“Kin I see you safe home?”

And she, with a feeling that her uncle’s life was in danger, and that his salvation depended upon her resolution—­she, with a feeling that she was pronouncing sentence of death on her own great hope, answered huskily: 

“No, I thank you.”

If she had only known that it was the red barn with the Indian on top that was in danger, she would probably have let the galloping brave take care of himself.

It seemed to Bud, as he walked home mortified, disgraced, disappointed, hopeless, that all the world had gone down in a whirlpool of despair.

“Might a knowed it,” he said to himself.  “Of course, a smart gal like Martha a’n’t agoin’ to take a big, blunderin’ fool that can’t spell in two syllables.  What’s the use of tryin’?  A Flat Cricker Is a Flat Cricker.  You can’t make nothin’ else of him, no more nor you can make a Chiny hog into a Berkshire.”

CHAPTER XXVII.

A LOSS AND A GAIN.

Dr. Small, silent, attentive, assiduous Dr. Small, set himself to work to bind up the wounded heart of Bud Means, even as he had bound up his broken arm.  The flattery of his fine eyes, which looked at Bud’s muscles so admiringly, which gave attention to his lightest remark, was not lost on the young Flat Creek Hercules.  Outwardly at least Pete Jones showed no inclination to revenge himself on Bud.  Was it respect for muscle, or was it the influence of Small?  At any rate, the concentrated extract of the resentment of Pete Jones and his clique was now ready to empty itself upon the head of Hartsook.  And Ralph found himself in his dire extremity without even the support of Bud, whose good resolutions seemed to give way all at once.  There have been many men of culture and more favorable surroundings who have thrown themselves away with less provocation.  As it was, Bud quit school, avoided Ralph, and seemed more than ever under the influence of Dr. Small, besides becoming the intimate of Walter Johnson, Small’s student and Mrs. Matilda White’s son.  They made a strange pair—­Bud with his firm jaw and silent, cautious manner, and Walter Johnson with his weak chin, his nice neck-ties, and general dandy appearance.

To be thus deserted in his darkest hour by his only friend was the bitterest ingredient in Ralph’s cup.  In vain he sought an interview.  Bud always eluded him.  While by all the faces about him Ralph learned that the storm was getting nearer and nearer to himself.  It might delay.  If it had been Pete Jones alone, it might blow over.  But Ralph felt sure that the relentless hand of Dr. Small was present in all his troubles.  And he had only to look into Small’s eye to know how inextinguishable was a malignity that burned so steadily and so quietly.

But there is no cup of unmixed bitterness.  With an innocent man there is no night so dark that some star does not shine.  Ralph had one strong sheet-anchor.  On his return from Lewisburg on Monday Bud had handed him a note, written on common blue foolscap, in round, old-fashioned hand.  It ran: