Trumps | Page 8

stranger led the way. The throng swept out of
the gate, and as they hastened silently along, the axles of the truck
kindled with the friction and began to smoke.
"Carefully! steadily!" cried the boys all together.
They slackened speed a little, but, happily, the pond was but a short
distance from the school. It was a circular sheet of water, perhaps a
mile in width.
"Boys, he is nearly on the other side," said Mr. Gray, as the crowd
reached the shore.
In an instant the boat was afloat. Mr. Gray, the stranger, and the six

stoutest boys in the school, stepped into it. The boys lifted their oars.
"Let fall! give way!" cried Mr. Gray, and the boat moved off,
glimmering away into the darkness.
The younger boys remained hushed and awe-stricken upon the shore.
The stars were just coming out, the wind had fallen, and the smooth,
black pond lay silent at their feet. They could see the vague, dark
outline of the opposite shore, but none of the pretty villas that stood in
graceful groves upon the banks--none of the little lawns that sloped,
with a feeling of human sympathy, to the water. The treachery of that
glassy surface was all they thought of. They shuddered to remember
that they had so often bathed in the pond, and recoiled as if they had
been friends of a murderer. None of them spoke. They clustered closely
together, listening intently. Nothing was audible but the hum of the
evening insects and the regular muffled beat of the oars over the water.
The boys strained their ears and held their breath as the sound suddenly
stopped. But they listened in vain. The lazy tree-toads sang, the
monotonous hum of the night went on.
Gabriel Bennet held the hand of Little Malacca--a dark-eyed boy, who
was supposed in the school to have had no father or mother, and who
had instinctively attached himself to Gabriel from the moment they
met.
"Isn't it dreadful?" whispered the latter.
"Yes," said Gabriel, "it's dreadful to be young when a man's drowning,
for you can't do any thing. Hist!"
There was not a movement, as they heard a dull, distant sound.
"I guess that's Jim Greenidge," whispered Little Malacca, under his
breath; "he's the best diver."
Nobody answered. The slow minutes passed. Some of the boys peered
timidly into the dark, and clung closer to their neighbors.
"There they come!" said Gabriel suddenly, in a low voice, and in a few

moments the beat of the oars was heard again. Still nobody spoke. Most
of the boys were afraid that when the boat appeared they should see a
dead body, and they dreaded it. Some felt homesick, and began to cry.
The throb of oars came nearer and nearer. The boat glimmered out of
the darkness, and almost at the same moment slid up the shore. The
solemn undertone in which the rowers spoke told all. Death was in the
boat.
Gabriel Bennet could see the rowers step quickly out, and with great
care run the boat upon the truck. He said, "Come, boys!" and they all
moved together and grasped the rope.
"Forward!" said Mr. Gray.
Something lay across the seats covered with a large cloak. The boys did
not look behind, but they all knew what they were dragging. The
homely funeral-car rolled slowly along under the stars. The crickets
chirped; the multitudinous voice of the summer night murmured on
every side, mingling with the hollow rumble of the truck. In a few
moments the procession turned into the grounds, and the boat was
drawn to the platform.
"The little boys may go," said Mr. Gray.
They dropped the rope and turned away. They did not even try to see
what was done with the body; but when Blanding came out of the
house afterward, they asked him who found the drowned man.
"Jim Greenidge," said he. "He stripped as soon as we were well out on
the pond, and asked the stranger gentleman to show him about where
his friend sank. The moment the place was pointed out he dove. The
first time he found nothing. The second time he touched him"--the boys
shuddered--"and he actually brought him up to the surface. But he was
quite dead. Then we took him into the boat and covered him over.
That's all."
There were no more games, there was no other talk, that evening. When
the boys were going to bed, Gabriel asked Little Malacca in which

room Jim Greenidge slept.
"He sleeps in Number Seven. Why?"
"Oh! I only wanted to know."
Gabriel Bennet could not sleep. His mind was too busy with the events
of the day. All night long he could think of nothing but the strong
figure of Jim Greenidge erect in