“Simon, what are you doing this afternoon? Come out somewhere with me!”
“Impossible, Patrick; I’ve promised to meet a chum.”
“Alright, I’ll go with you. I don’t feel like sweating over moldy old books on a half holiday.”
Simon Conty looked uncomfortable. “Listen, you can’t come with me. I’m awfully sorry, really. It’s something I can’t explain to you. Hum ... . It’s something very special, you know.”
“Go by yourself then, you sly-fox! I don’t require your company.” Patrick turned abruptly and went home hastily. Throwing his satchel in the narrow passage, he rushed into the kitchen, grabbed some sugar and nearly half a loaf of bread, and descended the stairs at breakneck speed. “A good job Carol hasn’t got home,” he thought; “if only I have time to make my escape before she arrives, or she might make me do some work! It’s a long time since I went to see Ralph; perhaps he has forgotten me.”
Patrick rode hard in order to get warm. It was near the end of November; more than a month since he had been over that ground. He found Philip’s father getting ready to saw some wood in the yard and lost no time in asking about Ralph.
“What a pity! Sorry to disappoint you, my boy; but Philip had to go to town and took the dog with him. They’ve become such good friends that wherever Philip goes Ralph wants to go, too.”
“Oh well! I must go back again,” said Patrick, visibly disappointed. “I brought some sugar for Ralph. Please give it to him with my best wishes,” he added, smiling.
“Try to come again soon,” said the farmer. “Philip is not often away, there’s too much work here for him to go out much. And you - anything interesting to tell me? Nothing but school, I suppose? What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“I don’t know yet,” replied Patrick. “I’d just love a job with travel and adventures; airman, reporter or something like that.”
“Hum!” said the old farmer, looking earnestly into the boy’s face; “we have many dreams when we are young like you, but actually there is One who chooses our path: the only thing we must do is to let Him guide. He never makes a mistake.”
“What do you mean?” asked the boy, quite puzzled. “No one can decide for us.”
“One can choose for himself, it is true,” said Mr. Berger, putting a large log on his sawing horse. “One can go his own way, but it is not the way to find happiness. It is much better to be guided.”
“By whom? I don’t understand you.”
“Don’t you really know the One who holds your life in His hands?”
“You mean God, I suppose,” said Patrick, reddening a little.
“Certainly: God the Father and Jesus Christ. Have you put your hand in His? You are never too young to give Him your heart.”
Amazed by these unfamiliar words of the farmer and ill at ease, Patrick only wished now to get away.
But the kindly expression of Philip’s father kept him spellbound.
“Listen, my lad: for over fifty years I have belonged to Him, and I have never regretted it. He calls us one by one; it won’t do to turn a deaf ear. ‘Today, if you will hear His voice, harden not your heart’” (Hebrews 4:77Again, he limiteth a certain day, saying in David, To day, after so long a time; as it is said, To day if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts. (Hebrews 4:7)).
A gust of wind made Patrick shiver; he wanted to get moving. At this moment a voice called: “Dad! the tea is ready!”
“Stop, don’t hurry off. Come and drink a cup of tea with us,” urged Mr. Berger. “I have kept you talking and you look frozen.”
Inside the big farmhouse kitchen Patrick made the acquaintance of Mrs. Berger, a good deal younger than her husband, full of energy and good humor; he also met their three other sons, Claud, Luke and Raymond, two of them were his juniors.
“You’ll find room there,” said the pleasant hostess, pointing out a vacant place on the bench; “I’ve just baked some fresh currant loaves. Come, help yourself. I know what boy’s appetites are! Take plenty.”
How delightful it was in that warm, old-fashioned kitchen with its low ceiling, its walls darkened by time, and its rustic furnishing! A large gray cat was sleeping on a cushion. On the long oaken table steamed an enormous earthenware teapot. Was it the sound of the fire rumbling in the stove, the hot cup of tea, or the hearty welcome of the Berger family which cheered Patrick most? He could not have said, but it was a long time since he had had such a feeling of security and peace. He certainly felt in no hurry to depart.
After the meal Raymond, the youngest boy, offered to show him the stables and cowsheds. By the time he had explored everything the sun was near its setting. Patrick went in to thank his new friends before leaving and promised to come again.
On his way home he was seized with the desire to make a detour in order to have a closer look at the mysterious hut which he had noticed when he took Ralph back to the farm, and to find out if it really was inhabited. Leaving his bicycle against a tree, Patrick struggled along an overgrown path, through many tangled bushes, and came at last to the tiny dwelling, almost hidden by thick black fir trees. While walking round it, he was suddenly aware of a streak of light from a crack in the door. Then a murmur of muffled voices reached him. Putting his ear to the door, he listened. An exclamation, louder than the others, made him jump; he knew that voice, without a shadow of doubt! Another voice, like that of a leader broke in, and soon silenced the others.
“I have something to propose this evening. Our gang now consists of five members; that’s not quite enough, but we must be very particular in choosing new members. But it’s time to find a name and a code. Each of you suggest something.”
Patrick, more and more intrigued, held his breath and pressed closer to the crack in the door.
“I propose ‘The Knights Without Fear,’ said one ... ” “And without Reproach? No, that is scarcely us. We must have something more modern.”
“The Black Hands.”
“Hackneyed!”
“The Pirates of the Wild Woods.”
“Too Long.”
“The Invisible Eye.”
“What about ‘The Jolly Outlaws’?” suggested the leader. This was unanimously approved.
“And the password?”
“Open sesame?”
“No! J.O.S. for ‘Jolly Outlaws Society.’”
A loud sneeze plunged the hut into startled silence. Then the door burst open and five big lads set off after Patrick, who headed towards the road. He was about to jump on his bicycle when an iron grip closed on his collar. Cornered and assailed on all sides, he was led back to the hut, and five pairs of indignant eyes stared at him under the flickering light of the lantern.
“Why! Is it you?” cried Simon, recognizing his school-fellow, who was holding off three older boys.
“Let me go! You have no right to keep me,” cried Patrick, struggling valiantly. “Come, Simon, speak to them!”
“You are a spy!” said the leader. “According to our law, you should pay dearly. Confess! What were you doing here?”
“I wanted to make sure if the hut was inhabited. I heard a noise inside, and I listened. This hut is not yours, I bet.”
Simon made a sign to the leader who went outside with him. “Guard the prisoner,” he said to the remaining three; “we are going to decide on his fate.”
Patrick, judging that all resistance was useless, since he was one against three, sat down and inspected the hut by the light of the two lanterns suspended from nails. Thick cobwebs decorated the ceiling; the only furnishings were some old cases turned upside down and a worn-out stove where the fire was dying out. This cabin, Patrick learned later, had been the home of a road mender. After his death, the land had been bought by a speculator, who hesitated to pull down the hut in hopes of finding a lover of solitude disposed to offer him triple the price that he paid! This explains how the hut became the rendezvous of a secret gang.
The door opened and the leader, followed by Simon, burst with a gust of icy wind into the little dark room.
“This is what we propose,” said the elder boy. “Choose! Either you agree to join our gang and sign this paper; or we tie you up and you spend the night here shivering, all alone. I just mention that the rats would keep you company!”
“That doesn’t frighten me,” said Patrick; “show me this paper and tell me what you do.”
“We don’t confide our secrets to outsiders. Here is the page to sign on.”
Patrick read: “The signatory solemnly promises:
to become one of the band called “Jolly Outlaws Society.”
to tell no one, not even his parents, of their doings.
never to betray a fellow member.
to obey all orders given.
to have the same friends and the same enemies as his allies.
to present himself once a fortnight (except for very important reasons) at the place of meeting indicated.
to contribute fifty cents a month towards the expenses of the society.
Much impressed, Patrick said again; “I want to know what you do; I can’t promise without considering it.”
“Come on, sign it!” said Simon; “you’ll be awfully glad to be one of us, as you love adventures and detective stories. For weeks I’ve been longing to invite you. We just play tricks on those who deserve them, and punish milksops - like John Garnier. We have great fun, my word! Life is never dull when we’re all together.”
The wind whistled in the old stove pipe where the last embers burned feebly. One of the lanterns was out. Patrick, pencil in hand, read over the conditions of membership, while the other boys grew impatient. He seemed to hear Mr. Berger’s voice saying, “One can choose, it is true, and go his own way, but it is not the way to find happiness.” What would Philip do in his place? If only he could have stayed at the farm!
“You don’t do anything bad?” he ventured.
The reply was mocking laughter; “Ah, the young saint! The precious innocent! We must let him go back to his mother!”
“He will be contaminated in our company!” “Shut up!” said Simon angrily. “Patrick is not a noodle. I know him. At school he knows how to fight; he never shows the white feather. He will make us a good comrade.”
Dad is gone, thought Patrick; the house is sold; I’ve lost Ralph. There’s nothing interesting at home now. To be one of a secret gang is a chance I shan’t get again. “I’ll sign,” he said quickly; “there, it is done!”
“Good!” said the chief. “We’ll introduce ourselves. My name is Cyril. Here are Bob, Charles and Andrew. At our next meeting we’ll set our plans working. Simon will give you the orders. Now go! one by one, so that no one notices us. So long, my merry men!”