CHAPTER
IV
The Last Day in Eden
"'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before."
Of course the baby was asleep and couldn't be touched; but there
was some excitement, anyway. Father had come from town with a letter
from the new school teacher, that said she would expect him to meet
her at the station next Saturday. Mother thought she might as well
get the room ready and let her stay at our house, because we were
most convenient, and it would be the best place for her. She said
that every time, and the teacher always stayed with us. Really it
was because father and mother wanted the teacher where they could
know as much as possible about what was going on. Sally didn't like
having her at all; she said with the wedding coming, the teacher
would be a nuisance. Shelley had finished our school, and the Groveville
high school, and instead of attending college she was going to Chicago
to study music. She was so anxious over her dresses and getting
started, she didn't seem to think much about what was going to happen
to us at home; so she didn't care if Miss Amelia stayed at our house.
May said it would be best to have the teacher with us, because she
could help us with our lessons at home, and we could get ahead of
the others. May already had decided that she would be at the head
of her class when she finished school, and every time you wanted
her and couldn't find her, if you would look across the foot of
mother's bed, May would be there with a spelling book. Once she
had spelled down our school, when Laddie was not there.
Father had met Peter Dover in town, and he had said that he was
coming to see Sally, because he had something of especial importance
to tell her.
"Did he say what it was?" asked Sally.
"Only what I have told you," replied father.
Sally wanted to take the broom and sweep the parlour.
"It's clean as a ribbon," said mother.
"If you go in there, you'll wake the baby," said Lucy.
"Will it kill it if I do?" asked Sally.
"No, but it will make it cross as fire, so it will cry all
the time Peter is here," said Lucy.
"I'll be surprised if it doesn't scream every minute anyway,"
said Sally.
"I hope it will," said Lucy. "That will make Peter
think a while before he comes so often."
That made Sally so angry she couldn't speak, so she went out and
began killing chickens. I helped her catch them. They were so used
to me they would come right to my feet when I shelled corn.
"I'm going to kill three," said Sally. "I'm going
to be sure we have enough, but don't you tell until their heads
are off."
While she was working on them mother came out and asked how many
she had, so Sally said three. Mother counted us and said that wasn't
enough; there would have to be four at least.
After she was gone Sally looked at me and said: "Well, for
land's sake!"
It was so funny she had to laugh, and by the time I caught the fourth
one, and began helping pick them, she was over being provoked and
we had lots of fun.
The minute I saw Peter Dover he made me think of something. I rode
his horse to the barn with Leon leading it. There we saw Laddie.
"Guess what!" I cried.
"Never could!" laughed Laddie, giving Peter Dover's horse
a slap as it passed him on the way to a stall.
"Four chickens, ham, biscuit, and cake!" I announced.
"Is it a barbecue?" asked Laddie.
"No, the extra one is for the baby," said Leon. "Squally
little runt, I call it."
"It's a nice baby!" said Laddie.
"What do you know about it?" demanded Leon.
"Well, considering that I started with you, and have brought
up two others since, I am schooled in all there is to know,"
said Laddie.
"Guess what else!" I cried.
"More?" said Laddie. "Out with it! Don't kill me
with suspense."
"Father is going to town Saturday to meet the new teacher and
she will stay at our house as usual."
Leon yelled and fell back in a manger, while Laddie held harness
oil to his nose.
"More!" cried Leon, grabbing the bottle.
"Are you sure?" asked Laddie of me earnestly.
"It's decided. Mother said so," I told him.
"Name of a black cat, why?" demanded Laddie.
"Mother said we were most convenient for the teacher."
"Aren't there enough of us?" asked Leon, straightening
up sniffing harness oil as if his life depended on it.
"Any unprejudiced person would probably say so to look in,"
said Laddie.
"I'll bet she'll be sixty and a cat," said Leon. "Won't
I have fun with her?"
"Maybe so, maybe not!" said Laddie. "You can't always
tell, for sure. Remember your Alamo! You were going to have fun
with the teacher last year, but she had it with you."
Leon threw the oil bottle at him. Laddie caught it and set it on
the shelf.
"I don't understand," said Leon.
"I do," said Laddie dryly. "THIS is one reason."
He hit Peter Dover's horse another slap.
"Maybe yes," said Leon.
"Shelley to music school, two."
"Yes," said Leon. "Peter Dovers are the greatest
expense, and Peter won't happen but once. Shelley will have at least
two years in school before it is her turn, and you come next, anyway."
"Shut up!" cried Laddie.
"Thanky! Your orders shall be obeyed gladly."
He laid down the pitchfork, went outside, closed the door, and latched
it. Laddie called to him, but he ran to the house. When Laddie and
I finished our work, and his, and wanted to go, we had to climb
the stairs and leave through the front door on the embankment.
"The monkey!" said Laddie, but he didn't get mad; he just
laughed.
The minute I stepped into the house and saw the parlour door closed,
I thought of that "something" again. I walked past it,
but couldn't hear anything. Of course mother wanted to know; and
she would be very thankful to me if I could tell her. I went out
the front door, and thought deeply on the situation. The windows
were wide open, but I was far below them and I could only hear a
sort of murmur. Why can't people speak up loud and plain, anyway?
Of course they would sit on the big haircloth sofa. Didn't Leon
call it the "sparking bench"? The hemlock tree would be
best. I climbed quieter than a cat, for they break bark and make
an awful scratching with their claws sometimes; my bare feet were
soundless. Up and up I went, slowly, for it was dreadfully rough.
They were not on the sofa. I could see plainly through the needles.
Then I saw the spruce would have been better, for they were standing
in front of the parlour door and Peter had one hand on the knob.
His other arm was around my sister Sally. Breathlessly I leaned
as far as I could, and watched.
"Father said he'd give me the money to buy a half interest,
and furnish a house nicely, if you said `yes,' Sally," said
Peter.
Sally leaned back all pinksome and blushful, and while she laughed
at him she
"Carelessly tossed off a curl
That played on her delicate brow."
exactly like Mary Dow in McGuffey's Third.
"Well, what did I SAY?" she asked.
"Come to think of it, you didn't say anything."
Sally's face was all afire with dancing lights, and she laughed
the gayest little laugh.
"Are you so very sure of that, Peter?" she said.
"I'm not sure of anything," said Peter, "except that
I am so happy I could fly."
"Try it, fool!" I said to myself, deep in my throat.
Sally laughed again, and Peter took his other hand from the door
and put that arm around Sally too, and he drew her to him and kissed
her, the longest, hardest kiss I ever saw. I let go and rolled,
tumbled, slid, and scratched down the hemlock tree, dropped from
the last branch to the ground, and scampered around the house. I
reached the dining-room door when every one was gathering for supper.
"Mother!" I cried. "Mother! Yes! They're engaged!
He's kissing her, mother! Yes, Lucy, they're engaged!"
I rushed in to tell all of them what they would be glad to know,
and if there didn't stand Peter and Sally! How they ever got through
that door, and across the sitting-room before me, I don't understand.
Sally made a dive at me, and I was so astonished I forgot to run,
so she caught me. She started for the wood house with me, and mother
followed. Sally turned at the door and she was the whitest of anything
you ever saw.
"This is my affair," she said. "I'll attend to this
young lady."
"Very well," said mother, and as I live she turned and
left me to my sad fate, as it says in a story book we have. I wish
when people are going to punish me, they'd take a switch and strike
respectably, like mother does. This thing of having some one get
all over me, and not having an idea where I'm going to be hit, is
the worst punishment that I ever had. I'd been down the hill and
up the hemlock that day, anyway. I'd always been told Sally didn't
want me. She PROVED it right then. Finally she quit, because she
was too tired to strike again, so I crept among the shavings on
the work bench and went to sleep. I THOUGHT they would like to know,
and that I was going to please them.
Anyway, they found out, for by the time Sally got back Peter had
told them about the store, and the furnished house, and asked father
for Sally right before all of them, which father said was pretty
brave; but Peter knew it was all right or he couldn't have come
like he'd been doing.
After that, you couldn't hear anything at our house but wedding.
Sally's share of linen and bedding was all finished long ago. Father
took her to Fort Wayne on the cars to buy her wedding, travelling,
and working dresses, and her hat, cloak, and linen, like you have
when you marry.
It was strange that Sally didn't want mother to go, but she said
the trip would tire her too much. Mother said it was because Sally
could coax more dresses from father. Anyway, mother told him to
set a limit and stick to it. She said she knew he hadn't done it
as she got the first glimpse of Sally's face when they came back,
but the child looked so beautiful and happy she hadn't the heart
to spoil her pleasure.
The next day a sewing woman came; and all of them were shut up in
the sitting-room, while the sewing machine just whizzed on the working
dresses. Sally said the wedding dress had to be made by hand. She
kept the room locked, and every new thing that they made was laid
away on the bed in the parlour bedroom, and none of us had a peep
until everything was finished. It was awfully exciting, but I wouldn't
pretend I cared, because I was huffy at her. I told her I wouldn't
kiss her goodbye, and I'd be GLAD when she was gone.
Sally said the school-ma'am simply had to go to Winters', or some
place else, but mother said possibly a stranger would have some
ideas, and know some new styles, so Sally then thought maybe they
had better try it a few days, and she could have her place and be
company when she and Shelley left. Shelley was rather silent and
blue, and before long I found her crying, because mother had told
her she couldn't start for Chicago until after the wedding, and
that would make her miss six weeks at the start.
Next day word was sent around that school was to begin the coming
Monday; so Saturday afternoon the people who had children large
enough to go sent the biggest of them to clean the schoolhouse.
May, Leon, and I went to do our share. Just when there were about
a bushel of nut shells, and withered apple cores, and inky paper
on the floor, the blackboard half cleaned, and ashes trailed deep
between the stove and the window Billy Wilson was throwing them
from, some one shouted: "There comes Mr. Stanton with Her."
All of us dropped everything and ran to the south windows. I tell
you I was proud of our big white team as it came prancing down the
hill, and the gleaming patent leather trimmings, and the brass side
lamps shining in the sun. Father sat very straight, driving rather
fast, as if he would as lief get it over with, and instead of riding
on the back seat, where mother always sat, the teacher was in front
beside him, and she seemed to be talking constantly. We looked at
each other and groaned when father stopped at the hitching post
and got out. If we had tried to see what a dreadful muss we could
make, things could have looked no worse. I think father told her
to wait in the carriage, but we heard her cry: "Oh Mr. Stanton,
let me see the dear children I'm to teach, and where I'm to work."
Hopped is the word. She hopped from the carriage and came hopping
after father. She was as tall as a clothes prop and scarcely as
fat. There were gray hairs coming on her temples. Her face was sallow
and wrinkled, and she had faded, pale-blue eyes. Her dress was like
my mother had worn several years before, in style, and of stiff
gray stuff. She made me feel that no one wanted her at home, and
probably that was the reason she had come so far away.
Every one stood dumb. Mother always went to meet people and May
was old enough to know it. She went, but she looked exactly as she
does when the wafer bursts and the quinine gets in her mouth, and
she doesn't dare spit it out, because it costs five dollars a bottle,
and it's going to do her good. Father introduced May and some of
the older children, and May helped him with the others, and then
he told us to "dig in and work like troopers," and he
would take Miss Pollard on home.
"Oh do let me remain and help the dear children!" she
cried.
"We can finish!" we answered in full chorus.
"How lovely of you!" she chirped.
Chirp makes you think of a bird; and in speech and manner Miss Amelia
Pollard was the most birdlike of any human being I ever have seen.
She hopped from the step to the walk, turned to us, her head on
one side, playfulness in the air around her, and shook her finger
at us.
"Be extremely particular that you leave things immaculate at
the consummation of your labour," she said. "`Remember
that cleanliness is next to Godliness!'"
"Two terms of that!" gasped Leon, sinking on the stove
hearth. "Behold Job mourning as close the ashes as he can."
Billy Wilson had the top lid off, so he reached down and got a big
handful of ashes and sifted them over Leon. But it's no fun to do
anything like that to him; he only sank in a more dejected heap,
and moaned: "Send for Bildad and Zophar to comfort me, and
more ashes, please."
"Why does the little feathered dear touch earth at all? Why
doesn't she fly?" demanded Silas Shaw.
"I'm going to get a hundred wads ready for Monday," said
Jimmy Hood. "We can shoot them when we please."
"Bet ten cents you can't hit her," said Billy Wilson.
"There ain't enough of her for a decent mark."
"Let's quit and go home," proposed Leon. "This will
look worse than it does now by Monday night."
Then every one began talking at once. Suddenly May seized the poker
and began pounding on the top of the stove for order.
"We must clean this up," she said. "We might as well
finish. Maybe you'll shoot wads and do what you please, and maybe
you won't. Her eyes went around like a cat that smells mice. If
she can spell the language she uses, she is the best we've ever
had."
That made us blink, and I never forgot it. Many times afterward
while listening to people talk, I wondered if they could spell the
words they used.
"Well, come on, then!" said Leon. He seized the broom
and handed it to Billy Wilson, quoting as he did so, "Work,
work, my boy, be not afraid"; and he told Silas Shaw as he
gave him the mop, to "Look labour boldly in the face!"
but he never did a thing himself, except to keep every one laughing.
So we cleaned up as well as we could, and Leon strutted like Bobby,
because he locked the door and carried the key. When we reached
home I was sorry I hadn't gone with father, so I could have seen
mother, Sally, Candace, and Laddie when first they met the new teacher.
The shock showed yet! Miss Amelia had taken off her smothery woollen
dress and put on a black calico, but it wasn't any more cheerful.
She didn't know what to do, and you could see plainly that no one
knew what to do with her, so they united in sending me to show her
the place. I asked her what she would like most to see, and she
said everything was so charming she couldn't decide. I thought if
she had no more choice than that, one place would do as well as
another, so I started for the orchard. Quick as we got there, I
knew what to do. I led her straight to our best cling peach tree,
told her to climb on the fence so she could reach easily, and eat
all she chose. We didn't dare shake the tree, because the pigs ran
on the other side of the fence, and they chanked up every peach
that fell there. Those peaches were too good to feed even father's
finest Berkshires.
By the time Miss Amelia had eaten nine or ten, she was so happy
to think she was there, she quit tilting her head and using big
words. Of course she couldn't know how I loved to hear them, and
maybe she thought I wouldn't know what they meant, and that they
would be wasted on me. If she had understood how much spelling and
defining I'd heard in my life, I guess she might have talked up
as big as she could, and still I'd have got most of it. When she
reached the place where she ate more slowly, she began to talk.
She must have asked me most a hundred questions. What all our names
were, how old we were, if our girls had lots of beaus, and if there
were many men in the neighbourhood, and dozens of things my mother
never asked any one. She always inquired if people were well, if
their crops were growing, how much fruit they had, and how near
their quilts were finished.
I told her all about Sally and the wedding, because no one cared
who knew it, after I had been pounded to mince-meat for telling.
She asked if Shelley had any beaus, and I said there wasn't any
one who came like Peter, but every man in the neighbourhood wanted
to be her beau. Then she asked about Laddie, and I was taking no
risks, so I said: "I only see him at home. I don't know where
he goes when he's away. You'll have to ask him."
"Oh, I never would dare," she said. "But he must.
He is so handsome! The girls would just compel him to go to see
them."
"Not if he didn't want to go," I said.
"You must never, never tell him I said so, but I do think he
is the handsomest man I ever saw."
"So do I," I said, "and it wouldn't make any difference
if I told him."
"Then do you mean you're going to tell him my foolish remark?"
she giggled.
"No use," I said. "He knows it now. Every time he
parts his hair he sees how good looking he is. He doesn't care.
He says the only thing that counts with a man is to be big, strong,
manly, and well educated."
"Is he well educated?"
"Yes, I think so, as far as he's gone," I answered. "Of
course he will go on being educated every day of his life, same
as father. He says it is all rot about `finishing' your education.
You never do. You learn more important things each day, and by the
time you are old enough to die, you have almost enough sense to
know how to live comfortably. Pity, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Miss Amelia, "it's an awful pity, but
it's the truth.
Is your mother being educated too?"
"Whole family," I said. "We learn all the time, mother
most of any, because father always looks out for her. You see, it
takes so much of her time to manage the house, and sew, and knit,
and darn, that she can't study so much as the others; so father
reads all the books to her, and tells her about everything he finds
out, and so do all of us. Just ask her if you think she doesn't
know things."
"I wouldn't know what to ask," said Miss Amelia.
"Ask how long it took to make this world, who invented printing,
where English was first spoken, why Greeley changed his politics,
how to make bluebell perfumery, cut out a dress, or cure a baby
of worms. Just ask her!"
Miss Amelia threw a peach stone through a fence crack and hit a
pig. It was a pretty neat shot.
"I don't need ask any of that," she said scornfully. "I
know all of it now."
"All right! What is best for worms?" I asked.
"Jayne's vermifuge," said Miss Amelia.
"Wrong!" I cried. "That's a patent medicine. Tea
made from male fern root is best, because there's no morphine in
it!"
The supper bell rang and I was glad of it. Peaches are not very
filling after all, for I couldn't see but that Miss Amelia ate as
much as any of us. For a few minutes every one was slow in speaking,
then mother asked about cleaning the schoolhouse, Laddie had something
to explain to father about corn mould, Sally and the dressmaker
talked about pipings--not a bird--a new way to fold goods to make
trimmings, and soon everything was going on the same as if the new
teacher were not there. I noticed that she kept her head straight,
and was not nearly so glib-tongued and birdlike before mother and
Sally as she had been at the schoolhouse. Maybe that was why father
told mother that night that the new teacher would bear acquaintance.
Sunday was like every other Sabbath, except that I felt so sad all
day I could have cried, but I was not going to do it. Seemed as
if I never could put on shoes, and so many clothes Monday morning,
quite like church, and be shut in a room for hours, to try to learn
what was in books, when the world was running over with things to
find out where you could have your feet in water, leaves in your
hair, and little living creatures in your hands. In the afternoon
Miss Amelia asked Laddie to take her for a walk to see the creek,
and the barn, and he couldn't escape.
I suppose our barn was exactly like hundreds of others. It was built
against an embankment so that on one side you could drive right
on the threshing floor with big loads of grain. On the sunny side
in the lower part were the sheep pens, cattle stalls, and horse
mangers. It was always half bursting with overflowing grain bins
and haylofts in the fall; the swallows twittered under the roof
until time to go south for winter, as they sailed from the ventilators
to their nests plastered against the rafters or eaves. The big swinging
doors front and back could be opened to let the wind blow through
in a strong draft. From the east doors you could see for miles across
the country.
I said our barn was like others, but it was not. There was not another
like it in the whole world. Father, the boys, and the hired men
always kept it cleaned and in proper shape every day. The upper
floor was as neat as some women's houses. It was swept, the sun
shone in, the winds drifted through, the odours of drying hay and
grain were heavy, and from the top of the natural little hill against
which it stood you could see for miles in all directions.
The barn was our great playhouse on Sundays. It was clean there,
we were where we could be called when wanted, and we liked to climb
the ladders to the top of the haymows, walk the beams to the granaries,
and jump to the hay. One day May came down on a snake that had been
brought in with a load. I can hear her yell now, and it made her
so frantic she's been killing them ever since. It was only a harmless
little garter snake, but she was so surprised.
Miss Amelia held her head very much on one side all the time she
walked with Laddie, and she was so birdlike Leon slipped him a brick
and told him to have her hold it to keep her down. Seemed as if
she might fly any minute. She thought our barn was the nicest she
ever had seen and the cleanest. When Laddie opened the doors on
the east side, and she could see the big, red, yellow, and green
apples thick as leaves on the trees in the orchard, the lane, the
woods pasture, and the meadow with scattering trees, two running
springs, and the meeting of the creeks, she said it was the loveliest
sight she ever saw--I mean beheld. Laddie liked that, so he told
her about the beautiful town, and the lake, and the Wabash River,
that our creek emptied into, and how people came from other states
and big cities and stayed all summer to fish, row, swim, and have
good times.
She asked him to take her to the meadow, but he excused himself,
because he had an engagement. So she stood in the door, and watched
him saddle Flos and start to the house to dress in his riding clothes.
After that she didn't care a thing about the meadow, so we went
back.
Our house looked as if we had a party. We were all dressed in our
best, and every one was out in the yard, garden, or orchard. Peter
and Sally were under the big pearmain apple tree at the foot of
the orchard, Shelley and a half dozen beaus were everywhere. May
had her spelling book in one hand and was in my big catalpa talking
to Billy Stevens, who was going to be her beau as soon as mother
said she was old enough. Father was reading a wonderful new book
to mother and some of the neighbours. Leon was perfectly happy because
no one wanted him, so he could tease all of them by saying things
they didn't like to hear. When Laddie came out and mounted, Leon
asked him where he was going, and Laddie said he hadn't fully decided:
he might ride to Elizabeth's, and not come back until Monday morning.
"You think you're pretty slick," said Leon. "But
if we could see north to the cross road we could watch you turn
west, and go past Pryors to show yourself off, or try to find the
Princess on the road walking or riding. I know something I'm saving
to tell next time you get smart, Mr. Laddie."
Laddie seemed annoyed and no one was quicker to see it than Leon.
Instantly he jumped on the horse block, pulled down his face long
as he could, stretched his hands toward Laddie, and making his voice
all wavery and tremulous, he began reciting from "Lochiel's
Warning," in tones of agonizing pleading:
"Laddie, Laddie, beware of the day!
For, dark and despairing, my sight, I may seal,
But man cannot cover what God would reveal;
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before."
That scared me. I begged Leon to tell, but he wouldn't say a word
more. He went and talked to Miss Amelia as friendly as you please,
and asked her to take a walk in the orchard and get some peaches,
and she went flying. He got her all she could carry and guided her
to Peter and Sally, introduced her to Peter, and then slipped away
and left her. Then he and Sally couldn't talk about their wedding,
and Peter couldn't squeeze her hand, and she couldn't fix his tie,
and it was awful. Shelley and her boys almost laughed themselves
sick over it, and then she cried, "To the rescue!" and
started, so they followed. They captured Miss Amelia and brought
her back, and left her with father and the wonderful book, but I'm
sure she liked the orchard better.
I took Grace Greenwood under my arm, Hezekiah on my shoulder, and
with Bobby at my heels went away. I didn't want my hair pulled,
or to be teased that day. There was such a hardness around my heart,
and such a lump in my throat, that I didn't care what happened to
me one minute, and the next I knew I'd slap any one who teased me,
if I were sent to bed for it. As I went down the lane Peter called
to me to come and see him, but I knew exactly how he looked, and
didn't propose to make up. There was not any sense in Sally clawing
me all over, when I only tried to help mother and Lucy find out
what they wanted to know so badly. I went down the hill, crossed
the creek on the stepping-stones, and followed the cowpath into
the woods pasture. It ran beside the creek bank through the spice
thicket and blackberry patches, under pawpaw groves, and beneath
giant oaks and elms. Just where the creek turned at the open pasture,
below the church and cemetery, right at the deep bend, stood the
biggest white oak father owned. It was about a tree exactly like
this that an Englishman wrote a beautiful poem in McGuffey's Sixth,
that begins:
"A song to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who hath ruled in the greenwood long;
Here's health and renown to his broad green crown,
And his fifty arms so strong."
I knew it was the same, because I counted the arms time and again,
and there were exactly fifty. There was a pawpaw and spice hedge
around three sides of this one, and water on the other. Wild grapes
climbed from the bushes to the lower branches and trailed back to
earth again. Here, I had two secrets I didn't propose to tell. One
was that in the crotch of some tiptop branches the biggest chicken
hawks you ever saw had their nest, and if they took too many chickens
father said they'd have to be frightened a little with a gun. I
can't begin to tell how I loved those hawks. They did the one thing
I wanted to most, and never could. When I saw them serenely soar
above the lowest of the soft fleecy September clouds, I was wild
with envy. I would have gone without chicken myself rather than
have seen one of those splendid big brown birds dropped from the
skies. I was so careful to shield them, that I selected this for
my especial retreat when I wanted most to be alone, and I carefully
gathered up any offal from the nest that might point out their location,
and threw it into the water where it ran the swiftest.
I parted the vines and crept where the roots of the big oak stretched
like bony fingers over the water, that was slowly eating under it
and baring its roots. I sat on them above the water and thought.
I had decided the day before about my going to school, and the day
before that, and many, many times before that, and here I was having
to settle it all over again. Doubled on the sak roots, a troubled
little soul, I settled it once more.
No books or teachers were needed to tell me about flowing water
and fish, how hawks raised their broods and kept house, about the
softly cooing doves of the spice thickets, the cuckoos slipping
snakelike in and out of the wild crab-apple bushes, or the brown
thrush's weird call from the thorn bush. I knew what they said and
did, but their names, where they came from, where they went when
the wind blew and the snow fell--how was I going to find out that?
Worse yet were the flowers, butterflies, and moths; they were mysteries
past learning alone, and while the names I made up for them were
pretty and suitable, I knew in all reason they wouldn't be the same
in the books. I had to go, but no one will ever know what it cost.
When the supper bell rang, I sat still. I'd have to wait until at
least two tables had been served, anyway, so I sat there and nursed
my misery, looked and listened, and by and by I felt better. I couldn't
see or hear a thing that was standing still. Father said even the
rocks grew larger year by year. The trees were getting bigger, the
birds were busy, and the creek was in a dreadful hurry to reach
the river. It was like that poetry piece that says:
"When a playful brook, you gambolled,"
(Mostly that gambolled word is said about lambs)
"And the sunshine o'er you smiled,
On your banks did children loiter,
Looking for the spring flowers wild?"
The creek was more in earnest and working harder at pushing steadily
ahead without ever stopping than anything else; and like the poetry
piece again, it really did "seem to smile upon us as it quickly
passed us by." I had to quit playing, and go to work some time;
it made me sorry to think how behind I was, because I had not started
two years before, when I should. But that couldn't be helped now.
All there was left was to go this time, for sure. I got up heavily
and slowly as an old person, and then slipped out and ran down the
path to the meadow, because I could hear Leon whistle as he came
to bring the cows.
By fast running I could start them home for him: Rose, Brindle,
Bess, and Pidy, Sukey and Muley; they had eaten all day, but they
still snatched bites as they went toward the gate. I wanted to surprise
Leon and I did.
"Getting good, ain't you?" he asked. "What do you
want?"
"Nothing!" I said. "I just heard you coming and I
thought I'd help you."
"Where were you?"
"Playing."
"You don't look as if you'd been having much fun."
"I don't expect ever to have any, after I begin school."
"Oh!" said Leon. "It is kind of tough the first day
or two, but you'll soon get over it. You should have behaved yourself,
and gone when they started you two years ago."
"Think I don't know it?"
Leon stopped and looked at me sharply.
"I'll help you nights, if you want me to," he offered.
"Can I ever learn?" I asked, almost ready to cry.
"Of course you can," said Leon. "You're smart as
the others, I suppose. The sevens and nines of the multiplication
table are the stickers, but you ought to do them if other girls
can. You needn't feel bad because you are behind a little to start
on; you are just that much better prepared to work, and you can
soon overtake them. You know a lot none of the rest of us do, and
some day it will come your turn to show off. Cheer up, you'll be
all right."
Men are such a comfort. I pressed closer for more.
"Do you suppose I will?" I asked.
"Of course," said Leon. "Any minute the woods, or
birds, or flowers are mentioned your time will come; and all of
us will hear you read and help nights. I'd just as soon as not."
That was the most surprising thing. He never offered to help me
before. He never acted as if he cared what became of me. Maybe it
was because Laddie always had taken such good care of me, Leon had
no chance. He seemed willing enough now. I looked at him closely.
"You'll find out I'll learn things if I try," I boasted.
"And you will find out I don't tell secrets either."
"I've been waiting for you to pipe up about----"
"Well, I haven't piped, have I?"
"Not yet."
"I am not going to either."
"I almost believe you. A girl you could trust would be a funny
thing to see."
"Tell me what you know about Laddie, and see if I'm funny."
"You'd telltale sure as life!"
"Well, if you know it, he knows it anyway."
"He doesn't know WHAT I know."
"Well, be careful and don't worry mother. You know how she
is since the fever, and father says all of us must think of her.
If it's anything that would bother her, don't tell before her."
"Say, looky here," said Leon, turning on me sharply, "is
all this sudden consideration for mother or are you legging for
Laddie?"
"For both," I answered stoutly.
"Mostly for Laddie, just the same. You can't fool me, missy.
I won't tell you one word."
"You needn't!" I answered, "I don't care!"
"Yes you do," he said. "You'd give anything to find
out what I know, and then run to Laddie with it, but you can't fool
me. I'm too smart for you."
"All right," I said. "You go and tell anything on
Laddie, and I'll watch you, and first trick I catch you at, I'll
do some telling myself, Smarty."
"That's a game more than one can play at," said Leon.
"Go ahead!"
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