LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

"I always do."

      "Do you?" inquired Sam, regarding the old man with curiosity.

      "Of course. It is every one's duty to tell the truth. You ought to die rather than tell a lie. I have read of a man who was threatened with death. He might have got off if he had told a lie. But he wouldn't."

      "Did he get killed?" asked Sam, with interest.

      "Yes."

      "Then he must have been a great fool," said Sam, contemptuously. "You wouldn't catch me makin' such a fool of myself."

      "He was a noble man," said the deacon, indignantly. "He laid down his life for the truth."

      "What good did it do?" said Sam.

      "I am afraid, Samuel, you are in a very benighted condition. You appear to have no conceptions of duty."

      "I guess I haven't," said Sam. "I dunno what they are."

      "It is all the more necessary that you should study your catechism. I shall expect you to get the same lesson to-morrow evenin'. It's too late to study now."

      "So it is," said Sam, with alacrity.

      "I will show you where you are to sleep. You must get up airly to go to work. I will come and wake you up."

      Sam was not overjoyed at this announcement. It did not strike him that he should enjoy going to work early in the morning. However, he felt instinctively that it would do no good to argue the matter at present, and he followed the deacon, upstairs in silence. He was ushered into a small room partitioned off from the attic.

      "You'll sleep there," said the deacon, pointing to a cot-bed in the corner. "I'll call you at five o'clock to-morrow mornin'."

      Sam undressed himself, and got into bed.

      "This is jolly," thought he; "a good deal better than at home. If it warn't for that plaguey catechism, I'd like livin' here fust-rate. I wish I had another piece of that pie."

      In ten minutes Sam was fast asleep; but the deacon was not so fortunate. He lay awake a long time, wondering in perplexity what he should do to reform the young outlaw of whom he had taken charge.

      "He's a cur'us boy," thought the good man. "Seems to have no more notion of religion than a Choctaw or a Hottentot. An yet he's been livin' in a Christian community all his life. I'm afeared he takes after his father."

      CHAPTER IV.

      SAM FRIGHTENS THE HOUSEHOLD

      Sam usually slept the whole night through; but to-night was an exception. It might have been because he was in a strange bed, and in a strange house. At any rate, he woke in time to hear the clock on the church, of which his guardian was deacon, strike two.

      "Where am I?" was his first thought.

      He remembered almost immediately, and the thought made him broad awake. He ought not to have been hungry at that hour, and in fact he was not, but the thought of the pie forced itself upon his mind, and he felt a longing for the slice that was left over from supper. Quick upon this thought came another, "Why couldn't he creep downstairs softly, and get it? The deacon and his wife were fast asleep, Who would find him out?"

      A boy better brought up than Sam might have reflected that it was wrong; but, as the deacon said, Sam had no "conceptions of duty," or, more properly, his conscience was not very active. He got out of bed, slipped on his stockings, and crept softly downstairs, feeling his way. It was very dark, for the entries were unlighted, but finally he reached the kitchen without creating any alarm.

      Now for the closet. It was not locked, and Sam opened the door without difficulty.

      "I wish I had a match, so's to see where the pie is," he thought.

      He felt around, but the pie must have been placed elsewhere, for he could not find it. It had really been placed on the highest shelf, which Sam had not as yet explored. But there are dangers in feeling around in the dark. Our hero managed to dislodge a pile of plates, which fell with a crash upon his feet. There was a loud crash of broken crockery, and the noise was increased by the howls of Sam, who danced up and down with pain.

      The noise reached the chamber where the deacon and his wife were calmly reposing. Mrs. Hopkins was a light sleeper, and was awakened at once.

      She was startled and terrified, and, sitting up in bed, shook her husband violently by the shoulder.

      "Deacon – Deacon Hopkins!" she exclaimed.

      "What's the matter?" asked the deacon, drowsily.

      "Matter enough. There's robbers downstairs."

      Now the deacon was broad awake.

      "Robbers!" he exclaimed. "Pooh! Nonsense! You're dreamin', wife."

      Just then there was another racket. Sam, in trying to effect his escape, tumbled over a chair, and there was a yell of pain.

      "Am I dreaming now, deacon?" demanded his wife, triumphantly.

      "You're right, wife," said the deacon, turning pale, and trembling.

      "It's an awful situation. What shall we do?"

      "Do? Go downstairs, and confront the villains!" returned his wife, energetically.

      "They might shoot me," said her husband, panic-stricken.

      "They're – they're said to be very desperate fellows."

      "Are you a man, and won't defend your property?" exclaimed his wife, taunting him, "Do you want me to go down?"

      "Perhaps you'd better," said the deacon, accepting the suggestion with alacrity.

      "What!" shrieked Mrs. Hopkins. "You are willing they should shoot me?"

      "They wouldn't shoot a woman," said the deacon.

      But his wife was not appeased.

      Just then the unlucky Sam trod on the tail of the cat, who was quietly asleep on the hearth. With the instinct of self-defence, she scratched his leg, which was undefended by the customary clothing, and our hero, who did not feel at all heroic in the dark, not knowing what had got hold of him, roared with pain and fright.

      "This is terrible!" gasped the deacon. "Martha, is the door locked?"

      "No."

      "Then I'll get up and lock it. O Lord, what will become of us?"

      Sam was now ascending the stairs, and, though he tried to walk softly, the stairs creaked beneath his weight.

      "They're comin' upstairs," exclaimed Mrs. Hopkins. "Lock the door quick, deacon, or we shall be murdered in our bed."

      The deacon reached the door in less time than he would have accomplished the same feat in the daytime, and hurriedly locked it.

      "It's locked, Martha," he said, "but they may break it down."

      "Or fire through the door – "

      "Let's hide under the bed," suggested the heroic deacon.

      "Don't speak so loud. They'll hear. I wish it was mornin'."

      The deacon stood at the door listening, and made a discovery.

      "They're goin up into the garret," he announced. "That's strange – "

      "What do they want up there, I wonder?"

      "They can't think we've got anything valuable up there."

      "Deacon," burst out Mrs. Hopkins, with a sudden idea, "I believe we've been fooled."

      "Fooled! What do you mean?"

      "I believe it isn't robbers."

      "Not robbers? Why, you told me it was," said her husband, bewildered.

      "I believe it's that boy."

      "What, – Sam?"

      "Yes."

      "What would he want downstairs?"

      "I don't know, but it's him, I'll be bound. Light the lamp, deacon, and go up and see."

      "But it might be robbers," objected the deacon, in alarm. "They might get

Скачать книгу