Now or Never Part 31

The big waves now tossed the little vessel up and down like a feather, and the huge seas broke upon the bow, deluging her deck with floods of water. Bobby had unlimited confidence in Sam Ray, and felt as much at home as though he had been "cradled upon the briny deep." There was an excitement in the scene which accorded with his nature, and the perils which he had so painfully pictured on the preceding night were all born into the most lively joys.

They ate their dinners from the provision box; Sam lighted his pipe, and many a tale he told of adventure by sea and land. Bobby felt happy, and almost dreaded the idea of parting with his rough but good-hearted friend. They were now far out at sea, and the night was coming on.

"Now, sonny, you had better turn in and take a snooze; you didn't rest much last night."

"I am not sleepy; but there is one thing I will do;" and Bobby drew from his secret receptacle his roll of bills.

"Put them up, sonny," said Sam.

"I want to make you a present of ten dollars."

"You can't do it."

"Nay, but to please me."

"No, sir!"

"Well, then, let me send it to your good wife."

"You can't do that, nuther," replied Sam, gazing earnestly at a lumber-laden schooner ahead of him.

"You must; your good heart made you lose five dollars, and I insist upon making it up to you."

"You can't do it."

"I shall feel bad if you don't take it. You see I have twenty dollars here, and I would like to give you the whole of it."

"Not a cent, sonny. I ain't a heathen. That schooner ahead is bound for Boston, I reckon."

"I shall be sorry to part with you, Mr. Ray."

"Just my sentiment. I hain't seen a youngster afore for many a day that I took a fancy to, and I hate to let you go."

"We shall meet again."

"I hope so."

"Please to take this money."

"No;" and Sam shook his head so resolutely that Bobby gave up the point.

As Sam had conjectured, the lumber schooner was bound to Boston. Her captain readily agreed to take our hero on board, and he sadly bade adieu to his kind friend.

"Good by, Mr. Ray," said Bobby, as the schooner filled away. "Take this to remember me by."

It was his jackknife; but Sam did not discover the ten dollar bill, which was shut beneath the blade, till it was too late to return it.

Bobby did not cease to wave his hat to Sam till his little craft disappeared in the darkness.

CHAPTER XX

IN WHICH THE CLOUDS BLOW OVER, AND BOBBY IS HIMSELF AGAIN

Fortunately for Bobby, the wind began to blow very heavily soon after he went on board of the lumber schooner, so that the captain was too much engaged in working his vessel to ask many questions. He was short handed, and though our hero was not much of a sailor he made himself useful to the best of his ability. Though the wind was heavy, it was not fair; and it was not till the third morning after his parting with Sam Ray that the schooner arrived off Boston Light. The captain then informed him that, as the tide did not favor him, he might not get up to the city for twenty-four hours; and, if he was in a hurry, he would put him on board a pilot boat which he saw standing up the channel.

"Thank you, captain; you are very kind, but it would give you a great deal of trouble," said Bobby.

"None at all. We must wait here till the tide turns; so we have nothing better to do."

"I should be very glad to get up this morning."

"You shall, then;" and the captain ordered two men to get out the jolly boat.

"I will pay my pa.s.sage now, if you please."

"That is paid."

"Paid?"

"I should say you had worked your pa.s.sage. You have done very well, and I shall not charge you anything."

"I expected to pay my pa.s.sage, captain; but if you think I have done enough to pay it, why I have nothing to say, only that I am very much obliged to you."

"You ought to be a sailor, young man; you were cut out for one."

"I like the sea, though I never saw it till a few weeks since. But I suppose my mother would not let me go to sea."

"I suppose not; mothers are always afraid of salt water."

By this time the jolly boat was alongside; and bidding the captain adieu, he jumped into it, and the men pulled him to the pilot boat, which had come up into the wind at the captain's hail. Bobby was kindly received on board, and in a couple of hours landed at the wharf in Boston.

With a beating heart he made his way up into Was.h.i.+ngton Street. He felt strangely; his cheeks seemed to tingle, for he was aware that the imputation of dishonesty was fastened upon him. He could not doubt but that the story of his alleged crime had reached the city, and perhaps gone to his friends in Riverdale. How his poor mother must have wept to think her son was a thief! No; she never could have thought that.

_She_ knew he would not steal, if no one else did. And Annie Lee--would she ever smile upon him again? Would she welcome him to her father's house so gladly as she had done in the past? He could bring nothing to establish his innocence but his previous character. Would not Mr. Bayard frown upon him? Would not even Ellen be tempted to forget the service he had rendered her?

Bobby had thought of all these things before--on his cold, damp bed in the forest, in the watches of the tempestuous night on board the schooner. But now, when he was almost in the presence of those he loved and respected, they had more force, and they nearly overwhelmed him.

"I am innocent," he repeated to himself, "and why need I fear? My good Father in heaven will not let me be wronged."

Yet he could not overcome his anxiety; and when he reached the store of Mr. Bayard, he pa.s.sed by, dreading to face the friend who had been so kind to him. He could not bear even to be suspected of a crime by him.

"Now or never," said he, as he turned round.

"I will know my fate at once, and then make the best of it."

Mustering all his courage, he entered the store. Mr. Timmins was not there; so he was spared the infliction of any ill-natured remark from him.