Three Young Knights - Annie Hamilton Donnell
THREE YOUNG KNIGHTS
By Annie Hamilton Donnell
CHAPTER I.
The last wisp of hay was in the Eddy mows. "Come on!" shouted Jot.
"Here she goes--hip, hip, hoo-ray!"
"Hoor-a-ay!" echoed Kent. But of course Old Tilly took it calmly. He
planted his brown hands pocket-deep and his bare, brown legs wide apart,
and surveyed the splendid, bursting mows with honest pride.
"Yes, sir, that's the finest lot o' hay in Hexham county; beat it if you
can, sir!" he said approvingly. Then, being ready, he caught off his
own hat and cheered, too.
"Hold on, you chaps; give the old man a chance to holler with you!"
Father Eddy's big, hearty voice cried above the din, and there was the
flaring, sun-browned "wide-awake" swinging with the other hats.
"Hooray for the best hay in town! Hooray for the smartest team o' boys!
Hooray for lib-er-tee!"
"Hooray! Hooray!"
They were all of them out of breath and red in the face, but how they
cheered! Liberty--that was something to cheer for! After planting-time
and haying, hurrah for liberty!
The din softened gradually. With a sweep of his arm, father gathered
all the boys in a laughing heap before him.
"Well," he said, "what next? Who's going to celebrate? I'm done with
you for a fortnight. I'm going to hire Esau Whalley to milk and do the
chores, and send you small chaps about your business. You've earned
your holiday. And I don't know but it's as good a time as any to settle
up. Pay day's as good one day as another."
He drew out a little tight roll of bills and sorted out three
five-dollar notes gravely. The boys' eyes began to shine. Father 'most
always paid them, after haying, but--five dollars apiece! Old Tilly
pursed his lips and whistled softly. Kent nudged Jot.
[Illustration: He sorted out three five-dollar notes gravely.]
"There you are! You needn't mind about giving receipts!" Father Eddy
said matter-of-factly, but his gray eyes were a-twinkle under their
cliffs of gray brows. He was exulting quietly in the delight he could
read in the three round, brown faces. Good boys--yes, sir--all of them!
Wasn't their beat in Hexham county--no, sir! Nor yet in Marylebone
county or Winnipeg!
"Now, on with you--scatter!" he laughed. "Mother and I are going to
mill to celebrate! When you've decided what you're going to do, send a
committee o' three to let us know. Mind, you can celebrate any way you
want to that's sensible."
The boys waited till the tall, stoop-shouldered figure had gone back
into the dim, hay-scented barn, then with one accord the din began
again.
"Hoo-ray! Hoo-ray for father!"
"Father! father! hoo-ray!"
"Hoor-a-ay!"
It died away, began again, then trailed out to a faint wail as the boys
scuttled off round the barn to the orchard. Father smiled to himself
unsteadily.
"Good boys! good boys! good boys!" he muttered.
"Come on up in the consultery!" cried Kent excitedly.
"Yes, come on, Old Till; that's the place!" Jot echoed.
The "consultery" was a platform up in the great horse-chestnut tree.
When there was time, it could be reached comfortably by a short ladder,
but, in times of hurry, it was the custom to swing up to it by a
low-hanging bough, with a long running jump as a starter. To-day
they all swung up.
"Oh, I say, won't there be times!" cried Kent. "Five apiece is fifteen,
lumped. You can celebrate like everything with fifteen dollars!"
"Sure--but how?" Old Tilly asked in his gentle, moderate way. "We don't
want any old, common celebration!"
"You better believe we don't!"
"No, sir, we want to do something new! Camping out's old!"
"Camping's no good! Go on!" Jot said briefly. It was always Old Tilly
they looked to for suggestions. If you waited long enough, they were
sure to come.
"Well, that's the trouble. I can't 'go on'--yet. You don't give a chap
time to wink! What we want is to settle right down to it and think out
a fine way to celebrate. It's got to take time."
For the space of a minute it was still in the consultery, save for the
soft swish of the leaves overhead and roundabout. Then Jot broke out--a
minute was Jot's utmost limit of silence.
"We could go up through the Notch and back, you know," he reflected.
"That's no end of fun. Wouldn't cost us all more'n a fiver for the
round trip, and we'd have the other ten to--to--"
"Buy popcorn and 'Twin Mountain Views' with!" finished Kent in scorn.
"Well, if you want to dress up in your best fixin's and stew all day in
a railroad train--"
"I don't!" rejoined Jot, hastily. "I was thinking of Old Till!"
Tilly's other name was Nathan, but it had grown musty with disuse. He
was the oldest of the Eddy trio, and "ballasted" the other two, Father
Eddy said. Old Tilly was fourteen and the Eddy twins--Jotham and
Kennet--were twelve. All three were well-grown, lusty fellows who could
work or celebrate their liberty, as the case might be, with a good will.
Just now it was the latter they wanted to do, in some untried way.
It was a beautiful thinking-place, up in the consultery. The birds in
the meshes of leaves that roofed it over twittered in whispers, as if
they realized that a momentous question was under consultation down
below and bird-courtesy demanded quiet.
Jot fretted impatiently under his breath,
"Shouldn't think it need to take all day!" he muttered. "You're as slow
as--as--"
"Old Tilly!" laughed Kent. The spell of silence was broken, and the
birds overhead broke into jubilant trills, as if they were laughing,
too.
"I guess the name fits all right this time," Old Tilly said ruefully.
"I can't seem to think of anything at all! My head clicks--the mowing
machine wheels have got into it, I guess!"
"Wheels in mine, too!" Kent drawled lazily.
"Wheels!"
Jot sprang to his feet in excitement. In his haste he miscalculated the
dimensions of the consultery. There was a wild flutter of brown hands
and feet, and then the chestnut leaves closed calmly over the opening,
and there were but two boys in the consultery. One of those parted the
leaves again and peered down.
"Hello, Jot!"
No answer. Old Tilly's laugh froze on his face.
"Jot! Hello!" he cried, preparing to swing himself down.
"Hello yourself!" came up calmly.
"Oh! Are you killed?"
"'Course! But, I say, you needn't either o' you sit up there any longer
gloomin'. I've thought of the way we'll celebrate. It's great!"
The crisp branches creaked as the others swung down to the ground in
haste.
"You haven't!" cried Kent.
"What is it, quick!" Old Tilly said. Old Tilly in a hurry!
"Wheels!" announced Jot, deliberately. "You chaps had 'em in your head,
and that put 'em into mine. Yes, sir, we'll celebrate on wheels!"
"Why, of course! Good for you!" shouted Kent. But Old Tilly weighed
things first in his mind.
"That would be a go if we had enough to 'go' round. But you twinnies
wouid have to ride double, or spell each other, or something."
"Spell nobody!" scornfully cried Jot.
"N-o, no, b-o-d--"
"Shut up, Kent! That's all right, Old Till. Benny Tweed'll lend me his
bike just like a book--I know Ben! Besides, he owes me a dollar and I'll
call it square. There!"
Old Tilly nodded approvingly. "Good!" he said. "Then we'll take a trip
off somewhere. That what you meant?"
"Sure! We'll go Columbus-ing--discovering things, you know."
"Like those fellows--what's their names?--who did errands for people,
and had wonderful things happen to them while doing them!" put in Kent,
enthusiastically.
"Errands? What in the world--knights? He means knight-errants!"
exclaimed Old Till, laughing.
"That's a good one--'Did errands for folks!'" Jot mocked.
"Well, what did they do then, Jotham Eddy?"
"Why, they--er--they--they rode round on splendid horses, all armed--
er--aaple-pie--and--"
"Apple-pie--armed with apple-pie!"
Old Tilly came briskly to the rescue.
"Never mind the errands or the pie!" laughed he. "We'll be reg'lar
knights and hunt up distressed folks to relieve, and have reg'lar
adventures. It will be great--good for Jot! We won't decide where
we're going or anything--just keep a-going. We'll start to-morrow
morning at sunrise."
"Hoo-ray for to-morrow morning!"
"Hoo-ray for sunrise!"
"Hoo-ray for Jot!" finished Kent, generously forgetting mockeries.
The plan promised gloriously. When father and mother came home from the
mill they fell in with it heartily, and mother rolled up her sleeves at
once to make cakes to fill the boys' bundle racks. They would buy other
things as they went along--that would be part of the fun.
In the middle of the night Jot got out of bed softly and padded his way
across to the bureau, to feel of the three five-dollar bills they had
left together under the pincushion for a paper weight. He slid his
fingers under carefully. What! He lifted the cushion. Then he struck
a match--two matches--three, in agitated succession.
The money was gone!
CHAPTER II.
Jot gasped with horror. The last match went out and left him standing
there in the dark. After one instant's hesitation he made a bound for
the bed. "Kent! Kent! Wake up!" he whispered shrilly. He shook the
limp figure hard.
"Thieves! Murder! Wake up, I tell you, Kent! We're robbed!"
"M-m--who's rob--Oh, say, lemme alone!" murmured poor Kent, drowsily.
Jot shook him again.
"I tell you thieves!" he hissed in his ear. "The money's gone! Do you
hear? It isn't under the pin-cushion where we left it! It's gone!
We've been robbed, Kent Eddy!"
The limp figure strengthened as if electrified and rose to a sitting
position. Kent's eyes flew open.
"What?" he cried.
"Get up quick, Kentie, and we'll wake Old Tilly up! Maybe we can catch
'em!"
"Catch who? I wish you'd talk English, Jot Eddy!"
Old Tilly was slumbering peacefully, oblivious to thieves and
five-dollar bills alike. It took a long time to wake him and longer
yet to make him understand the dire thing that had happened.
"Get up! Get up! We've got to catch 'em!" concluded Jot.
"Yes, the thieves--catch the thieves, you know!" Kent explained. "I
don't s'pose you'll lie there all night and let 'em cut off with our
money, if you are Old Tilly!"
Then something funny happened. Anyway, it seemed funny to Old Tilly. He
buried his face in the pillow and choked with laughter.
"It's gone to his head!" whispered Jot, in alarm.
"No, to his t-toe!" giggled Old Tilly, purple in the face.
"Yes, sir, he's crazy as a loon. Let's call father, Jot!"
"Hold on!--wait! It's all right, boys! The money is, and I am, and
everybody is! Just wait till I get my laugh out, won't you?"
"No, sir, but we'll wait till you get out o' bed and that's this very
minute!" Jot exclaimed wrathfully. He was dancing up and down with
impatience.
Old Tilly slowly brought a lean, shapely leg into view from beneath the
sheet. To the boys' amazement it was covered with a long black
stocking. Old Tilly, like the other boys, had been barefooted all day.
"Thought I might as well get a good start in dressing!" he chuckled.
"Nothing like being read--"
"Oh, come off!"
"Well, I wish it would; there's something in the toe that hurts. Ow!"
He drew off the stocking and gravely examined the snug little wad in the
toe.
"The money!" cried Kent.
"Yes, sir, the money!" Jot echoed in astonishment.
"Why, so it is!" Old Tilly said in evident surprise. "Then the thieves
didn't get away with it, after all! I call that a lucky stroke--my
getting partly dressed overnight! No, hold on, you little chaps--don't
get uppy! I'll explain, honest I will! You see, I got up after a while
and put the money there for safe-keeping. I'd like to see the thief
that would look there for it! He'd get a good kick if he did!"
It was half an hour later when the trio settled back into sleep again.
In the east already there were dim outriders of day trailing across the
darkness.
Without further incident the three knights-errant got under way next
day. In a glare of July sunshine they rode away in search of
adventures, while Father and Mother Eddy in the kitchen doorway looked
after them a little wistfully.
"Bless their hearts!" mother murmured tender-wise.
"Good boys! Good boys!" said father, coughing to cover the break in his
voice.
"I say, this is great!" called Jot, who led the van, of course. "This
is the way to do it!"
[Illustration: "I say, this is great!" called Jot.]
"Yes, sir!" Kent cried in high feather, "it feels as if you were reg'lar
old knights, you know! Isn't it jolly not to know what's going to
happen next?"
Old Tilly's wheel slid up abreast of Kent's and proceeded sociably.
"Esau Whalley's farm 'happens next,' and then old Uncle Rod King's
next," Old Tilly said calmly. "I guess we better wait till we get out
o' this neck o' woods before we settle down to making believe!"
But three wheels driven by three pairs of sturdy, well-muscled legs get
over miles swiftly, and by ten o'clock the boys had turned down an
unfamiliar road and were on the way to things that happened. Before
noon knightly deeds were at their hand. Jot himself discovered the
first one. He vaulted from his bicycle suddenly, as they were bowling
past a little gray house set in weeds, and the others, looking back, saw
him carrying a dripping pail of water along the path to the kitchen
doorsteps.
"The pail was out there on the well curb, asking to be filled," he
explained brusquely, as he caught up with them, "and the old woman
pumping into it didn't look as if lugging water agreed with her.
Besides, I wanted a drink."
"You didn't get one," retorted Kent, wisely.
Jot cast a sidewise glance upon him.
"I said I wanted one, didn't I? Anybody can want a drink."
"And take your remedy. Dose: lug one pail o' water for an old woman.
If not successful, repeat in ten min--"
Jot made a rapid spurt and left his teaser behind. When Old Tilly had
come abreast of him again, he reached out a brotherly hand and bestowed
a hearty pat on his arm.
"Good boy!" he said, and unconsciously his voice was like father's,
miles back in the kitchen doorway. It was the way father would have
said it.
"That's the way to do. We'll pick up 'errands' to do for folks. What's
the use of being knights?"
And Old Tilly's turn came next, in the way of driving the cows out of
somebody's corn patch and propping up the broken fence. If it took but
a few minutes, what of that? It saved a bent old man's rheumatic leg's,
and the gay whistle that went with it drifted into an open window and
pleased a little fretful child.
"My turn next!" shouted Kent, gliding away from them out of sight over
the brow of a hill.
"Good luck to you!" called Jot. "We're going into camp to take a bite.
No use being in such a rush."
"When you come my way, drop in!" floated back faintly. They tilted their
wheels against trees and threw themselves down in the shade to rest.
Jot was ravenous with hunger.
"Cakes are all right to begin on," he said, regarding mother's bountiful
store with approval. "But when I strike the next store you'll see the
crackers and cheese fly!"
"I don't mind taking a hand in the scrimmage myself!" laughed Old Tilly,
munching a fat cake. "I say, wasn't Kent foolish to go scooting off
like that? Might as well have begun easy. I move we ride nights and
mornings mostly, and loaf noons. There's a moon, 'silver mo-oo-on'--"
His voice trailed lazily into song. It was pleasant lounging in the
shade and remembering the hay was all in and adventures ahead.
An hour or so later they moved on at a leisurely pace, looking for Kent.
The general direction had been agreed upon, so they experienced no
anxiety. It added to the fun to hunt for him.
"Where in the world did he go to?" queried Old Tilly, laughing. "He
disappeared like a streak of lightning!"
"I see him--there, under that tree!" cried Jot, waving a salute. "He's
lying down and enjoying life."
But it was a tired old man under the tree, and, from his forlorn face,
he did not seem to be "enjoying life." He was very old, very shabby,
very tired. His unkempt figure had collapsed feebly by the way
apparently. What astonished the boys was the wheel that lay on its side
near him. He did not look like a wheelman.
"Hold on. Old Till, I say!" called Jot in sudden excitement, forging
ahead to his side. "I say, that looks like our wheel--mine and Kent's!
I guess I know our wheel!"
Jot was riding the borrowed machine. Kent had the one they owned
jointly.
"You're right, sonny; it looks that way!" rejoined Old Tilly, excited in
his turn. "But we can't pounce on it and cut, you know. How do we know
what Kent's up to?"
Jot grunted derisively. "Probably he's given it to the old duffer for a
birthday present--hundredth anniversary!" he scoffed. "That would be
taking his turn at doing knight-errands. Let's go right on and not
disturb the poor old man--"
"Let's have sense!" remarked Old Tilly, briefly. "We'll forge on ahead
and hunt Kent up before we arrest tramps for bike-lifting. When he says
he's been robbed it'll be time to holler 'Stop, thief!'"
"Yes, come on!" Jot called back as he shot ahead. "I haven't a doubt but
we'll find Kentie's got his bike tucked away all safe in the toe of his
stocking!"
They came almost instantly into the outskirts of a snug little
settlement. The road was flanked on both sides by neat white houses.
Trig little children scurried out of their way, cheering shrilly.
Somewhere there was music. [Transcriber's note: the word "trig", above,
is as it appears in the original book.]
"Hark!" Jot cried.
"Hark yourself! That's a good hand-organ," Old Tilly said; and he
hummed the familiar tune, and both wheels sped on to the time of it, as
it seemed. The music grew louder. "Look up in that dooryard, will you!
Jot Eddy, look at the chap that's grinding it!"
Jot uttered an exclamation of astonishment.
CHAPTER III.
Up in one of the shady side yards stood Kent, turning the crank of a
hand-organ! He was facing the highway where the other two boys were,
but not a trace of recognition was in his face. Ranged in a semicircle
before him was a line of little children shuffling their toes to the gay
tune.
"It's Kent!" gasped Jot.
"Or his ghost--pretty lively one! Where in the world did he get that
hand-organ? And what's he done with his bike? Why--oh!"
Old Tilly added two and two, and, in the light of a sudden inspiration,
they made four. Yes, of course, that was it, but he would wait and let
Jot guess it out for himself. Jot had other business in hand just then.
"Say, come on up there with the youngsters, Old Till!" he whispered
excitedly. "Come on, quick! We'll make him smile! He can't keep his
face with us tagging on with the children!"
They left their wheels beside the road and stalked solemnly up the path.
The children were too intent on the music to notice them, and the figure
at the crank did not change its stiff, military attitude. The tune
lurched and swayed on.
Suddenly, with a sharp click, the music swept into something majestic
and martial, with the tread of soldiers' feet and the boom of drums in
it. The faces of the little children grew solemn, and unconsciously
their little shoulders straightened and they stood "at attention." They
were all little patriots at heart and they longed to step into file and
tramp away to that splendid music.
Again the tune changed sharply, and still again. Then the organ-grinder
slung his instrument with an experienced twist and twirl across his
shoulders, and took off his cap.
"Look, will you? He's going to pass it round!" giggled Jot, under his
breath. "He'll pass it to us, Old Till!"
"Keep your face straight, mind!" commanded Old Till, sharply.
The organ-grinder handed round his cap, up and down the crooked line of
his audience. The two sober boys at one end dropped in a number of
pennies, one at a time deliberately,
"Bless ye!" murmured the organ-grinder, gratefully. Jot's brown face
tweaked with the agony of keeping straight, but Old Tilly was equal to
the occasion. He assumed a benevolent, pitying expression.
"Hold on a minute!" he called. "Here's a nickel for your poor wife and
children. How many you got?"
"Five, sir, your honor," the musician murmured thickly.
"Starving?"
"Sure--all but a couple of the little uns. They're up 'n' dressed,
thank ye; bless ye!"
Jot made a strange, choking sound in his throat.
"Is the young gent took ill?" inquired the organ-grinder, solicitously.
"No, oh, no; only a slight attack of strangulating--he's liable to
attacks. It was the music--too much for him!"' Old Tilly gravely
explained, but his lips quivered and struggled to smile.
The whole little procession trailed slowly down the lane to the street.
At the next house and at all the others in succession, it turned in and
arranged itself in line again, prepared to listen with ears and dancing
toes. Jot and Old Tilly followed on in the rear. They found it hard
work to find pennies enough to drop into the organ-grinder's cap at
every round. Toward the end they economized narrowly.
The small settlement came to an abrupt ending just over the brow of the
hill. The houses gave out, and the musician and his audience swung
about and retraced their steps. The children dropped off, a few at a
time, until there were left only the three boys, who went on soberly
together.
"Oh, say!" broke out Jot at last.
"'Tis not for the likes o' me to 'say,' your honor," the organ-grinder
murmured humbly, and Jot gave him a violent nudge.
"Let's knock off foolin'!" he cried. "I say, where'd you get that
machine, Kentie? Where'd you get it? And for the sake o' goodness
gracious, where's your wheel?"
"'Turn, turn, my wheel,'" quoted Kent from the Fourth Reader. He was
shaking with suppressed laughter, that turned into astonishment at Old
Tilly's calm rejoinder. If it didn't take Old Till to ferret things
out!
"It isn't liable to 'turn, turn,' while that old tramp has it," Tilly
said calmly. "He isn't built for a rider. What kind of a trade did you
make, anyway? Going halves?"
"No, going wholes!" Kent answered briefly, and would say no more. They
went on down the sandy road. When they got back to the forlorn old
figure under the tree, it was slowly rising up and regarding them out of
tired, lack-luster eyes. The wheel still leaned comfortably in its
place close by.
"Me--bring--money. Play--tunes. You--buy--food," Kent said very slowly
and distinctly, pausing between every word. "He's a foreigner, you
know," he explained over his shoulder to the boys. "He no understand.
You have to talk pigeon English to him. See how he catches on to what I
said?"
The old face had grown less dull and weary. A slow light seemed to
illumine it. As the little stream of pennies dripped into the
tremulous, wrinkled old hand, it suddenly flashed into a smile. Then a
stream of strange words issued from the old man's lips. They tripped
over each other and made weird, indistinguishable combinations of sound,
but the boys translated them by the light of that smile. How pleased
the old fellow was! How he fingered over the pennies exultantly!
"Tell the whole story, old man," Old Tilly said quietly as they mounted
their wheels and glided off. "It looks like a reg'lar novel!"
"Yes, hurry up, can't you!" impatiently Jot urged. "Begin at the
beginning, and go clear through to the end."
"You've helped folks. Why shouldn't I? There weren't any old ladies
with empty water pails, or any cows in corn lots, so I had to take up
with the poor old organ-grinder. That's all."
"All!" scoffed Jot, "Go on with the rest of it, Kent Eddy!"
"Isn't any 'rest,'" grunted Kent, "unless you count the organ-grinder;
he had some-looked as if he'd rested. Well, sir"--Kent suddenly woke
up--"but without any fooling, you ought to have seen that old chap when
I came on him. He was all used up--heat, you know. There was a creek,
back a ways, and the water kind of pulled him up. He couldn't talk
English, but he offered me a black two-cent piece for pay. He turned
his pocket out to find it. That set me to thinking I'd make him a
little richer."
"Of course! Go on!" hurried Jot.
"Isn't any 'on.'"
"There's honor," Old Tilly cried softly. "I say that was splendid,
Kentie! I like that!"
Kent flushed uneasily. Old Tilly's face looked like father's when he
said his rare, hearty words of commendation.
"Well, the organ-grinder likes it, too!" Kent laughed. "Now he can have
something to eat. Poor old fellow! He couldn't have gone through all
those dooryards to save his life! He was 'most sunstruck. I told a
motherly old lady about him, at one of the houses, and she's going to be
on the lookout for him, and give him a snack of meat and bread."
They went on for half a mile quite silently. Then, without warning.
Jot suddenly began to laugh. He tumbled off his bicycle and collapsed
in a feeble heap.
"Don't anybody st-op me !" he cried. "It's dangerous! I'm having one o'
my 'attacks'!"
The others joined in, and, for a little, the woods rang with boyish
mirth.