”Yes,“ said Sam, a sudden change coming over his face, ”but you will!“
”Try me and see.“
Sam slowly and really at a great deal of peril, considering his situation, put his rough, grimed hand into Fred’s–a dishonest hand it was, and that more than the other thing made Fred recoil a little as he touched it; but that clasp sealed the compact between these two boys. It began Fred Sargent’s revenge.
”Now be off, will you, before the clerks come? They will see the things and catch you here. I’ll be round to your house soon and we will see.“
Even in this short time Fred had formed a general plan for saving Sam.
The boy, stretching himself out flat, slipped down the tranverse beam into the water, dived at once and came up under the bridge a few rods distant, then coolly passed down the river and swam to shore under a bunch of alder-bushes, by which he was concealed from the sight of the passers-by.
Fred sought his father, told him the story, then brought him to the spot, showed the goods which the boy had returned, and begged as a reward for the discovery to be allowed to conceal his name.
His father of course hesitated at so unusual a proposition; but there was something so very much in earnest in all Fred did and said that he became convinced it was best, for the present at least, to allow him to have his own way; and this he was very glad he had done when a few days after Fred asked him to do something for Sam Crandon.
”Sam Crandon?“ he asked in surprise. ”Is not that the very boy I found you fighting in the street with?“
”Yes, sir,“ said Fred, hanging his head, ”but he promises to do well, if he can only find work– honest work; you see, sir, he is so bad nobody helps him.“
Mr. Sargent smiled. ”A strange recommendation, Fred,“ he said, ”but I will try what can be done. A boy who wants to reform should have a helping hand.“
”He does want to–he wants to heartily; he says he does. Father, if you only will!“
Fred, as he stood there, his whole face lit up with the glow of this generous, noble emotion, never was dearer to his father’s heart; indeed his father’s eyes were dim, and his voice a little husky, as he said again:
”I will look after him, Fred, for your sake.“
And so he did; but where and how I have not space now to tell my readers. Perhaps, at some future time, I may finish this story; for the present let me say there is a new boy in Mr. Sargent’s store, with rough, coarse face, voice and manners; everybody wonders at seeing him there; everybody prophesies future trouble; but nobody knows that this step up in Sam Crandon’s life is Fred Sargent’s revenge.
CHAPTER XLII
THE SMUGGLER’S TRAP.
HUBERT had accompanied his father on a visit to his uncle, who lived in a fine old country mansion, on the shore of Caermarthen Bay.
In front of the house spread a long beach, which terminated in precipitous cliffs and rocky ledges. On the, afternoon of the day following his arrival, he declared his intention of exploring the beach.
”Don’t get caught in `The Smuggler’s Trap,’ “ said his uncle, as he mentioned his plan.
” `The Smuggler’s Trap?’ “
”Yes. It’s at the end of the beach where you see the cliffs. It’s a hollow cave, which you can only walk at very low tide. You’d better not go in there.“
”Oh, never fear,“ said Hubert carelessly, and in a few minutes he was wandering over the beach, and after walking about two miles reached the end of the beach at the base of the great cliffs.
The precipice towered frowningly overhead, its base all worn and furrowed by the furious surges that for ages had dashed against it. All around lay a chaos of huge boulders covered with seaweed. The tide was now at the lowest ebb. The surf here was moderate, for the seaweed on the rocks interfered with the swell of the waters, and the waves broke outside at some distance.