Fortunately for Bobby, the wind began to blow very heavily soon after he went on board of the lumber schooner, so that the captain was too much engaged in working his vessel to ask many questions. He was short handed, and though our hero was not much of a sailor he made himself useful to the best of his ability. Though the wind was heavy, it was not fair; and it was not till the third morning after his parting with Sam Ray that the schooner arrived off Boston Light. The captain then informed him that, as the tide did not favor him, he might not get up to the city for twenty-four hours; and, if he was in a hurry, he would put him on board a pilot boat which he saw standing up the channel.
"Thank you, captain; you are very kind, but it would give you a great deal of trouble," said Bobby.
"None at all. We must wait here till the tide turns; so we have nothing better to do."
"I should be very glad to get up this morning."
"You shall, then;" and the captain ordered two men to get out the jolly boat.
"I will pay my passage now, if you please."
"That is paid."
"Paid?"
"I should say you had worked your passage. You have done very well, and I shall not charge you anything."
"I expected to pay my passage, captain; but if you think I have done enough to pay it, why I have nothing to say, only that I am very much obliged to you."
"You ought to be a sailor, young man; you were cut out for one."
"I like the sea, though I never saw it till a few weeks since. But I suppose my mother would not let me go to sea."
"I suppose not; mothers are always afraid of salt water."
By this time the jolly boat was alongside; and bidding the captain adieu, he jumped into it, and the men pulled him to the pilot boat, which had come up into the wind at the captain's hail. Bobby was kindly received on board, and in a couple of hours landed at the wharf in Boston.
With a beating heart he made his way up into Washington Street. He felt strangely; his cheeks seemed to tingle, for he was aware that the imputation of dishonesty was fastened upon him. He could not doubt but that the story of his alleged crime had reached the city, and perhaps gone to his friends in Riverdale. How his poor mother must have wept to think her son was a thief! No; she never could have thought that. She knew he would not steal, if no one else did. And Annie Lee—would she ever smile upon him again? Would she welcome him to her father's house so gladly as she had done in the past? He could bring nothing to establish his innocence but his previous character. Would not Mr. Bayard frown upon him? Would not even Ellen be tempted to forget the service he had rendered her?
Bobby had thought of all these things before—on his cold, damp bed in the forest, in the watches of the tempestuous night on board the schooner. But now, when he was almost in the presence of those he loved and respected, they had more force, and they nearly overwhelmed him.
"I am innocent," he repeated to himself, "and why need I fear? My good Father in heaven will not let me be wronged."
Yet he could not overcome his anxiety; and when he reached the store of Mr. Bayard, he passed by, dreading to face the friend who had been so kind to him. He could not bear even to be suspected of a crime by him.
"Now or never," said he, as he turned round.
"I will know my fate at once, and then make the best of it."
Mustering all his courage, he entered the store. Mr. Timmins was not there; so he was spared the infliction of any ill-natured remark from him.
"Hallo, Bobby!" exclaimed the gentlemanly salesman, whose acquaintance he had made on his first visit.
"Good morning, Mr. Bigelow," replied Bobby with as much boldness as he could command.
"I didn't know as I should ever see you again. You have been gone a long while."
"Longer than usual," answered Bobby, with a blush; for he considered the remark of the salesman as an allusion to his imprisonment. "Is Mr. Bayard in?"
"He is—in his office."
Bobby's feet would hardly obey the mandate of his will, and with a faltering step he entered the private room of the bookseller. Mr. Bayard was absorbed in the perusal of the morning paper, and did not observe his entrance. With his heart up in his throat, and almost choking him, he stood for several minutes upon the threshold. He almost feared to speak, dreading the severe frown with which he expected to be received. Suspense, however, was more painful than condemnation, and he brought his resolution up to the point.
"Mr. Bayard," said he, in faltering tones.
"Bobby!" exclaimed the bookseller, dropping his paper upon the floor, and jumping upon his feet as though an electric current had passed through his frame.
Grasping our hero's hand, he shook it with so much energy that, under any other circumstances, Bobby would have thought it hurt him. He did not think so now.
"My poor Bobby! I am delighted to see you!" continued Mr. Bayard.
Bobby burst into tears, and sobbed like a child, as he was. The unexpected kindness of this reception completely overwhelmed him.
"Don't cry, Bobby; I know all about it;" and the tender-hearted bookseller wiped away his tears. "It was a stroke of misfortune; but it is all right now."
But Bobby could not help crying, and the more Mr. Bayard attempted to console him, the more he wept.
"I am innocent, Mr. Bayard," he sobbed.
"I know you are, Bobby; and all the world knows you are."
"I am ruined now; I shall never dare to hold my head up again."
"Nonsense, Bobby; you will hold your head the higher. You have behaved like a hero."
"I ran away from the State Reform School, sir. I was innocent, and I would rather have died than stayed there."
"I know all about it, my young friend. Now dry your tears, and we will talk it all over."
Bobby blew and sputtered a little more; but finally he composed himself, and took a chair by Mr. Bayard's side. The bookseller then drew from his pocket a ponderous document, with a big official seal upon it, and exhibited it to our hero.
"Do you see this, Bobby? It is your free and unconditional pardon."
"Sir! Why——"
"It will all end well, you may depend."
Bobby was amazed. His pardon? But it would not restore his former good name. He felt that he was branded as a felon. It was not mercy, but justice, that he wanted.
"Truth is mighty, and will prevail," continued Mr. Bayard; "and this document restores your reputation."
"I can hardly believe that."
"Can't you? Hear my story then. When I read in one of the Maine papers the account of your misfortune, I felt that you had been grossly wronged. You were coupled with that Tom Spicer, who is the most consummate little villain I ever saw, and I understood your situation. Ah, Bobby, your only mistake was in having anything to do with that fellow."
"I left him at Brunswick because he began to behave badly; but he joined me again at Augusta. He had spent nearly all his money, and did not know what to do. I pitied him, and meant to do something to help him out of the scrape."
"Generous as ever! I have heard all about this before."
"Indeed; who told you?"
"Tom Spicer himself."
"Tom?" asked Bobby, completely mystified.
"Yes, Tom; you see, when I heard about your trouble, Squire Lee and myself——"
"Squire Lee? Does he know about it?"
"He does; and you may depend upon it, he thinks more highly of you than ever before. He and I immediately went down to Augusta to inquire into the matter. We called upon the governor of the state, who said that he had seen you, and bought a book of you."
"Of me!" exclaimed Bobby, startled to think he had sold a book to a governor.
"Yes; you called at his house; probably you did not know that he was the chief magistrate of the state. At any rate, he was very much pleased with you, and sorry to hear of your misfortune. Well, we followed your route to Brunswick, where we ascertained how Tom had conducted. In a week he established a very bad reputation there; but nothing could be found to implicate you. The squire testified to your uniform good behavior, and especially to your devotion to your mother. In short, we procured your pardon, and hastened with it to the State Reform School.
"On our arrival, we learned, to our surprise and regret, that you had escaped from the institution on the preceding evening. Every effort was made to retake you, but without success. Ah, Bobby, you managed that well."
"They didn't look in the right place," replied Bobby, with a smile, for he began to feel happy again.
"By the permission of the superintendent, Squire Lee and myself examined Tom Spicer. He is a great rascal. Perhaps he thought we would get him out; so he made a clean breast of it, and confessed that you had no hand in the robbery, and that you knew nothing about it. He gave you the two bills on purpose to implicate you in the crime. We wrote down his statement, and had it sworn to before a justice of the peace. You shall read it by and by."
"May Heaven reward you for your kindness to a poor boy!" exclaimed Bobby, the tears flowing down his cheeks again. "I did not deserve so much from you, Mr. Bayard."
"Yes, you did, and a thousand times more. I was very sorry you had left the institution, and I waited in the vicinity till they said there was no probability that you would be captured. The most extraordinary efforts were used to find you; but there was not a person to be found who had seen or heard of you. I was very much alarmed about you, and offered a hundred dollars for any information concerning you."
"I am sorry you had so much trouble. I wish I had known you were there."
"How did you get off?"
Bobby briefly related the story of his escape, and Mr. Bayard pronounced his skill worthy of his genius.
"Sam Ray is a good fellow; we will remember him," added the bookseller, when he had finished.
"I shall remember him; and only that I shall be afraid to go into the State of Maine after what has happened, I should pay him a visit one of these days."
"There you are wrong. Those who know your story would sooner think of giving you a public reception, than of saying or doing anything to injure your feelings. Those who have suffered unjustly are always lionized."
"But no one will know my story, only that I was sent to prison for stealing."
"There you are mistaken again. We put articles in all the principal papers, stating the facts in the case, and establishing your innocence beyond a peradventure. Go to Augusta now, Bobby, and you will be a lion."
"I am sure I had no idea of getting out of the scrape so easily as this."
"Innocence shall triumph, my young friend."
"What does mother say?" asked Bobby, his countenance growing sad.
"I do not know. We returned from Maine only yesterday; but Squire Lee will satisfy her. All that can worry her, as it has worried me, will be her fears for your safety when she hears of your escape."
"I will soon set her mind at ease upon that point. I will take the noon train home."
"A word about business before you go. I discharged Timmins about a week ago, and I have kept his place for you."
"By gracious!" exclaimed Bobby, thrown completely out of his propriety by this announcement.
"I think you will do better, in the long run, than you would to travel about the country. I was talking with Ellen about it, and she says it shall be so. Timmins's salary was five hundred dollars a year, and you shall have the same."
"Five hundred dollars a year!" ejaculated Bobby, amazed at the vastness of the sum.
"Very well for a boy of thirteen, Bobby."
"I was fourteen last Sunday, sir."
"I would not give any other boy so much; but you are worth it, and you shall have it."
Probably Mr. Bayard's gratitude had something to do with this munificent offer; but he knew that our hero possessed abilities and energy far beyond his years. He further informed Bobby that he should have a room at his house, and that Ellen was delighted with the arrangement he proposed.
The gloomy, threatening clouds were all rolled back, and floods of sunshine streamed in upon the soul of the little merchant; but in the midst of his rejoicing he remembered that his own integrity had carried him safely through the night of sorrow and doubt. He had been true to himself, and now, in the hour of his great triumph, he realized that, if he had been faithless to the light within him, his laurel would have been a crown of thorns.
He was happy—very happy. What made him so? Not his dawning prosperity; not the favor of Mr. Bayard; not the handsome salary he was to receive; for all these things would have been but dross if he had sacrificed his integrity, his love of truth and uprightness. He had been true to himself, and unseen angels had held him up. He had been faithful, and the consciousness of his fidelity to principle made a heaven within his heart.
It was arranged that he should enter upon the duties of his new situation on the following week. After settling with Mr. Bayard, he found he had nearly seventy dollars in his possession; so that in a pecuniary point of view, if in no other, his eastern excursion was perfectly satisfactory.
By the noon train he departed for Riverdale, and in two hours more he was folded to his mother's heart. Mrs. Bright wept for joy now, as she had before wept in misery when she heard of her son's misfortune. It took him all the afternoon to tell his exciting story to her, and she was almost beside herself when Bobby told her about his new situation.
After tea he hastened over to Squire Lee's; and my young readers can imagine what a warm reception he had from father and daughter. For the third time that day he narrated his adventures in the east; and Annie declared they were better than any novel she had ever read. Perhaps it was because Bobby was the hero. It was nearly ten o'clock before he finished his story; and when he left, the squire made him promise to come over the next day.
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