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Hope and Have; Fanny Grant Among the Indians

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CHAPTER VI. KATE'S DEFECTION. "Fanny Grant, you stole that money!" said Kate, as though she had made a great discovery. It was no discovery at all. She had been reasonably confident that the five dollars, which Fanny acknowledged to be in her possession, had been stolen, or, if not actually stolen, that it had been obtained in a manner entirely at variance even with a very low ideal of common honesty. She was willing to enjoy the good things which might be bought with the five dollars, but she was not disposed to bear the responsibility of the theft, either as principal or accessory. If, when the day of reckoning came, she could make it appear that she did not know the money had been stolen, she would escape the penalty and the odium of being a thief, or a receiver of stolen goods. Like many others, she could hold up her hands in holy horror at the crime made public, while she was willing to wink at or compromise the crime for her own benefit in the secret chambers of her own heart. If she had been taught in ancient Lacedæmonia that it is not a crime to steal, but a crime to be found out, she could not have been more faithful to its base policy. Fanny heard the charge, but made no reply, pretending to be occupied in watching the course of the boat. "You stole that money, Fanny Grant!" repeated Kate, with even more emphasis, and more holy horror than before. "Well, what if I did?" answered Fanny, who was disposed to have her associate as deep in the mud as she herself was in the mire; and she knew that it would be impossible to deny the fact when she exhibited the great roll of bills in her pocket. "I didn't think you would steal money, Fanny." "You would yourself, if you got a chance." "No, I wouldn't; I'm bad enough, I know, but I wouldn't steal." "Yes, you would! You needn't pretend to be so good. You will never be hung for your honesty. I know you." "Do you mean to say I would steal?" demanded Kate, not a little mortified to be thought so meanly of. "I know you would. Who stole the strawberries the other day?" "That wasn't money," pleaded Kate. "It was all the same." "I wouldn't take money. I'm not a thief." "You flatter yourself." "I wouldn't. But, Fanny," she added, willing to change the subject, "I shouldn't dare to go to New York city." "Why not?" "Something might happen to us." "What can happen to us?" "I don't know; but I'm afraid to go. What should we do with ourselves for a whole week?" "Have a good time; that's what we are going for?" "I can't go, Fan." "Yes, you can; and you must. You have got into the scrape so far, and you are not going to leave me alone now. You promised to go with me." "But you did not tell me what you were going to do." "I have told you now; and if you attempt to back out, you shall bear half the blame." "I didn't steal." "I don't care if you didn't; you shall bear your share of the blame. You shall go with me." "What will my mother say?" "She will say you are a naughty girl, and punish you for what you have done. If you go with me, she will be so glad to see you when you get back, that she won't say a word. She will find out what you are made of then; if you go back now, she will see that you are nothing but a chicken at heart, and she will punish you, as you deserve to be for deserting your friend." "My mother would feel awfully if I did not come back to-night," continued Kate, thoughtfully, even sadly; and she was sincere now. "She will get over it." "She would feel dreadfully." "So much the better; the worse she feels the more glad she will be to see you when you do go back." Kate saw that it was useless to reason with her companion on this point; besides, there was a certain sacred feeling in her heart which Fanny could neither understand nor appreciate, and she was unwilling to expose it to the rude reproaches of one who seemed to have no heart. She was too timid, rather than too conscientious, to engage in such a gigantic scheme of wickedness as that which Fanny had indicated; and we must do her the justice to add, that the blessed influence of a mother's love, stronger and deeper in her heart than principle, asserted its sway, and to give her mother a week of pain and anxiety was revolting to her. She was fully determined not to go to New York city, and to get home as soon as she could. But Fanny had so much to say about "backing out," and "deserting her friend," that she deemed it prudent not to mention anything about her resolution. She knew her companion well enough to believe that it would be useless to attempt to persuade her to abandon her brilliant scheme; and Fanny was so resolute and self-willed that she might find a way to compel her to go with her, whether she was willing or not. "Do you want to know how much money I have got?" asked Fanny, after a silence of some minutes, during which Kate had been thinking what she should do. "I should like to know," replied Kate, who, however, was really indifferent after she had decided not to partake of the good things which the stolen money could purchase. "You take the tiller then, and I will count it. Keep it just as it is," said Fanny, resigning her place to her fellow-voyager. The boat was going along very easily with the wind on the starboard quarter, and did not need much attention. She was approaching Pennville, and the cruise was nearly finished. Fanny took the roll of bills from her pocket, and proceeded to count it. The notes were nearly all "greenbacks," with a few small bills on the state banks. There were twenties, tens, and fives, and the thief was almost frightened herself when she ascertained the amount she had obtained. "One hundred, one hundred five, one hundred and ten," said Fanny, as she counted the money; "one hundred and ten——" "Why, Fanny Grant!" cried Kate, horrified at the greatness of the sum. "Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty——" "They will send you to the state prison for stealing so much money!" added Kate, trembling as the large numbers were mentioned. "The more the better," replied Fanny, trying to keep cool, though she was much agitated herself, as, measuring the crime by the amount of the money, she realized how guilty she had been. She finished the counting; and the whole sum was one hundred and seventy-three dollars and eighty-five cents. "There is a great deal more than I thought there was," said she. "Why did you take so much?" asked the terrified Kate. "I didn't know how much there was." "You will have all the constables in the county after you before night." "And after you, too." "I didn't steal it." "Well, you were with me, and I will give you some of it." "I don't want any of it." "Don't you?" "No, I don't; I don't think it is fair for you to try to make it out that I helped you steal the money, when I didn't, and when I didn't know anything about it." "You knew I had some money before you got into the boat. You are scared—that's all." "I am scared, and I wish I hadn't come." "I wish you hadn't, because you are so frightened; but now you have gone so far, you can't back out. You want to return to Woodville, and tell them I stole the money." "No, I don't." "I'm never going back to Woodville again. They have been talking about sending me to my uncle's, in Minnesota, and I'm not going to be sent there." "What shall I do, then?" demanded Kate, awed and astonished at the desperate purpose of her friend. "I will see that you get back home all right. Here is some money to pay your passage," added Fanny, counting out a portion of the bills. "I don't want that." "Very well," answered Fanny, putting the bills in her pocket; and she looked so firm and so "ugly" that Kate was actually afraid of her. The Greyhound had nearly reached the pier at Pennville; but Fanny did not intend to land at any public place, and she ran the boat up to the bank of the river, a short distance above the village, grounding it lightly on a kind of beach she had chosen as a landing-place. Fanny took the boat-hook in her hand, and jumped ashore. "Now, Kate Magner, before we go any farther, we must come to an understanding. If you think you are going to leave me to bear all the blame, you are mistaken." "I don't mean any such thing," replied Kate. "Yes, you do; you mean to betray me." "No, I don't." "Why didn't you take the money I offered you, then?" "I don't want it." "You are in the boat, and I am on the land. If you don't take the money, I will push the boat off, and she will carry you away—I don't know where." "Don't do that." "Will you take the money?" "Yes, I will," answered Kate, who was more afraid of the boat than she would have been of a demon. "Take it, then," said Fanny, handing her the little roll of bills she had taken from the package for this purpose. "There is twenty-one dollars." Kate took the money, and thrust it into her pocket. "Now we are both just the same. You have taken some of the money, and you are just as bad as I am. You can't back out now, if you want to do so." This was only an expedient on the part of the resolute mistress of the expedition to prevent her companion from deserting her, rather than to insure an equal division of the punishment for stealing. "What shall we do now?" asked Kate, as she landed from the boat, which Fanny held with the boat-hook. "We will go up to the railroad station, and take the train for New York city." "But what are you going to do with the boat?" "I don't care anything about the boat. I have had all I want of her. But I think I will let the sails down, and fasten her to the bank. If they should find her, she might betray us." Fanny lowered the sails, and fastened the painter to a stake on the bank. The two girls then started for the village, which was about a quarter of a mile below the place where they had landed. When they had gone a short distance, they saw a man mending a boat on the bank of the river. Kate took particular notice of him, for she was already planning the means of her deliverance from the arbitrary sway of her companion. The two girls were very well dressed, and it was not an uncommon thing for young ladies to manage their own boats on the Hudson; so, if they had been seen to land from the Greyhound, no notice was taken of the circumstance. They were not likely to be molested, except by their own guilty consciences. They walked directly to the railroad station, and ascertained that the train would leave in half an hour. Fanny, anxious to conciliate her associate, and accustom her to her new situation, invited her to a saloon, where they partook of ice-creams; but partial as Kate was to this luxury, it did not taste good, and seemed to be entirely different from any ice-cream she had ever eaten before. When it was nearly time for the train to arrive, Fanny bought two tickets, and they joined the crowd that was waiting for the cars. Kate seemed to be so fully reconciled to the enterprise, that her friend did not doubt her any longer; she had no suspicion of her intended defection. "I am almost choked," said Kate, when the whistle of the locomotive was heard in the distance. "I must have a drink of water." "You have no time." "I won't be gone but a second," replied Kate. "I will wait here—but be quick." Kate went into the station-house, and passing out at the door on the other side, ran off towards the river as fast as her legs would carry her. She reached the outskirts of the village before she slackened her pace, and then, exhausted and out of breath with running, she paused to ascertain if Fanny was in pursuit of her. No one was to be seen in the direction from which she had come, and taking courage from her success, she walked leisurely towards the place where the Greyhound had been left. The man she had passed on her way down was still at work on his boat, and Kate, telling him such a story as suited her purpose, engaged him to sail the Greyhound up to Woodville. They embarked without any interruption from Fanny, and in a couple of hours she was landed at the pier from which she had started. Kate paid her boatman three dollars from the money which Fanny had given her, and then walked up to the mansion. She told Mrs. Green the whole truth, and gave her the eighteen dollars remaining in her possession. She then went home to make peace with her mother, to whom also she told the whole story, blaming Fanny for everything except her own truancy, and pleading that she had been led away in this respect. Mr. Long was still engaged in the search for Fanny, though the loss of the money in the closet had not been discovered till Kate appeared. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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