Annabel. Baum Lyman Frank
built only a half dozen years before, stood upon a knoll at the east end of the main street, and the natural beauties of the well-wooded grounds had been added to by planting many rare shrubs and beds of beautiful flowers. It was not only the show place of Bingham but the only really handsome house in town, and the natives looked upon it with much pride and reverence.
The cottage occupied by the Cardens stood upon the extreme south edge of the village, and with it were two acres of excellent land, where Will and Egbert, assisted at times by their mother and little Florence, raised the vegetables on which their living depended. Egbert was a deaf-mute and his right arm was shrivelled and almost useless, all these afflictions being the result of an illness in his babyhood. But it was surprising how much work he could do in the garden, in the way of weeding and watering and even spading; so he was a great help to the family and contributed much toward the general support. Egbert was two years older than Will, who was now fifteen, and Florence – or “Flo,” as everybody called her – was a yellow haired, sunny natured little elf of ten.
Fortunately, the family living did not depend altogether upon the garden; for Mr. Jordan, the secretary at the steel works and at one time John Carden’s best friend, had boarded with the family for eight years – ever since the day when Will’s father so mysteriously disappeared, only to be reported dead a month later, and the family fortunes were swept away in one breath.
Mr. Jordan occupied the best room in the cottage, and paid his board regularly every Saturday night. He was a silent, reserved man, about fifty years of age, who seldom spoke to Mrs. Carden and never addressed the children. After supper his custom was to take a long walk down the country lane, returning by a roundabout way to shut himself in his room, whence he only emerged in time for breakfast. After that meal, which he ate alone, he would take a little lunch basket and stalk solemnly away to the mills, there to direct the clerical work that came under his supervision.
Mr. Jordan was a man greatly respected, but little liked. He had no friends, no companions whatever, and seemed to enjoy the clock-like regularity and solitude in which he lived.
It was toward this humble home that Will Carden, after being dismissed by Mrs. Williams, directed his steps on that bright Saturday forenoon. He tried hard to bear up under the humiliation he had suffered; but there was no one near to see him and for a few minutes he gave way to the tears that would force themselves into his eyes, and let them flow unrestrained. Yet he kept on his way, with bent head and stooping shoulders, a very different boy from the merry, light hearted youth who had carried the heavy basket to the big house only an hour ago.
Suddenly, to the eyes blurred with tears, a huge, dark form loomed up in the road just ahead of him. Will hastily wiped away the unmanly drops and tried to whistle. Someone was coming, and whoever it was must not know he had been guilty of crying. Also he shifted his path to the edge of the road; but the other did the same, and the boy stopped abruptly with the knowledge that he had been purposely halted.
Then he glanced timidly up and saw a round, bearded face and two shrewd but kindly eyes that were looking at him from beneath a slouched felt hat.
“Hello, Doctor,” he said, letting his dismal whistle die away, and starting to pass round the stalwart form before him.
But Dr. Meigs laid a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder, and made him face round again.
“What’s up, Will?”
The voice was big and full, yet gentle as it was commanding.
“Noth’n, Doctor.”
“Look here; you’re telling whoppers, young man. Lift up your head.”
Will obeyed.
“You’ve been crying.”
“Something got in my eye,” said the boy.
“To be sure. Tears. What’s it all about, Will? And, mind you, no lying! Your father’s son should speak the truth boldly and fearlessly.”
“Why, Doctor,” was the halting answer, “it’s nothing that amounts to shucks. I stopped a minute to fly a kite with the Williams children, up at the big house, and Mrs. Williams came out and said she didn’t – ” There was a catch in his voice, but he quickly controlled it: “didn’t want me to play with them. That’s all – * * * * Well, I’ll be going, Doctor.”
“Halt!” cried Doctor Meigs, sternly, and Will could see he was frowning in that awful way he had when anything especially interested him. “Stand up, William! Throw back those shoulders – chest out – that’s the way. That’s how your father used to stand, my boy.”
“Did he?” asked Will, brightening up.
“Straight as an arrow. And looked everyone square in the eye, and spoke the truth, as an honest man should.”
“Then why,” enquired Will, half scared at his own boldness, “did my father run away, Doctor Meigs?”
“Run away!” roared the doctor, in a terrible voice. “Who told you that? You’ve been listening to those lying tales of the scandal-mongers.”
“Didn’t he?” timidly asked the boy.
“Not by a jugfull!” declared the doctor, emphatically. “John Carden would no more run away than he would do a dishonest action. And he was true as steel.”
Will stood straight enough now, and his gray eyes glistened with joy and pride. Whatever statement old Doctor Meigs made he believed implicitly. The doctor had known Will since the day he was born – which was longer than Will could remember the doctor; but there had never been an hour of that time when the physician had not been the staunch friend of all the Carden family, and stood by them loyally in spite of their reverses and final poverty. He always called at least once a week to see Egbert, whose bad arm sometimes pained him, and to have a quiet chat with Mrs. Carden; and if either Will or Flo chanced to be ailing the doctor was prompt with his remedies. But no bill had ever been presented for such services.
“I wish you’d tell me about my father,” said Will, wistfully. “Mother never says much about him, you know.”
“Her heart is broken, my boy,” murmured the doctor, laying a caressing hand upon Will’s shoulder; “but it’s because she has lost her husband and friend, not because she has for a moment doubted his memory. Do you see those big buildings over there?” pointing to the distant steel works; “well, before they were built, another and more modest building stood in their place, where your father first discovered the secret process that has since made Chester Williams a rich and famous man. Did you know that? But John Carden made himself poor with his experiments, and Mr. Jordan loaned him money to carry on the tests until your father was deeply in his debt. There was but one way out, to go to England and interest the great steel manufacturers of that country in the new process, which John Carden knew to be very valuable. In order to save money, your father sailed in a second-class ship that foundered at sea and drowned him and all on board; and because he told only Mr. Jordan and myself of the object of his trip abroad, the story got around that he had run away, having failed in business, and thus cruelly deserted his family. Jordan is a reserved man, and never talks to anybody, but I’ve nailed the lie wherever I’ve heard it. Well, after your father’s death it was found that he had transferred his secret process to Mr. Jordan, in return for the money he owed him; and Jordan turned the secret over to Williams, who has established that great factory to produce the wonderful quality of steel your father invented. It is said that Mr. Jordan gets a royalty on all the steel the Williams mills turn out, and if that is so, and I have no reason to doubt it, he is a wealthy man by this time, and is profiting a hundred-fold for the money he loaned John Carden. So the debt is cleared, and your family owes no man a penny. As for Jordan, I don’t like the man, myself; he’s too silent and stealthy to suit me; but I must say he’s done the square thing by your mother in boarding with her right along, and so helping her to support her children.”
“It helps a lot,” said Will, thoughtfully.
“And now, my boy, you’ve got the whole story about your father, and got it square and fair. Every time you see the Williams mills you ought to be proud to remember that it was John Carden’s genius that made them possible, and