Chapter 2

ADVENTURE II—BEING THAT OF CRICKET AND THE PEARL OF GREAT PRICE

MY home had been a grist-mill in old times, and stood on the river-shore near a small village. One side of it was in the stream, but firmly founded on a ledge, and the year round water roared through a part of the basement. A hanging stairway climbed the face of the mill to a narrow landing under its eaves. There a broad door with a clanking iron latch opened upon our home. Those days it was called the Mill House, and a pretty thing it was—weathered gray, with broad windows that had small panes in them, and vines and flowers on the ledges in summer-time, and honeysuckle on the stair side.

When I look back at the old house the sun is ever shining on it and the flowers are in full bloom, and I can see the lights and shadows of the river. It was a full flowing stream, smooth and silent above the mill, and stained and sprinkled with willow gloom; white and noisy-just below, where the waters hurtled over a natural dam of rocks. It put me in mind of the sea, toward which it was ever flowing, and which I had studied with a curious eye in my geography. The river always seemed to invite me to go along with it.

Well, one day, when near the end of my fifteenth year, I accepted its invitation—launched my new canoe and went away with the swift water. It was a clear, warm day, and the river gave me rare entertainment, with its reeds and wild roses and quiet little bays and green, sloping terraces, and birds and beasts. Where it bent to the edge of the highway I saw a man sitting on the bank—a lank, tall man, with white hair and a full, gray beard. A black setter dog with tan points sat beside him.

“Happy new year!” said the man.

I made no answer, but swung into the bay near him and stopped.

“Didn’t you know that a new year begins every day?” he asked. He showed the wear of hard times. He had a shoe on one foot and a slipper on the other, and wore a soiled linen duster and a pair of goggles. I saw now that his face had been badly scarred. He had a nose large at the end, with white and red seams in it, which cut across the cheek to his temple on one side.

“I can tell you something almighty singular,” he went on.

“What’s that?” was my query.

He took off a shabby felt hat, spat into the river, and drew his hand across his mouth.

“My name is Pearl,” said he; “I am the Pearl o’ great price.”

I smiled, but he looked very serious.

“I am weary o’ life,” he continued. “I came down to this river to drown myself, but I am unable to do it on account o’ my meanness. It’s a pity.”

I waited, full of curiosity, while he sat and whittled.

“My life is insured—that’s what’s the matter,” he went on. “You see, I took out a policy years ago an’ paid for it, an’ an’ ol’ buzzard got it for a few dollars that I owed him. If I die the meanest man in the world ‘ll git a thousand dollars, an’ it won’t do; come to think it over, I ‘ve got to outlive him if it takes a hundred years.”

He threw his slippered foot over his knee, laughed silently, and shook his head.

“That’s one on me,” he remarked. “It ain’t decent for me to laugh, but I can’t help it.”

“Are you sick?” I asked.

“Not exac’ly sick,” he answered. “When I behave myself I wouldn’t know that I had a body if it wasn’t for my big toe that keeps peekin’ through my shoe leather. Sometimes it makes a bow, very p’lite, an’ says, ‘Hello, there!’”

He rose and took off his hat. “Look at me—ain’t I a gem?” he added.

“I’m sorry for you,” I suggested.

“That’s good! I’m tired o’ bein’ sorry for myself, an’ glad to have some one ‘tend to that part o’ my business.”

He called the dog to his feet, put a hand on his head, and introduced him in this manner:

“This is my friend and fellow-citizen, Mr. Barker—Adam Barker bein’ his full name. You see before you the firm of Pearl & Company.”

I smiled, and thought him an odd man.

“Mr. Barker, please take the floor,” he commanded.

The dog stood on his hind feet with a look of eager expectancy.

“Mr. Barker, I swear to you that hereafter I will be worthy of your love,” said the stranger. “Shall the firm continue? Those in favor will please say aye.”

The dog gave a bark, and his master said: “It seems to be carried; it is carried. Is there any further business to come before this meetin’?”

Mr. Barker answered.

“Then we stand adjourned,” said the man, whereupon the dog began to jump playfully. “Pearl & Company are now ready to resume business.”

Man and dog sat looking at me.

“We can do anything,” he went on. “Bring us a pig’s tail an’ we’ll make a whistle of it; bring us a ton of iron an’ we’ll build a steam-engine. I put in the skill an’ labor, an’ Mr. Barker furnishes the company. Got to have that in every kind o’ business.”

I made no answer, but sat looking at this wonderful man.

“Where ye goin’?” he asked.

“Down the river.”

“So’m I,” said he. “Give me the stern seat an’ I’ll furnish the power. If you’re goin’ to be sorry for me, you’ll have enough to do.”

I swung her stem to the shore and let them in. He took the paddle, and the dog a place between us.

“Handsome little river—this here,” said my new friend, as he cut the ripples with a powerful stroke. “Think o’ the strength of her,” he went on presently; “she keeps a-pushin’ night an’ day. The power of a thousand horses couldn’t hold her for a second. If she only had brains she could do half the work o’ the county.” After a moment’s silence, he added: “If somebody would go into partnership with her and put up brains against her strength, the firm would do wonders.”

That view of the river was new to me.

“Did you ever see Niagara Falls?” the stranger asked.

“No.”

“You must go and see that big water-hammer hit the side o’ the world. It weighs a million tons or more, an’ swings a hundred an’ fifty feet, an’ for a dozen miles you can hear the boom of it. Think o’ the power in that blow. One o’ these days it’s goin’ to help push us along an’ kick a lot o’ things out of our way. Down below, the rapids run like wild horses. I call ‘em God’s horses. One o’ these days they’ll put ‘em on the tread.”

“On the tread!” I exclaimed.

“Yes; every one of ‘em ‘ll tread a turbine an’ move a belt, an’ then—” He paused and spat over the gunwale, and I looked at him full of wonder. “‘Lectricity!” he exclaimed; “streams and rivers o’ lightnin’!”

His words impressed me deeply, but I did not fully comprehend them until more familiar with his habit of putting his thought into terms of power. But I thought often of the “big water-hammer” and of “God’s horses.”

“Look at the fish,” he said, after a moment of impressive silence. “One of ‘em just looked up an’ winked at me real insultin’. I don’ know but we’d better get offended an’ go after em.

“No tackle,” was my answer.

“We’ll make some,” said he, promptly. “We’re goin’ to be hungry by-an’-by.”

He went ashore, stripped some bark off a willow, split it into strands, and began to braid them. In a few moments he had made a fairly good line, and tied it to the end of a pole.

“Will you have a snare or a hook?” he asked. “I can make ary one.”

“A snare,” I answered, for I had never seen a snare.

He removed a piece of wire from the anchoring, made a loop, and fastened the line upon it.

“Now slip that over their noses an’ jerk,” he said, as he passed the pole to me.

He worked the paddle and I the pole, and soon we had half a dozen fish, and quite enough for a meal.

“It’s time that we organized for dinner,” said he. “I’ll be the cook if you’ll be the commissary.”

“All right,” I answered.

“Do not be surprised if you find salt an’ pepper in yon farm-house,” he suggested.

I went to the house indicated, which was not a stone’s-throw from the river-bank, and there a woman gave me all I sought, and, when she had learned my name, added butter and half a loaf of bread and a bit of shortcake.

“You are promoted for meritorious conduct,” said the Pearl, on my return. “You are appointed corporal of the guard, and will have nothing to do now but keep the cows out o’ camp.”

He had built his fire in a grove that flung its shade over a bit of still water. There a number of cattle had gathered, and were gazing at us. Soon a bull came roaring into camp, and stood and pawed the earth and threatened me. I cut him with a beech-rod, and drove him away.

“You are promoted for bravery,” said the Pearl of great price; “I appoint you my friend for life.”

He gave me his hand, and I looked up at him with amusement.

“Do you accept the appointment?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered, for I was delighted with my new acquaintance.

“Good!” said he, “and I promise, boy, that H. M. Pearl, Esquire, will never bring the blush of shame to your cheek, and I am yours truly, now an’ forever—one an’ inseparable.” In a moment he added: “I ain’t pretty, but I can be decent, you see.”

I enjoyed him more than the dinner, and we made a wonderful day of it. After an hour’s rest we set out again, and near three o’clock landed at the little village of Mill Pond, some ten miles away. From the shore I could see on a store-front the sign

SAM WEATHERBY’S EMPORIUM

A man stood on the steps of the emporium looking at us.

“Well, Pearl, is that you?” he exclaimed as we drew near.

“It’s me, but it ain’t Pearl,” my friend answered.

“How’s that?”

“Turned over a new leaf. The late H. M. Pearl is now H. M. Pearl, Esquire. This is my friend. His name is—”

“Heron,” I said.

“Not Cricket Heron?” the stranger asked.

I nodded.

“Don’t you remember coming to my store at Heartsdale one Christmas eve?”

“And you said you would keep track of me?”

“Yes. I moved down the river long ago, and I’ve been thinking for a month that I would go and have a talk with you and your mother. I want a clerk, and if you wish to learn a good business I’ll take you in.”

Well, he showed me through the store, and I was much elated, and told about the child ghost and all the details of my straying that Christmas eve, and showed them my horruck, and Mr. Pearl sat down to study it. .

“I shall have to go,” I said, as he reluctantly surrendered the coin; “good-bye.”

“Not now,” he answered. “It’s a hard pull against the current, an’ I’m goin’ to take you home. You wouldn’t get there till to-morrow mornin.’”

Well, he would go with me, and so we set out together—the Pearl having left his dog with Mr. Weatherby. As we made our way upstream he told me tales full of the oddest fancies.

By-and-by it grew dark, and I could hear only the dip of his paddle and water washing on the bow.

“Say,” he exclaimed, suddenly, “that’s an awful curious riddle that you’ve got in your pocket there.”

“What do you make of it?” I asked.

He seemed not to hear me, but continued to work his paddle in silence until we got out below the Mill House.

“Did you ever hear of the ghost riddles?” he asked, presently.

“No.”

“Well, I wouldn’t wonder if it was one of em.

“What are the ghost riddles?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you some time; my sister had one give to her,” he said, as he started down the river.

“I want you to stay all night with us!” I called. But I could hear only the sound of his feet on the gravel as they hurried away.