Don Gordon reached home with his brother’s assistance, and has been a close prisoner there ever since, not yet having recovered from the effects of his night in the potato-cellar. Godfrey Evans is hiding in the swamp somewhere, fearing that if he comes home he will be arrested for three offences—robbing Clarence, assaulting Don, and trying to steal the eighty thousand dollars, which he still firmly believes to be hidden in the potato-patch. A week has passed since the occurrence of the events which we have so rapidly reviewed, and now that you are acquainted with them, we are prepared to resume our story.
“And if your father doesn’t come back, how are we to live this winter?” asked Mrs. Evans, continuing the conversation which we have so long interrupted. “How is he to live?”
“His living will trouble him more than ours will trouble us,” replied David, who, knowing that he was his mother’s main dependence now, tried hard to keep up a brave heart. “It will be cold out there in the swamp pretty soon. I saw a flock of wild geese in the lake this morning, and that is a sure sign that winter is close at hand. Father had no coat on when he went away, and he was barefooted, too. And as for our living, mother, who’s kept you in clothes and coffee, sugar and tea, for the last year?”
“You have, David. I don’t know what I should do without you. You are a great comfort to me.”
“And I’m never going to be anything else, mother. I never made you cry, did I? I ain’t going to, either. I can take care of you, and I will, too. If I can’t get work to do, I can hunt and trap small game, you know; and if I only had a rifle, I am sure I could kill at least one deer every week. That, reckoning venison worth six cents a pound, would bring us in about thirty dollars a month. Who says we couldn’t live and save money on that?”