  “My territory!” growled the man, motioning toward the house. “What are you doing here?” “You’re mistaken,” responded Jack quickly. “I have old Simon’s entire route, and this is the first stop on the list he gave me.” “It may have been his, but it ain’t goin’ to be yours!” “And who is going to prevent me?” inquired Jack, in even, quiet tones which DesirÉ knew meant that he was working hard to keep his temper under control. “I am. I made up my mind soon as I heard the old man was sick, that I would take this route; and nobody’s goin’ to stop me. Least of all, you,” he added, looking Jack’s slender form up and down contemptuously. “You great—big—” began Priscilla excitedly. “Be quiet, Prissy,” said her brother. “You and the others stand over there beside the wagon.” As he spoke, he started in the direction of the farmhouse. Like a flash the thick-set figure was in his pathway. “No, you don’t!” he sneered. The two measured each other silently for a moment, standing as motionless as dogs in that last tense moment just before they spring. Jack put out his foot to advance, and his opponent was upon him. They fell heavily to the ground, the stranger on top. “He’ll kill him!” sobbed Priscilla, while RenÉ added his wails to hers. “Don’t kill Jack!” he cried. “Hush!” pleaded DesirÉ, her eyes wide with fright. “Say a prayer that Jack will come out all right.” The terrified little group watched the two adversaries roll over and over, pounding, grappling, struggling. Then Jack, with a quick twist, loosened the grasp of the other and sprang to his feet. With surprising swiftness, for a man so heavy, the enemy also righted himself and again leaped upon Jack. Back and forth they swayed, locked in a close embrace, each trying desperately to keep his own footing and trip the other. At times they stood stock still waiting to get breath and strength for a renewal of the contest. Then it began all over again. Finally Jack succeeded in twisting one of his long legs quickly around one of his adversary’s, thereby throwing him heavily to the ground. With a leap, Jack was astride of him, pinning his arms to the earth. The man tried to roll sufficiently to throw him off, but Jack was too well placed to allow him very much motion. Weight, anger, and unskilled methods had worked against him; now Jack had complete advantage. “Shall I give you what you deserve?” demanded Jack, after a moment’s pause. “Nough!” muttered the man sullenly. “Get off this route, then, and stay off of it; or next time—” threatened Jack, getting up. “Turn that team right around, and go back to Yarmouth, or wherever you come from!” Slowly, keeping one eye on Jack the while, he obeyed. As soon as he was on the way, DesirÉ and the children ran toward their brother. “Oh, Jack, aren’t you hurt somewhere?” demanded DesirÉ anxiously. “Only a few bruises and scratches, thank God!” was the grateful response. “I kept wondering what you would do, poor child, if I were smashed up.” After a good brushing, and “first-aid” treatment of his scratches, Jack pronounced himself as good as new. “Children,” said DesirÉ, “we begged so hard for Jack’s safety. We mustn’t fail to say ‘Thank You’ for what we received. Let’s each say a little prayer of thanksgiving right now.” After a moment of silence they again turned their attention to the business in hand. DesirÉ and the children stayed with the wagon, while Jack started once more toward the house. At his knock, the inner door opened, a woman’s head showed behind the glass of the storm door, and then the outer door was pushed back. Almost every dwelling, no matter how small and unpretentious, has its storm door, and usually these are left on all summer. “I’m taking old Simon’s route this summer,” began Jack, using the words he was to repeat so many times that season; “and I called to see if you need anything.” “Yes, I do,” answered the plump little woman in the doorway, her black eyes busily inspecting Jack, and traveling rapidly to the wagon, the girl, and the children on the road. “I’m all out of thread, crackers, kerosene, and—what else was it? Oh, yes, shoe laces. Where’s old Simon? I’ve been watching out for him for three weeks.” “Sick, in Yarmouth,” replied Jack, turning to go to the wagon to fill her order. The woman followed him. “This your wife?” she asked, curiously staring at DesirÉ. Jack flushed. “No, my sister; and that is another sister, and my kid brother,” he replied, talking more rapidly than usual to hold the woman’s attention; for DesirÉ, overcome by laughter, had walked a few steps down the road to recover her composure. “Where are your folks!” “Dead,” was the brief reply. “Now that’s too bad! You so young, and with three youngsters to keep. Dear! Dear!” DesirÉ returned just in time to hear the last remarks, and her face twitched so in her efforts to control it that Jack himself had to bury his head in the depths of the wagon while he looked for the cracker boxes. “Come up to the house with me when this young man carries my things in,” she said to DesirÉ, taking her by the arm. As if she were indeed a child, she led her along the path to the doorstep. “Set here,” she directed; and disappeared into the house. “Ready?” asked Jack, when he came out. “I don’t know. I was told to ‘set here’; and here I ‘set,’” whispered DesirÉ. At that moment the woman returned with a pasteboard box which she thrust into DesirÉ’s hands. “Here’s a few cookies for your dinner. They always taste good to children, I guess.” “Oh, thank you so much. I’m sure we’ll enjoy them,” responded the girl. “Stop every time you come around,” called the odd little woman, as they closed the gate behind them. |
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