Work and Win; Or, Noddy Newman on a Cruise — Reading Companion

"Here, Noddy Newman! you haven't washed out the boat-house yet," said Ben, the boatman, as the young gentleman thus addressed was ambling down towards the river.

"Hang the boat-house!" exclaimed Noddy, impatiently, as he stopped short in his walk, and seemed to be in doubt whether he should return or continue on his way.

"You know what Miss Bertha says--don't you?"

"Yes, I know what she says," added Noddy, rubbing his head, as though he were trying to reconcile his present purpose, whatever it was, with the loyalty he owed to Bertha. "I suppose it don't make much difference to her whether I wash out the boat-house now or by and by."

"I don't know anything about that, my boy," said the old man. "Miss Bertha told me to find some regular work for you to do every day. I found it, and she say you must wash out the boat-house every morning before nine o'clock. If you don't do it, I shall report you to her. That's all I've got to say about it."

"I calculate to wash out the boat-house."

"You've only half an hour to do it in, then. You've not only got to wash it out every morning, but you have got to do it before nine o'clock. Them's the orders. I always obey orders. If Miss Bertha should tell me to tie you up, and give you as big a licking as you deserve, I should do it."

"I haven't got any such orders, mind ye, Noddy; so we won't dispute about that. Now, go and wash out the boat-house like a good boy, and don't make any fuss about it."

Noddy deliberated a few moments more. He evidently disliked the job, or did not wish to do it at that particular time; but Miss Bertha's influence was all-powerful; and though he would have fought, tooth and nail, against anything like compulsion on the part of Ben, he could not resist the potent spell which the name of his young mistress cast upon him.

"Hang the old boat-house!" exclaimed he, as he stamped his foot upon the ground, and then slowly retraced his steps towards the boatman.

"Hang it, if you like, Noddy, but wash it out first," said Ben, with a smile, as he observed the effect of the charm he had used to induce the wayward youth to do his duty.

"I wish the boat-house was burned up!" added Noddy, petulantly.

"Yes, I do. I wish it was a pile of ashes at this moment."

"Don't say so, Noddy. What would Miss Bertha think to hear you talk like that?"

"You can tell her, if you like," replied Noddy, as he rushed desperately into the boat-house to do the disagreeable job.

Noddy Newman was an orphan; and no one in the vicinity of Woodville even knew what his real name was. Two years before, Bertha Grant had taken the most tender care of him, after an accident by which he had been severely injured. Previous to that time he had been a vagabond, roaming about the woods and the villages, sleeping in barns and out-buildings, and stealing his food when he could obtain it by no other means. Efforts had been made to commit him to the poorhouse; but he had cunningly avoided being captured, and retained his freedom until the accident placed him under the influence of Bertha Grant, who had before vainly attempted to induce him to join her mission-school in the Glen.

Noddy had been two years at Woodville. He was neither a servant nor a member of the family, but occupied a half-way position, eating and sleeping with the men employed on the estate, but being the constant companion of Bertha, who was laboring to civilize and educate him. She had been partially successful in her philanthropic labors; for Noddy knew how to behave himself with propriety, and could read and write with tolerable facility. But books and literature were not Noddy's _forte_, and he still retained an unhealthy relish for his early vagabond habits.

Like a great many other boys,--even like some of those who have been brought up judiciously and carefully,--Noddy was not very fond of work. He was bold and impulsive, and had not yet acquired any fixed ideas in regard to the objects of life. Bertha Grant had obtained a powerful influence over him, to which he was solely indebted for all the progress he had made in learning and the arts of civilized life. Wayward as he always had been, and as he still was, there was a spirit in him upon which to build a hope that something might yet be made of him, though this faith was in a great measure confined to Bertha and the old boatman.

He had a great many good qualities--enough, in the opinion of his gentle instructress, to redeem him from his besetting sins, which were neither few nor small. He was generous, which made him popular among those who were under no moral responsibility for his future welfare. He was bold and daring, and never hesitated to do anything which the nerve or muscle of a boy of fourteen could achieve. His feats of strength and daring, often performed from mere bravado, won the admiration of the thoughtless, and Noddy was regarded as a "character" by people who only wanted to be amused.

Noddy had reached an age when the future became an interesting problem to those who had labored to improve his manners and his morals. Mr. Grant had suggested to Bertha the propriety of having him bound as an apprentice to some steady mechanic; and, at the time of our story, she and her father were in search of such a person. The subject of this kind solicitude did not relish the idea of learning a trade, though he had not positively rebelled at the disposition which it was proposed to make of him.

He had always lived near the river; and during his residence at Woodville he had been employed, so far as he could be employed at all, about the boats. He was a kind of assistant to the boatman, though there was no need of such an official on the premises. For his own good, rather than for the labor he performed, he was required to do certain work about the boat-house, and in the boats when they were in use.

We could recite a great many scrapes, of which Noddy had been the hero, during the two years of his stay at Woodville; but such a recital would hardly be profitable to our readers, especially as the young man's subsequent career was not devoid of stirring incidents.

Noddy drew a bucket of water at the pier, and carried it into the boat-house. Ben, satisfied now that the work was actually in progress, left the pier, and walked up to the house to receive his morning instructions. He was hardly out of sight before Miss Fanny Grant presented herself at the door.

Miss Fanny was now a nice young lady of twelve. She was as different from her sister Bertha as she could be. She was proud, and rather wayward. Like some other young ladies we have somewhere read about, she was very fond of having her own way, even when her own way had been proved to be uncomfortable and dangerous. But when we mention Miss Fanny's faults, we do not wish to be understood that she had no virtues. If she did wrong very often, she did right in the main, and had made a great deal of progress in learning to do wisely and well, and, what was just as good, in doing it after she had learned it.

Fanny Grant walked up to the boat-house with a very decided step, and it soon appeared that she was not there by chance or accident; which leads us sorrowfully to remark, that in her wrongdoing she often found a ready companion and supporter in Noddy Newman. She was rather inclined to be a romp; and though she was not given to "playing with the boys," the absence of any suitable playmate sometimes led her to invite the half-reformed vagabond of Woodville to assist in her sport.

"You are a pretty fellow, Noddy Newman!" said she, her pouting lips giving an added emphasis to her reproachful remark. "Why didn't you come down to the Point, as you said you would?"

"Because I couldn't, Miss Fanny," growled Noddy. "I had to wash out this confounded boat-house, or be reported to Miss Bertha."

"Couldn't you do that after you got back?"

"Ben said I must do it before nine o'clock. I wanted to go down to the Point, as I agreed, but you see I couldn't."

"I waited for you till I got tired out," pouted Fanny; but she neglected to add that five minutes on ordinary occasions were the full limit of her patience.

"Hang the old boat-house! I told Ben I wished it was burned up."

"So do I; but come along, Noddy. We will go now."

"I can't go till I've washed out the boat-house."

"But if Ben comes down and finds the place hasn't been washed out, he will tell Miss Bertha."

"Let him tell her--who cares?"

"She will talk to me for an hour."

"Let her talk--talking won't kill you."

"I don't like to be talked to in that way by Miss Bertha."

"Fiddle-de-dee! You can tell her I wanted you," said Fanny, her eyes snapping with earnestness.

"Shall I tell her what you wanted me for?" asked Noddy, with a cunning look.

"Of course you needn't tell her that. But come along, or I shall go without you."

"No--you wouldn't do that, Miss Fanny. You couldn't."

"Well, won't you come?"

"I will go just as soon as I have done washing the boat-house."

"Plague on the boat-house!" snapped Fanny. "I wish it was burned up. What a nice fire it would make!--wouldn't it, Noddy?"

The bright eyes of the wayward miss sparkled with delight as she thought of the blazing building; and while her more wayward companion described the miseries which he daily endured in his regular work, she hardly listened to him. She seemed to be plotting mischief; but if she was, she did not make Noddy her confidant this time.

"Come, Noddy," said she, after a few moments' reflection, "I will promise to make it all right with Bertha."

Noddy dropped the broom with which he had begun to sweep up some chips and shavings Ben had made in repairing a boat-hook.

"If you will get me out of the scrape, I will go now," said he.

"I will; you may depend upon me."

"He has gone up to the house."

"Then you run down to the Point, and bring the boat up to the pier. I am tired, and don't want to walk down there again."

Noddy was entirely willing, and bounded off like a deer, for he had fully made up his mind to disobey orders, and his impulsive nature did not permit him to consider the consequences. He was absent but a few moments, and presently appeared rowing a small boat up the river. At the pier he turned the boat, and backed her up to the landing steps.

"All ready, Miss Fanny!" shouted the young boatman, for his companion in mischief was not in sight.

Still she did not appear; and Noddy was about to go in search of her, when she came out of the boat-house, and ran down to the steps. Her face was flushed, and she seemed to be very much agitated. Noddy was afraid, from her looks, that something had happened to spoil the anticipated sport of the morning; but she stepped into the boat, and told him, in hurried tones, to push off.

"What's the matter, Miss Fanny?" he asked, not a little startled by her appearance.

"Nothing, Noddy; pull away just as fast as ever you can."

"Are we caught?" said he, as he followed Fanny's direction.

"No; caught! no. Why don't you row faster, Noddy? You don't pull worth a cent."

"I am pulling as hard as I can," replied he, unable to keep pace with her impatience.

"I wouldn't be seen here now for anything!" exclaimed Fanny, earnestly, as she glanced back at the boat-house, with a look so uneasy that it almost unmanned her resolute companion.

Noddy pulled with all his might, and the light boat darted over the waves with a speed which ought to have satisfied his nervous passenger. As they reached the point of Van Alstine's Island, a dense smoke was seen to rise from the boat-house on the pier; and a few moments later, the whole building was wrapped in flames.

THE CIRCUS AT WHITESTONE.

"Do you see that?" exclaimed Noddy, as he stopped rowing, and gazed at the flames which leaped madly up from the devoted building.

"I see it," replied Fanny, with even more agitation than was manifested by her companion.

"I don't understand it," added Noddy.

"The boat-house is on fire, and will burn up in a few minutes more. I think it is plain enough;" and Fanny struggled to be calm and indifferent.

"We must go back and see to it."

"We shall do nothing of the kind. Pull away as hard as ever you can, or we shall not get to Whitestone in season."

"I don't care about going to Whitestone now; I want to know what all that means."

"Can't you see what it means? The boat-house is on fire."

"Well, how did it catch afire? That's what bothers me."

"You needn't bother yourself about it. My father owns the boat-house, and it isn't worth much."

"All that may be; but I want to know how it got afire."

"We shall find out soon enough when we return."

"But I want to know now."

"You can't know now; so pull away."

"I shall have the credit of setting that fire," added Noddy, not a little disturbed by the anticipation.

"Yes, I shall. I told Ben I wished the boat-house would catch afire and burn up. Of course he will lay it to me."

"No matter if he does; Ben isn't everybody."

"Well, he is 'most everybody, so far as Miss Bertha is concerned; and I'd rather tumbled overboard in December than have that fire happen just now."

"You were not there when the fire broke out," said Fanny, with a strong effort to satisfy her boatman.

"That's the very reason why they will lay it to me. They will say I set the boat-house afire, and then ran away on purpose."

"I can say you were with me when the fire broke out, and that I know you didn't do it," replied Fanny.

"That will do; but I would give all my old shoes to know how the fire took, myself."

"No matter how it took."

"Yes, it is matter, Miss Fanny. I want to know. There wasn't any fire in the building when I left it."

"Perhaps somebody stopped there in a boat, and set it on fire."

"Perhaps they did; but I know very well they didn't," answered Noddy, positively. "There hasn't been any boat near the pier since we left it."

"Perhaps Ben left his pipe among those shavings."

"Ben never did that. He would cut his head off sooner than do such a thing. He is as scared of fire as he is of the Flying Dutchman."

"Don't say anything more about it. Now row over to Whitestone as quick as you can," added Fanny, petulantly.

"I'm not going over to Whitestone, after what has happened. I shouldn't have a bit of fun if I went."

"Very well, Noddy; then you may get out of the scrape as you can," said the young lady, angrily.

"Why, they will accuse you of setting the boat-house afire; and you told Ben you wished it was burned down."

"But I didn't set it afire."

"That's just what I want to find out. That's what worries me; for I can't see how it happened, unless it took fire from that bucket of water I left on the floor."

Fanny was too much disturbed by the conduct of her boatman, or by some other circumstance, to laugh at Noddy's joke; and the brilliant sally was permitted to waste itself without an appreciative smile. She sat looking at the angry flames as they devoured the building, while her companion vainly attempted to hit upon a satisfactory explanation of the cause of the fire. Noddy was perplexed; he was absolutely worried, not so much by the probable consequences to himself of the unfortunate event, as by the cravings of his own curiosity. He did not see how it happened; and if a potent juggler had performed a wonderful feat in his presence, he could not have been more exercised in mind to know how it was done.

Noddy was neither a logician nor a philosopher; and therefore he was utterly unable to account for the origin of the fire. In vain he wasted his intellectual powers in speculations; in vain he tried to remember some exciting cause to which the calamity could be traced. Meanwhile, Miss Fanny was deliberating quite as diligently over another question; for she apparently regarded the destruction of the boat-house as a small affair, and did not concern herself to know how it had been caused. But she was very anxious to reach Whitestone before ten o'clock, and her rebellious boatman had intimated his intention not to carry out his part of the agreement.

"What are you thinking about, Noddy?" asked she, when both had maintained silence for the full space of three minutes, which was a longer period than either of them had ever before kept still while awake.

"I was thinking of that fire," replied Noddy, removing his gaze from the burning building, and fixing it upon her.

"Are you going to Whitestone, or not?" continued she, impatiently.

"No; I don't want to go to Whitestone, while all of them down there are talking about me, and saying I set the boat-house afire."

"They will believe you did it, too."

"But I didn't, Miss Fanny. You know I didn't."

"How should I know it?"

"Because I was with you; besides, you came out of the boat-house after I did."

"If you will row me over to Whitestone, I will say so; and I will tell them I know you didn't do it."

Noddy considered the matter for a moment, and, perhaps concluding that it was safer for him to keep on the right side of Miss Fanny, he signified his acceptance of the terms by taking up his oars, and pulling towards Whitestone. But he was not satisfied; he was as uneasy as a fish out of water; and nothing but the tyranny of the wayward young lady in the boat would have induced him to flee from the trouble which was brewing at Woodville. He had quite lost sight of the purpose which had induced him to disobey Bertha's orders.

Our young adventurers had not left Woodville without an object. There was a circus at Whitestone--a travelling company which had advertised to give three grand performances on that day. Miss Fanny wanted to go; but, either because her father was otherwise occupied, or because he did not approve of circuses, he had declined to go with her. Bertha did not want to go, and also had an engagement.

Fanny had set her heart upon going; and she happened to be too wilful, just at that period, to submit to the disappointment to which her father's convenience or his principles doomed her. Bertha had gone to the city at an early hour in the morning to spend the day with a friend, and Fanny decided that she would go to the circus, in spite of all obstacles, and in the face of her father's implied prohibition. When she had proceeded far enough to rebel, in her own heart, against the will of her father, the rest of the deed was easily accomplished.

Noddy had never been to a circus; and when Fanny told him what it was,--how men rode standing up on their horses; how they turned somersets, and played all sorts of antics on the tight rope and the slack rope; and, above all, what funny things the clowns said and did,--he was quite ready to do almost anything to procure so rare a pleasure as witnessing such a performance must afford him. It did not require any persuasion to induce him to assist Fanny in her disobedience. The only obstacle which had presented itself was his morning work in the boat-house, which Bertha's departure for the city had prevented him from doing at an earlier hour.