Mr. Bayard, the owner of the horse, and the father of the lady whom Bobby had saved from impending death, was too much agitated to say much, even to the bold youth who had rendered him such a signal service. He could scarcely believe the intelligence which the boy brought him; it seemed too good to be true. He had assured himself that Ellen—for that was the young lady's name—was killed or dreadfully injured.
Kate was driven at the top of her speed, and in a few moments reached the bridge, where Ellen was awaiting his arrival.
"Here I am, father, alive and unhurt!" cried Ellen, as Mr. Bayard stopped the horse.
"Thank Heaven, my child!" replied the glad father, embracing his daughter. "I was sure you were killed."
"No, father; thanks to this bold youth, I am uninjured."
"I am under very great obligations to you, young man," continued Mr. Bayard, grasping Bobby's hand.
"O, never mind, sir;" and Bobby blushed just as he had blushed when the young lady spoke to him.
"We shall never forget you—shall we, father?" added Ellen.
"No, my child; and I shall endeavor to repay, to some slight extent, our indebtedness to him. But you have not yet told me how you were saved."
"O, I merely stopped the horse; that's all," answered Bobby, modestly.
"Yes, father, but he placed himself right before Kate when she was almost flying over the ground. When I saw him, I was certain that he would lose his life, or be horribly mangled for his boldness," interposed Ellen.
"It was a daring deed, young man, to place yourself before an affrighted horse in that manner," said Mr. Bayard.
"I didn't mind it, sir."
"And then he flourished a big club, almost as big as he is himself, in the air, which made Kate pause in her mad career, when my deliverer here grasped her by the bit and held her."
"It was well and bravely done."
"That it was, father; not many men would have been bold enough to do what he did," added Ellen, with enthusiasm.
"Very true; and I feel that I am indebted to him for your safety. What is your name, young man?"
"Robert Bright, sir."
Mr. Bayard took from his pocket several pieces of gold, which he offered to Bobby.
"No, I thank you, sir," replied Bobby, blushing.
"What! as proud as you are bold?"
"I don't like to be paid for doing my duty."
"Bravo! You are a noble little fellow! But you must take this money, not as a reward for what you have done, but as a testimonial of my gratitude."
"I would rather not, sir."
"Do take it, Robert," added Ellen.
"I don't like to take it. It looks mean to take money for doing one's duty."
"Take it, Robert, to please me;" and the young lady smiled so sweetly that Bobby's resolution began to give way. "Only to please me, Robert."
"I will, to please you; but I don't feel right about it."
"You must not be too proud, Robert," said Mr. Bayard, as he put the gold pieces into his hand.
"I am not proud, sir; only I don't like to be paid for doing my duty."
"Not paid, my young friend. Consider that you have placed me under an obligation to you for life. This money is only an expression of my own and my daughter's feelings. It is but a small sum, but I hope you will permit me to do something more for you, when you need it. You will regard me as your friend as long as you live."
"Thank you, sir."
"When you want any assistance of any kind, come to me. I live in Boston; here is my business card."
Mr. Bayard handed him a card, on which Bobby read, "F. Bayard & Co., Booksellers and Publishers, No. —, Washington Street, Boston."
"You are very kind, sir."
"I want you should come to Boston and see us, too," interposed Ellen. "I should be delighted to show you the city, to take you to the Athenæum and the Museum."
"Thank you."
Mr. Bayard inquired of Bobby about his parents, where he lived, and about the circumstances of his family. He then took out his memorandum book, in which he wrote the boy's name and residence.
"I am sorry to leave you now, Robert, but I have over twenty miles to ride to-day. I should be glad to visit your mother, and next time I come to Riverdale, I shall certainly do so."
"Thank you, sir; my mother is a very poor woman, but she will be glad to see you."
"Now, good by, Robert."
"Good by," repeated Ellen.
"Good by."
Mr. Bayard drove off, leaving Bobby standing on the bridge with the gold pieces in his hand.
"Here's luck!" said Bobby, shaking the coin. "Won't mother's eyes stick out when she sees these shiners? There are no such shiners in the river as these."
Bobby was astonished, and the more he gazed at the gold pieces, the more bewildered he became. He had never held so much money in his hand before. There were three large coins and one smaller one. He turned them over and over, and finally ascertained that the large coins were ten dollar pieces, and the smaller one a five dollar piece. Bobby was not a great scholar, but he knew enough of arithmetic to calculate the value of his treasure. He was so excited, however, that he did not arrive at the conclusion half so quick as most of my young readers would have done.
"Thirty-five dollars!" exclaimed Bobby, when the problem was solved. "Gracious!"
"Hallo, Bob!" shouted Tom Spicer, who had got tired of fishing; besides, the village clock was just striking twelve, and it was time for him to go home.
Bobby made no answer, but hastily tying the gold pieces up in the corner of his handkerchief, he threw the broken rail he had used in stopping the horse where it belonged, and started for the place where he had left his fishing apparatus.
"Hallo, Bob!"
"Well, Tom?"
"Stopped him—didn't you?"
"I did."
"You were a fool; he might have killed you."
"So he might; but I didn't stop to think of that. The lady's life was in danger."
"What of that?"
"Everything, I should say."
"Did he give you anything?"
"Yes;" and Bobby continued his walk down to the river's side.
"I say, what did he give you, Bobby?" persisted Tom, following him.
"O, he gave me a good deal of money."
"How much?"
"I want to get my fish line now; I will tell you all about it some other time," replied Bobby, who rather suspected the intentions of his companion.
"Tell me now; how much was it?"
"Never mind it now."
"Humph! Do you think I mean to rob you?"
"No."
"Ain't you going halveses?"
"Why should I?"
"Wasn't I with you?"
"Were you?"
"Wasn't I fishing with you?"
"You did not do anything about stopping the horse."
"I would, if I hadn't been afraid to go up to the road."
"Afraid?"
"Somebody might have seen me, and they would have known that I was hooking jack."
"Then you ought not to share the money."
"Yes, I had. When a fellow is with you, he ought to have half. It is mean not to give him half."
"If you had done anything to help stop the horse, I would have shared with you. But you didn't."
"What of that?"
Bobby was particularly sensitive in regard to the charge of meanness. His soul was a great deal bigger than his body, and he was always generous, even to his own injury, among his companions. It was evident to him that Tom had no claim to any part of the reward; but he could not endure the thought even of being accused of meanness.
"I'll tell you what I will do, if you think I ought to share with you. I will leave it out to Squire Lee; and if he thinks you ought to have half, or any part of the money, I will give it to you."
"No, you don't; you want to get me into a scrape for hooking jack. I see what you are up to."
"I will state the case to him without telling him who the boys are."
"No, you don't! You want to be mean about it. Come, hand over half the money."
"I will not," replied Bobby, who, when it became a matter of compulsion, could stand his ground at any peril.
"How much have you got?"
"Thirty-five dollars."
"By jolly! And you mean to keep it all yourself?"
"I mean to give it to my mother."
"No, you won't! If you are going to be mean about it, I'll smash your head!"
This was a favorite expression with Tom Spicer, who was a noted bully among the boys of Riverdale. The young ruffian now placed himself in front of Bobby, and shook his clenched fist in his face.
"Hand over."
"No, I won't. You have no claim to any part of the money; at least, I think you have not. If you have a mind to leave it out to Squire Lee, I will do what is right about it."
"Not I; hand over, or I'll smash your head!"
"Smash away," replied Bobby, placing himself on the defensive.
"Do you think you can lick me?" asked Tom, not a little embarrassed by this exhibition of resolution on the part of his companion.
"I don't think anything about it; but you don't bully me in that kind of style."
"Won't I?"
"No."
But Tom did not immediately put his threat in execution, and Bobby would not be the aggressor; so he stepped one side to pass his assailant. Tom took this as an evidence of the other's desire to escape, and struck him a heavy blow on the side of the head. The next instant the bully was floundering in the soft mud of a ditch; Bobby's reply was more than Tom had bargained for, and while he was dragging himself out of the ditch, our hero ran down to the river, and got his fish pole and basket.
"You'll catch it for that!" growled Tom.
"I'm all ready, whenever it suits your convenience," replied Bobby.
"Just come out here and take it in fair fight," continued Tom, who could not help bullying, even in the midst of his misfortune.
"No, I thank you; I don't want to fight with any fellow. I will not fight if I can help it."
"What did you hit me for, then?"
"In self-defence."
"Just come out here, and try it fair!"
"No;" and Bobby hurried home, leaving the bully astonished and discomfited by the winding up of the morning's sport.
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