CHAPTER
XII
The Horn of the Hunter
"The dusky night rides down the sky,
And ushers in the morn:
The hounds all join in glorious cry,
The huntsman winds his horn."
Leon said our house reminded him of the mourners' bench before any
one had "come through." He said it was so deadly with
Sally and Shelley away, that he had a big notion to marry Susie
Fall and bring her over to liven things up a little. Mother said
she thought that would be a good idea, and Leon started in the direction
of Falls', but he only went as far as Deams'. When he came back
he had a great story to tell about dogs chasing their sheep, and
foxes taking their geese. Father said sheep were only safe behind
securely closed doors, especially in winter, and geese also. Leon
said every one hadn't as big a barn as ours, and father said there
was nothing to prevent any man from building the sized barn he needed
to shelter his creatures in safety and comfort, if he wanted to
dig in and earn the money to put it up. There was no answer to that,
and Mr. Leon didn't try to make any. Mostly, he said something to
keep on talking, but sometimes he saw when he had better quit.
I was having a good time, myself. Of course when the fever was the
worst, and when I never had been sick before, it was pretty bad,
but as soon as I could breathe all right, there was no pain to speak
of, and every one was so good to me. I could have Bobby on the footboard
of my bed as long as I wanted him, and he would crow whenever I
told him to. I kept Grace Greenwood beside me, and spoiled her dress
making her take some of each dose of medicine I did, but Shelley
wrote that she was saving goods and she would make her another as
soon as she came home. I made mother put red flannel on Grace's
chest and around her neck, until I could hardly find her mouth when
she had to take her medicine, but she swallowed it down all right,
or she got her nose held, until she did. She was not nearly so sick
as I was, though. We both grew better together, and, when Dr. Fenner
brought me candy, she had her share.
When I began to get well it was lovely. Such toast, chicken broth,
and squirrels, as mother always had. I even got the chicken liver,
oranges, and all of them gave me everything they had that I wanted--I
must almost have died to make them act like that!
Laddie and father would take me up wrapped in blankets and hold
me to rest my back. Father would rock me and sing about "Young
Johnny," just as he had when I was little. We always laughed
at it, we knew it was a fool song, but we liked it. The tune was
smooth and sleepy-like and the words went:
"One day young Johnny, he did go,
Way down in the meadow for to mow.
Li-tu-di-nan-incty, tu-di-nan-incty, noddy O!
He scarce had mowed twice round the field,
When a pesky sarpent bit him on the heel,
Li-tu-di-nan-incty, tu-di-nan-incty, noddy O!
He threw the scythe upon the ground,
An' shut his eyes, and looked all round,
Li-tu-di-nan-incty, tu-di-nan-incty, noddy O!
He took the sarpent in his hand,
And then ran home to Molly Bland,
Li-tu-di-nan-incty, tu-di-nan-incty, noddy O!
O Molly dear, and don't you see,
This pesky sarpent that bit me?
Li-tu-di-nan-incty, tu-di-nan-incty, noddy O!
O Johnny dear, why did you go,
Way down in the meadow fot to mow?
Li-tu-di-nan-incty, tu-di-nan-incty, noddy O!
O Molly dear, I thought you knowed
'Twas daddy's grass, and it must be mowed,
Li-tu-di-nan-incty, tu-di-n an-incty, noddy O!
Now all young men a warning take,
And don't get bit by a rattlesnake.
Li-tu-di-nan-incty, tu-di-nan-incty, noddy O!"
All of them told me stories, read to me, and Frank, one of my
big gone-away brothers, sent me the prettiest little book. It
had a green cover with gold on the back, and it was full of stories
and poems, not so very hard, because I could read every one of
them, with help on a few words. The piece I liked best was poetry.
If it hadn't been for that, I'm afraid, I was having such a good
time, I'd have lain there until I forgot how to walk, with all
of them trying to see who could be nicest to me. The ones who
really could, were Laddie and the Princess, except mother. Laddie
lifted me most carefully, the Princess told the best stories,
but after all, if the burning and choking grew so bad I could
scarcely stand it, mother could lay her hand on my head and say,
"Poor child," in a way that made me work to keep on
breathing. Maybe I only THOUGHT I loved Laddie best. I guess if
I had been forced to take my choice when I had the fever, I'd
have stuck pretty tight to mother. Even Dr. Fenner said if I pulled
through she'd have to make me. I might have been lying there yet,
if it hadn't been for the book Frank sent me, with the poetry
piece in it. It began:
"Somewhere on a sunny bank, buttercups are bright,
Somewhere 'mid the frozen grass, peeps the daisy white."
I read that so often I could repeat it quite as well with the
book shut as open, and every time I read it, I wanted outdoors
worse. In one place it ran:
"Welcome, yellow buttercups, welcome daisies white,
Ye are in my spirit visioned a delight.
Coming in the springtime of sunny hours to tell,
Speaking to our hearts of Him who doeth all things well."
That piece helped me out of bed, and the blue gander screaming
opened the door. It was funny about it too. I don't know WHY it
worked on me that way; it just kept singing in my heart all day,
and I could shut my eyes and go to sleep seeing buttercups in
a gold sheet all over our Big Hill, although there never was a
single one there; and meadows full of daisies, which were things
father said were a pest he couldn't tolerate, because they spread
so, and he grubbed up every one he found. Yet that piece filled
our meadow until I imagined I could roll on daisies. They might
be a pest to farmers, but sheets of them were pretty good if you
were burning with fever. Between the buttercups and the daisies
I left the bed with a light head and wobbly legs.
Of course I wasn't an idiot. I knew when I looked from our south
window exactly what was to be seen. The person who wrote that
piece was the idiot. It sang and sounded pretty, and it pulled
you up and pushed you out, but really it was a fool thing, as
I very well knew. I couldn't imagine daisies peeping through frozen
grass. Any baby should have known they bloomed in July. Skunk
cabbage always came first, and hepatica. If I had looked from
any of our windows and seen daisies and buttercups in March, I'd
have fallen over with the shock. I knew there would be frozen
brown earth, last year's dead leaves, caved-in apple and potato
holes, the cabbage row almost gone, puddles of water and mud everywhere,
and I would hear geese scream and hens sing. And yet that poem
kept pulling and pulling, and I was happy as a queen--I wondered
if they were for sure; mother had doubts--the day I was wrapped
in shawls and might sit an hour in the sun on the top board of
the back fence, where I could see the barn, orchard, the creek
and the meadow, as you never could in summer because of the leaves.
I wasn't looking for buttercups and daisies either. I mighty well
knew there wouldn't be any.
But the sun was there. A little taste of willow, oak and maple
was in the air. You could see the buds growing fat too, and you
could smell them. If you opened your eyes and looked in any direction
you could see blue sky, big, ragged white clouds, bare trees,
muddy earth with grassy patches, and white spots on the shady
sides where unmelted snow made the icy feel in the air, even when
the sun shone. You couldn't hear yourself think for the clatter
of the turkeys, ganders, roosters, hens, and everything that had
a voice. I was so crazy with it I could scarcely hang to the fence;
I wanted to get down and scrape my wings like the gobbler, and
scream louder than the gander, and crow oftener than the rooster.
There was everything all ice and mud. They would have frozen,
if they hadn't been put in a house at night, and starved, if they
hadn't been fed; they were not at the place where they could hunt
and scratch, and not pay any attention to feeding time, because
of being so bursting full. They had no nests and babies to rejoice
over. But there they were! And so was I! Buttercups and daisies
be-hanged! Ice and mud really! But if you breathed that air, and
shut your eyes, north, you could see blue flags, scarlet lilies,
buttercups, cattails and redbirds sailing over them; east, there
would be apple bloom and soft grass, cowslips, and bubbling water,
robins, thrushes, and bluebirds; and south, waving corn with wild
rose and alder borders, and sparrows, and larks on every fence
rider.
Right there I got that daisy thing figured out. It wasn't that
there were or ever would be daisies and buttercups among the frozen
grass; but it was forever and always that when this FEEL came
into the air, you knew they were COMING. THAT was what ailed the
gander and the gobbler. They hadn't a thing to be thankful for
yet, but something inside them was swelling and pushing because
of what was coming. I felt exactly as they did, because I wanted
to act the same way, but I'd been sick enough to know that I'd
better be thankful for the chance to sit on the fence, and think
about buttercups and daisies. Really, one old brown and purple
skunk cabbage with a half-frozen bee buzzing over it, or a few
forlorn little spring beauties, would have set me wild, and when
a lark really did go over, away up high, and a dove began to coo
in the orchard, if Laddie hadn't come for me, I would have fallen
from the fence.
I simply had to get well and quickly too, for the wonderful time
was beginning. It was all very well to lie in bed when there was
nothing else to do, and every one would pet me and give me things;
but here was maple syrup time right at the door, and the sugar
camp most fun alive; here was all the neighbourhood crazy mad
at the foxes, and planning a great chase covering a circuit of
miles before the ground thawed; here was Easter and all the children
coming, except Shelley--again, it would cost too much for only
one day--and with everything beginning to hum, I found out there
would be more amusement outdoors than inside. That was how I came
to study out the daisy piece. There was nothing in the silly,
untrue lines: the pull and tug was in what they made you think
of.
I was still so weak I had to take a nap every day, so I wasn't
sleepy as early at night, and I heard father and mother talk over
a lot of things before they went to bed. After they mentioned
it, I remembered that we hadn't received nearly so many letters
from Shelley lately, and mother seldom found time to read them
aloud during the day and forgot, or her eyes were tired, at night.
"Are you worrying about Shelley?" asked father one night.
"Yes, I am," answered mother.
"What do you think is the trouble?"
"I'm afraid things are not coming out with Mr. Paget as she
hoped."
"If they don't, she is going to be unhappy?"
"That's putting it mildly."
"Well, I was doubtful in the beginning."
"Now hold on," said mother. "So was I; but what
are you going to do? I can't go through the world with my girls,
and meet men for them. I trained them just as carefully as possible
before I started them out; that was all I could do. Shelley knows
when a man appears clean, decent and likable. She knows when his
calling is respectable. She knows when his speech is proper, his
manners correct, and his ways attractive. She found this man all
of these things, and she liked him accordingly. At Christmas she
told me about it freely."
"Have you any idea how far the thing has gone?"
"She said then that she had seen him twice a week for two
months.
He seemed very fond of her. He had told her he cared more for
her than any girl he ever had met, and he had asked her to come
here this summer and pay us a visit, so she wanted to know if
he might."
"Of course you told her yes."
"Certainly I told her yes. I wish now we'd saved money and
you'd gone to visit her and met him when she first wrote of him.
You could have found out who and what he was, and with your experience
you might have pointed out signs that would have helped her to
see, before it was too late."
"What do you think is the trouble?"
"I wish I knew! She simply is failing to mention him in her
letters; all the joy of living has dropped from them, she merely
writes about her work; and now she is beginning to complain of
homesickness and to say that she doesn't know how to endure the
city any longer. There's something wrong."
"Had I better go now?"
"Too late!" said mother, and I could hear her throat
go wrong and the choke come into her voice. "She is deeply
in love with him; he hasn't found in her what he desires; probably
he is not coming any more; what could you do?"
"I could go and see if there is anything I could do?"
"She may not want you. I'll write her to-morrow and suggest
that you or Laddie pay her a visit and learn what she thinks."
"All right," said father.
He kissed her and went to sleep, but mother was awake yet, and
she got up and stood looking down at the church and the two little
white gravestones she could see from her window, until I thought
she would freeze, and she did nearly, for her hands were cold
and the tears falling when she examined my covers, and felt my
face and hands before she went to bed. My, but the mother of a
family like ours is never short of a lot of things to think of!
I had a new one myself. Now what do you suppose there was about
that man?
Of course after having lived all her life with father and Laddie,
Shelley would know how a man should look, and act to be right;
and this one must have been right to make her bloom out in winter
the way other things do in spring; and now what could be wrong?
Maybe city girls were prettier than Shelley. But all women were
made alike on the outside, and that was as far as you could see.
You couldn't find out whether they had pure blood, true hearts,
or clean souls. No girl could be so very much prettier than Shelley;
they simply were not made that way. She knew how to behave; she
had it beaten into her, like all of us. And she knew her books,
what our schools could teach her, and Groveville, and Lucy, who
had city chances for years, and there never was a day at our house
when books and papers were not read and discussed, and your spelling
was hammered into you standing in rows against the wall, and memory
tests--what on earth could be the matter with Shelley that a man
who could make her look and act as she did at Christmas, would
now make her unhappy? Sometimes I wanted to be grown up dreadfully,
and again, times like that, I wished my bed could stay in mother's
room, and I could creep behind father's paper and go to sleep
between his coat and vest, and have him warm my feet in his hands
forever.
This world was too much for me. I never worked and worried in
all my life as I had over Laddie and the Princess, and Laddie
said I, myself, never would know how I had helped him. Of course
nothing was settled; he had to try to make her love him by teaching
her how lovable he was. We knew, because we always had known him,
but she was a stranger and had to learn. It was mighty fine for
him that he could force his way past the dogs, Thomas, the other
men, her half-crazy father, and through the locked door, and go
there to try to make her see, on Sunday nights, and week days,
every single chance he could invent, and he could think up more
reasons for going to Pryors' than mother could for putting out
an extra wash.
Now just as I got settled a little about him, and we could see
they really wanted him there, at least the Princess and her mother
did, and Mr. Pryor must have been fairly decent or Laddie never
would have gone; and the Princess came to our house to bring me
things to eat, and ask how mother was, and once to learn how she
embroidered Sally's wedding chemise, and social things like that;
and when father acted as if he liked her so much he hadn't a word
to say, and mother seemed to begin to feel as if Laddie and the
Princess could be trusted to fix it up about God; and the old
mystery didn't matter after all; why, here Shelley popped up with
another mystery, and it belonged to us. But whatever ailed that
man I couldn't possibly think. It had got to be him, for Shelley
was so all right at Christmas, it made her look that pretty we
hardly knew her.
I was thinking about her until I scarcely could study my lessons,
so I could recite to Laddie at night, and not fall so far behind
at school. Miss Amelia offered to hear me, but I just begged Laddie,
and father could see that he taught me fifty things in a lesson
that you could tell to look at Miss Amelia, she never knew. Why,
he couldn't hear me read:
"We charged upon a flock of geese,
And put them all to flight
Except one sturdy gander
That thought to show us fight,"--
without teaching me that the oldest picture in all the world was
made of a row of geese, some of which were kinds we then had--the
earth didn't seem so old when you thought of that--and how a flock
of geese once wakened an army and saved a city, and how far wild
geese could fly without alighting in migration, and everything
you could think of about geese, only he didn't know why eating
the same grass made feathers on geese and wool on sheep. Anyway,
Miss Amelia never told you a word but what was in the book, and
how to read and spell it. May said that father was very much disappointed
in her, and he was never going to hire another teacher until he
met and talked with her, no matter what kind of letters she could
send. He was not going to help her get a summer school, and O
my soul! I hope no one does, for if they do, I have to go, and
I'd rather die than go to school in the summer.
Leon came in about that time with more fox stories. Been in Jacob
Hood's chicken house and taken his best Dorking rooster, and father
said it was time to do something. He never said a word so long
as they took Deams', except they should have barn room for their
geese, but when anything was the matter at Hoods' father and mother
started doing something the instant they heard of it. So father
and Laddie rode around the neighbourhood and talked it over, and
the next night they had a meeting at our schoolhouse; men for
miles came, and they planned a regular old- fashioned foxchase,
and every one was wild about it.
Laddie told it at Pryors' and the Princess wanted to go; she asked
to go with him, and if you please, Mr. Pryor wanted to go too,
and their Thomas. They attended the meeting to tell how people
chase foxes in England, where they seem to hunt them most of the
time. Father said: "Thank God for even a foxchase, if it
will bring Mr. Pryor among his neighbours and help him to act
sensibly." They are going away fifteen miles or farther,
and form a big circle of men from all directions, some walking
in a line, and others riding to bring back any foxes that escape,
and with dogs, and guns, they are going to rout out every one
they can find, and kill them so they won't take the geese, little
pigs, lambs, and Hoods' Dorking rooster. Laddie had a horn that
Mr. Pryor gave him when he told him this country was showing signs
of becoming civilized at last; but Leon grinned and said he'd
beat that.
Then when you wanted him, he was in the wood house loft at work,
but father said he couldn't get into mischief there. He should
have seen that churn when it was full of wedding breakfast! We
ate for a week afterward, until things were all moulded, and we
didn't dare anymore. One night I begged so hard and promised so
faithfully he trusted me; he did often, after I didn't tell about
the Station; and I went to the loft with him, and watched him
work an hour. He had a hollow limb about six inches through and
fourteen long. He had cut and burned it to a mere shell, and then
he had scraped it with glass inside and out, until it shone like
polished horn. He had shaved the wool from a piece of sheepskin,
soaked, stretched, and dried it, and then fitted it over one end
of the drumlike thing he had made, and tacked and bound it in
a little groove at the edge. He put the skin on damp so he could
stretch it tight. Then he punched a tiny hole in the middle, and
pulled through it, down inside the drum, a sheepskin thong rolled
in resin, with a knot big enough to hold it, and not tear the
head. Then he took it under his arm and we slipped across the
orchard below the Station, and went into the hollow and tried
it.
It worked! I almost fell dead with the first frightful sound.
It just bellowed and roared. In only a little while he found different
ways to make it sound by his manner of working the tongue. A long,
steady, even pull got that kind of a roar. A short, quick one
made it bark. A pull half the length of the thong, a pause, and
another pull, made it sound like a bark and a yelp. To pull hard
and quick, made it go louder, and soft and easy made it whine.
Before he had tried it ten minutes he could do fifty things with
it that would almost scare the livers out of those nasty old foxes
that were taking every one's geese, Dorking roosters, and even
baby lambs and pigs. Of course people couldn't stand that; something
had to be done!
Even in the Bible it says, "Beware of the little foxes that
spoil the vines," and geese, especially blue ones, Dorking
roosters, lambs, and pigs were much more valuable than mere vines;
so Leon made that awful thing to scare the foxes from their holes
that's in the Bible too, about the holes I mean, not the scaring.
I wanted Leon to slip to the back door and make the dumb-bell--
that's what he called it; if I had been naming it I would have
called it the thunder-bell--go; but he wouldn't. He said he didn't
propose to work as he had, and then have some one find out, and
fix one like it. He said he wouldn't let it make a sound until
the night before the chase, and then he'd raise the dead. I don't
know about the dead; but it was true of the living. Father went
a foot above his chair and cried: "Whoo- pee!" All of
us, even I, when I was waiting for it, screamed as if Paddy Ryan
raved at the door. Then Leon came in and showed us, and every
one wanted to work the dumb-bell, even mother. Leon marched around
and showed off; he looked "See the conquering hero comes,"
all over. I never felt worse about being made into a girl than
I did that night.
I couldn't sleep for excitement, and mother said I might as well,
for it would be at least one o'clock before they would round-up
in our meadow below the barn. All the neighbours were to shut
up their stock, tie their dogs, or lead them with chains, if they
took them, so when the foxes were surrounded, they could catch
them alive, and save their skins. I wondered how some of those
chasing people, even Laddie, Leon, and father--think of that!
father was going too--I wondered how they would have liked to
have had something as much bigger than they were, as they were
bigger than the foxes, chase them with awful noises, guns and
dogs, and catch them alive--to save their skins. No wonder I couldn't
sleep! I guess the foxes wouldn't either, if they had known what
was coming. Maybe hereafter the mean old things would eat rabbits
and weasels, and leave the Dorking roosters alone.
May, Candace, and Miss Amelia were going to Deams' to wait, and
when the round-up formed a solid line, they planned to stand outside,
and see the sport. If they had been the foxes, maybe they wouldn't
have thought it was so funny; but of course, people just couldn't
have even their pigs and lambs taken. We had to have wool to spin
yarn for our stockings, weave our blankets and coverlids, and
our Sunday winter dresses of white flannel with narrow black crossbars
were from the backs of our own sheep, and we had to have ham to
fry with eggs, and boil for Sunday night suppers, and bacon to
cook the greens with--of course it was all right.
Before it was near daylight I heard Laddie making the kitchen
fire, so father got right up, Leon came down, and all of them
went to the barn to do the feeding. I wanted to get up too, but
mother said I should stay in bed until the house was warm, because
if I took more cold I'd be sick again. At breakfast May asked
father about when they should start for Deams' to be ahead of
the chase, and he said by ten o'clock at least; because a fox
driven mad by pursuit, dogs, and noise, was a very dangerous thing,
and a bite might make hy----the same thing as a mad dog. He said
our back barn door opening from the threshing floor would afford
a fine view of the meet, but Candace, May, and Miss Amelia wanted
to be closer. I might go with them if they would take good care
of me, and they promised to; but when the time came to start,
there was such a queer feeling inside me, I thought maybe it was
more fever, and with mother would be the best place for me, so
I said I wanted to watch from the barn. Father thought that was
a capital idea, because I would be on the east side, where there
would be no sun and wind, and it would be perfectly safe; also,
I really could see what was going on better from that height than
on the ground.
The sun was going to shine, but it hadn't peeped above Deams'
strawstack when father on his best saddle horse, and Laddie on
Flos, rode away, their eyes shining, their faces red, their blood
pounding so it made their voices sound excited and different.
Leon was to go on foot. Father said he would ride a horse to death.
He just grinned and never made a word of complaint. Seemed funny
for him.
"I was over having a little confidential chat with my horse,
last night," he said, "and next year we'll be in the
chase, and we'll show you how to take fences, and cut curves;
just you wait!"
"Leon, DON'T build so on that horse," wailed mother.
"I'm sure that money was stolen like ours, and the owner
will claim it! I feel it in my bones!"
"Aw, shucks!" said Leon. "That money is mine. He
won't either!"
When they started, father took Leon behind him to ride as far
as the county line. He said he would go slowly, and it wouldn't
hurt the horse, but Leon slipped off at Hoods', and said he'd
go with their boys, so father let him, because light as Leon was,
both of them were quite a load for one horse. Laddie went to ride
with the Princess. We could see people moving around in Pryors'
barnyard when our men started. Candace washed, Miss Amelia wiped
the dishes, May swept, and all of them made the beds, and then
they went to Deams', while I stayed with mother. When she thought
it was time, she bundled me up warmly, and I went to the barn.
Father had the east doors standing open for me, so I could sit
in the sun, hang my feet against the warm boards, and see every
inch of our meadow where the meet was to be. I was really too
warm there, and had to take off the scarf, untie my hood, and
unbutton my coat.
It was a trifle muddy, but the frost had not left the ground yet,
the sparrows were singing fit to burst, so were the hens. I didn't
care much for the music of the hen, but I could see she meant
well. She liked her nest quite as much as the red velvet bird
with black wings, or the bubbly yellow one, and as for baby chickens,
from the first peep they beat a little naked, blind, wobbly tree
bird, so any hen had a right to sing for joy because she was going
to be the mother of a large family of them. A hen had something
was going to be the mother of a large family of them. A hen had
something to sing about all right, and so had we, when we thought
of poached eggs and fried chicken. When I remembered them, I saw
that it was no wonder the useful hen warbled so proudlike; but
that was all nonsense, for I don't suppose a hen ever tasted poached
eggs, and surely she wouldn't be happy over the prospect of being
fried. Maybe one reason she sang was because she didn't know what
was coming; I hardly think she'd be so tuneful if she did.
Sometimes the geese, shut in the barn, raised an awful clatter,
and the horses and cattle complained about being kept from the
sunshine and fresh air. You couldn't blame them. It was a lovely
day, and the big upper door the pleasantest place. I didn't care
if the fox hunters never came, there was so much to see, hear,
and smell. Everything was busy making signs of spring, and one
could become tired of ice and snow after a while, and so hungry
for summer that those first days which were just hints of what
was coming were almost better than the real thing when it arrived.
Bud perfume was stronger than last week, many doves and bluebirds
were calling, and three days more of such sunshine would make
cross-country riding too muddy to be pleasant. I sat there thinking;
grown people never know how much children do think, they have
so much time, and so many bothersome things to study out. I heard
it behind me, a long, wailing, bellowing roar, and my hood raised
right up with my hair. I was in the middle of the threshing floor
in a second, in another at the little west door, cut into the
big one, opening it a tiny crack to take a peep, and see how close
they were.
I could see nothing, but I heard a roar of dreadful sound steadily
closing in a circle around me. No doubt the mean old foxes wished
then they had let the Dorking roosters alone. Closer it came and
more dreadful. Never again did I want to hear such sounds coming
at me; even when I knew what was making them. And then away off,
beyond Pryors', and Hoods', and Dovers', I could see a line of
tiny specks coming toward me, and racing flying things that must
have been people on horses riding back and forth to give the foxes
no chance to find a hiding place. No chance! Laddie and the Princess,
Mr. Pryor and father, and all of them were after the bad old foxes;
and they were going to get them; because they'd have no chance--Not
with a solid line of men with raving dogs surrounding them, and
people on horseback racing after them, no! the foxes would wish
now that they had left the pigs and lambs alone. In that awful
roaring din, they would wish, Oh how they would wish, they were
birds and could fly! Fly back to their holes like the Bible said
they had, where maybe they LIKED to live, and no doubt they had
little foxes there, that would starve when their mammies were
caught alive, to save their skins.
To save their skins! I could hear myself breathe, and feel my
teeth click, and my knees knock together. And then! Oh dear! There
they came across our cornfield. Two of them! And they could fly,
almost. At least you could scarcely see that they touched the
ground. The mean old things were paying up for the pigs and lambs
now. Through the fence, across the road, straight toward me they
came. Almost red backs, nearly white beneath, long flying tails,
beautiful pointed ears, and long tongues, fire red, hanging from
their open mouths; their sleek sides pulsing, and that awful din
coming through the woods behind them. One second, the first paused
to glance toward either side, and threw back its head to listen.
What it saw, and heard, showed it. I guess then it was sorry it
ever took people's ham, and their greens, and their blankets;
and it could see and hear that it had no chance--to save its skin.
"Oh Lord! Dear Lord! Help me!" I prayed.
It had to be me, there was no one else. I never had opened the
big doors; I thought it took a man, but when I pushed with all
my might--and maybe if the hairs of our heads were numbered, and
the sparrows counted, there would be a little mercy for the foxes--I
asked for help; maybe I got it. The doors went back, and I climbed
up the ladder to the haymow a few steps and clung there, praying
with all my might: "Make them come in! Dear Lord, make them
come in! Give them a chance! Help them to save their skins, O
Lord!"
With a whizz and a flash one went past me, skimmed the cider press,
and rushed across the hay; then the other. I fell to the floor
and the next thing I knew the doors were shut, and I was back
at my place. I just went down in a heap and leaned against the
wall and shook, and then I laughed and said: "Thank you,
Lord! Thank you for helping with the door! And the foxes! The
beautiful little red and white foxes! They've got their chance!
They'll save their skins! They'll get back to their holes and
their babies! Praise the Lord!"
I knew when I heard that come out, that it was exactly like my
father said it when Amos Hurd was redeemed. I never knew father
to say it so impressively before, because Amos had been so bad,
people really were afraid of him, and father said if once he got
started right, he would go at it just as hard as he had gone at
wrongdoing. I suppose I shouldn't have said it about a fox, when
there were the Dorkings, and ham, and white wool dresses, and
all that, but honestly, I couldn't remember that I cared particularly
whether Amos Hurd was redeemed or not; he was always lovely to
children; while I never in all my life had wanted anything worse
than I wanted those foxes to save their skins. I could hear them
pant like run out dogs; and I could hear myself, and I hadn't
been driven from my home and babies, maybe--and chased miles and
miles, either.
Then I just shook. They came pounding, roaring and braying right
around the barn, and down the lane. The little door flew open
and a strange man stuck in his head.
"Shut that door!" I screamed. "You'll let them
in on me, and they bite! They're poison! They'll kill me!"
I hadn't even thought of it before.
"See any foxes?" cried the man.
"Two crossed our barnyard headed that way!" I cried
back, pointing east. "Shut the door!"
The man closed it and ran calling as he went: "It's all right!
They crossed the barnyard. We've got them!"
I began to dance and beat my hands, and then I stopped and held
my breath. They were passing, and the noise was dreadful. They
struck the sides of the barn, poked around the strawstack, and
something made me look up, and at the edge of the hay stood a
fox ready to spring. If it did, it would go from the door, right
into the midst thereof. Nothing but my red hood sailing straight
at it, and a yell I have, drove it back. No one hit the barn again,
the line closed up, and went on at a run now, they were so anxious
to meet and see what they had. Then came the beat of hoofs and
I saw that all the riders had dropped back, and were behind the
line of people on foot. I watched Laddie as he flew past waving
to me, and I grabbed my scarf to wave at him. The Princess flashed
by so swiftly I couldn't see how she looked, and then I heard
a voice I knew cry: "Ep! Ep! Over Lad!" And I almost
fell dead where I stood. Mr. Pryor sailed right over the barnyard
fence into the cornfield, ripping that dumb-bell as he went, and
neck and neck, even with him, on one of his finest horses, was
our Leon. His feet were in the stirrups, he had the reins tight,
he almost stood as he arose, his face was crimson, his head bare,
his white hair flying, the grandest sight you ever saw. At the
top of my voice I screamed after them, "Ep! Ep! Over lad!"
and then remembered and looked to see if I had to chase back the
foxes, but they didn't mind only me, after what they had been
through. Then I sat down suddenly again.
Well! What would father think of that! Leon kill a horse of ours
indeed! There he was on one of Mr. Pryor's, worth as much as six
of father's no doubt, flying over fences, and the creek was coming,
and the bank was steep behind the barn. I was up again straining
to see.
"Ep! Ep! Over!" rang the cry.
There they went! Laddie and the Princess too. I'll never spend
another cent on paper dolls, candy, raisins, or oranges. I'll
give all I have to help Leon buy his horse; then I'm going to
begin saving for mine.
The line closed up, a solid wall of men with sticks, clubs and
guns; the dogs ranged outside, and those on horseback stopped
where they could see best; and inside, raced back and forth, and
round and round, living creatures. I couldn't count they moved
so, but even at that distance I could see that some were poor
little cotton tails. The scared things! A whack over the head,
a backward toss, and the dogs were mouthing them. The long tailed,
sleek, gracefully moving ones, they were foxes, the foxes driven
from their holes, and nothing on earth could save their skins
for them now; those men meant to have them.
I pulled the doors shut suddenly. I was so sick I could scarcely
stand. I had to work, but at last I pushed the west doors open
again. I don't think the Lord helped me any that time, for I knew
what it took--before, they just went. Or maybe He did help me
quite as much, but I had harder work to do my share, because I
felt so dizzy and ill. Anyway, they opened. Then I climbed the
upright ladder to the top beam, walked it to the granary, and
there I danced, pounded and yelled so that the foxes jumped from
the hay, leaped lightly to the threshing floor, and stood looking
and listening. I gave them time to hear where the dreadful racket
was, and then I jumped to the hay and threw the pitchfork at them.
It came down smash! and both of them sprang from the door. When
I got down the ladder and where I could see, they were so rested
they were hiking across the cornfield like they never had raced
a step before; and as the clamour went up behind me, that probably
meant the first fox had lost its beautiful red and white skin,
they reached our woods in safety. The doors went shut easier,
and I started to the house crying like any blubbering baby; but
when mother turned from the east window, and I noticed her face,
I forgot the foxes.
"You saw Leon!" I cried.
"That I did!" she exulted, rocking on her toes the same
as she does at the Meeting House when she is going to cry, "Glory!"
any minute. "That I did! Ah! the brave little chap! Ah! the
fine fellow!"
Her cheeks were the loveliest pink, and her eyes blazed. I scarcely
knew her.
"What will father say?"
"If his father isn't every particle as proud of him as I
am this day, I've a big disappointment coming," she answered.
"If Mr. Pryor chose to let him take that fine horse, and
taught him how to ride it, father should be glad."
"If he'd gone into the creek, you wouldn't feel so fine."
"Ah! but he didn't! He didn't! He stuck to the saddle and
sailed over in one grand, long sweep! It was fine! I hope--to
my soul, I hope his father saw it!"
"He did!" I said. "He did! He was about halfway
down the lane. He was where he could see fine."
"You didn't notice----?"
"I was watching if Leon went under. What if he had, mother?"
"They'd have taken him out, and brought him to me, and I'd
have worked with all the strength and skill God has given me,
and if it were possible to us, he would be saved, and if it were
not, it would be a proud moment for a woman to offer a boy like
that to the God who gave him. One would have nothing to be ashamed
of!"
"Could you do it, like you are now, and not cry, mother?"
I asked wonderingly.
"Patience no!" said she. "Before long you will
find out, child, that the fountain head of tears and laughter
lies in the same spot, deep in a woman's heart. Men were made
for big things! They must brave the wild animals, the Indians,
fight the battles, ride the races, till the fields, build the
homes. In the making of a new country men must have the thing
in their souls that carried Leon across the creek. If he had checked
that horse and gone to the ford, I would have fallen where I stood!"
"Father crossed the ford!"
"True! But that's different. He never had a chance at a horse
like that! He never had time for fancy practice, and his nose
would have been between the pages of a book if he had. But remember
this! Your father's hand has never faltered, and his aim has never
failed. All of us are here, safe and comfortable, through him.
It was your father who led us across the wilderness, and fended
from us the wildcat, wolf, and Indian. He built this house, cleared
this land, and gave to all of us the thing we love. Get this in
your head straight. Your father rode a plow horse; he never tried
flourishes in riding; but no man can stick in the saddle longer,
ride harder, and face any danger with calmer front. If you think
this is anything, you should have seen his face the day he stood
between me and a band of Indians, we had every reason to think,
I had angered to the fighting point."
"Tell me! Please tell me!" I begged.
All of us had been brought up on that story, but we were crazy
to hear it, and mother loved to tell it, so she dropped on a chair
and began:
"We were alone in a cabin in the backwoods of Ohio. Elizabeth
was only nine months old, and father always said a mite the prettiest
of any baby we ever had. Many of the others have looked quite
as well to me, but she was the first, and he was so proud of her
he always wanted me to wait in the wagon until he hitched the
horses, so he would get to take and to carry her himself. Well,
she was in the cradle, cooing and laughing, and I had my work
all done, and cabin shining. I was heating a big poker red-hot,
and burning holes into the four corners of a board so father could
put legs in it to make me a bench. A greasy old squaw came to
the door with her papoose on her back. She wanted to trade berries
for bread. There were berries everywhere for the picking; I had
more dried than I could use in two years. We planted only a little
patch of wheat and father had to ride three days to carry to mill
what he could take on a horse. I baked in an outoven and when
it was done, a loaf of white bread was by far the most precious
thing we had to eat. Sometimes I was caught, and forced to let
it go. Often I baked during the night and hid the bread in the
wheat at the barn. There was none in the cabin that day and I
said so. She didn't believe me. She set her papoose on the floor
beside the fireplace, and went to the cupboard. There wasn't a
crumb there except cornbread, and she didn't want that. She said:
`Brod! Brod!'
"She learned that from the Germans in the settlement. I shook
my head. Then she pulled out a big steel hunting knife, such as
the whites traded to the Indians so they would have no trouble
in scalping us neatly, and walked to the cradle. She took that
knife loosely between her thumb and second finger and holding
it directly above my baby's face, she swung it lightly back and
forth and demanded: `Brod! Brod!'
"If the knife fell, it would go straight through my baby's
head, and Elizabeth was reaching her little hands and laughing.
There was only one thing to do, and I did it. I caught that red-hot
poker from the fire, and stuck it so close her baby's face, that
the papoose drew back and whimpered. I scarcely saw how she snatched
it up and left. When your father came, I told him, and we didn't
know what to do. We knew she would come back and bring her band.
If we were not there, they would burn the cabin, ruin our crops,
kill our stock, take everything we had, and we couldn't travel
so far, or so fast, that on their ponies they couldn't overtake
us. We endangered any one with whom we sought refuge, so we gripped
hands, knelt down and told the Lord all about it, and we felt
the answer was to stay. Father cleaned the gun, and hours and
hours we waited.
"About ten o'clock the next day they came, forty braves in
war paint and feathers. I counted until I was too sick to see,
then I took the baby in my arms and climbed to the loft, with
our big steel knife in one hand. If your father fell, I was to
use it, first on Elizabeth, then on myself. The Indians stopped
at the woodyard, and the chief of the band came to the door, alone.
Your father met him with his gun in reach, and for a whole eternity
they stood searching each other's eyes. I was at the trapdoor
where I could see both of them.
"To the depths of my soul I enjoyed seeing Leon take the
fence and creek: but what was that, child, to compare with the
timber that stood your father like a stone wall between me and
forty half-naked, paint besmeared, maddened Indians? Don't let
any showing the men of to-day can make set you to thinking that
father isn't a king among men. Not once, but again and again in
earlier days, he fended danger from me like that. I can shut my
eyes and see his waving hair, his white brow, his steel blue eyes,
his unfaltering hand. I don't remember that I had time or even
thought to pray. I gripped the baby, and the knife, and waited
for the thing I must do if an arrow or a shot sailed past the
chief and felled father. They stood second after second, like
two wooden men, and then slowly and deliberately the chief lighted
his big pipe, drew a few puffs and handed it to father. He set
down his gun, took the pipe and quite as slowly and deliberately
he looked at the waiting band, at the chief, and then raised it
to his lips.
"`White squaw brave! Heap much brave!' said the chief.
"`In the strength of the Lord. Amen!' said father.
"Then he reached his hand and the chief took it, so I came
down the ladder and stood beside father, as the Indians began
to file in the front door and out the back. As they passed, every
man of them made the peace sign and piled in a heap, venison,
fish, and game, while each squaw played with the baby and gave
me a gift of beads, a metal trinket, or a blanket she had woven.
After that they came often, and brought gifts, and if prowling
Gypsies were pilfering, I could look to see a big Indian loom
up and seat himself at my fireside until any danger was past.
I really got so I liked and depended on them, and father left
me in their care when he went to mill, and I was safe as with
him. You have heard the story over and over, but to-day is the
time to impress on you that an exhibition like THIS is the veriest
child's play compared with what I have seen your father do repeatedly!"
"But it was you, the chief said was brave!"
Mother laughed.
"I had to be, baby," she said. "Mother had no choice.
There's only one way to deal with an Indian. I had lived among
them all my life, and I knew what must be done."
"I think both of you were brave," I said, "you,
the bravest!"
"Quite the contrary," laughed mother. "I shall
have to confess that what I did happened so quickly I'd no time
to think. I only realized the coal red iron was menacing the papoose
when it drew back and whimpered. Father had all night to face
what was coming to him, and it was not one to one, but one to
forty, with as many more squaws, as good fighters as the braves,
to back them. It was a terror but I never have been sorry we went
through it together. I have rested so securely in your father
ever since."
"And he is as safe in you," I insisted.
"As you will," said mother. "This world must have
her women quite as much as her men. It is shoulder to shoulder,
heart to heart, business."
The clamour in the meadow arose above our voices and brought us
back to the foxes.
"There goes another!" I said, the tears beginning to
roll again.
"It is heathenish business," said mother. "I don't
blame you! If people were not too shiftless to care for their
stuff, the foxes wouldn't take their chickens and geese. They
never get ours!"
"Hoods aren't shiftless!" I sobbed.
"There are always exceptions," said mother, "and
they are the exception in this case."
The door flew open and Leon ran in. He was white with excitement,
and trembling.
"Mother, come and see me take a fence on Pryor's Rocket!"
he cried.
Mother had him in her arms.
"You little whiffet!" she said. "You little tow-haired
whiffet!"
Both of them were laughing and crying at the same time, and so
was I.
"I saw you take one fence and the creek, Weiscope!"
she said, holding him tight, and stroking his hair. "That
will do for to- day. Ride the horse home slowly, rub it down if
they will allow you, and be sure to remember your manners when
you leave. To trust such a child as you with so valuable a horse,
and for Mr. Pryor to personally ride with you and help you, I
think that was a big thing for a man like him to do."
"But, mother, he's been showing me for weeks, or I couldn't
have done it to-day. It was our secret to surprise you. When I
get my horse, I'll be able to ride a little, as well as Mr. Laddie."
"Leon, don't," said mother, gripping him tighter.
"You must bear in mind, word about that money may come any
day."
"Aw, it won't either," said Leon, pulling away. "And
say, mother, that dumb-bell was like country boys make in England.
He helped me hunt the wood and showed me, and I couldn't ride
and manage it, so he had it all day, and you should have heard
him make it rip. Say, mother, take my word, he was some pumpkins
in England. I bet he ordered the Queen around, when he was there!"
"No doubt!" laughed mother, kissing him and pushing
him from the door.
Some people are never satisfied. After that splendid riding and
the perfect day, father, Leon, and Laddie came home blaming every
one, and finding fault, and trying to explain how it happened,
that the people from the east side claimed two foxes, and there
was only one left for the west side, when they had seen and knew
they had driven three for miles. They said they lost them in our
Big Woods.
I didn't care one speck. I would as lief wear a calico dress,
and let the little foxes have their mammies to feed them; and
I was willing to bet all my money that we would have as much ham,
and as many greens next summer as we ever had. And if the foxes
took Hoods' Dorkings again, let them build a coop with safe foundations.
The way was to use stone and heap up dirt around it in the fall,
to be perfectly sure, and make it warmer.
We took care of our chickens because we had to have them. All
the year we needed them, but most especially for Easter. Mother
said that was ordained chicken time. Turkeys for Thanksgiving,
sucking pigs for Christmas, chickens for Easter, goose, she couldn't
abide. She thought it was too strong. She said the egg was a symbol
of life; of awakening, of birth, and the chickens came from the
eggs, first ones about Easter, so that proved it was chicken time.
I am going to quit praying about little things I can manage myself.
Father said no prayer would bring an answer unless you took hold
and pulled with all your being for what you wanted. I had been
intending for days to ask the Lord to help me find where Leon
hid his Easter eggs. It had been the law at our house from the
very first, that for the last month before Easter, aside from
what mother had to have for the house, all of us might gather
every egg we could find and keep them until Easter. If we could
locate the hiding place of any one else, we might take all theirs.
The day before Easter they were brought in, mother put aside what
she required, and the one who had the most got to sell all of
them and take the money. Sometimes there were two washtubs full,
and what they brought was worth having, for sure. So we watched
all year for safe places, and when the time came we almost ran
after the hens with a basket. Because Laddie and Leon were bigger
they could outrun us, and lots of hens laid in the barn, so there
the boys always had first chance. Often during the month we would
find and take each other's eggs a dozen times.
We divided them, and hid part in different places, so that if
either were found there would still be some left.
Laddie had his in the hopper of the cider press right on the threshing
floor, and as he was sure to get more than I had anyway, I usually
put mine with his. May had hers some place, and where Leon had
his, none of us could find or imagine. I almost lay awake of nights
trying to think, and every time I thought of a new place, the
next day I would look, and they wouldn't be there. Three days
before Easter, mother began to cook and get the big dinner ready,
and she ran short of eggs. She told me to go to the barn and tell
the boys that each of them must send her a dozen as quickly as
they could. Of course that was fair, if she made both give up
the same number. So I went to the barn.
The lane was muddy, and as I had been sick, I wore my rubbers
that spring. I thought to keep out of the deep mud, where horses
and cattle trampled, I'd go up the front embankment, and enter
the little door. My feet made no sound, and it so happened that
the door didn't either, and as I started to open it. I saw Leon
disappearing down the stairway, with a big sack on his back. I
thought it was corn for the horses, and followed him, but he went
to the cow stable door and started toward the lane, and then I
thought it was for the pigs, so I called Laddie and told him about
the eggs. He said he'd give me two dozen of his, and Leon could
pay him back. We went together to get them, and there was only
one there.
Wasn't that exactly like Leon? Leave ONE for the nest egg! If
he were dying and saw a joke or a trick, he'd stop to play it
before he finished, if he possibly could. If he had no time at
all, then he'd go with his eyes twinkling over the thoughts of
the fun it would have been if he possibly could have managed it.
Of course when we saw that one lonely egg in the cider hopper,
just exactly like the "Last Rose of Summer, left to pine
on the stem," I thought of the sack Leon carried, and knew
what had been in it. We hurried out and tried to find him, but
he was swallowed up. You couldn't see him or hear a sound of him
anywhere.
Mother was as cross as she ever gets. Right there she made a new
rule, and it was that two dozen eggs must be brought to the house
each day, whether any were hidden or not. She had to stop baking
until she got eggs. She said a few times she had used a goose
egg in custard. I could fix that. I knew where one of our gray
geese had a nest, and if she'd cook any goose egg, it would be
a gray one. Of course I had sense enough not to take a blue one.
So I slipped from the east door, crossed the yard and orchard
corner, climbed the fence and went down the lane. There was the
creek up and tearing. It was half over the meadow, and the floodgate
between the pasture and the lane rocked with the rush of water;
still, I believed I could make it. So I got on the fence and with
my feet on the third rail, and holding by the top one, I walked
sidewise, and so going reached the floodgate. It was pretty wobbly,
but I thought I could cross on the run. I knew I could if I dared
jump at the other end; but there the water was over the third
rail, and that meant above my head.
It was right at that time of spring when you felt so good you
thought you could do most anything, except fly--I tried that once--so
I went on. The air was cold for all the sun shone, the smell of
catkin pollen, bursting buds, and the odour of earth steaming
in the sun, was in every breath; the blackbirds were calling,
and the doves; the ganders looked longingly at the sky and screamed
a call to every passing wild flock, and Deams' rooster wanted
to fight all creation, if you judged by the boasting he was doing
from their barnyard gate. He made me think of eggs, so I set my
jaws, looked straight ahead, and scooted across the floodgate
to the post that held it and the rails of the meadow fence. I
made it too, and then the fence was easy, only I had to double
quite short, because the water was over the third rail there,
but at last it was all gone, and I went to the fence corner and
there was the goose on the nest, laying an egg. She had built
on a little high place, among puddles, wild rose bushes, and thorns,
and the old thing wouldn't get off. She just sat there and stuck
out her head and hissed and hissed. I never noticed before that
geese were so big and so aggravating. I wasn't going to give up,
after that floodgate, so I hunted a big stick, set it against
her wing, pushed her off and grabbed three eggs and ran. When
I got to the fence, I was in a pickle for sure. I didn't know
what in the world to do with the eggs.
At last I unbuttoned my coat, put them in my apron front, gathered
it up, and holding it between my teeth, started back. I had to
double more than ever on account of the eggs, and when I reached
the floodgate it rocked like a branch in the wind; but I had to
get back, so I rested and listened to the larks a while. That
was a good plan. They were calling for mates, and what they said
was so perfectly lovely, you couldn't think of anything else;
and the less you thought about how that gate rocked, and how deep
and swift the water ran, the better for you. At last one lark
went almost from sight and he rang, twisted and trilled his call,
until my heart swelled so big it hurt. I crossed on the jump with
no time to think at all. That was a fine plan, for I made it,
but I hit the post so hard I broke the middle egg. I was going
to throw it away, but there was so much starch in my apron it
held like a dish, and it had been clean that morning, now the
egg soiled it anyway, so I ran and got home all right.
Mother was so pleased about the eggs she changed the apron and
never said a word, except to brag on me. She said she couldn't
keep house without me, and I guess that was a fact. I came in
handy a lot of times. But at dinner when she scolded the boys
about the eggs, and told them I brought the goose eggs for her
custard, else there would have been no pie, father broke loose,
and I thought he was going to whip me sure. He told mother all
about the water and the gate, and how I had to cross, and he said,
`it was a dispensation of Providence that we didn't have a funeral
instead of celebrating Easter,' so I said:
"Well, if you think I came so near drowning myself, when
you rejoice because Christ is risen from the dead, you can be
glad I am too, and that will make it all the better."
The boys laughed, but father said it was no laughing matter. I
think that speech saved me from going on the threshing floor,
for he took me on his lap when I thought I'd have to go, and told
me never, never to do anything like that again, and then he hugged
me until I almost broke. Gracious! He should have seen us going
to school some days. Why, we even walked the top rail when it
was the only one above water, and we could cross the bridge if
we wanted to. At least when Laddie or Miss Amelia was not around,
we did.
Leon was so bursting full he scarcely could eat, and Laddie looked
pretty glum when he had to admit he had no eggs; so Laddie had
to hand over the whole two dozen. Leon didn't mind that, but he
said if he must, then all of us should stay in the dining-room
until he brought them, because of course he couldn't walk straight
and get them in broad daylight with us watching, and not show
where they were. Father said that was fair, so Leon went out and
before so very long he came back with the eggs.
I thought until my skull almost cracked, about where he COULD
have gone, and I was almost to the place where the thing seemed
serious enough that I'd ask the Lord to help me find Laddie's
eggs, when mother sent me to the garret for red onion skins. She
had an hour to rest, and she was going to spend it fixing decorations
for our eggs. Of course there were always red and black aniline
ones, and yellow and blue, but none of us ever like them half
so well as those mother coloured, herself.
She took the dark red skins and cut boys, girls, dogs, cats, stars,
flowers, butterflies, fish, and everything imaginable, and wet
the skins a little and laid them on very white eggs that had been
soaked in alum water to cut the grease, and then wrapped light
yellow skins over, and then darker ones, and at last layer after
layer of cloth, and wet that, and roasted them an hour in hot
ashes and then let them cool and dry, before unwrapping. When
she took them out, rubbed on a little grease and polished them--there
they were! They would have our names, flowers, birds, animals,
all in pale yellow, deep rich brown, almost red, and perfectly
beautiful colours, while you could hunt and hunt before you found
everything on one egg. And sometimes the onion skins slipped,
and made things of themselves that she never put on.
I was coming from the bin with an apron full of skins and I almost
fell over. I couldn't breathe for a long time. I danced on my
toes, and held my mouth to keep from screaming. On the garret
floor before me lay a little piece of wet mud, and the faintest
outline of a boot, a boot about Leon's size. That was all I needed
to know. As soon as I could hold steady, I took the skins to mother,
slipped back and hunted good; and of course I had to find them--grainsacks
half full of them--carried in the front door in the evening, and
up the front stairs, where no one went until bedtime, unless there
were company. Away back under the eaves, across the joists, behind
the old clothing waiting to be ripped, coloured and torn for carpet
rangs and rugs, Mr. Leon had almost every egg that had been laid
on the place for a month.
NOW he'd see what he'd get for taking Laddie's!
Then I stopped short. What I thought most made me sick, but I
didn't propose to lie in bed again for a year at least, for it
had its bad parts as well as its good; so I went straight and
whispered to Laddie. He never looked pleased at all, so I knew
I had been right. He kissed me, and thanked me, and then said
slowly: "It's mighty good of you, Little Sister, but you
see it wouldn't be FAIR. He found mine himself, so he had a right
to take them. But I don't dare touch his, when you tell me where
they are. I never in a month of Sundays would have looked for
them in the house. I was going to search the wood house and smoke
house this afternoon. I can't take them. But thank you just as
much."
Then I went to father and he laughed. How he did laugh!
"Laddie is right!" he said at last. "He didn't
find them, and he mustn't take them. But you may! They're yours!
That front door scheme of Leon's was fairly well, but it wasn't
quite good enough. If he'd cleaned his feet as he should, before
he crossed mother's carpet and climbed the stairs, he'd have made
it all right. `His tracks betrayed him,' as tracks do all of us,
if we are careless enough to leave any. The eggs are yours, and
to- night is the time to produce them. Where do you want to hide
them?"
Well of all things! and after I had stumbled on them without pestering
the Lord, either! Just as slick as anything! Mine! I never ever
thought of it. But when I did think, I liked it. The more I thought,
the funnier it grew.
"Under mother's bed," I whispered. "But I never
can get them. They're in wheat sacks, and full so high, and they'll
have to be handled like eggs."
"I'll do the carrying," laughed father. "Come show
me!"
So we took all those eggs, and put them under mother's bed.
Of course she and Candace saw us, but they didn't hunt eggs and
they'd never tell. If ever I thought I'd burst wide open! About
dusk I saw Leon coming from the barn carrying his hat at his side--more
eggs--so I ran like a streak and locked the front door, and then
slipped back in the dining-room and almost screamed, when I could
hear him trying it, and he couldn't get in. After a while he came
in, fussed around, and finally went into the sitting-room, and
the key turned and he went upstairs. I knew I wouldn't dare look
at him when he came down, so I got a reader and began on a piece
I just love:
"A nightingale made a mistake;
She sang a few notes out of tune:
Her heart was ready to break,
And she hid away from the moon."
When I did get a peep, gracious but he was black! Maybe it wasn't
going to be so much fun after all. But he had the money last year,
and the year before, and if he'd cleaned his feet well--I was
not hunting his eggs, when I found them. "His tracks betrayed
him," as father said. I was thankful supper was ready just
then, and while it was going on mother said: "As soon as
you finish, all bring in your eggs. I want to wrap the ones to
colour to-night, and bury them in the fireplace so they will colour,
dry, and be ready to open in the morning."
No one said a word, but neither Laddie nor Leon looked very happy,
and I took awful bites to keep my face straight. When all of us
finished May brought a lot from the bran barrel in the smoke house,
but Laddie and Leon only sat there and looked silly; it really
was funny.
"I must have more eggs than this?" said mother. "Where
are they to come from?"
Father nodded to me and I said: "From under your bed!"
"Oh, it was you! And I never once caught you snooping!"
cried Leon.
"Easy son!" said father. "That will do. You lost
through your own carelessness. You left wet mud on the garret
floor, and she saw it when mother sent her for the onion skins.
You robbed Laddie of his last egg this morning; be a good loser
yourself!"
"Well, anyway, you didn't get 'em," said Leon to Laddie.
"And she only found them by accident!"
Then we had a big time counting all those eggs, and such another
heap as there was to sell, after mother filled baskets to cook
with and colour. When the table was cleared, Laddie and Leon made
tallow pencils from a candle and wrote all sorts of things over
eggs that had been prepared to colour. Then mother boiled them
in copperas water, and aniline, and all the dyes she had, and
the boys polished them, and they stood in shining black, red,
blue and yellow heaps. The onion ones would be done in the morning.
Leon had a goose egg and mother let him keep it, so he wrote and
wrote on it, until Laddie said it would be all writing, and no
colour, and he boiled it in red, after mother finished, and polished
it himself. It came out real pretty with roses on it and lots
of words he wouldn't let any of us read; but of course it was
for Susie Fall.
Next morning he slipped it to her at church. When we got home,
all of us were there except Shelley, and we had a big dinner and
a fine time and Laddie stayed until after supper, before he went
to Pryors'.
"How is he making it?" asked Sally.
You could see she was making it all right; she never looked lovelier,
and mother said Peter was letting her spend away too much money
on her clothes. She told him so, but Peter just laughed and said
business was good, and he could afford it, and she was a fine
advertisement for his store when she was dressed well."
"All I know is," said mother, "that he goes there
every whipstitch, and the women, at least, seem glad to have him.
He says Mr. Pryor treats him decently, and that is more than he
does his own family and servants. He and the girl and her mother
are divided about something. She treats her father respectfully,
but she's in sympathy with mother."
"Laddie can't find out what the trouble is?"
"I don't think that he tries."
"Maybe he'd feel better not to know," said Peter.
"Possibly!" said mother.
"Nonsense!" said father.
"You seem to be reconciled," said Elizabeth.
"That girl would reconcile a man to anything," said
father.
"Not to the loss of his soul, I hope," said mother stiffly.
"Souls are not so easy to lose," said father. "Besides,
I am counting on Laddie saving hers."