While Bird was putting away from her all thought of going back to Laurelville for a summer visit, Lammy Lane was trying in every way to bring about her return.

His mother was the only person in the family or village who really read Lammy aright and valued him at his worth. She never laughed at his various contrivances and mechanical inventions, and when he appeared to be star-gazing, she firmly believed that it was not idleness, but that he was interested in things other than the mere jog-trot work on the farm.

His brothers had all taken up other occupations in factory and shop, and Joshua Lane had expected that easy-going Lammy, the youngest by several years, would naturally drift along into farm work; but the boy had said, when his father had spoken upon the subject, “Farming is all right, only this one isn’t big enough for mo’n two, and I like to live in the country for pleasure; but for a trade I’m going into making somethin’ that bugs can’t eat, and that won’t get dried up, nor drowned out neither.” To Joshua this remark savoured of feeble-mindedness; but when he repeated it to Dr. Jedd, that keen-eyed person laughed, saying they need not worry about Lammy, for that some day he might surprise them all.

All through June he worked diligently at strawberry picking; then currants and raspberries followed in quick succession, so that it was nearly August, when, with twenty dollars to his credit in the Northboro Savings Bank, he took a vacation and went to his old haunts with the other boys.

Lammy had been bitterly disappointed when he found that Bird could not return to spend the Fourth of July, but he was not in the least daunted; for, after all, what was a whole summer even, when some day Bird would come back for good? The boy firmly believed that something would turn up to enable his father to buy the fruit farm, or if that was impossible, he would try to coax his father and mother to get her back without. There was always plenty to eat, and his home seemed so pleasant to him that he did not realize how hard his parents had to struggle to make both ends meet in the bad seasons when the bugs ate and the drought dried. He did not, of course, know of John O’More’s requirement that if Bird ever returned she must be legally adopted, and share and share alike with his brothers and himself; but if he had, it would have made no difference.

Lammy was very fond of prowling in the deep woods and along the river. He had intimate acquaintances among the gray squirrels, always knew where fox cubs could be found, and had once reared a litter of skunk pups under an abandoned barn. Their mother had evidently been trapped,—for he never saw her,—and he fed the young with milk and scraps, in the childish belief that they were some sort of half-wild kittens, and was very much disgusted, when they were old enough to follow him home, that his father declined to have them about, and that they disappeared the very same night.

But the river interested him the most, and he not only knew every swimming and pike hole, perch run and spawning shallow, along its ten-mile course from Northboro down to the Mill Farm at Milltown, and the windings of every trout brook that fed it, but he understood all that went on in the half dozen mills or shops along the route. He could explain exactly how the water was turned on and off and the gearing adjusted in the gristmill, the stamping and perforating done at the button factory, or the sand moulds prepared at the forge where scrap iron was turned into cheap ploughshares and other cast implements.

One very hot day the last part of July when Lammy, together with ’Ram Slocum and Bob Jedd, was going to the pet swimming-hole of the Laurelville boys, a clear pebble-lined pool with a shelving rock on one side that approached the water by easy steps, they heard voices in the woods and came suddenly upon a party of young fellows from the Engineers’ Summer School, which had its camp farther down the ridge of hills.

“Hullo!” shouted the foremost, addressing Lammy, who also chanced to be in the lead; “can you tell us if there is any decent place to swim hereabouts? The pond at the Mill Farm is posted ‘No Trespassing,’ most of the river bed is either too rocky or too shallow, and the only good place we’ve struck below here has a mud bottom, and looked too much like an eel hole to suit me.”

“Yes, ’tis an eel hole, this side of the course,” Lammy answered readily, “and t’other side there’s pickerel could bite yer toes if they was minded to. I’ll show yer a bully place. We’re going there now, and it isn’t much further up.”

“Charge him a quarter for the steer,” said ’Ram Slocum, in a loud whisper, kicking Lammy’s bare shins to stop him, for he had stepped forward eagerly to lead the way.

“Shan’t either,” Lammy replied spicily, to ’Ram’s astonishment; “water’s free up here, even if your pop won’t let us swim in the mill-pond, and does charge folks three cents a barrel for taking water when their wells are dry.”

’Ram, a strong boy of sixteen, with bright red hair, who usually domineered over all the boys of his age and under,—particularly under,—had never before been so answered by any of his companions, much less Lammy, to whom he often referred as “softy,” and his temper rose accordingly. His nickname “’Ram,” short for Abiram, referred to his fighting proclivities and the way in which he frequently used his bullet head to knock out an antagonist instead of his fists; and though he did not see fit to follow the matter then and there, in his mind he put down Lammy for punishment when he should next catch him alone.

Meanwhile Lammy, silently threading through the dense underbrush, followed by Bob Jedd, reached the swimming-hole, while ’Ram slowly brought up the rear, crashing along sullenly, kicking the dead branches right and left so that the little ground beasts fled before him, now and then pausing either to pound a luckless land turtle with a stone, or shake from its perch some bird who, silent and dejected, had sought deep cover for its moulting time.

When he reached the others, he found not only that Lammy had made friends with the students, who, by the way, were a new lot who had recently come to camp, but that they were asking him all sorts of questions to draw out his knowledge of the neighbourhood, and were actually making Lammy a good offer if he would come to the camp daily during their stay, be “chainboy” on their surveying expeditions, and show them many things about the country that it would be a waste of time for them to search out for themselves.

Now Mr. and Mrs. Slocum had been very much stirred up by these same surveyors, and being suspicious, as shifty people usually are, wondered very much if the men were only practising as they claimed, or if they were in the pay of some land company, and prospecting, that they might see where land could be bought in large blocks. They had tried all summer to have ’Ram employed about the camp, that he might keep his eyes and ears open, but so far to no avail. Consequently, when the boy heard the coveted position offered to Lammy, his rage and disappointment got the better of his usually shrewd discretion, and pushing into the group, he almost shouted, his voice pitched high with eagerness:—

“Lammy ain’t the one you want; he ain’t strong, and he’s got no go. I’m two years older and worth twice as much, but I’ll take the job at the same price and get pop to let you swim in the mill-pond if you’ll hire me.”

“I rather think not,” said the spokesman, a bronzed, broad-shouldered young fellow of about nineteen. “I’m afraid you might charge us for the air we breathed while we were in swimming; besides, I never employ a sneak if I know it.”

Then ’Ram knew that he had been overheard, and he slunk away toward home, owing Lammy a double grudge, and the sounds of shouts of merriment and the splashing of water did not tend to cool his wrath.

As for Lammy, he sat on the edge of the rock, trailing his brown toes in the water in the seventh heaven of content; for he was to help carry those mysterious instruments about for a whole month, and go in and out of the Summer School camp, knowing what was said and done there, instead of gazing at it across the fields. Then, too, perhaps he might some day meet Mr. Clarke, and possibly, though it was a daring thought, get leave to go into the mysterious building in his locomotive works at Northboro that bore the sign “Strictly Private—No Admittance.”

Bird and he had often talked of such a possibility. How glad she would be to know! He would write to her all about it.

He did, but had no reply; for the letter reached Bird at one of the times when her uncle was away. Billy had been suffering more than usual, and his mother was consequently very cross and difficult to bear with. Bird put the letter by to answer “to-morrow”; but every day bore its own burden, and the days piled up into weeks.

******

Joshua worked steadily on the fruit farm all the season, preparing for future crops as conscientiously as if he himself was to be the owner. Of this, however, he had no hope; it was impossible for him to bid on the place, as he had little or no ready money, and the only way to raise this would be to mortgage his own little farm.

This several of his neighbours had suggested, offering to loan him the money; but Joshua had struggled along some fifteen years under the weight of a mortgage, and now that he was freed he did not wish to pick up the burden again. Then, too, his farm with its old ramshackle outbuildings was not worth more than three thousand dollars, while the fruit farm with its rich land, good barn, poultry house, and newly shingled dwelling was valued by good judges at any figure from five to six thousand dollars. For though Aunt Jimmy had scrimped herself in many ways, she was too good a business woman to let her property get out of repair.

Neither of the Lane brothers were as well off as Joshua, so by the last of October the community had decided that the fruit farm must go out of the family, and attention was divided between who would buy it and what Joshua would do with his third of the proceeds,—better his house, or buy more land.

The Slocums were considered to be the most likely purchasers; for Abiram Slocum was known to have much money stored away in various paying farms as well as in the Northboro bank, though the way in which he came by it was not approved, even by the most close-fisted of his neighbours, for ’Biram was what was called a “land shark.” He sold worthless parcels of land that would grow nothing but docks and mullein to the hard-working Poles and Hungarians who were fast colonizing the outskirts of Northboro, taking part cash payment, the rest on mortgage, and encouraging them to build. Then when the interest became overdue, owing to inevitable poor crops, he foreclosed, put out the family, and sold the place anew.

So sure did Mrs. Slocum appear to be that she would own the fruit farm, that she took it upon herself to watch the place to see, as she explained when caught by Joshua Lane peeking in at the kitchen window, “that nothing properly belonging to it was took off.” He told her in very plain language that whoever bought the farm would buy what there was on it at the time, and no more, as his aunt had trusted him with the management until the final settlement, and that what he did was no man’s business save that of the heirs.

In the interval, before it was time to tie up vines and bed the various berries with their winter covering of manure, he turned his attention to Aunt Jimmy’s flower garden, a strip of ground enclosed by a neat picket fence, where a box-edged path starting under a rose trellis ran down the middle and disappeared in a grape arbour at the farther end, and everything that was fragrant and hardy and worth growing flanked the walk, while behind, the sweet peas and nasturtiums climbed up to the very fence top in their effort to see and be seen.

This garden had been the apple of Aunt Jimmy’s eye, and in spite of all “spells” and oddities, she had tended it wholly herself, her one gentle feminine impulse, as far as the outside world knew, having been giving nosegays to the children that passed the house on their way home from school. If they handled the flowers carelessly, they never received a second bunch, but if they cherished them, slips, seeds, and bulbs were sure to follow, so that Aunt Jimmy’s flowers lived long after her in childish garden plots.

Prompted by Lauretta Ann,—for Joshua was too hard-headed and practical to have learned anything about flowers, except that they must be fed and watered like other stock, whether animal or vegetable,—he regulated the various borders, dividing and resetting the roots of hardy plants under his wife’s direction, as Aunt Jimmy had done each autumn, while Lammy stood by, eagerly waiting for the “weedings,” which he carried home with great care and set out in a corner south of the barn, “to make,” as he said, “a little garden for Bird, in case we don’t get the fruit farm.” His mother encouraged him in this and praised his efforts, giving him some strips of chicken wire to make a trellis, so that his vines might in time cover the end of the old, gray-shingled barn. Even she, however, did not know of another little garden strip on a far-away hillside that he had tended all summer for the sake of his little friend.

******

In spite of Joshua Lane’s rebuke to Mrs. Slocum, she continued spying and insinuating, and not many days later, chancing to drive by the fruit farm half an hour after school was out, and seeing Lammy going up the road, carrying a basket, spade, and water can, followed by faithful Twinkle, she hurried home and bade ’Ram “step lively and follow that Lane boy up, an’ see where he’s goin’, and what he’s got, and what he’s agoin’ to do with it.”

Mrs. Slocum was more than usually determined upon annoying the Lanes, since Joshua, as administrator for Terence O’More, had refused payment of the rent owed for the little cottage, until the insurance company had satisfied themselves as to the cause of the fire and paid Abiram’s claim. The furniture destroyed, at the lowest estimate, would have been more than enough to cancel the debt.

’Ram, only too glad to do his mother’s errand, after the manner of all bullies, waited until Lammy was out of reach of protection and well up on the sheltered “hill road” before he overtook him, asking in a “you’ve-got-to-tell” tone what he had in the basket and where he was going. Upon Lammy’s declining to tell, he announced his intention of following until he found out for himself.

Now it must be remembered that Lammy had the name of being girlish, if not exactly cowardly, that he was only fourteen, and though tall, was of a slender build; while ’Ram was not only broad-shouldered and sixteen, but the village braggart to boot, so that it really took some pluck for Lammy to continue up that houseless road with ’Ram muttering threats and marching close behind. Still Lammy walked straight on past all the farms, to where the runaway Christmas trees stood sentinels around the hillside graveyard. There is no denying that his hand shook as he unlatched the gate, but he did not falter or look back, but went to the corner where were the mounds that marked the graves of Bird O’More’s father and mother.

Why the turf was so much greener and smoother than anywhere else in the enclosure no one but Lammy knew, and for a moment ’Ram paused outside the fence in sheer surprise; but as Lammy, kneeling down, took a couple of roots of the red peony from his basket, and prepared to plant one at the top of each flowery mound, his surprise vanished in derision.

“Ain’t you a fool for sure!” he shouted, not coming in the enclosure, for, stupid and superstitious like all real cowards, he thought it bad luck to cross a graveyard,—“a fool for sure, planting posies yer stole; top of paupers, too, when even that stuck-up girl that was yer sweetheart’s gone off to live with rich folks and has clean forgotten them and you!”

Lammy’s trembling fingers fumbled with the earth and his head swam. The first part of ’Ram’s jeer made his blood boil, but after all it was a lie, and lies do not sting for long; for poor though O’More was, his debts would be paid to a penny, and Lammy had bought the peony roots from his father as executor by doing extra weeding on the fruit farm.

The last sentence, however, hurt cruelly; for though Lammy did not believe it, he had no way of disproving it even to himself, and so could not say a word to ’Ram in reply; for during the five months since Bird went away only two brief notes had come from her, and these told about city streets and sights, and little or nothing of herself. While, to make it the more strange, when, in the hot August weather, Mrs. Lane had sent her an invitation to come up for the promised visit, enclosing the tickets, which represented some weeks of egg money, and offered herself to go down to New Haven to meet the child, a stiff little note returning the tickets had come by way of reply, and though it was grateful in wording and said something vague about going with Billy for sea air, etc., he could not guess the disappointment that it covered, and that the sea air was merely a chance ferry ride, or the breeze that blew over Battery Park, where they herded daily with hundreds of other children of poorer New York. Lammy had been cut to the heart, and ’Ram’s taunt rankled indeed.

Mrs. Lane, however, had read between the lines, her keen insight, confidence in Bird, and motherly love serving as spectacles. She still felt, as she always had done, that Bird was unhappy, and yet too proud to confess it, and that she did not dare write often or come among them, for fear that they should discover what they could not as yet better. For Mrs. Lane remembered O’More’s conditional promise only too well, and the possibility of fulfilling her part of adopting the little girl within the year seemed to grow more and more remote.

Silently Lammy finished his work, picking up every dead leaf that lay on the mounds, and then taking his spade and basket, turned to go home, but there stood his tormentor by the gate.

If anything angers a bully, it is silence. If Lammy had engaged in a war of words, the chances are that ’Ram would have gone away, having had, as he considered it, his fun out. As it was, he really felt that he had been neglected and affronted, so, making believe open the gate as Lammy closed it, he said, “I can dig up them posies twict as quick as you planted ’em.”

“Maybe you can, but you won’t,” cried Lammy, suddenly growing pale and rigid, while he stood outside the gate, but square in front of it.

“Oh, ho, and who ’ll stop me?” sneered ’Ram, in amused surprise, standing with his arms akimbo.

Without saying another word, Lammy, the meek, the boy-girl in name, flew at ’Ram with such suddenness, beating and buffetting him, that the big boy was knocked down before he knew it. Recovering his feet quickly, he tried to grapple with the lanky little lad, but Lammy twisted and turned with the litheness of a cat, landing rapid if rather wild blows at each plunge, while Twinkle nipped at ’Ram’s heels, until finally ’Ram, seeing that he was outmatched in agility, and determined to conquer without more ado, lowered his head for the celebrated “butt” that generally winded his antagonist.

Lammy’s fighting Yankee ancestors must have left the lower end of the graveyard and marched up to encourage him on this occasion; for he was nearly spent and was pausing to get breath when the lunge came, so that his final effort was to give a side twist, and the blow of the red bullet head was received square and full by the locust gate post instead of by Lammy’s stomach.

’Ram dropped to the ground, where he lay for several minutes seeing stars, planets, and comets, while a bump as big as an apple appeared in the middle of his forehead and the cords of his neck ached like teeth. Meanwhile Lammy, his nervous strength gone, ran all the way home, and throwing himself on his bed, whither he was followed by his mother, who saw his livid face as he dashed through the kitchen, sobbed as if his heart would break, not from fear, but because in the reaction he remembered what Bird had said of people who fought either with their tongues or fists.

It was not until long afterward that he thought it strange, and wondered why his mother had not scolded him, only hugged him to her comfortable, pillowy breast, when he told his story, and put nearly all of her precious bottle of Northboro cologne on his head to soothe it, and gave him buttered toast, when, after having his cry out, he came down to supper, which dainty was generally regarded as only for the minister or else a “sick-a-bed” luxury. His father meanwhile actually broke into a laugh and said, “Hear yer’ve been doin’ a leetle Declaration o’ Independencing on yer own account. Wal, it’s sometimes a necessary act fer folks same as countries; Lauretta Ann, I reckon Lammy and me could relish a pot of coffee to-night”—coffee being a Sunday-morning treat.

When it came to the part of his story concerning ’Ram’s taunt and his fear that Bird had forgotten them, his mother reassured him for the hundredth time with her own ample faith, but he quite startled her by saying emphatically:—

“That is all right, mother, as far as it goes, but we’ve just got to buy that fruit farm somehow.” And he fell asleep that night, happy in making impossible plans for the purchase.

It was perhaps as well for Lammy’s self-conceit that he did not hear his mother talk with Mrs. Slocum, who came in about nine o’clock, tearful, yet at the same time in a threatening rage, demanding that he be “whipped thoro’ for half murdering her harmless boy when he was taking an innercent walk, and that if he didn’t get the whippin’, she’d get a warrant immedjet.”

Mrs. Lane waited until she had finished her tirade, and then calling Joshua, who had retreated to the wood-shed, said: “Mis’ Slocum here needs a warrant writ hasty; jest you escort her down to the Squire’s, as her husband don’t seem intrested to go with her. I hate to see a neighbour obleeged to play the man and risk goin’ out in the dark alone.”

Then as her adversary, seeing herself outflanked, rose to go, she added with apparent sympathy: “Of course I know it’s hard for you to feel ’Ram’s beat by one half his size, even if the gate post did help Lammy, and folks ’ll be surprised to hear it, but you mustn’t blame him too much; it was maybe me, his mother, in him worked Lammy’s fists so good.” And Lauretta Ann looked her visitor straight in the eyes. Some weeks later Mrs. Slocum had reason to remember that look.