Page:St. Nicholas (serial) (IA stnicholasserial321dodg).pdf/218

144 one near the lantern where he had hung it a week ago. Neil went across to mark his morning’s record upon it. He had swept east that morning, and taking out his pencil he started to mark his “ E” in the corner of the first square on the new calendar. Then suddenly he stopped and gasped, his breath rising white in the frosty air, and his very heart seemed to stop beating, for he saw that the last mark on the old calendar, which he had been certain had been a “W,” was an “E” also!

It seemed to Neil as though the little penciled letters, the record of his work, stood out from the white sheets with a double blackness. The little calendar’s very face appeared to have suddenly grown cold and hard toward him. What had he done? How could he have done it? He had swept in the wrong direction! He had swept east out of turn. He had broken his contract—or at least the strict terms of its conditions, the fulfilment of which “to the letter” had been made as rigorous a requirement as any portion of it.

He stood and stared up at the fateful pencil-marks, scarcely crediting his eyes. He traced the record back through the days of December, and noted each alternation, Then he returned to the record which showed his error, and stared at it again till his eyes blurred suddenly and he had to gulp very hard and think fast to keep the tears from overflowing.

Suddenly he turned from his calendar, caught the broom from its hook, and swept the floor again, this time in a westerly direction. He did not reason out exactly why he did this. His mind was not wholly clear. There was a very heavy ache in his heart and in his throat, but he was not yet owning to himself the reason for it. He was trying to think, but only two ideas would come to him, and he did not like either of them, and he fought each off before it fairly formed in his mind. It seemed to him that he must have more time before he could judge just what he ought to do, yet he knew it was not time he wanted.

He finished his second sweeping, hung up his broom, and closed the barn as usual; and then, as he stood in the early sunlight outside and looked up at the clear, beautiful sky, he suddenly faced his question squarely. Had he failed to keep his contract? There was no doubt about it. Then he had forfeited all right to the promised payment for his work, even if his breach had been of the least important and most unreasonable part of the agreement. There could be no question of it.

He did not feel like crying now. A cold, heavy weight seemed bearing down upon his heart—a weight which made him ache all over with a weary helplessness. He did not know what to do. He dreaded to go home and meet his father and mother. How could he tell them? Yet he could not stay here.

He walked slowly down the path, his thoughts running on. What should he do now about the sweeping? Of course, as he had failed and forfeited his wages, there would be no use in going on with the work, He might as well stop and confess to his mother that he had failed. But if he did that the barn would not be swept. There was no one else to do it. Certainly he did not believe, as his mother had hinted, that Dr. Ferris had hired him for work that was quite unnecessary, and if the work was necessary, how could he leave it when Dr. Ferris had trusted him to attend carefully to it? Besides, he had promised.

Neil’s mind grew slightly confused, and he went over the ground again. Yes, he had forfeited all pay for his labor, and could not expect to receive a single cent for the whole winter’s work; yet he could not see how that fact lessened his obligation to complete the work as nearly according to contract as possible. His heart rebelled at the thought, but his sense of right was unclouded and he was sure there could be no alternative.

By the time he reached home Neil’s head was aching with the worry, the tumult of thoughts, and the consciousness of his failure; but he tried to make nothing of it, and met the others at breakfast with an attempt to cover his real feelings. But his mother saw the signs of pain in his eyes.

“What’s the matter, Neil?” she asked anxiously, as the boy tried to look at her bravely; but he was obliged to drop his eyes to his plate. “Are you sick? What is it?”

“Oh, nothing, mother, My head aches, that ’s all; but it ’s a bad headache,” he said.