“Coasting”

The key turned in the lock.  Andy’s candle had remained lighted.  As the door was pushed open Andy saw a big portly man standing behind his aunt.

“Put on your clothes, Andy Wildwood,” began Miss Lavinia.

“I’ve got them on,” answered Andy.  “What do you want?”

“Ask me that,” broke in the man, stepping into view.  “Sorry, Andy, but it’s me that wants you.  You know who I am.”

“Yes,” nodded Andy, staring hard.

He recognized the speaker as Dan Wagner, the village constable.  Instantly the truth flashed over Andy.  He turned to his aunt with a pale, stern face.

“Are you going to let this man take me to jail?” he demanded.

“Yes, I am,” snapped Miss Lavinia.  “You’ve gone just a little too far this time, Andy Wildwood.”

“What have I done that’s so bad?” inquired Andy indignantly.  “What is the charge against me?”

“That’s so, Miss Lavinia,” observed the constable with a laugh.  “There’s got to be a specific charge, as I told you.”

“Charge!” sniffed Miss Lavinia scornfully.  “I’ll make a dozen of them.  He’s a bad, disobedient boy—­”

“When did I ever disobey you?” interrupted Andy, calmly keeping his temper.

“Oh, you!  He’s got himself expelled from school.”

“That’s no crime, ‘cordin’ to the statoots,” declared the constable.

“I don’t care!” cried the angry spinster.  “My duty is to keep this boy from going to ruin.  You do yours.  I explained it all to the judge.  He said that if I, as his guardian, swore Andy was an incorrigible, unmanageable boy, he would send him to the parental school at Byron till he was reformed.”

Andy grew white to the lips.  He fixed such a glance on his aunt that she quailed.

“Shame on you!” he burst forth.  “You my guardian!  What did you ever guard for me, except too little clothes and victuals?  I’m never out of the house after dark.  I never refuse to do your hardest work.  I even scrub for you.  Well, I won’t any longer.  I have made up my mind to go away.”

“You hear that? you hear that?” cried Miss Lavinia.  “He’s going to run away from home!”

“Home!” retorted Andy scornfully.  “A fine home this has been for me—­snapped at, found fault with, treated like a charity pauper.  Do your duty, Mr. Wagner.  But I warn you that no law can send me to the reform school.  This woman is not my legal guardian.  She is not rightfully even a relative.  I have friends in Fairview, I tell you, and they won’t see me wronged.  I wonder what my poor dead father would say to you for all this?”

Miss Lavinia gave a shriek.  She fell into a chair and kicked her heels on the floor and went into hysterics.

The constable looked in a friendly way at Andy.  He liked the lad’s pluck and independence.  He recalled, too, how Andy had once led him to a quiet haystack, where he had slept himself sober instead of risking his position and making a public show of himself on the streets of Fairview.