Three Young Knights — Inside the Classic

The last wisp of hay was in the Eddy mows. "Come on!" shouted Jot. "Here she goes--hip, hip, hoo-ray!"

"Hoor-a-ay!" echoed Kent. But of course Old Tilly took it calmly. He planted his brown hands pocket-deep and his bare, brown legs wide apart, and surveyed the splendid, bursting mows with honest pride.

"Yes, sir, that's the finest lot o' hay in Hexham county; beat it if you can, sir!" he said approvingly. Then, being ready, he caught off his own hat and cheered, too.

"Hold on, you chaps; give the old man a chance to holler with you!" Father Eddy's big, hearty voice cried above the din, and there was the flaring, sun-browned "wide-awake" swinging with the other hats.

"Hooray for the best hay in town! Hooray for the smartest team o' boys! Hooray for lib-er-tee!"

They were all of them out of breath and red in the face, but how they cheered! Liberty--that was something to cheer for! After planting-time and haying, hurrah for liberty!

The din softened gradually. With a sweep of his arm, father gathered all the boys in a laughing heap before him.

"Well," he said, "what next? Who's going to celebrate? I'm done with you for a fortnight. I'm going to hire Esau Whalley to milk and do the chores, and send you small chaps about your business. You've earned your holiday. And I don't know but it's as good a time as any to settle up. Pay day's as good one day as another."

He drew out a little tight roll of bills and sorted out three five-dollar notes gravely. The boys' eyes began to shine. Father 'most always paid them, after haying, but--five dollars apiece! Old Tilly pursed his lips and whistled softly. Kent nudged Jot.

"There you are! You needn't mind about giving receipts!" Father Eddy said matter-of-factly, but his gray eyes were a-twinkle under their cliffs of gray brows. He was exulting quietly in the delight he could read in the three round, brown faces. Good boys--yes, sir--all of them! Wasn't their beat in Hexham county--no, sir! Nor yet in Marylebone county or Winnipeg!

"Now, on with you--scatter!" he laughed. "Mother and I are going to mill to celebrate! When you've decided what you're going to do, send a committee o' three to let us know. Mind, you can celebrate any way you want to that's sensible."

The boys waited till the tall, stoop-shouldered figure had gone back into the dim, hay-scented barn, then with one accord the din began again.

"Hoo-ray! Hoo-ray for father!"

"Father! father! hoo-ray!"

It died away, began again, then trailed out to a faint wail as the boys scuttled off round the barn to the orchard. Father smiled to himself unsteadily.

"Good boys! good boys! good boys!" he muttered.

"Come on up in the consultery!" cried Kent excitedly.

"Yes, come on, Old Till; that's the place!" Jot echoed.

The "consultery" was a platform up in the great horse-chestnut tree. When there was time, it could be reached comfortably by a short ladder, but, in times of hurry, it was the custom to swing up to it by a low-hanging bough, with a long running jump as a starter. To-day they all swung up.

"Oh, I say, won't there be times!" cried Kent. "Five apiece is fifteen, lumped. You can celebrate like everything with fifteen dollars!"

"Sure--but how?" Old Tilly asked in his gentle, moderate way. "We don't want any old, common celebration!"

"You better believe we don't!"

"No, sir, we want to do something new! Camping out's old!"

"Camping's no good! Go on!" Jot said briefly. It was always Old Tilly they looked to for suggestions. If you waited long enough, they were sure to come.

"Well, that's the trouble. I can't 'go on'--yet. You don't give a chap time to wink! What we want is to settle right down to it and think out a fine way to celebrate. It's got to take time."

For the space of a minute it was still in the consultery, save for the soft swish of the leaves overhead and roundabout. Then Jot broke out--a minute was Jot's utmost limit of silence.

"We could go up through the Notch and back, you know," he reflected. "That's no end of fun. Wouldn't cost us all more'n a fiver for the round trip, and we'd have the other ten to--to--"

"Buy popcorn and 'Twin Mountain Views' with!" finished Kent in scorn. "Well, if you want to dress up in your best fixin's and stew all day in a railroad train--"

"I don't!" rejoined Jot, hastily. "I was thinking of Old Till!"

Tilly's other name was Nathan, but it had grown musty with disuse. He was the oldest of the Eddy trio, and "ballasted" the other two, Father Eddy said. Old Tilly was fourteen and the Eddy twins--Jotham and Kennet--were twelve. All three were well-grown, lusty fellows who could work or celebrate their liberty, as the case might be, with a good will. Just now it was the latter they wanted to do, in some untried way.

It was a beautiful thinking-place, up in the consultery. The birds in the meshes of leaves that roofed it over twittered in whispers, as if they realized that a momentous question was under consultation down below and bird-courtesy demanded quiet.

Jot fretted impatiently under his breath,

"Shouldn't think it need to take all day!" he muttered. "You're as slow as--as--"

"Old Tilly!" laughed Kent. The spell of silence was broken, and the birds overhead broke into jubilant trills, as if they were laughing, too.

"I guess the name fits all right this time," Old Tilly said ruefully. "I can't seem to think of anything at all! My head clicks--the mowing machine wheels have got into it, I guess!"

"Wheels in mine, too!" Kent drawled lazily.

Jot sprang to his feet in excitement. In his haste he miscalculated the dimensions of the consultery. There was a wild flutter of brown hands and feet, and then the chestnut leaves closed calmly over the opening, and there were but two boys in the consultery. One of those parted the leaves again and peered down.

No answer. Old Tilly's laugh froze on his face.

"Jot! Hello!" he cried, preparing to swing himself down.

"Hello yourself!" came up calmly.

"Oh! Are you killed?"

"'Course! But, I say, you needn't either o' you sit up there any longer gloomin'. I've thought of the way we'll celebrate. It's great!"

The crisp branches creaked as the others swung down to the ground in haste.

"You haven't!" cried Kent.

"What is it, quick!" Old Tilly said. Old Tilly in a hurry!

"Wheels!" announced Jot, deliberately. "You chaps had 'em in your head, and that put 'em into mine. Yes, sir, we'll celebrate on wheels!"

"Why, of course! Good for you!" shouted Kent. But Old Tilly weighed things first in his mind.

"That would be a go if we had enough to 'go' round. But you twinnies wouid have to ride double, or spell each other, or something."

"Spell nobody!" scornfully cried Jot.

"Shut up, Kent! That's all right, Old Till. Benny Tweed'll lend me his bike just like a book--I know Ben! Besides, he owes me a dollar and I'll call it square. There!"

Old Tilly nodded approvingly. "Good!" he said. "Then we'll take a trip off somewhere. That what you meant?"

"Sure! We'll go Columbus-ing--discovering things, you know."

"Like those fellows--what's their names?--who did errands for people, and had wonderful things happen to them while doing them!" put in Kent, enthusiastically.

"Errands? What in the world--knights? He means knight-errants!" exclaimed Old Till, laughing.

"That's a good one--'Did errands for folks!'" Jot mocked.

"Well, what did they do then, Jotham Eddy?"

"Why, they--er--they--they rode round on splendid horses, all armed-- er--aaple-pie--and--"

"Apple-pie--armed with apple-pie!"

Old Tilly came briskly to the rescue.

"Never mind the errands or the pie!" laughed he. "We'll be reg'lar knights and hunt up distressed folks to relieve, and have reg'lar adventures. It will be great--good for Jot! We won't decide where we're going or anything--just keep a-going. We'll start to-morrow morning at sunrise."

"Hoo-ray for to-morrow morning!"

"Hoo-ray for sunrise!"

"Hoo-ray for Jot!" finished Kent, generously forgetting mockeries.

The plan promised gloriously. When father and mother came home from the mill they fell in with it heartily, and mother rolled up her sleeves at once to make cakes to fill the boys' bundle racks. They would buy other things as they went along--that would be part of the fun.

In the middle of the night Jot got out of bed softly and padded his way across to the bureau, to feel of the three five-dollar bills they had left together under the pincushion for a paper weight. He slid his fingers under carefully. What! He lifted the cushion. Then he struck a match--two matches--three, in agitated succession.

Jot gasped with horror. The last match went out and left him standing there in the dark. After one instant's hesitation he made a bound for the bed. "Kent! Kent! Wake up!" he whispered shrilly. He shook the limp figure hard.

"Thieves! Murder! Wake up, I tell you, Kent! We're robbed!"

"M-m--who's rob--Oh, say, lemme alone!" murmured poor Kent, drowsily.

"I tell you thieves!" he hissed in his ear. "The money's gone! Do you hear? It isn't under the pin-cushion where we left it! It's gone! We've been robbed, Kent Eddy!"

The limp figure strengthened as if electrified and rose to a sitting position. Kent's eyes flew open.

"Get up quick, Kentie, and we'll wake Old Tilly up! Maybe we can catch 'em!"

"Catch who? I wish you'd talk English, Jot Eddy!"

Old Tilly was slumbering peacefully, oblivious to thieves and five-dollar bills alike. It took a long time to wake him and longer yet to make him understand the dire thing that had happened.

"Get up! Get up! We've got to catch 'em!" concluded Jot.

"Yes, the thieves--catch the thieves, you know!" Kent explained. "I don't s'pose you'll lie there all night and let 'em cut off with our money, if you are Old Tilly!"

Then something funny happened. Anyway, it seemed funny to Old Tilly. He buried his face in the pillow and choked with laughter.

"It's gone to his head!" whispered Jot, in alarm.

"No, to his t-toe!" giggled Old Tilly, purple in the face.

"Yes, sir, he's crazy as a loon. Let's call father, Jot!"

"Hold on!--wait! It's all right, boys! The money is, and I am, and everybody is! Just wait till I get my laugh out, won't you?"

"No, sir, but we'll wait till you get out o' bed and that's this very minute!" Jot exclaimed wrathfully. He was dancing up and down with impatience.

Old Tilly slowly brought a lean, shapely leg into view from beneath the sheet. To the boys' amazement it was covered with a long black stocking. Old Tilly, like the other boys, had been barefooted all day.

"Thought I might as well get a good start in dressing!" he chuckled. "Nothing like being read--"

"Well, I wish it would; there's something in the toe that hurts. Ow!"

He drew off the stocking and gravely examined the snug little wad in the toe.

"The money!" cried Kent.

"Yes, sir, the money!" Jot echoed in astonishment.

"Why, so it is!" Old Tilly said in evident surprise. "Then the thieves didn't get away with it, after all! I call that a lucky stroke--my getting partly dressed overnight! No, hold on, you little chaps--don't get uppy! I'll explain, honest I will! You see, I got up after a while and put the money there for safe-keeping. I'd like to see the thief that would look there for it! He'd get a good kick if he did!"

It was half an hour later when the trio settled back into sleep again. In the east already there were dim outriders of day trailing across the darkness.

Without further incident the three knights-errant got under way next day. In a glare of July sunshine they rode away in search of adventures, while Father and Mother Eddy in the kitchen doorway looked after them a little wistfully.

"Bless their hearts!" mother murmured tender-wise.

"Good boys! Good boys!" said father, coughing to cover the break in his voice.

"I say, this is great!" called Jot, who led the van, of course. "This is the way to do it!"

"Yes, sir!" Kent cried in high feather, "it feels as if you were reg'lar old knights, you know! Isn't it jolly not to know what's going to happen next?"

Old Tilly's wheel slid up abreast of Kent's and proceeded sociably.

"Esau Whalley's farm 'happens next,' and then old Uncle Rod King's next," Old Tilly said calmly. "I guess we better wait till we get out o' this neck o' woods before we settle down to making believe!"

But three wheels driven by three pairs of sturdy, well-muscled legs get over miles swiftly, and by ten o'clock the boys had turned down an unfamiliar road and were on the way to things that happened. Before noon knightly deeds were at their hand. Jot himself discovered the first one. He vaulted from his bicycle suddenly, as they were bowling past a little gray house set in weeds, and the others, looking back, saw him carrying a dripping pail of water along the path to the kitchen doorsteps.

"The pail was out there on the well curb, asking to be filled," he explained brusquely, as he caught up with them, "and the old woman pumping into it didn't look as if lugging water agreed with her. Besides, I wanted a drink."

"You didn't get one," retorted Kent, wisely.

Jot cast a sidewise glance upon him.

"I said I wanted one, didn't I? Anybody can want a drink."

"And take your remedy. Dose: lug one pail o' water for an old woman. If not successful, repeat in ten min--"

Jot made a rapid spurt and left his teaser behind. When Old Tilly had come abreast of him again, he reached out a brotherly hand and bestowed a hearty pat on his arm.

"Good boy!" he said, and unconsciously his voice was like father's, miles back in the kitchen doorway. It was the way father would have said it.

"That's the way to do. We'll pick up 'errands' to do for folks. What's the use of being knights?"

And Old Tilly's turn came next, in the way of driving the cows out of somebody's corn patch and propping up the broken fence. If it took but a few minutes, what of that? It saved a bent old man's rheumatic leg's, and the gay whistle that went with it drifted into an open window and pleased a little fretful child.

"My turn next!" shouted Kent, gliding away from them out of sight over the brow of a hill.

"Good luck to you!" called Jot. "We're going into camp to take a bite. No use being in such a rush."

"When you come my way, drop in!" floated back faintly. They tilted their wheels against trees and threw themselves down in the shade to rest. Jot was ravenous with hunger.

"Cakes are all right to begin on," he said, regarding mother's bountiful store with approval. "But when I strike the next store you'll see the crackers and cheese fly!"

"I don't mind taking a hand in the scrimmage myself!" laughed Old Tilly, munching a fat cake. "I say, wasn't Kent foolish to go scooting off like that? Might as well have begun easy. I move we ride nights and mornings mostly, and loaf noons. There's a moon, 'silver mo-oo-on'--"

His voice trailed lazily into song. It was pleasant lounging in the shade and remembering the hay was all in and adventures ahead.

An hour or so later they moved on at a leisurely pace, looking for Kent. The general direction had been agreed upon, so they experienced no anxiety. It added to the fun to hunt for him.

"Where in the world did he go to?" queried Old Tilly, laughing. "He disappeared like a streak of lightning!"

"I see him--there, under that tree!" cried Jot, waving a salute. "He's lying down and enjoying life."

But it was a tired old man under the tree, and, from his forlorn face, he did not seem to be "enjoying life." He was very old, very shabby, very tired. His unkempt figure had collapsed feebly by the way apparently. What astonished the boys was the wheel that lay on its side near him. He did not look like a wheelman.

"Hold on. Old Till, I say!" called Jot in sudden excitement, forging ahead to his side. "I say, that looks like our wheel--mine and Kent's! I guess I know our wheel!"

Jot was riding the borrowed machine. Kent had the one they owned jointly.

"You're right, sonny; it looks that way!" rejoined Old Tilly, excited in his turn. "But we can't pounce on it and cut, you know. How do we know what Kent's up to?"

Jot grunted derisively. "Probably he's given it to the old duffer for a birthday present--hundredth anniversary!" he scoffed. "That would be taking his turn at doing knight-errands. Let's go right on and not disturb the poor old man--"

"Let's have sense!" remarked Old Tilly, briefly. "We'll forge on ahead and hunt Kent up before we arrest tramps for bike-lifting. When he says he's been robbed it'll be time to holler 'Stop, thief!'"

"Yes, come on!" Jot called back as he shot ahead. "I haven't a doubt but we'll find Kentie's got his bike tucked away all safe in the toe of his stocking!"

They came almost instantly into the outskirts of a snug little settlement. The road was flanked on both sides by neat white houses. Trig little children scurried out of their way, cheering shrilly. Somewhere there was music. [Transcriber's note: the word "trig", above, is as it appears in the original book.]

"Hark yourself! That's a good hand-organ," Old Tilly said; and he hummed the familiar tune, and both wheels sped on to the time of it, as it seemed. The music grew louder. "Look up in that dooryard, will you! Jot Eddy, look at the chap that's grinding it!"

Jot uttered an exclamation of astonishment.

Up in one of the shady side yards stood Kent, turning the crank of a hand-organ! He was facing the highway where the other two boys were, but not a trace of recognition was in his face. Ranged in a semicircle before him was a line of little children shuffling their toes to the gay tune.

"It's Kent!" gasped Jot.

"Or his ghost--pretty lively one! Where in the world did he get that hand-organ? And what's he done with his bike? Why--oh!"

Old Tilly added two and two, and, in the light of a sudden inspiration, they made four. Yes, of course, that was it, but he would wait and let Jot guess it out for himself. Jot had other business in hand just then.

"Say, come on up there with the youngsters, Old Till!" he whispered excitedly. "Come on, quick! We'll make him smile! He can't keep his face with us tagging on with the children!"

They left their wheels beside the road and stalked solemnly up the path. The children were too intent on the music to notice them, and the figure at the crank did not change its stiff, military attitude. The tune lurched and swayed on.

Suddenly, with a sharp click, the music swept into something majestic and martial, with the tread of soldiers' feet and the boom of drums in it. The faces of the little children grew solemn, and unconsciously their little shoulders straightened and they stood "at attention." They were all little patriots at heart and they longed to step into file and tramp away to that splendid music.

Again the tune changed sharply, and still again. Then the organ-grinder slung his instrument with an experienced twist and twirl across his shoulders, and took off his cap.

"Look, will you? He's going to pass it round!" giggled Jot, under his breath. "He'll pass it to us, Old Till!"

"Keep your face straight, mind!" commanded Old Till, sharply.

The organ-grinder handed round his cap, up and down the crooked line of his audience. The two sober boys at one end dropped in a number of pennies, one at a time deliberately,

"Bless ye!" murmured the organ-grinder, gratefully. Jot's brown face tweaked with the agony of keeping straight, but Old Tilly was equal to the occasion. He assumed a benevolent, pitying expression.

"Hold on a minute!" he called. "Here's a nickel for your poor wife and children. How many you got?"

"Five, sir, your honor," the musician murmured thickly.

"Sure--all but a couple of the little uns. They're up 'n' dressed, thank ye; bless ye!"

Jot made a strange, choking sound in his throat.