?" asked the druggist.
Mark answered in the affirmative.
"Then it is evident he is not without means. However, I might have known that. During the years that he has lived in the wood, he has always been prompt in his payments for all articles purchased in the village. His expenditures are small, to be sure, but in five years they have amounted to considerable."
"What could have induced him to settle in such a lonely spot?"
"That is more than any one hereabouts can tell. He is very secretive, and never says anything about himself."
By this time Mark was ready to return. He went to the grocery store, where he obtained the milk and loaf of bread, which he had also been commissioned to procure. Then he set out for old Anthony's lonely cabin.
Before doing so, he heard something from the grocer that aroused his curiosity.
"There was a man in here only twenty minutes since," said the storekeeper, "who was asking after Anthony."
"Was it a stranger?"
"Yes. It was a man I never saw before. He was a stout, broad-shouldered man with a bronzed face, who looked as if he might be a sailor."
"Did he say who he was?"
"Only that Anthony was a relation of his, and that he had not seen him for years."
"Did he say he meant to call upon him?" asked Mark.
"He did not say so, but as he inquired particularly for the location of the cabin, I took it for granted that this was his intention."
"Then probably I shall see him, as I am going directly back to the wood."
"He will probably be there unless he loses his way."
Leaving Mark to return by the same way he came, we will precede him, and make acquaintance with the man who had excited the grocer's curiosity by inquiring for the old hermit.
Old Anthony lay on his pallet waiting for the return of Mark.
"I like the boy," he said to himself. "He has an honest face. He looks manly and straightforward. He has never joined the other village boys in jeering. If my nephew had been like him he might have been a comfort to me."
The old man sighed. What thoughts passed through his mind were known only to him; but that they were sad ones seemed clear from the expression of his face.
Time passed as he lay quiet. Then he heard a noise at the door and the step of one entering the cabin.
"Is that you, Mark?" he inquired.
There was a pause. Then a harsh voice answered: "No; it isn't Mark, whoever he may be. It is some one who ought to be nearer to you than he."
Old Anthony started in evident excitement, and by an effort managed to turn round his head so as to see the intruder.
His eyes rested on a man rather above the middle height, shabbily clad, with a dark face and threatening expression.
"Lyman Taylor!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, Lyman Taylor," returned the other, mockingly. "Are you glad to see your nephew?"
"Heaven knows I am not!" said old Anthony bitterly.
"So I judged from your expression. Yet they say blood is thicker than water."
"That there is any tie of blood between us I regret deeply. A man more utterly unworthy I have never known."
"Come, Uncle Anthony, isn't that a little strong. I am no angel–"
"You are a worthless scoundrel," said the hermit bitterly.
"Look here, old man," said his nephew fiercely, "I didn't come here to be insulted and called bad names. Considering that you are alone and in my power, it is a little impertinent in you to talk in that way. I might kill you."
"You are quite capable of it," said Anthony. "Do so, if you choose. Life is not a possession that I greatly prize."
"I have a great mind to take you at your word," said Taylor coolly, "but it wouldn't suit my purpose. Your death would do me no good unless you have made me your heir. I am desperately in need of money."
"Work for it, then!"
"Thank you! You are very kind; but employers are rather shy of me. I have no recommendations to offer. I don't mind telling you that I have spent the last four years in prison."
"A very suitable place for you," said the old man in a caustic tone.
"Thank you again! You are complimentary."
"This is the reason why you have not found me out before?"
"Precisely. You don't suppose I would otherwise have kept away from you so long, my most affectionate uncle!"
"Do you recall the circumstances of our last parting? I awoke in California to find myself robbed of the large sum of money I had with me. Of course, you took it."
"I don't mind owning that I did. But I haven't a cent of it left."
"That I can easily believe. Why have you sought me out?"
"I want more money."
"So I supposed. You can judge from my way of living whether I am likely to have any for you."
"You don't appear to be living in luxury. However, it costs something to keep body and soul together even in this den. Of course, you have some money. However little it is, I want it."
"Then you will be disappointed."
"Where do you keep your money?" demanded Lyman Taylor, roughly.
"Even if I had any. I wouldn't tell you!" said the brave old man.
"Look here, old man, no trifling! Either you will find some money for me, or I will choke you?"
He got down on one knee and stooped menacingly over the hermit.
At that moment Mark Manning, who had returned from his errand, reached the doorway, and stood a surprised and indignant witness of this exciting scene.
Old Anthony struggled, but ineffectually in the grasp of the ruffian who had attacked him. Even if he had not been disabled by disease he would not have been a match for Lyman Taylor, who was at least twenty-five years younger.
"Don't touch me, you scoundrel!" said Anthony, whose spirit exceeded his bodily strength.
"Then tell me where you keep your money!"
"That I will not do!"
"Then I'll see if I can't find a way to make you."
As he spoke the young man grabbed the hermit by the throat. He concluded too hastily that old Anthony was in his power. He was destined to a surprise.
"Let the old man alone!" cried Mark, indignantly.
Lyman Taylor looked up in surprise and some alarm. But when he saw that the words proceeded from a boy, he laughed derisively.
"Mind your own business, you young bantam, or I'll wring your neck!" he said contemptuously. "Now, let me know where you keep your money," he said, turning once more to the old man, and preparing to choke him into an avowal of his secret.
"Let go, instantly, or I will shoot!" exclaimed Mark, now thoroughly aroused.
Once more the ruffian turned, and this time his countenance changed, for Mark, boyish but resolute, had dropped his bundles, and had the musket pointed directly at him.
Taylor rose to his feet suddenly.
"Take care, there!" he said, nervously. "Put down that gun!"
"Then leave old Anthony alone!" returned Mark, resolutely.
"Are you my uncle's guardian?" demanded Lyman, with a sneer.
"If he is your uncle, the more shame to you to treat him brutally!"
"I didn't come here to be lectured by a boy," said Taylor, angrily. "Put down that gun!"
