Paul Prescott's Charge by Jr. Horatio Alger (best fiction novels to read TXT) 📕

sat down beside Paul, while he, with the frankness of boyhood, gave a circumstantial account of his father's death, and the ill-treatment he had met with subsequently.

“Do you come from Wrenville?” asked John, interested. “Why, I've got relations there. Perhaps you know my cousin, Ben Newcome.”

“Is Ben Newcome your cousin? O yes, I know him very well; he's a first-rate fellow.”

“He isn't much like his father.”

“Not at all. If he was”—

“You wouldn't like him so well. Uncle talks a little too much out of the dictionary, and walks so straight that he bends backward. But I say, Paul, old Mudge deserves to be choked, and Mrs. Mudge should be obliged to swallow a gallon of her own soup. I don't know but that would be worse than choking. I wouldn't have stayed so long if I had been in your place.”

“I shouldn't,” said Paul, “if it hadn't been for Aunt Lucy.”

“Was she an aunt of yours?”

“No, but we used to call her so, She's the best friend I've got, and I don't know but the only one,” said Paul, a little sadly.

“No, she isn't,” said John, quickly; “I'll be your friend, Paul. Sometime, perhaps, I shall go to New York, myself, and then I will come and see you. Where do you expect to be?”

“I don't know anything about the city,” said Paul, “but if you come, I shall be sure to see you somewhere. I wish you were going now.”

Neither Paul nor his companion had much idea of the extent of the great metropolis, or they would not have taken it so much as a matter of course that, being in the same place, they should meet each other.

Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a bell from a farmhouse within sight.

“That's our breakfast-bell,” said John rising from the grass. “It is meant for me. I suppose they wonder what keeps me so long. Won't you come and take breakfast with me, Paul?”

“I guess not,” said Paul, who would have been glad to do so had he followed the promptings of his appetite. “I'm afraid your folks would ask me questions, and then it would be found out that I am running away.”

“I didn't think of that,” returned John, after a pause. “You haven't got any dinner with you?” he said a moment after.

“No.”

“Well, I'll tell you what I'll do. Come with me as far as the fence, and lie down there till I've finished breakfast. Then I'll bring something out for you, and maybe I'll walk along a little way with you.”

“You are very kind,” said Paul, gratefully.

“Oh, nonsense,” said John, “that's nothing. Besides, you know we are going to be friends.”

“John! breakfast's ready.”

“There's Nelson calling me,” said John, hurriedly. “I must leave you; there's the fence; lie down there, and I'll be back in a jiffy.”

“John, I say, why don't you come?”

“I'm coming. You mustn't think everybody's got such a thundering great appetite as you, Nelson.”

“I guess you've got enough to keep you from pining away,” said Nelson, good-naturedly, “you're twice as fat as I am.”

“That's because I work harder,” said John, rather illogically.

The brothers went in to breakfast.

But a few minutes elapsed before John reappeared, bearing under his arm a parcel wrapped up in an old newspaper. He came up panting with the haste he had made.

“It didn't take you long to eat breakfast,” said Paul.

“No, I hurried through it; I thought you would get tired of waiting. And now I'll walk along with you a little ways. But wait here's something for you.”

So saying he unrolled the newspaper and displayed a loaf of bread, fresh and warm, which looked particularly inviting to Paul, whose scanty breakfast had by no means satisfied his appetite. Besides this, there was a loaf of molasses ginger-bread, with which all who were born in the country, or know anything of New England housekeeping, are familiar.

“There,” said John, “I guess that'll be enough for your dinner.”

“But how did you get it without having any questions asked?” inquired our hero.

“Oh,” said John, “I asked mother for them, and when she asked what I wanted of them, I told her that I'd answer that question to-morrow. You see I wanted to give you a chance to get off out of the way, though mother wouldn't tell, even if she knew.”

“All right,” said Paul, with satisfaction.

He could not help looking wistfully at the bread, which looked very inviting to one accustomed to poorhouse fare.

“If you wouldn't mind,” he said hesitating, “I would like to eat a little of the bread now.”

“Mind, of course not,” said John, breaking off a liberal slice. “Why didn't I think of that before? Walking must have given you a famous appetite.”

John looked on with evident approbation, while Paul ate with great apparent appetite.

“There,” said he with a sigh of gratification, as he swallowed the last morsel, “I haven't tasted anything so good for a long time.”

“Is it as good as Mrs. Mudge's soup?” asked John, mischievously.

“Almost,” returned Paul, smiling.

We must now leave the boys to pursue their way, and return to the dwelling from which our hero had so unceremoniously taken his departure, and from which danger now threatened him.