It was a beautiful moonlight night,but for once David was not thinking of the moon.All the way to the Holly farmhouse he was thinking of Mr.Jack's story,"The Princess and the Pauper."It held him strangely.He felt that he never could forget it.For some reason that he could not have explained,it made him sad,too,and his step was very quiet as he went up the walk toward the kitchen door.
It was after eight o'clock.David had taken supper with Mr.Jack and Jill,and not for some hours had he been at the farmhouse.In the doorway now he stopped short;then instinctively he stepped back into the shadow.In the kitchen a kerosene light was burning.It showed Mrs.Holly crying at the table,and Mr.Holly,white-faced and stern-lipped,staring at nothing.Then Mrs.Holly raised her face,drawn and tear-stained,and asked a trembling question.
"Simeon,have you thought?We might go--to John--for--help."David was frightened then,so angry was the look that came into Simeon Holly's face.
"Ellen,we'll have no more of this,"said the man harshly.
"Understand,I'd rather lose the whole thing and--and starve,than go to--John."David fled then.Up the back stairs he crept to his room and left his violin.A moment later he stole down again and sought Perry Larson whom he had seen smoking in the barn doorway.
"Perry,what is it?"he asked in a trembling voice."What has happened--in there?"He pointed toward the house.
The man puffed for a moment in silence before he took his pipe from his mouth.
"Well,sonny,I s'pose I may as well tell ye.You'll have ter know it sometime,seein'as 't won't be no secret long.They've had a stroke o'bad luck--Mr.an'Mis'Holly has.""What is it?"
The man hitched in his seat.
"By sugar,boy,I s'pose if I tell ye,there ain't no sartinty that you'll sense it at all.I reckon it ain't in your class.""But what is it?"
"Well,it's money--and one might as well talk moonshine to you as money,I s'pose;but here goes it.It's a thousand dollars,boy,that they owed.Here,like this,"he explained,rummaging his pockets until he had found a silver dollar to lay on his open palm."Now,jest imagine a thousand of them;that's heaps an'heaps--more 'n I ever see in my life."
"Like the stars?"guessed David.
The man nodded.
"Ex-ACTLY!Well,they owed this--Mr.an'Mis'Holly did--and they had agreed ter pay it next Sat'day.And they was all right,too.
They had it plum saved in the bank,an'was goin'ter draw it Thursday,ter make sure.An'they was feelin'mighty pert over it,too,when ter-day along comes the news that somethin's broke kersmash in that bank,an'they've shet it up.An'nary a cent can the Hollys git now--an'maybe never.Anyhow,not 'fore it's too late for this job.""But won't he wait?--that man they owe it to?I should think he'd have to,if they didn't have it to pay.""Not much he will,when it's old Streeter that's got the mortgage on a good fat farm like this!"David drew his brows together perplexedly.
"What is a--a mortgage?"he asked."Is it anything like a porte-cochere?I KNOW what that is,'cause my Lady of the Roses has one;but we haven't got that--down here."Perry Larson sighed in exasperation.
"Gosh,if that ain't 'bout what I expected of ye!No,it ain't even second cousin to a--a-that thing you're a-talkin'of.In plain wordin',it's jest this:Mr.Holly,he says ter Streeter:'You give me a thousand dollars and I'll pay ye back on a sartin day;if I don't pay,you can sell my farm fur what it'll bring,an'TAKE yer pay.Well,now here 't is.Mr.Holly can't pay,an'so Streeter will put up the farm fur sale."
"What,with Mr.and Mrs.Holly LIVING here?"
"Sure!Only they'll have ter git out,ye know.""Where'll they go?"
"The Lord knows;I don't."
"And is THAT what they're crying for--in there?--because they've got to go?""Sure!"
"But isn't there anything,anywhere,that can be done to--stop it?""I don't see how,kid,--not unless some one ponies up with the money 'fore next Sat'day,--an'a thousand o'them things don't grow on ev'ry bush,"he finished,gently patting the coin in his hand.
At the words a swift change came to David's face.His cheeks paled and his eyes dilated in terror.It was as if ahead of him he saw a yawning abyss,eager to engulf him.
"And you say--MONEY would--fix it?"he asked thickly.
"Ex-ACT-ly!--a thousand o'them,though,'t would take."A dawning relief came into David's eyes--it was as if he saw a bridge across the abyss.
"You mean--that there wouldn't ANYTHING do,only silver pieces--like those?"he questioned hopefully.
"Sugar,kid,'course there would!Gosh,but you BE a checkerboard o'sense an'nonsense,an'no mistake!Any money would do the job--any money!Don't ye see?Anything that's money.""Would g-gold do it?"David's voice was very faint now.
"Sure!--gold,or silver,or greenbacks,or--or a check,if it had the dough behind it."David did not appear to hear the last.With an oddly strained look he had hung upon the man's first words;but at the end of the sentence he only murmured,"Oh,thank you,"and turned away.
He was walking slowly now toward the house.His head was bowed.
His step lagged.
"Now,ain't that jest like that chap,"muttered the man,"ter slink off like that as if he was a whipped cur.I'll bet two cents an'a doughnut,too,that in five minutes he'll be what he calls 'playin'it'on that 'ere fiddle o'his.An'I'll be derned,too,if I ain't curious ter see what he WILL make of it.
It strikes me this ought ter fetch somethin'first cousin to a dirge!"On the porch steps David paused a breathless instant.From the kitchen came the sound of Mrs.Holly's sobs and of a stern voice praying.With a shudder and a little choking cry the boy turned then and crept softly upstairs to his room.
