A Daughter of the Rich
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Title: A Daughter of the Rich
Creator: Mary E. Waller
Illustrator: Ellen Bernard Thompson Pyle
Release date: September 4, 2012 [eBook #40661]
Most recently updated: October 6, 2012
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40661
Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH ***
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: Hazel]
A
Daughter of the Rich
BY
M. E. WALLER
AUTHOR OF "THE LITTLE CITIZEN"
ILLUSTRATED BY
ELLEN BERNARD THOMPSON
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1903
_Copyright, 1903,_
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Published October, 1903
UNIVERSITY PRESS
JOHN WILSON AND SON
CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
To
"MARTIE"
CONTENTS
I. Molasses Tea
II. Mrs. Blossom's Valentine
III. A Curious Case
IV. A Little Millionaire
V. Transplanted
VI. Malachi
VII. The N.B.B.O.O. Society
VIII. A Lively Correspondence
IX. The Prize Chicken
X. An Unexpected Meeting
XI. Jack
XII. Results
XIII. A Social Addition
XIV. The Lost Nation
XV. Wishing-Tree Secrets
XVI. A Christmas Prelude
XVII. Hunger-Ford
XVIII. Budd's Proposal
XIX. A Year And A Day
XX. Snow-Bound
XXI. A Little Daughter of the Rich
XXII. Rose
XXIII. "Behold how great a Matter a Little Fire Kindles"
XXIV. "Old Put"
XXV. San Juan
XXVI. Maria-Ann's Crusade
XXVII. "--The stars above, Shine ever on Love--"
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Hazel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece
"'You can begin to drop that corn this very afternoon'"
"Rose was at the kitchen table, patting out the dough for the rolls"
"Hazel flung both arms around Mrs. Blossom's neck"
"'I want to tell you why I came up here'"
"The two girls leaned over the box as Hazel took off the wrapper"
A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH
I
MOLASSES TEA
"Good-night, Martie," called a sweet voice down the stairway.
"Good-night, Rose dear; I thought you were asleep."
"Good-night, Martie," duetted the twins, in the shrillest of treble and
falsetto.
"Good-night, you rogues; go to sleep; you 'll wake baby."
"Dood-night, mummy," chirped a little voice from the adjoining room.
There was a shout of laughter from the twins.
"Shut up," growled March from the attic over the kitchen. "Good-night,
mother." His growl ended in a squeak, for March was at that interesting
period of his life indicated by a change of voice. At the sound, a
prolonged snicker from somewhere was answered by a corresponding giggle
from another-where.
"Now, children," said Mrs. Blossom, speaking up the stairway, "do be
quiet, or baby will be wide awake."
"Tum tiss me, mummy," piped the little voice a second time, with no
sound of sleep in it.
"Yes, darling, I 'll come;" as she turned to go into the bedroom
adjoining the kitchen, there was the sound of a jump overhead, a patter
of bare feet, a squabble on the stairs, and Budd and Cherry, the
irrepressible ten-year-old twins, tumbled into the room.
"I 'll haul those kids back to bed for you, mother," shouted March, and
flung himself out of bed to join the fray, while Rose was not behindhand
in making her appearance.
Mrs. Blossom came in with little May in her arms, and that was the
signal for a wholesale kissing-party in which May was hostess.
"Children, children, you 'll smother me!" laughed their mother. "Here,
sit down on the rug and warm your toes,--coming over those bare stairs
this cold night!" And down they sat, Rose and March, Budd and Cherry
and little May, in thick white and red flannel night-dresses and gray
flannel pajamas.
Budd coughed consumptively, and Cherry followed suit. March shivered and
shook like a small earthquake, and Rose looked up laughingly at her
mother.
"We know what that means, don't we, Martie," she said. "Shall I help?"
"No, no, dear,--in your bare feet!"
Mrs. Blossom took a lamp from the shelf over the fireplace, and, leaving
the five with their fifty toes turned and wriggling before the cheering
warmth of the blazing hickory logs, disappeared in the pantry.
"Oh, bully," said Budd, rubbing his flannel pajamas just over his
stomach; "I wish 't was a cold night every day, then we could have
molasses tea all the time, don't you, Cherry?"
"Mm," said Cherry, too full of the anticipated treat for articulate
speech.
"There 's nothing like it to warm up your insides," said March; "mother
's a brick to let us get up for it. She would n't, you know, if father
were at home."
"My tummy's told," piped May, frantically patting her chest in imitation
of Budd, and all the children shouted to see the wee four-year-old
maiden trying to manufacture a shiver in the glow of the cheerful fire.
Mrs. Blossom had never told her recipe for her "hot molasses tea;" but
it had been famed in the family for more than a generation. She had it
from her mother. The treat was always reserved for a bitterly cold
night, and the good things in it of which one had a taste--molasses,
white sugar, lemon-peel, butter, peppermint, boiled raisins, and
mysterious unknowns--were compounded with hot water into a
palate-tickling beverage.
When Mrs. Blossom reappeared, with a kettle sending forth a small cloud
of fragrant steam in one hand and a tray filled with tin cups in the
other, the delighted "Ohs" and "Ahs" repaid her for all her extra work
at the close of a busy, weary day.
Budd rolled over on the rug in his ecstasy, and Cherry was about to roll
on top of him, when March interfered, and order was restored.
As they sat there on the big, braided square of woollen rag-carpet,
sipping and ohing and ahing with supreme satisfaction, Mrs. Blossom
broached the subject of valentines.
"It's the first of February, children, and time to begin to make
valentines. You 're not going to forget the Doctor _this_ year, are
you?"
"No, indeed, Martie," said Rose. "He deserves the prettiest we can
make. I 've been thinking about it, and I 'm going to make him a
shaving-case, heart-shaped, with birch-bark covers, and if March will
decorate it for me, I think it will be lovely; will you, March?"
"Course I will; the Doctor 's a brick. I 'll tell you what, Martie, I
can pen and ink some of those spruces and birches that the Doctor was so
fond of last summer; how 'll that do?"
"Just the thing," said his mother; "I know it will please him. What are
you thinking, Cherry?" for the "other half" of Budd was gazing dreamily
into the fire, forgetting her tea in her revery.
"Fudge!" said Cherry, shortly. March and Rose laughed.
"Keep still making fun of Cherry," said Budd, ruffling at the sound; and
to emphasize his admonishing words, he dug his sharp elbow so suddenly
into March's ribs that some hot molasses tea flew from the cup which his
brother had just put to his mouth and spattered on his bare feet.
March deliberately set down his tin cup on the hearth near the fire
beside his brother's, and turned upon Budd.
Budd tried to dodge, but had no room. In a trice, March had his arms
around him, and was hugging him in a bear-like embrace. "Say you 're
sorry!" he demanded.
"Au-ow!"
"Say you 're sorry!" he roared at him, hugging harder.
"Au-ow-ee-ow!"
"Quick, or I 'll squeeze you some more!"
Budd was squirming and twisting like an eel.
"O-ee-wau-au-_Au!_"
"There," said March, releasing him and setting him down with a thump on
the rug; "I 'll teach you to poke me in the ribs that way and scald my
feet.--You 're game, though, old fellow," he added patronizingly, as he
heard a suspicious sniff from Cherry. "You and Cherry make a whole team
any day."
Cherry's sniff changed to a smile, for March did not condescend to
praise either of them very often.
"Well," she said meditatively, "I suppose it did sound funny to say
that, but I was thinking that if Budd would make me a little
heart-shaped box of birch-bark, I 'd make some maple-sugar fudge,--you
know, Martie, the kind with butternuts in it,--and that could be my
valentine for the Doctor."
"Why, that's a bright idea, Cherry," said Mrs. Blossom; and, "Bully for
you, Cherry," said Budd; "we'll begin to-morrow and crack the
butternuts."
"What will May do?" asked Mrs. Blossom, lifting the little girl, who was
already showing signs of being overcome with molasses tea and sleep.
May nestled in her mother's arms, leaned her head, running over with
golden curls, on her mother's breast, and murmured drowsily,--
"'Ittle tooties--tut with mummy's heart-tutter--tutter--tooties--tut--"
The blue-veined eyelids closed over the lovely eyes; and Mrs. Blossom,
holding up her finger to hush the children's mirth at May's inspired
utterance, carried her back into the bedroom.
One after another the children crept noiselessly upstairs, with a
whispered, "Good-night, Martie," and in ten minutes Mary Blossom knew
they were all in the land of dreams.
II
MRS. BLOSSOM'S VALENTINE
It was a bitter night. Mrs. Blossom refilled the kitchen stove, and
threw on more hickory in the fireplace in anticipation of her husband's
late return from the village. She drew her little work-table nearer to
the blaze, and sat down to her sewing. Then she sighed, and, as she
bent over the large willow basket filled with stockings to be darned and
clothes to be mended, a tear rolled down her cheek and plashed on the
edge.
There was so much she wanted to do for her children--and so little with
which to do it! There was March, an artist to his finger-tips, who
longed to be an architect; and Rose, lovely in her young girlhood and
giving promise of a lovelier womanhood, who was willing to work her way
through one of the lesser colleges, if only she could be prepared for
entrance. Mary Blossom saw no prospect of being able to do anything for
either of them.
And the father! He must be spared first, if he were to be their future
bread-winner. Mary Blossom could never forget that day, a year ago this
very month, when her husband was brought home on a stretcher, hurt, as
they thought, unto death, by a tree falling the wrong way in the woods
where he was directing the choppers.
What a year it had been! All they had saved had gone to pay for the
extra help hired to carry on the farm and finish the log-cutting. A
surgeon had come from the nearest city to give his verdict in the case
and help if he could.
The farm was mortgaged to enable them to pay the heavy bills incident to
months of sickness and medical attendance; still the father lay
helpless, and Mary Blossom's faith and courage were put to their
severest test, when both doctor and surgeon pronounced the case
hopeless. He might live for years, they said, but useless, so far as
his limbs were concerned.
This was in June; and then it was that Mary Blossom, leaving Rose in
charge of her father and the children, left her home, and walked
bareheaded rapidly up the slope behind the house, across the upland
pastures and over into the woodlands, from which they had hoped to
derive a sufficient income to provide not only for their necessities,
but for their children's education and the comforts of life.
Deep into the heart of them she made her way; and there, in the green
silence, broken only by the note of a thrush and the stirring of June
leafage above and about her, she knelt and poured out her sorrow-filled
heart before God, and cast upon Him the intolerable burden that had
rested so long upon her soul.
The shadows were lengthening when at last she turned homewards. Cherry
and Budd met her in the pasture, for Rose had grown anxious and sent
them to find her.
"Why, where have you been, Martie?" exclaimed the twins. "We were so
frightened about you, because you didn't come home."
"You need n't have been; I 've been talking with a Friend." And more
than that she never said. The children's curiosity was roused, but when
they told Rose and asked her what mother meant, Rose's eyes filled with
tears, and she kept silence; for she alone knew with Whom her mother had
talked that June afternoon.
"Run ahead, Budd, and tell Malachi to harness up Bess. I want him to
take a letter down to the village so that it may go on the night mail."
Budd flew rather than ran; for there was a look in his mother's face
that he had never seen before, and it awed him.
That night a letter went to Doctor Heath, a famous nerve specialist of
New York City. It was a letter from Mary Blossom, his old-time friend
and schoolmate in the academy at Barton's River. In it she asked him if
he would give her his advice in this case, saying she could not accept
the decision of the physician and surgeon unless it should be confirmed
by him.
"I cannot pay you now," she wrote, "but it was borne in upon me this
afternoon to write to you, although you may have forgotten me in these
many years, and I have no claim of present friendship, even, upon your
time and service; but I must heed the inner command to appeal to you,
whatever you may think of me,--if I disobeyed that, I should be
disobeying God's voice in my life,"--and signed herself, "Yours in
childhood's remembrance."
The next day a telegram was brought up from the village; and the day
after the Doctor himself followed it.
It was an anxious week; but the wonderful skill conquered. The pressure
on a certain nerve was removed, and for the last six months Benjamin
Blossom had been slowly but surely coming back to his old-time health
and strength. But again this winter the extra help had been necessary,
and it had taxed all Mary Blossom's ingenuity to make both ends meet;
for there was the interest on the mortgage to be paid every six months,
and the ready money had to go for that.
In the midst of her thoughts, her recollections and plans, she caught
the sound of sleigh-bells. The tall clock was just striking ten.
Smoothing every line of care and banishing all look of sadness from her
face, she met her husband with a cheery smile and a, "I 'm so glad you
've got home, Ben; it's just twenty below, and the molasses tea is ready
for you and Chi."
"Chi!" called Mr. Blossom towards the barn.
"Whoa!" shouted a voice that sounded frosty in spite of itself. "Whoa,
Bess!"
"Come into the kitchen before you turn in; there's some hot molasses tea
waiting for us."
"Be there in a minute," he shouted back, and Bess pranced into the barn.
"Oh, Mary, this is good," said Mr. Blossom, as he slipped out of his
buffalo-robe coat and into his warm house-jacket, dropped his boots
outside in the shed, and put on his carpet-slippers that had been
waiting for him on the hearth.
"It is home, Ben," said his wife, bringing out clean tin cups from the
pantry, and putting them to warm beside the kettle on the hearth.
"Yes, with you in it, Mary," he said with the smile that had won him his
true-love eighteen years before.
"Come in, Chi," he called towards the shed, whence came sounds as if
some one were dancing a double-shuffle in snow-boots.
"'Fraid I 'll thaw 'n' make a puddle on the hearth, Mis' Blossom. I 'm
as stiff as an icicle: guess I 'll take my tea perpendic'lar; I ain't
fit to sit down."
"Sit down, sit down, Chi," said Mrs. Blossom. "You 'll enjoy the tea
more; and give yourself a thorough heating before you go to bed. I 've
put the soapstone in it," she added.
"Well, you beat all, Mis' Blossom; just as if you did n't find enough to
do for yourself, you go to work 'n' make work." He broke off suddenly,
"George Washin'ton!" he exclaimed, "most forgot to give you this letter
that come on to-night's mail."
He handed Mrs. Blossom the letter, which, with some difficulty, owing to
his stiffened fingers, he extracted from the depths of the tail-pocket
of his old overcoat. Then he helped himself to a brimming cup of the
tea, and apparently swallowed its contents without once taking breath.
"Why, it's from Doctor Heath!" exclaimed Mrs. Blossom, recognizing the
handwriting. "Is it a valentine, I wonder?" she said, feigning to
laugh, for her heart sank within her, fearing it might be the bill,--and
yet, and yet, the Doctor had said--she got no further with these
thoughts, so intent was she on the contents of the letter.
Chi, with an eye to prolonging his stay till he should know the why and
wherefore of a letter from the great Doctor at this season of the year,
took another cup of the tea.
"Ben, oh, Ben!" cried Mrs. Blossom, in a faint, glad voice; and
therewith, to her husband's amazement, she handed him the letter, put
both arms around his neck, and, dropping her head on his shoulder,
sobbed as if her heart would break.
Chi softly put down his half-emptied cup and tiptoed with creaking boots
from the room.
"Can't stand that, nohow," he muttered to himself in the shed; and,
forgetting to light his lantern, he felt his way up the backstairs to
his lodging in the room overhead, blinded by some suspicious drops of
water in his eyes, which he cursed for frost melting from his bushy
eyebrows.
"Oh, Ben, think of it!" she cried, when her husband had soothed and
calmed her. "Twenty-five dollars a week; that makes a little more than
twelve hundred a year. Why, we can pay off all the mortgage and be free
from that nightmare."
For answer her husband drew her closer to him, and late into the night
they sat before the dying fire, talking and planning for the future.
"Children," she said at breakfast next morning, and her voice sounded so
bright and cheery that the room seemed full of sunshine, although the
sky was a hard, cold gray, "I 've had one valentine already; it came
last night from the Doctor."
Chi listened with all his ears.
"Mother!" burst from the children, "where is it?" "Show it to us." "Why
did n't you tell us before breakfast?"
"I can't show it to you yet; it's a live one."
"A live one!" chorussed the children.
"You 're fooling us, mother," said March.
"Do I look as if I were?" replied his mother.
And March was obliged to confess that she had never looked more in
earnest.
Rose left her seat and stole to her father's side. "What does it mean,
pater?" she whispered.
"Ask your mother," was all the satisfaction she received, and walked,
crestfallen, back to her chair; for when had her father refused her
anything?
"When will you tell us, anyway?" said Budd, a little gruffly. He hated
a secret.
"I can't tell you that either," said his mother, "and I don't know that
I shall tell you until the very last, if you ask in that voice."
Budd screwed his mouth into a smile, and, unbeknown to the rest of the
family, reached under the cloth for his mother's hand. He sat next to
her, and that had been his way of saying "Forgive me," ever since he was
a tiny boy.
He had a squeeze in return and felt happier.
"I say, let's guess," said Cherry. "If I don't do something, I shall
burst."
"You express my feelings perfectly, Cherry," said March, gravely, and
the guessing began.
"A St. Bernard puppy?" said Budd, who coveted one.
"A Shetland pony," said Cherry.
"The Doctor's coming up here, himself." That was Rose's guess.
"'T ain't likely," growled Budd.
"A tunning 'ittle baby," chirped May.
March failed to think of any live thing the Doctor was likely to send
unless it might be a Wyandotte blood-rooster, such as he and the Doctor
had talked about last summer.
"You 're all cold, cold as ice," laughed their mother, using the words
of the game she had so often played with them when they were younger.
"Oh, mother!" they protested. They were almost indignant.
Chi rose and left the table. "Beats me," he muttered, as he took down
his axe from a beam in the woodshed. "What in thunder can it be? I
ain't goin' to ask questions, but I 'll ferret it out,--by George
Washin'ton;" and that was Chi's most solemn oath.
III
A CURIOUS CASE
"What is it, dear?"
"Bothered--bothered."
"A case?"
"Yes, and I must get it off my mind this evening."
The Doctor set down his after-dinner coffee untasted on the library
table, and rose with a half sigh from his easy chair before the blazing
wood-fire. His heavy eyebrows were drawn together into a straight line
over the bridge of his nose, and that, his wife knew full well, was an
ominous sign.
"Must you go to-night? It's such a fearful storm; just hear it!"
"Yes, I must; just to get it off my mind. I sha'n't be gone long, and I
'll tell you all about it when I get home." The Doctor stooped and
kissed the detaining hand that his wife had laid lovingly on his arm;
then, turning to the telephone, he bespoke a cab.
As the vehicle made its way up Fifth Avenue in the teeth of a February,
northeast gale that drove the sleet rattling against the windows, Doctor
Heath settled back farther into his corner, growling to himself, "I wish
some people would let me manage their affairs for them; it would show
their common sense to let me show them some of mine."
A few blocks north of the park entrance, the cab turned east into a side
street, and stopped at Number 4.
"Mr. Clyde in, Wilkins?" asked the Doctor of the colored butler, who
opened the door.
"Yes, sah; jes' up from dinner, sah, to see Miss Hazel."
"Tell him I want to see him in the library."
"Yes, sah." He took the Doctor's cloak and hat, hesitating a moment
before leaving, then turning, said: "'Scuse me, sah, but Miss Hazel
ain't more discomposed?"
"No, no, Wilkins; Miss Hazel is doing fairly well."
"Thank you, sah;" and Wilkins ducked his head and sprang upstairs.
"Why, Dick," said Mr. Clyde, as he entered the library hurriedly,
"what's wrong?"
"The world in general, Johnny, and your world in particular, old
fellow."
"Is Hazel worse?" The father's anxiety could be heard in the tone with
which he put the question.
"I 'm not satisfied, John, and I 'm bothered."
When Doctor Heath called his friend "John," Mr. Clyde knew that the very
soul of him was heavily burdened. The two had been chums at Yale: the
one a rich man's son; the other a country doctor's one boy, to whom had
been bequeathed only a name honored in every county of his native state,
a good constitution, and an ambition to follow his father's profession.
The boy had become one of the leading physicians of the great city in
which he made his home; his friend one of the most sought-after men in
the whirling gayeties of the great metropolis. As he stood on the
hearth with his back to the mantel waiting for the physician's next
word, he was typical of the best culture of the city, and the Doctor
looked up into the fine face with a deep affection visible in his eyes.
"Going out, as usual, John?"
"Only to the Pearsells' reception. Don't keep me waiting, old fellow;
speak up."
"How the deuce am I to make things plain to you, John? Here, draw up
your chair a little nearer mine, as you used in college when you knew I
had a four A.M. lecture awaiting you, after one of your larks."
The two men helped themselves to cigars; and the Doctor, resting his
head on the back of the chair, slowly let forth the smoke in curling
rings, and watched them dissolve and disperse.
"Come, Dick, go ahead; I can stand it if you can."
"Well, then, I 've done all I can for Hazel, and shall have to give up
the case unless you do all you can for her."
Now the Doctor had not intended to make his statement in such a blunt
fashion, and he could not blame Mr. Clyde for the touch of resentment
that was so quick to show in his answer.
"I did n't suppose you went back on your patients in this way, Richard;
much less on a friend. I have done everything I can for Hazel. If
there is anything I've omitted, just tell me, and I 'll try to make it
good."
The Doctor nodded penitently. "I know, John, I 've said it badly; and I
don't know but that I shall make it worse by saying you 've done too
much."
"Too much! That is not possible. Did n't you order last year's trip to
Florida and the summer yachting cruise?"
Doctor Heath groaned. "I'm getting in deeper and deeper, John; you
can't understand, because you are you; born and bred as you are-- Look
here, John, did it ever occur to you that Hazel is a little hot-house
plant that needs hardening?"
"No, Richard."
"Well, she is; she needs hardening to make her any kind of a woman
physically and, and--" The Doctor stopped short. There were some
things of which he rarely spoke.
"My Hazel needs hardening!" exclaimed the amazed father. "Why, Richard,
have n't you impressed upon me again and again that she needs the
greatest care?"
The Doctor groaned again and smote his friend solidly on the knee.
"Oh, you poor rich--you poor rich! 'Eyes have ye, and ye see not; ears
have ye, and hear not.' John, the girl must go away from you, who
over-indulge her, from this home-nest of luxury, from this
private-school business and dancing-class dissipation, from her
young-grown-up lunch-parties and matinee-parties, from her violin
lessons and her indoor gymnastics--curse them!"
This was a great deal for the usually self-contained physician, and Mr.
Clyde stared at him, but half comprehending.
"Go away? Do you mean, Richard, that she must leave me?"
"Yes, I mean just that."
"Well,"--it was a long-drawn, thinking "well,"--"I will ask my sister to
take her this summer. She returns from Egypt soon and has just written
me she intends to open her place, 'The Wyndes,' in June."
Again the Doctor groaned: "And kill her with golf and picnics and
coaching among all those fashionable butterflies! Now, hear to me,
John," he laid his hand on his friend's shoulder, "send her away into
the country, that is country,--something, by the way, which you know
precious little about. Let me find her a place up among those
life-giving Green Hills, and do you do without her for one year. Let me
prescribe for her there; and I 'll guarantee she returns to you hale and
hearty. Trust her to me, John; you 'll thank me in the end. I can do no
more for her here."
"Do you mean, Richard, to put her away into real country conditions?"
"Yes, just that; into a farmer's family, if possible,--and I know I can
make it possible,--and let her be as one of them, work, play, go
barefoot, eat, sleep, be merry--in fact, be what the Lord intended her
to be; and you 'll find out that is something very different from what
she is, if only you 'll hear to me."
The Doctor was pacing the room in his earnestness. He was not accustomed
to beg thus to be allowed to prescribe for his patients. His one word
was law, and he was not required to explain his motives.
Mr. Clyde's eyes followed him; then he broke the prolonged silence.
"Richard, you have asked me the one thing to which her mother would
never have consented. How, then, can I?"
"Think it over, John, and let me know."
The two men clasped hands.
"Let me take you along in my cab to the reception; it's inhuman to take
out your horses on such a night."
"Thank you, no; I think I 'll give it up; I 'm not in the mood for it.
Good-night, old fellow."
"Good-night, Johnny."
The next morning, at breakfast, the Doctor took up a note that lay
beside his plate, and after reading it beamed joyously while he stirred
his coffee vigorously without drinking it. When, finally, he looked up,
his wife elevated her eyebrows over the top of the coffee urn, and the
Doctor laughed.
"To be sure, wifie, read the note." And this is what she read:--
DEAR RICHARD,--I 've had a hard night, trying to look at things from
your point of view and see my own duty towards Hazel. Things have grown
rather misty, looking both backwards and forwards, and I have concluded
I can't do better than to take you at your word,--trust her to you, and
accept the guarantee of her return to me with her physical condition
such as it should be.
This decision will, as you well know, raise a storm of protest among the
relations. The whole swarm will be about my ears in less than no time.
Stand by me. The whole responsibility rests upon you,--and tell Hazel;
I 'm too much of a coward. This is a confession, but you will
understand. Let me know the details of your plans so soon as possible. I
have never been able to give you such a proof of friendship. Have you
ever asked another man for such? I mistrust you, old fellow.
Yours, JOHN.
IV
A LITTLE MILLIONAIRE
"Gabrielle."
"Oui, mademoiselle Hazel," came in shrill yet muffled tones from the
depths of the dressing-room closet.
"Bring me my white silk kimono."
"Oui, mademoiselle."
The order, in French, was given in a weak and slightly fretful voice
that issued from the bed at the farther end of a large room from which
the dressing-room opened. The apartment was, in truth, what Doctor
Heath had called it, "a nest of luxury."
It was a bitter Saint Valentine's Day which succeeded the Doctor's
evening visit. The wood-fire, blazing cheerily in the ample fireplace,
sent its warmth and light far out into the room, flashing red
reflections in the curiously twisted bars of the brass bedstead. At the
left of the fireplace stood a small round tea-table, and upon it a
little silver tea-kettle on a standard of the same metal. Dainty cups
and saucers of egg-shell china were grouped about it; a miniature silver
tray held a sugar-dish and a cream-pot and a half-dozen gold-lined
souvenir spoons.
On the richly carved mantel stood an exquisite plate-glass clock, the
chimes of which were just striking nine, and, keeping it company to
right and left, were two dainty figures of a shepherd and shepherdess in
Dresden china. The remaining mantel space was filled with tiny figures
in bisque,--a dachshund, a cat and kittens, a porcelain box,
heart-shaped, the top covered with china forget-me-nots, a silver
drinking-cup, a small oval portrait on ivory of a beautiful young woman,
framed in richly chased gold, the inner rim set round with pearls. A
blue pitcher of Cloisonne and a tray of filigree silver heaped with
dainty cotillion favors stood on one end; on the other, a crystal vase
filled with white tulips.
Soft blue and white Japanese rugs lay upon the polished floor; delicate
blue and white draperies hung at the windows. Dressing-case and
writing-desk of white curled maple were each laden with articles for the
toilet and for writing, in solid silver, engraved with the monogram H.C.
A couch, upholstered in blue and white Japanese silk, stood at the right
of the fireplace, and all about the room were dainty wicker chairs
enamelled in white, and cushioned to match the hangings.
The bed was canopied in pale blue covered with white net and edged with
lace, and the coverlet was of silk of the same delicate color,
embroidered with white violets and edged like the canopy, only with a
deeper frill of lace. The occupant of this couch, fit for a princess
royal, was the little mistress of all she surveyed, as well as the
mansion of which the room formed a small part; and a woebegone-looking
little girl she was, who called again, and this time impatiently:--
"Gabrielle, hurry, do."
"Oui, oui, mademoiselle Hazel;" and Gabrielle tripped across the room
with the white kimono in one hand and fresh towels in the other. She
had just slipped it upon Hazel when there was a knock at the door.
Gabrielle opened it, and Wilkins asked in a voice intended to be low,
but which proved only husky:--
"Nuss say she mus' jes' speak wif Marse Clyde 'fo' she come up, an'
wan's to know if Miss Hazel will haf her breffus now or wait till she
come up herse'f."
Before Gabrielle could answer, Hazel called out, "You may bring it up
now, Wilkins; and has the postman come yet?"
Wilkins' broad smile sounded in his voice, as it came out of its
huskiness.
"Yes, Miss Hazel, ben jes' 'fo' I come up. I ain't seen no hearts, but
dey's thicker 'n spatter by de feel, an' a heap o' boxes by 'spress!"
"Oh, bring them up quick, Wilkins, and tell papa to be sure and come up
directly after breakfast."
"Yes, for sho', Miss Hazel," said Wilkins, delighted to have a word with
the little daughter of her whom he had carried in his arms thirty-two
years ago up and down the jasmine-covered porch of an old New Orleans
mansion.
In a few minutes, he reappeared with two large silver trays, on one of
which was the tempting breakfast of Hamburg grapes, a dropped egg, a
slice of golden-brown toast, half of a squab broiled to the
melting-point, and a cup of cocoa. On the other were boxes large and
small, and white envelopes of all sizes.
Gabrielle cut the string and opened the boxes, while Hazel looked on,
pleased to be remembered, but finding nothing unusual in the display;
for Christmas and Easter and birthdays and parties brought just about
the same collection, minus "the hearts," which Wilkins had felt through
the covers. The only fun, after all, was in the guessing.
Just then Mr. Clyde entered.
"Oh, papa! I 'm so glad you have come; it's no fun guessing alone."
She put up her peaked, sallow little face for the good-morning kiss; and
her father, with the thought of his last night's struggle, took the face
in both hands and kissed brow and mouth with unusual tenderness.
"Why, papa!" she exclaimed, "that kiss is my best valentine; you never
kissed me that way before."
"Well, it's time I began, Birdie; let's see what you have for nonsense
here. What's this--from Cambridge?"
"Oh, that's Jack, I 'm sure; he always sends me violets; but what is
that in the middle of the bunch?" With a smile she drew out a tiny
vignette of her Harvard Sophomore cousin. It was framed in a little
gold heart, and on a slip of paper was written, "For thee, I 'm all
'art."
"Jack 's a gay deceiver," laughed her father; "he 's all ''art' for a
good many girls, big and little. What's this?--and this?"
One after another he took out the contents of envelopes and
boxes,--candy hearts by the pound in silver bonbon boxes, silk hearts,
paper hearts, a flower heart of real roses ("That's from you, Papa
Clyde!" she exclaimed, and her father did not deny the pleasant
accusation), hollow gilt hearts stuffed with sentiments, a silver
chatelaine heart for change, and last, but not least, an enormous
envelope, a foot square, containing a white paper heart all written over
with "sentiments" from the girls in her class at school.
"Come now, Birdie," said her father, after the last one had been opened
and guessed over, "eat your breakfast, or nurse will scold us both for
putting play before business."
"I don't think I want any, papa," said Hazel, languidly, for, after all,
the valentines had proved to be almost too much excitement for the
little girl, who was just recovering from weeks of slow fever; "and,
Gabrielle, take the flowers away, they make my head ache,--and the other
things, too," she added, turning her head wearily on the pillow.
"But you must eat, Hazel dear," said her father, gently but firmly; and
therewith he took a grape and squeezed the pulp between her lips. Hazel
laughed,--a faint sound.
"Why, papa, if you feed me that way, I shall be a real Birdie. Yes,"
she nodded, "that's good; I 'll take another;" and her father proceeded
to feed her slowly, now coaxing, now urging, then commanding, till a few
grapes and a half egg were disposed of.
"There, now, I won't play tyrant any longer," he said, "for your real
tyrant of a doctor is coming soon, and I must be out of the way."
"Are you going to be at home for luncheon to-day, papa?"
"No, dear, I 've promised to go out to Tuxedo with the Masons, but I
shall be at home before dinner, just to look in upon you. I dine with
the Pearsells afterwards. Good-bye." A kiss,--two, three of them; and
the merry, handsome young father, still but thirty-seven, had gone, and
with him much of the brightness of Hazel's day.
But she was used to this. Ever since she could remember anything, she
had been petted and kissed and--left with her nurse, her governess, or a
French maid.
Her young mother, a Southern belle, lived more out of her home than in
it, with the round of gayeties in the winter months interrupted and
continued by winter house-parties at Lenox, a yachting cruise in the
Mediterranean, an early spring-flitting to the mountains of North
Carolina, and the later household moving to Newport.
In all these migrations Hazel accompanied her parents; in fact, was
moved about as so much goods and chattels, from New York to the
Berkshires, from the Berkshires to Malta, from Malta to the Great
Smokies, from the mountains to the sea; her appurtenances, the governess
and French maid, went with her; and the routine of her home in New York,
the study, the promenade, the all-alone breakfasts and dinners went on
with the regularity of clockwork, whether on the yacht, in the
mountains, or in the villa on the Cliff.
So now, although she wished her father would stay and entertain her, it
never occurred to her to tell him so; and likewise it never occurred to
the father that his child needed or wished him to stay. Nor had it ever
occurred to the young mother that she was not doing her whole duty by
her child; for she never omitted to go upstairs and kiss her little
daughter good-night, whether the child was awake or asleep, before going
out to dinner, theatre, or reception.
She died when Hazel was nine, and it was a lovely memory of "mamma" that
Hazel cherished: a vision of loveliness in trailing white silk, or
velvet, or lace,--her mother always wore white, it was her Southern
inheritance,--with a single dark-red rose among the folds of Venetian
point of the bertha; always a gleam of white neck and arms banded with
flashing, many-faceted diamonds, or roped with pearls; always a sense of
delicious white warmth and fragrance, as the vision bent over her and
pressed a light kiss upon her cheek. And if, in her bliss, she opened
her sleepy eyes, she looked always into laughing brown depths, and
putting up her hand caressed shining masses of brown hair.
But it was always a good-night vision. In the morning mamma did not
breakfast until ten, and Hazel was off to the little private school at
half-past nine. At noon mamma was either out at lunch or giving a
lunch-party; and in the afternoon there was the promenade in the Park
with the governess, and sometimes, as a treat, a drive with mamma on her
round of calls, when Hazel and the maid sat among the furs in the
carriage. Then Hazel played at being grown up, and longed for the time
when she could wear a reception dress like mamma's, of white broadcloth
and sable, and trip up the steps of the various houses, and trip down
again with a bevy of young girls laughing and chatting so merrily.
All that had ceased when Hazel was nine, and the young father had made
her mistress in her mother's place. It was such a great house! and there
were so many servants! and the housekeeper was so strict! and it was so
queer to sit at the round table in the big dining-room and try to look
at papa over the silver epergne in the centre!
When she was eleven, she entered one of the large private schools which
many of her little mates attended. Soon it came to be the "girls of our
set" with Hazel; and then there followed music-lessons, and
violin-lessons, and riding-lessons, and dancing-class, and riding-days
in the Park, and lunch-parties with the girls, and
theatre-matinee-parties, and concerts at Carnegie Hall, and birthday
parties, and sales--school and drawing-room affairs--and Lenten
sewing-classes; until gradually her little society life had become an
epitome of her mother's, and when she began to shoot up like a
bean-sprout, lose her round face and the delicate pink from her cheeks,
uncles and aunt and cousin and friends whispered of her mother's frail
constitution, and that it was time to take heed.
Then it was that the physician, who had helped to bring her into the
world, was summoned hastily to prevent her early departure from it.
This was the "curious case" that so bothered him; and this pale, languid
girl of thirteen in the blue-canopied bed was the one he intended to
transplant into another soil.
A short, sharp tap announced his arrival. The nurse opened the door.
"Good-morning, little girl--ah, ah! Saint Valentine's Day? I had
forgotten it; all those came this morning?" he said cheerily, pointing
to a table on which Gabrielle had placed all the remembrances but the
flowers.
"Yes, Doctor Heath; but my best valentine, you know, is papa, and after
him, you."
"Hm, flatterer!" growled the Doctor, feeling her pulse. "Pretty good,
pretty good. Think we can get you up for half a day. What do you say,
nurse?"
"I think it will do her good, Doctor Heath; she has no appetite yet, and
a little exercise might help her to it."
"No appetite?" The two eyebrows drew together in a straight line over
the bridge of his nose, and, from under them, a pair of keen eyes looked
at Hazel.
"Well, I 've planned something that will give you a splendid one,
Hazel,--the best kind of a tonic--
"Oh, I don't want to take any more tonics. I am so sick of them," said
Hazel, in a despairing tone, for although she adored the Doctor, she
despised his medicines.
"You won't get sick of this tonic so soon, I 'll warrant," he said,
unbending his brows and letting the full twinkle of his fine eyes shine
forth,--"at least not after you are used to it. I won't say but that it
may cause a certain kind of sickness at first; in fact, I 'm sure of
it."
"Oh, will it nauseate me?" cried Hazel, dreading to suffer any more.
"No, no, it won't do that, but--"
"But what _do_ you mean, Doctor Heath? Are you joking?"
"Never was more in earnest in my life," replied the Doctor, rubbing his
hands in glee, much to Hazel's amazement. "Hazel," he turned abruptly
to her, "papa is a splendid fellow; did you know that?"
Hazel laughed aloud, a real girl's laugh,--Doctor Heath was so queer at
times.
"Have you just found that out?" she retorted.
"No, you witch,--don't be impertinent to your elders,--I have n't; but
really he is, take it all in all, just about the most common-sense
fellow in New York City."
"What has he done now, that you are praising him so?"
"Just heard to me, my dear, and agreed to do just as I want him to,"
said the Doctor, demurely.
"Why," laughed Hazel, "that's just when I think he is a most splendid
fellow, when he does just what I want him to. Is n't it funny you and I
think just alike!" And she gave his hand a malicious little pat. The
Doctor caught the five slender digits and held them fast.
"Now we 're agreed that you have the most splendid, common-sense father
in the world, I want you to prove to me that your father has the most
splendid, common-sense daughter in it, as well."
Again Hazel laughed. She was used to her friend's ways.
"That means that you want me to take that old, new tonic of yours."
"Yes, just that," said the Doctor, emphatically; "and now, as you don't
appear to care to hear about it, I 'm going to make a long call and tell
you its entire history."
"Have you brought it with you?" asked Hazel, somewhat mystified.
"No, I can't carry around with me in a cab five children, a hundred
acres of pine woods, a whole mountain-top, and a few Jersey cows."
"What _do_ you mean? You _are_ joking."
Then the physician clasped the thin hand a little more closely and told
her of the country plan.
At first, Hazel failed to comprehend it. She gazed at the speaker with
large, serious eyes, as if she half-feared he had taken leave of his
senses.
"Did papa know it this morning?" was her first question.
"Yes, my dear."
"Then that is why he kissed me the way he did," she said thoughtfully.
"But," her lip quivered, "I sha'n't have him to kiss me up there,
and--and--oh, dear!" A wail went up from the canopied bed that made the
Doctor turn sick at heart, and even the nurse hurried away into the
dressing-room.
Somehow Doctor Heath could not exhort Hazel, as he had her father, to
use common-sense. He preferred to use diplomacy.
"You see, Hazel, a year won't be so very long, and it will give your
hair time to grow; and perhaps you would not mind wearing a cap for a
time up there, while if you were here you certainly would not care about
going to dancing-school or parties in that rig; now would you?"
Hazel sniffed and looked for her handkerchief. As she failed to find
it, the Doctor applied his own huge square of linen to the dripping,
reddened eyes, and tenderly stroked the smooth-shaven head.
Hazel had her vanities like all girls, and her long dark braids had been
one of them. After the fever, she had been shorn of what scanty locks
had been left to her, and many a time she had wondered what the girls
would say when they saw her. After all, the new plan might be endured,
for the sake of the hair and her looks.
She sniffed again, and this time a good many tears were drawn up into
her nose. The Doctor, taking no notice of the subsiding flood,
proceeded,--
"My patients always look so comical when the fuzz is coming out. It's
like chicken-down all over the head--"
"Fuzz!" exclaimed Hazel, with a dismayed, wide-eyed look; "must I have
fuzz for hair?"
"Why, of course, for about five months," was the Doctor's matter-of-fact
reply. "Then," he continued, apparently unheeding the look of relief
that crept over Hazel's face, "you are apt to have the hair come out
curly."
"Oh!"
"Yes, and it really grows very fast--that is," he said, resorting to
wile, "if any one is strong and well; but if the general health is not
good, why--hem!--the hair is n't apt to grow!"
"Goodness! I don't want to be bald all my life!"
"No, I thought not, and for that very reason it did seem the best thing
for you to get into the country where you can get well and strong as
fast as ever you can."
"Shall I have to eat my breakfast and dinner alone up there?" was her
next question.
Doctor Heath laughed. "What! With all those five children! You will
never want for company, I can assure you of that. And now I 'll be off;
as it's Saint Valentine's Day, which I had forgotten, I 'll wager I have
five valentines from those very children waiting for me at home."
"Will you show them to me, if you have?"
"To be sure I will. Now sit up for half a day, and get yourself strong
enough to let me take you up there by the middle of March."
"Oh, are you going to take me? What fun! Are they friends of yours?"
she added timidly.
"Every one," said the Doctor, emphatically. He turned at the door.
"You have n't said yet whether you will honor me with your company up
there."
"I suppose I must," she said, with something between a sigh and a laugh.
"But I don't know what Gabrielle will do; she 'll be so homesick."
"Gabrielle!" cried the Doctor, in a voice loud with amazement; "you
don't think you are going to take Gabrielle with you, do you?"
Before Hazel had time to recover from her astonishment, Gabrielle,
hearing her name called so loudly, came tripping into the room.
"Oui, oui, monsieur le docteur;" and Doctor Heath beat a hasty retreat
to avoid further misunderstandings.
In the afternoon, Hazel received a box by messenger, with, "Please
return by bearer," on the wrapper. On opening it, she found the
Doctor's valentines with the following sentiments appropriately
attached.
I
By Rose-pose made, by March adorned,
'T is not a Heart that one should scorn:
For use each day, the whole year through,
Where find a Valentine so true?
II
Cherry Blossom made this fudge
(Buddie made the box).
Eat it soon, or you will judge,
She made it all of rocks.
III
Baby May has made this cookie;
Mother baked it--but, by hookey!
I can't find another rhyme
To match with this your valentine.
Your loving Valentines,
ROSE, MARCH, "BUDD AND CHERRY," MAY BLOSSOM.
(We're one.)
MOUNT HUNGER, February 14, 1896.
V
TRANSPLANTED
It was the middle of April, yet the drifts still blocked the ravines,
and great patches of snow lay scattered thickly on the northern and
eastern slopes of the mountains.
Not a bud had thought of swelling; not a fern dared to raise its downy
ball above the sodden leaves. Day after day a keen wind from the north
chased dark clouds across a watery blue sky, and now and then a solitary
crow flapped disconsolately over the upland pastures and into the woods.
But in the farmhouse on the mountain, every Blossom was a-quiver with
excitement, for the "live Valentine" was to arrive that day.
According to what Doctor Heath had written first, Mrs. Blossom had
expected Hazel to come the middle of March. She had told the children
about it a week before that date, and ever since, wild and varied and
continuous had been the speculations concerning the new member of the
family.
Both father and mother were much amused at the different ways in which
each one accepted the fact, and commented upon it. At the same time
they were slightly anxious as to the outcome of such a combination.
"They 'll work it out for themselves, Mary," said Mr. Blossom, when his
wife was expressing her fears on account of the attitude of March and
Cherry.
"I hope with all my heart they will, without friction or unpleasantness
for the poor child," replied his wife, thoughtfully, for March's looks
and words returned to her, and they foreboded trouble.
Her husband smiled. "Perhaps the 'poor child' will have her ways of
looking at things up here, which may cause a pretty hard rub now and
then for our children. But let them take it; it will do them good, and
show us what stuff is in them for the future."
Mrs. Blossom tried to think so, but March's words on that afternoon she
had told the children came back to her.
They were dumb at first through sheer surprise. Then Rose spoke,
flinging aside her Virgil she had been studying by the failing light at
the window.
"Oh, mother! we 've been so happy--just by ourselves."
"Will you be less happy, Rose, in trying to make some one else share our
happiness?"
Rose said nothing, but leaned her forehead against the pane, and the
tears trickled adown it and froze halfway.
Mrs. Blossom proceeded, in the silence that followed, to tell them
something of Hazel's life. Then Budd spoke up like a man.
"I 'm awful sorry for her; she 's a little brick to be willing to come
away from her father and live with folks she don't know. I 'd be a
darned coward about leaving my Popsey."
There was no tablecloth handy to hide the squeeze he wanted to give his
mother's hand, and Mrs. Blossom, knowing how he hated any public
demonstration of affection, reserved her approving kiss for the dark and
bedtime. But she looked at him in a way that sent Budd whistling, "I
won't play in your back-yard," over to the kitchen stove, where he
stared inanely at his own reflection in the polished pipe.
For the first time in her life, Cherry did not echo her twin's
sentiment. She was already insanely jealous of the new-comer who seemed
to claim so much of her mother's sympathy and affection. And she was
n't even here! What would it be when she was here for good and all?
At this miserable thought, and all that it appeared to involve, Cherry
began to cry.
Now to see Cherry Blossom cry generally afforded great fun for the whole
family; for there never was a girl of ten who could cry in quite such a
unique manner as this same round-faced, pug-nosed, brown-eyed Cherry,
whose red hair curled as tightly as corkscrews all over her head, and
bobbed and danced and quivered and shook with every motion and emotion.
First, her nose grew very red at the tip; then, her small mouth screwed
itself around by her left ear; gradually, her round face wrinkled till
it resembled a withered crabapple; and finally, if one listened intently
and watched closely, one could hear small sniffs and see two
infinitesimal drops of water issue from the nearly closed and wrinkled
eyes.
But to-day no one noticed, and Cherry sat down in her mother's lap, and
mumbled out her woe between sniffs.
"I can't help it if Budd does want her; _I_ don't, Martie. Budd will
play with her, and you 'll kiss her just as you do us, and it won't be
comfy any more."
"That does not sound like mother's Cherry Blossom," said Mrs. Blossom,
smiling in spite of herself. "I think I 'll tell you all why it comes
to mother and father as a blessing."
Then Mrs. Blossom told them of the mortgage on the farm; how it had been
made necessary, and what it meant, and how it was her duty to accept
what had been sent to her as a means of paying it off.
Rose came over from the window. "Oh, why did n't you tell us before,
Martie," she cried, sobbing outright this time, "and let us help you to
earn something towards it during all this dreadful year? To think you
have been bearing all this, and just going about the same, smiling and
cheer--oh, dear!" Rose sat down on the hearth-rug at her mother's feet,
and her sobs mingled with Cherry's sniffs.
March, who had listened thus far in silence, rose from the settle where
he had flung himself in disgust, and, going over to his mother, stood
straight and tall before her. His gray eyes flashed.
"I 've been a fool, mother, not to see it all before this. You ought to
have told _me_. I 'm your eldest son, and come next after father in
'home things.'" And with this assertion he made a mighty resolve, then
and there to put away boyish things and be more of a man. His mother,
looking at him, felt the change, and tears of thankfulness filled her
eyes.
"What could you do, children? You were too young to have your lives
burdened with work."
"I 'd have found something to do, mother, if you had only told me.
About the girl--" he hesitated--"of course I 'll look at it from the
money side, but it 'll never be the same after she comes--never!" And
with that he went off into the barn.
His mother sighed, for March was looking at the matter in the very way
which, to her, was abhorrent.
"Don't sigh so, Martie," cried Rose; "I 'll take back what I said, and
do everything I can to help you by making it pleasant for her. Budd has
made me ashamed of myself."
"That's my own daughter Rose," said Mrs. Blossom, leaning over to kiss
her parting, for Cherry was awkwardly in the way.
"Did you hear Rose, Cherry?" whispered her mother.
"Ye-es," sniffed Cherry.
"And won't you try to help mother, and make Hazel happy?"
"N-o," said Cherry, still obdurate.
"Very well; then I must depend on Rose and Budd and little May," replied
her mother, putting her down from her knee. By which Cherry knew she
was out of favor, and, not having Budd to flee to for sympathy, ran
blindly out into the woodshed and straight into Chi, who was bringing in
two twelve-quart milk pails filled to overflowing with their creamy
contents.
"Hi there! Cherry Bounce! Steady, steady--without you want to mop up
this woodshed."
"O Chi! I 'm just as miser'ble; a new little girl's coming to live with
us always, and we 'll have no more good times."
"That's queer," said Chi, balancing the pails deftly as Cherry fluttered
about, rather uncertain as to where she should betake herself in the
cold. "I should think it would be the more, the merrier. When's she
comin'?"
"This very month," said Cherry, opening her eyes a little wider, and
forgetting to sniff in her delight at telling some news. "She 's a rich
little girl, but very poor, too, mother says, and she's been sick and is
coming here to get well. I suppose she 's lost all her flesh while she
's been sick, like Aunt Tryphosa; don't you? That's why she 's so
poor."
"Hm!--rich 'n' poor too; that's bad for children," said Chi, soberly.
"Why?" asked Cherry, surprised into drying her small tears and
forgetting to sniff.
"Coz 't is. You see, all you children are rich 'n' poor too; so she 'll
keep you comp'ny, as she 's poor where you 're rich as Croesus, 'n' you
're poor as Job's turkey where she's rich."
"Why, what do you mean, Chi?"
"You wait awhile, 'n' you 'll find out." And with that, Cherry had to
be content.
As the woodshed was too cold to be long comfortably mournful in,--Cherry
decided to go inside and set the table for tea, wondering, meanwhile,
what Chi meant. Ordinarily she would have gone straight to her mother to
find out; but just to-night Cherry felt there was an abyss separating
them, and she hated the very thought of the newcomer having caused this
break between her adored Martie and herself before having stepped foot
in the house.
But Hazel's arrival had been delayed a whole month: first, on account of
the unusually cold weather of March, and then on account of the Doctor's
pressing engagements. To-night, however, this long waiting was to be at
an end.
Mr. Blossom had harnessed Bess and Bob into the two-seated wagon, and
driven down three miles for them to the "Mill Settlement;" and there he
was to meet the stage from Barton's River, the nearest railway station.
As the time approached for the light of the lantern on the wagon to
glimmer on the lower mountain road, which ran in view of the house, the
excitement of Budd and Cherry grew intense. March intended to be
indifferent, yet tolerant, but even he went twice to the door to listen.
As for Rose, she was thinking almost more of Doctor Heath, with whom she
was a great favorite, than of the coming guest. Chi had done up the
chores early with March's help, and sat whistling and whittling in the
shed door with his eye on the lower road.
"They 're coming; they 're coming!" screamed the twins, making a wild
dash for the woodshed, that they might have the first glimpse as the
wagon drove up to the kitchen porch.
"Chi, they 're coming!" they shrieked in his ear, as they flew past him.
"Well, I ain't deaf, if they are," said Chi, gathering himself together,
and going out to help unload.
"Chi, how are you?" said the Doctor, in a hearty tone, grasping the
horny hand held out to him.
"First-rate, 'n' glad to see you back on the Mountain."
"Here, lend a hand, will you? and take out a Little somebody who has to
be handled rather gently for a week or two."
"I ain't much used to handlin' chiny," he replied, "but I 'll be
careful."
He reached up his long arms and, gently as a woman, lifted Hazel out of
the wagon on to the porch.
By this time, Budd had found his bearings and had the Doctor by the
hand.
"Halloo, Budd! here you are handy. Just take Hazel's bag, and run into
the house with her; she must n't stand a minute in this keen air."
Budd's heart was going pretty fast, but he faced the music.
"Come along, Hazel; we 've been waiting a month to see you."
"And I've been waiting longer than that to see you, Budd." The gentle
voice made Budd her vassal forever after.
"Here, Martie, here's Hazel!" he shouted quite unnecessarily, for his
mother had come to the door to welcome her guests. Cherry, hearing the
shout, disappeared in the pantry, and was invisible until called to
supper.
In the confusion of glad welcome that followed, Hazel was conscious of
stepping into a large, warm, lighted room, of some one's arms about her,
and of a loving voice, saying:
"Come in, dear; you must be so tired with your long journey and this
cold ride;" and then a kiss that made her half forget the lonely,
strange feeling she had had during the stage and wagon ride, despite the
doctor's cheerfulness and care of her.
Then some one untied her brown velvet hood and loosened her long
sealskin coat.
"Let me take off your things," said Rose.
Hazel looked up and into the loveliest face she ever remembered to have
seen.
"I 'm Rose, and this is May. May, this is the valentine Martie told us
of."
"I tiss 'oo," said May, winningly, and held up her rosy bud of a face to
Hazel. Hazel stooped to give her, not one, but a half-dozen kisses.
There was no resisting such a little blossom.
May put up her hand and stroked the little silk skull-cap.
"What 'oo wear tap for?"
"Sh! baby," said Rose, horrified, putting her hand on May's mouth.
"Oh, don't do that," said Hazel, "I 'm so used to it now; I don't mind
what people say or think. But I did at first."
May's lip began to quiver and roll over; Hazel sat down on the settle,
and, drawing May up beside her, said gently:--
"There, there, little May Blossom, don't you cry, and I 'll tell you all
about it. It's because I have n't any hair. I lost it all when I was
sick so long. Sometime I 'll show you how funny my head looks, all
covered with fuzz. Doctor Heath says it's like a little chicken's." And
May was comforted and won once and for all to the Valentine, who gave
her the tiny chatelaine watch to play with.
Budd had been hanging about to get the first glimpse of Hazel by
lamplight, and now rushed off to the barn and Chi to give vent to his
feelings.
"I say, Chi, where are you?"
"In the harness room," replied Chi. "What do you want?" as he appeared.
"I say, Chi, she 's a peach. She is n't a bit stuck up, as March said
she would be."
"Good-lookin'?" queried Chi.
"N-o," said Budd, hesitating, "n-o, but I think she will be when she
gets some hair."
"Ain't got any hair!" exclaimed Chi. "How does that happen?"
"She said she 'd been sick an' lost it all, an' 't was like chicken
fuzz."
"Said that, did she?" exclaimed Chi, laughing; then, with the sudden
change from gayety to absolute solemnity that was peculiar to him, he
said:--
"She 's no fool, I can tell you that, Budd; 'n' I 'll bet my last red
cent she 'll come out an A Number 1 beauty; 'n' March Blossom had better
hold his tongue till he cuts all his wisdom teeth." And with that Chi
went into the shed room to "wash up."
What a supper that was! And what a room in which to eat it!
But for the Doctor's cheery voice, Hazel, as she sat in a corner of the
settle, might have thought herself in another world, so unaccustomed
were her city-bred eyes to all that was going on before her. The room
itself was so queer, and, in a way new to her, delightful.
The farmhouse was an old one, strong of beam and solid of foundation.
It had been divided at first according to the fashion of the other
century in which it was built. But as his family increased, Mr. Blossom
found the need of a large, general living-room. It was then that he
took down the wall between the front square room and the kitchen, and
threw them into one. It was this arrangement that made the apartment
unique.
At one end was the huge fireplace that was originally in the front room.
At the left of the fireplace was the jog into which the front door
opened, formerly the little entry.
This was the sitting-room end of the low forty-foot-long apartment; and
it showed to Hazel the fireplace, the old-fashioned crane, with the
hickory back-log glowing warm welcome, the long red-cushioned settle, a
set of shelves filled with books, a little round work-table, Mrs.
Blossom's special property, a large round table of cherry that had
turned richly red with age, and wooden armchairs and rockers, with
patchwork cushions.
The middle portion served for dining-room. In it were the family table
of hard pine, the wooden chairs, and Mrs. Blossom's grandmother's tall
pine dresser.
At the kitchen end, next the woodshed, were the sink, the stove, the
kitchen shelves for pots and pans, and the kitchen table with its
bread-trough and pie-board, all of which Rose kept scoured white with
soap and sand.
This living-room, sitting-room, dining-room, and kitchen in one had six
windows facing south and east. Every window had brackets for plants;
for this evening Rose had turned the blossom-side inwards to the room,
and the walls glowed and gleamed with the velvety crimson of gloxinias,
the red of fuchsias, the pink and white and scarlet of geraniums, the
cream of wax-plant and begonia. Upon all this radiance of color, the
lamplight shone and the fire flashed its crimson shadows. The kettle
sang on the stove, and the delicious odor of baked potatoes came from
the open oven.
"Why, March!" said the Doctor, coming down from the spare room at the
call for supper, "waiting for an introduction? I did n't know you stood
on ceremony in this fashion. Allow me," he said with mock gravity to
Hazel, and presented March in due form.
Hazel greeted him exactly as she would have greeted a new boy at
dancing-school. "Little Miss Finicky," was March's scornful thought of
her, as he bowed rather awkwardly and thrust his hands into his pockets,
racking his brains for something to say.
"What a handsome boy! As handsome as Jack," was Hazel's first
impression; then, missing the cordiality with which the other members of
the family had welcomed her, she said in thought, "I 'm sure he does not
want me here by the way he acts; I think he 's horrid."
Doctor Heath sat down by Hazel. "I 'm not going to let you sit down to
tea with all these mischiefs, little girl, not to-night, for you can't
eat baked potatoes and the other good things after that long journey, so
I 'll ask Rose to give you a bite right here on the settle."
"I 'll speak to Rose," said March, glad to get away.
"Thank you," said the Doctor, looking after him with a puzzled
expression in his keen eyes. Just then Mr. Blossom and Chi came in, and
the whole family sat down at the table.
"Why, where 's Cherry?" exclaimed the Doctor.
"Budd, where 's Cherry?" said his father.
"I promised her I would n't tell where she hides till she was twelve,
an' now she 's ten, an' she 's been so mean about Haz--
"Budd," said his father, sternly, "answer me directly."
"She 's under the pantry shelf behind the meal-chest," said Budd,
meekly.
There was a shout of laughter that caused Cherry to crawl out pretty
quickly and open the pantry door,--for it was hard to hear the fun and
not be in it.
"Come, Cherry," said her mother, still laughing, and Cherry slipped into
her seat beside Doctor Heath with a murmured, "How do you do?" and her
face bent so low over her plate that nothing was visible to Hazel but a
round head running over with tight red curls that bobbed and trembled in
a peculiarly funny way.
"Well, Cherry," said the Doctor, trying to speak gravely, with only the
red tip of a nose in view, "you seem to be rather low in your mind. I
shall have to prescribe for you. Chi, suppose you drive me down to the
Settlement to-morrow morning, and on the way to the train I will send up
a cure-all for low spirits. I 've something for March, too. I think he
needs it." He drew his eyebrows together over the bridge of his nose
and cast a sharp glance at the boy, who felt the doctor had read him.
"That means you 've got something for us," said Budd, bluntly.
"Guess Budd's hit the nail on the head this time," said Chi. "Should
n't wonder if 't was some pretty lively stuff."
"You 're right there, Chi," replied the Doctor, laughing. "There 's
plenty of good strong bark in it--"
Thereupon there was a shout of joy from Budd which brought Cherry's head
into position at once.
"I know, I know, it's a St. Bernard puppy!"
"Oh--ee," squealed Cherry, in her delight, and forthwith put her arm
through the Doctor's and squeezed it hard against her ribs.
"Guess there's a good deal of crow-foot in the other, ain't there?" said
Chi, with a wink at March, who deliberately left his seat after saying,
"Excuse me" most gravely to his mother, and turned a somersault in the
kitchen end just to relieve his feelings. Then, with his hands in his
pockets, he went up to Doctor Heath, his usually clear, pale face
flushing with excitement.
"Do you mean, Doctor Heath, you 're going to give me a full-blooded
Wyandotte cock?" he demanded.
"That is just what I mean, March," replied the Doctor, with great
gravity, "and twelve full-blooded wives are at this moment looking in
vain for a roost beside their lord and master in the express office down
at Barton's River."
"Oh, glory!" cried March, wringing the Doctor's hand with both his, and
then going off to execute another somersault. "You 've done it now!"
"Done what, March?" asked Doctor Heath, really touched by the boy's
grateful enthusiasm.
"Made my fortune," he replied, dropping into his seat again, breathless
with excitement; and to the Doctor's amazement he saw tears, actual
tears, gather in the boy's eyes, before he looked down in his plate and
busied himself with his baked potato.
Hazel saw them too. "What a strange boy," she thought, "and how
different this is from eating my dinner all alone!" Then she slipped up
to the Doctor's side with her small tray containing nothing but empty
dishes, for the keen air and the sight of so many others eating and
enjoying themselves had given her a good appetite.
"Are you satisfied with me _now_?" she said, presenting her tray.
"I should think so," he exclaimed. "Two glasses of milk, two slices of
toasted brown bread, one piece of sponge cake, and a baked apple with
cream! I 've gone out of business with you; my last 'tonic' is going to
work well,--don't you think so?"
"I 'm sure it is," she said quietly, but there was such a depth of
meaning in the sweet voice and the few words that the Doctor threw his
arm around her as they rose from the table, and kept her beside him
until bedtime.
At nine o'clock, Mrs. Blossom helped her to undress, and then, saying
she would come back soon, left her alone in the little bedroom off the
kitchen.
Hazel looked about her in amazement. This was her little room! A small
single bed, looking like a snow drift, so white and feathery and high
was it; one window curtained with a square of starched white cotton
cloth that drew over the panes by means of a white cord on which it was
run at the top; a tiny wash-stand with an old-fashioned bowl and pitcher
of green and white stone-ware, and over it an old-fashioned gilt mirror;
a small splint-bottomed chair and large braided rug of red woollen rags.
That was all, except in one corner, where some cleats had been nailed to
the ceiling and a clothes-press made by hanging from them full curtains
of white cloth.
For the first time in her life, Hazel unpacked her own travelling-bag
and took out the silver toilet articles with the pretty monogram. But
where should she put them? No bureau, no dressing-case, no
bath-room!--For a few minutes Hazel felt bewildered, then, laughing, she
put them back again into her bag, and, leaving her candle in the tin
candlestick on the wash-stand, she gave one leap into the middle of the
high feather-bed.
Just then Mrs. Blossom returned from saying good-night to her own
children. She tucked Hazel in snugly, and to the young girl's surprise,
knelt by the bed saying, "Let us repeat the Lord's Prayer together,
dear;" and together they said it, Hazel fearing almost the sound of her
own voice. When they had finished, Mary Blossom, still kneeling, asked
that Father to bless the coming of this one of His little ones into
their home, and asked it in such a loving, trustful way, that Hazel's
arm stole out from the coverlet and around Mrs. Blossom's neck; her
head, soft and silky as a new-born baby's, cuddled to her shoulder: and
when Mrs. Blossom kissed her good-night, she said suddenly, but
half-timidly, "Do you say _this_ with Rose every night?"
"Yes, dear, every night."
"And how old is Rose?"
"She will be seventeen next August."
"Do you with Budd and Cherry, too?"
"Yes, with all my children, even March and May."
"March!" exclaimed Hazel.
"Why not?" laughed his mother. "I 'm sure he needs it, as you 'll find
out; now good-night, and don't get up to our early breakfast to-morrow,
for the Doctor goes on the first morning train, and you 're not quite
strong enough yet to do just as we do. Good-night again."
"Good-night," said Hazel, thinking she could never have enough of this
kind of putting to bed.
Meanwhile March and Budd, in their bedroom over the "long-room," were
discussing in half-whispers Wyandotte cocks, St. Bernard puppies, and
the new-comer, for they were too excited to sleep.
Just behind March's bed, near the head, there was a large knot in the
boards of the flooring, which for four years had served him many a good
turn, when Budd and Cherry were planning, below in the kitchen, how they
could play tricks upon him. March had carefully removed the knot, and
with his eye, or ear, at the hole, he had been able, entirely to the
mystification of the twins, to overthrow their conspiracies and defeat
their flank movements. When his espionage was over, he replaced the
knot, and no one in the household was the wiser for his private
detective service.
To-day, late in the afternoon, he had taken out the knot, intending to
have a view of the new arrival, unbeknown to the rest of the household;
but so interested had he become in the general welcome and in the
anticipation of the Doctor's gifts, that he had forgotten both to look
through the hole and to replace the knot.
Hazel, too, could not sleep at first. It was all so strange, and yet
she was so happy. Her thoughts were in New York, and she was already
planning for a visit from her father, when suddenly she remembered that
she had left the little chatelaine watch he had given her on her last
birthday, lying on the settle where May had been playing with it. She
must wind it regularly, that was her father's stipulation when he gave
it to her. She sprang out of bed, tiptoed to the door, listened; all
was still, but not wholly dark. The embers beneath the ashes in the
fireplace sent a dull glow into the room. Softly she stole out; found
her watch, then, half-way to her own door, stopped, startled by a voice
issuing apparently from the rafters overhead. It was March, who,
forgetting his open knot-hole, turned over towards the wall with a
prolonged yawn and said, evidently in answer to Budd:--
"Oh, go to sleep; don't talk about her. I think she 's a perfect guy."
VI
MALACHI
It was a month after the eventful day for the Blossoms, and Saturday
morning. Rose, with her sleeves rolled up above her elbows, was
kneading bread and singing, as she worked:--
"'Oh, a king would have loved and left thee,
And away thy sweet love cast:
But I am thine
Whilst the stars shall shine,--
To the--last--'"
Just here, she gave the round mass of dough a toss up to the ceiling and
caught it deftly on her right fist as it came down, finishing her octave
with high C, while again the bread spun aloft and dropped in safety on
her left fist--"to the last!"
Then she proceeded with her kneading and singing:--
"'I told thee when love was hopeless;
But now he is wild and sings--
That the stars above [up went the bread again]--
Shine ever on Love--'"
A peal of merry laughter close behind her made her jump, and the bread
came down kerchunk into the kneading trough.
"Gracious, Hazel! how you frightened me! I thought you were off with
Budd and Cherry."
"So I was; but they wanted me to come in and tell you there is to be a
secret meeting of the N.B.B.O.O. Society in the usual place. They said
you would know where it is."
"Of course I do; do you?"
"No, they would n't tell. They said it is against the rules to allow
any one in who hasn't been initiated. They said they 'd initiate me, if
I wanted to join."
"Well, do you want to?"
"Of course I do, if you belong," said Hazel, eagerly.
"Tell them I 'll be out after I 've put the bread to rise and cleared
up; but be sure and tell them not to do anything till I come."
"Yes," cried Hazel, joyfully, skipping through the woodshed and
encountering Chi with a bag of seed-beans.
"Where you goin', Lady-bird?" (This was Chi's name for her from the
first day.) "Seems to me you 're gettin' over the ground pretty fast."
"The Buds" (for so Hazel had nicknamed the children) "are going to have
a meeting somewhere of the N.B.B.O.O. Society, and I'm to be initiated,
Chi. What does that mean?"
"Initiated, hey? Into a secret society? Well, that depends.--Sometimes
it means being tossed sky-high in a blanket, and then again you 're
dropped lower than the bottomless pit; and you can't most always tell
beforehand which way you 're goin'."
Hazel's face fairly lost the rich color she had gained in the past
month. This was more than she had bargained for.
"Oh, Chi! They would n't do such things to me!" she exclaimed in
dismay.
"Well, no--I don't know as they 'd carry it that far; but those children
mean mischief every time."
"But they would n't hurt me, Chi. They would n't be as mean as that;
besides, Rose wouldn't let them."
"Well, I don't know as she would. But children are children, and Rose
ain't grown any wings yet."
"Was Rose initiated?" was Hazel's next rather anxious question.
"Yes, she was," said Chi, taking up a handful of beans and letting them
run through his fingers into the open bag.
"How do you know, Chi?"
"Coz I initiated her myself."
"You, Chi? Why, do you belong?"
"First member of the N.B.B.O.O. Society."
"Well, that's funny. Who initiated you?"
Chi set down the bag of beans, and for a moment shook with laughter;
then, growing perfectly sober, he said solemnly:--
"I initiated myself. But they was all on hand when I did it."
"What did you do, Chi?"
"Just hear her!" said Chi to himself, but aloud, he said, "I 'll tell
you this much, if it is a secret society. They try 'n' see what stuff
you 're made of."
"'Sugar and spice
And all that's nice,
That's what little girls are made of,'"
Hazel interrupted, singing merrily.
"There was n't much 'sugar 'n' spice' in that Rose Blossom when she put
me to the test. You ain't heard a screech-owl yet; but when you do,
you'll come running home to find out whose bein' killed in the woods."
Hazel looked at him half in fear, but Chi went on stolidly:--
"'N' those children told me I 'd got to go up into the woods at twelve
o'clock at night, when the screech-owls was yellin' bloody murder, to
show I wasn't scairt of nothin'; 'n' I went."
"Oh, Chi, was n't it awful?"
"Kinder scarey; but they gave me the dinner horn 'n' told me to blow a
blast on that when I was up there, so they 'd hear, 'n' know I was
_clear_ into the woods; for they was all on hand watchin' from the back
attic window--what they could in a pitch-black night--to see if I 'd
back down."
"And you did n't, Chi?" said Hazel, eagerly.
"You bet I did n't, 'n' I brought home an old screecher just to prove I
was game."
"How did you catch him, Chi?"
Chi clapped his hands on his knees, and shook with laughter; then he
grew perfectly sober:--
"I took a dark lantern along with me, just to kind of feel my way in the
woods--but the children did n't know about that--'n' when an old
screecher gave a blood-curdlin' yell, just as near my right ear as the
engine down on the track when you 're standin' at the depot at Barton's
River,--just then I turned on the light full tilt, and the feller sat
right still on the branch, kind of dazed like, 'n' I took him just as
easy as I 'd take a hen off the roost after dark, 'n' brought him home.
'N' just as I was goin' up into the attic in the dark, the shed stairs'
way, 'n' the children was all listenin' at the top in the dark, the
dummed bird gave such a screech that the children all tumbled over one
another tryin' to get back to their beds, 'n' such screamin' 'n'
hollerin' you never heard--the bird was n't in it."
Again Chi laughed at the recollection, and Hazel joined him.
"Did they make you do anything more, Chi?"
"By George Washin'ton! I should think they did," said Chi, soberly.
"That last was March's idea, but Rose went him one more."
"What could Rose think of worse than that?" demanded Hazel.
"Well, she did. She blindfolded my eyes 'n' took me by the hand, 'n'
turned me round 'n' round till I was most dizzy; 'n' then she gave me a
rope, 'n' she took one end of it 'n' made me take the other, 'n' kept
leadin' me 'n' leadin' me, 'n' the children all caperin' round me,
screamin' 'n' laughin'. Pretty soon--I calculated I 'd walked about a
quarter of a mile--the rope grew slack; all of a sudden the laughin' 'n'
screamin' stopped, 'n' I--walked right off the bank into the big pool
down under the pines, ker--splash! 'n' the children, after they 'd got
me in, was so scairt for fear I 'd lose my breath--I could n't drown coz
there was n't more than five feet of water in it--that they hauled on
the rope with all their might, 'n' pulled me out; 'n' I let 'em pull,"
said Chi, grimly.
"I hope they were satisfied after that," said Hazel, soberly.
"They appeared to be," said Chi, contentedly, "for they said I should be
president, coz I was so brave. But there 's other things harder to do
than that."
"What are they, Chi?"
"You 've got to keep the by-laws."
"What are those?"
"Rules of the Society. One of 'em 's, you must n't be afraid to tell
the truth. 'N' another is, you must be scairt to tell a lie."
Hazel grew scarlet at her own thoughts.
"Another is, to help other folks all you can; 'n' the fourth 'n' last
is, that no boy or girl as lives in this great, free country of ours
ought to be a coward."
Hazel drew a long breath.
"Those must be hard to keep."
"Well, they ain't always easy, that's a fact; but they re mighty good to
live by," he added, picking up the bean-bag. "I lived with Ben
Blossom's father when I was a little chap as chore boy, 'n' he gave me
my schoolin' 'n' clothes; 'n' I 've lived with his son ever since he was
married, 'n' he's been the best friend a man could have, 'n' I 've
always got along with him in peace and lovin'-kindness; 'n' those four
by-laws his father wrote on my boyhood; 'n' by those four by-laws I 've
kept my manhood; 'n' so I think it 'll do anybody good to join the
Society."
"Well," said Hazel, stoutly, "I 'll show them I 'm not afraid of some
things, if I did run away from the turkey-gobbler."
"That's right," said Chi, heartily, "'n' more than that--betwixt you 'n'
me--you 've no cause to be scairt _whatever_ they do; now mark my words,
_whatever they do_," repeated Chi, emphatically.
"I don't care what they do so long as you 're there, Chi," said Hazel,
looking up into his weather-roughened, deeply-lined face with such utter
trust in her great eyes that Chi caught up the bag over his shoulder and
hurried out to the barn, muttering to himself:--
"George Washin'ton! How she manages to creep into the softest corner of
a man's heart, I don't know; I expect it's those great eyes of hers, 'n'
that voice just like a brook winnerin' 'n' gurglin' over its stones in
August.--Guess there's luck come to this house with Lady-bird!" And he
went about his work.
VII
THE N.B.B.O.O. SOCIETY
"Now, Hazel, we 're ready," said Rose, after the dinner dishes had been
washed and the children's time was their own. Hazel submitted meekly to
the blindfolding process.
She had tried in vain to find out something of what the children
intended to do, but they were too clever for her to gain the smallest
hint as to the initiation. March had been busy in the ice-house, and
Cherry had been ironing the aprons for the family,--that was her
Saturday morning duty. Budd and the St. Bernard puppy were off with Chi
in the fields.
Rose led her through the woodshed and out of doors--Hazel knew that by
the rush of soft air that met her face--and away, somewhither. At last
she was helped to climb a ladder; Chi's hand grasped hers, and she felt
the flooring under her feet. Then she was left without support of any
kind, not daring to move with Chi's story in her thoughts.
"Guess we 'll have the roll-call first," said Chi, solemnly. There was
not a sound to be heard except now and then a rush of wings and the
twitter of swallows.
"Molly Stark."
"Here," said Rose.
"Markis de Lafayette."
"Here," from March.
"Marthy Washin'ton."
"Present," said Cherry, forgetting she was not in school. Budd
snickered, and the president called him to order.
"Fine of two cents for snickerin' in meetin'." Budd looked sober.
"Ethan Allen."
"Here," said Budd, in a subdued voice.
"Old Put,--Here," said Chi, addressing and answering himself. "Now,
Markis, read the by-laws."
"Number One.--We pledge ourselves not to be afraid to tell the truth."
"Number Two.--We pledge ourselves to be afraid to tell a lie.
"Number Three.--We pledge ourselves to try to help others whenever we
can, wherever we can, however we can, as long as ever we can.
"Number Four.--We, as American boys and girls, pledge ourselves never to
play the coward nor to disgrace our country."
"Molly Stark, unfurl the flag," said Chi.
Hazel heard a rustle as Rose unrolled the banner of soft red, white, and
blue cambric.
"Put Old Glory round the candidate's shoulders," commanded the
president, and Hazel felt the soft folds being draped about her.
"There now, Lady-bird, you 're dressed as pretty as you 're ever goin'
to be; it don't make a mite of difference whether you 're the Empress of
Rooshy, or just plain every-day folks; 'n' now you 've got that rig on,
we 're ready to give you the hand of fellowship. Markis, you have the
floor."
"What name does the candidate wish to be known by?" asked March, with
due gravity; then, forgetting his role, he added, "You must take the
name of some woman who has been just as brave as she could be."
Hazel, feeling the folds of the flag about her, suddenly recalled her
favorite poem of Whittier's.
"Barbara Frietchie," she said promptly and firmly.
The various members shouted and cheered themselves hoarse before order
was restored.
"What'd I tell you, Budd?" said Chi, triumphantly; then there was
another shout, for Chi had broken the rules in speaking thus.
"Two cents' fine!" shouted Budd, "for speaking out of order in meeting."
"Sho! I forgot," said Chi, humbly; "well, proceed."
"Do you, Barbara Frietchie, pledge yourself to try to keep these
by-laws?"
"Yes," said Hazel, but rather tremulously.
"Well, then, we 'll put you to the test. Molly Stark will extend the
first hand of fellowship to Barbara Frietchie--No, hold out your hand,
Hazel; way out--don't you draw it back that way!"
"I did n't," retorted Hazel.
"Yes, you did, I saw you!"
"You didn't, either."
"I did."
"You did n't."
"I did, too."
"He did n't, did he, Chi?" said Hazel, furious at this charge of
apparent timidity.
"I don't believe you drew it back even if March does think he saw you,"
said Chi, pouring oil both ways on the troubled waters; "'n' I never
thought 't was just the thing for a boy to tell a girl she was a coward
before she'd proved to be one--specially if he belongs to this Society."
The Marquis de Lafayette hung his head at this rebuke; but in the action
his cocked hat of black and gilt paper lurched forward and drew off with
it his white cotton-wool wig. Budd and Cherry, forgetting all rules,
fines, and sense of propriety, rolled over and over at the sight; Rose
sat down shaking with laughter, and even Chi lost his dignity.
"I wish you would let me _see_, or do something," said Hazel,
plaintively, when she could make herself heard.
"'T ain't fair to keep Hazel waiting so," declared Budd, and the
president called the meeting to order again.
"Put out your hand, Hazel," said Rose. "Now shake."
Hazel grasped a hand, cold, deathly cold, and clammy. The chill of the
rigid fingers sent a corresponding shiver down the length of her
backbone, and the goose-flesh rose all over her arms and legs. She
thought she must shriek; but she recalled Chi's words, set her teeth
hard, and shook the awful thing with what strength she had, never
uttering a sound.
"Bully for you, Hazel! I knew you 'd show lots of pluck," cried Budd.
"Got grit every time," said Chi, proudly. "Now let's have the other
test and get down to business. Guess all three of you 'll have to have
a finger in this pie. Hurry up, Marthy Washin'ton!" Cherry scuttled
down the ladder, and in a few minutes labored, panting, up again.
"What did you bring two for?" demanded Budd.
"'Cause March said 't would balance me better on the ladder," replied
Cherry, innocently. At which explanation Chi laughed immoderately, much
to Cherry's discomfiture.
"Now, Hazel, roll up your sleeve and hold out your bare arm," said the
Marquis. Hazel obeyed, wondering what would come next.
"Here, Budd, you hold it; all ready, Cherry?"
"Ye-es--wait a minute; now it's all right."
"This we call burning in the Society's brand,--N.B.B.O.O.;" the voice of
the Marquis was solemn, befitting the occasion.
Hazel drew her breath sharply, uncertain whether to cry out or not.
There was a sharp sting across her arm, as if a hot curling-iron had
been drawn quickly across it; then a sound of sizzling flesh, and the
odor of broiled beefsteak rose up just under her nostrils.
There was a diabolical thud of falling flat-irons; Rose tore the bandage
from Hazel's eyes, and the bewildered candidate for membership, when her
eyes grew somewhat wonted to the dim light, found herself in a corner of
the loft in the barn, with the elegant figure of the Marquis in cocked
hat, white wig, yellow vest, blue coat, and yellow knee-breeches dancing
frantically around her; Ethan Allen in white woollen shirt, red yarn
suspenders, and red, white, and blue striped trousers, turning back-hand
somersaults on the hay; Chi standing at salute with his
great-great-grandfather's Revolutionary musket, his old straw hat
decorated with a tricolor cockade, and Cherry in a white cotton-wool
wig, a dark calico dress of her mother's and a white neckerchief, flat
on the floor beside two six-pound flat-irons.
A piece of raw beef on a tin pan, some bits of ice, and a kid glove
stuffed with ice and sawdust, lay scattered about. They told the tale of
the initiation.
"Three cheers for Barbara Frietchie!" shouted Budd, as he came right
side up. The barn rang with them.
"Now we 'll give the right hand of true fellowship," said Chi, rapping
with the butt of his musket for order.
Rose gave Hazel's hand a squeeze. "I 'm so glad you 're to be one of
us," she said heartily; and Hazel squeezed back.
March came forward, bowed low, and said, "I apologize for my distrust of
your pluck," and held out his hand with a look in the flashing gray eyes
that was not one of mockery; indeed, he looked glad, but never a word of
welcome did he speak.
"I could flog that proud feller," muttered Chi to himself.
Hazel hesitated a moment, then put out her hand a little reluctantly.
March caught the gesture and her look.
"Oh, you 're not obliged to," he said haughtily, and turned on his heel.
But Hazel put her hand on his arm.
"I 'm afraid we are both breaking some of the by-laws, March. I do want
to shake hands, but I was thinking just then that you did n't mean the
apology--not really and truly; and if you did mean it, there was
something else you needed to apologize for more than that!"
March flushed to the roots of his hair. Then his boy's honor came to
the rescue.
"I do want to now, Hazel--and forgive and forget, won't you?" he said,
with the winning smile he inherited from his father, but which he kept
for rare occasions.
Hazel put her hand in his, and felt that this had been worth waiting
for. She knew that at last March had taken her in.
Budd gripped with all his might, Cherry shook with two fingers, and
Chi's great hand closed over hers as tenderly as a woman's would have
done.
This was Hazel's initiation into the Nobody's Business But Our Own
Society. It was the second meeting of the year.
"Now, March, I 'll make you chairman and ask you to state the business
of this meetin', as you 've called it. Must be mighty important?"
"It is," replied March, gravely, all the fun dying out of his face.
"You remember, all of you,--don't you?--what mother told us that night
she said Hazel was coming?"
"Yes," chorussed the children.
"Well, I 've been thinking and thinking ever since how I could help--"
"So 've I, March," interrupted Rose.
"And I have, too," said Budd.
"What's all this mean?" said Chi, somewhat astonished, for he had not
known why the meeting had been called.
"Why, you see, Chi, we never knew till then that the farm had been
mortgaged on account of father's sickness, and that it had been so awful
hard for mother all this year--"
Chi cleared his throat.
"--And we want to do something to help earn. If we could earn just our
own clothes and books and enough to pay for our schooling, it would be
something."
"Guess 't would," said Chi, clearing his throat again. "Kind of workin'
out the third by-law, ain't you?"
"Trying to," answered March, with such sincerity in his voice that Chi's
throat troubled him for full a minute. "And what I want to find out,
without mother's knowing it, or father either, is how we can earn enough
for those things. If anybody 's got anything to say, just speak up."
"What you goin' to do with those Wyandottes?"
"I knew you 'd ask that, Chi. I 'm going to raise a fine breed and sell
the eggs at a dollar and a half for thirteen; but I can't get any
chicken-money till next fall, and no egg-money till next spring, and I
want to begin now."
"Hm--" said Chi, taking off his straw hat and slowly scratching his
head. "Well," he said after a pause in which all were thinking and no
one talking, "why don't all of you go to work raisin' chickens for next
Thanksgivin'?"
"By cracky!" said Budd, "we could raise three or four hundred, an' fat
'em up, an' make a pile, easy as nothing."
"I don't know about it's bein' so easy; but children have the time to
tend 'em, and I don't see why it won't work, seein' it's a good time of
year."
"But where 'll we get the hens to set, Chi?" said March.
"Oh, there 's enough of 'em settin' round now on the bare boards," Chi
replied.
"Can I raise some, too?" asked Hazel, rather timidly.
"Don't know what there is to hinder," said Chi, with a slow smile.
"And can I buy some hens for my very own?"
"Why, of course you can; just say the word, 'n' you 'n' I 'll go
settin'-hen hunting within a day or so."
"Oh, what fun!" cried Hazel, clapping her hands. "But I want some that
will sit and lay too, Chi; then I can sell the eggs."
There was a shout of laughter, at which Hazel felt hurt.
"There now, Lady-bird, we won't laugh at your city ways of lookin' at
things any more. The hens ain't quite so accommodatin' as that, but we
'll get some good setters first, 'n' then see about the layin'
afterwards."
"But, Chi, it will take such a lot of corn to fatten them. We don't want
to ask father for anything."
"That's right, Rose. Be independent as long as you can; I thought of
that, too. Now, there 's a whole acre on the south slope I ploughed
this spring,--nice, hot land, just right for corn-raisin'; 'n' if you
children 'll drop 'n' cover, I 'll help you with the hoein' 'n' cuttin'
'n' huskin'; 'n' you 'll have your corn for nothin'."
"Good for you, Chi; we 'll do it, won't we?" cried March.
"You bet," said Budd.
"I can pick berries," said Rose, "and we can always sell them at the
Inn, or at Barton's River."
"Yes, and we can begin in June," said Cherry; "the pastures are just red
with the wild strawberries, you know, Rose."
"It's an awful sight of work to pick 'em," said Budd, rather dubiously.
"Well, you can't get your money without workin', Budd; 'n' work don't
mean 'take it easy.'"
"I 'm sure we can get twenty-five cents a quart for them right in the
village. I 've heard folks say they make the best preserve you can get,
and you can't buy them for love nor money," said Rose. "Mother makes
beautiful ones."
"Was n't that what we had last Sunday night when the minister was here
to tea?" asked Hazel.
"Yes," said Rose.
"I never tasted any strawberries like them at home, and the housekeeper
buys lots of jams and jellies in the fall." Hazel thought hard for a
minute. Suddenly she jumped to her feet, clapped her hands, and spun
round and round like a top, crying out, "I have it! I have it!"
The N.B.B.O.O. Society was amazed to see the new member perform in this
lively manner, for Hazel had been rather quiet during the first month.
Now she caught up her skirts with a dainty tilt, and danced the Highland
Fling just to let her spirits out through her feet. Up and down the
floor of the loft she charged, hands over her head, hands swinging her
skirts, light as a fairy, bending, swaying, and bowing, till, with a big
"cheese," she sat down almost breathless by Chi. Was this Hazel? The
members of the N.B.B.O.O. looked at one another in amazement, and
March's eyes flashed again, as they had done once before during the
afternoon.
"Now all listen to me," she said, as if, after a month of silence, she
had found her tongue. "I 've an idea, and when I have one, papa says
it's worth listening to,--which is n't often, I 'm sure. We 'll pick
the strawberries, and get Mrs. Blossom to show Rose how to do them up;
and I 'll write to papa and Doctor Heath's wife and to our housekeeper
and Cousin Jack, and see if they don't want some of those delicious
preserves that they can't get in the city. I 'll find out from Mrs.
Scott--that's the housekeeper--how much she pays for a jar in New York,
and then we 'll charge a little more for ours because the strawberries
are a little rarer. Are n't there any other kinds of berries that grow
around here?"
"Guess you 'd better stop 'n' take breath, Lady-bird; there 's a mighty
lot of plannin' in all that. What 'd I tell you, Budd?" Chi asked
again.
Budd looked at Hazel in boyish admiration, but said nothing.
"I think that's splendid, Hazel," said Rose, "if they'll only want
them."
"I know they will; but are there any other berries?"
"Berries! I should think so; raspberries and blackberries by the bushel
on the Mountain, and they say they 're the best anywhere round here,"
said March.
"Oh, dear!" sighed Cherry, "I wish we could go to work right now."
"Well, so you can," said Chi, "only you can't go berryin' just yet. You
can begin to drop that corn this very afternoon: better be inside the
ground pretty soon, with all those four hundred chickens waitin' to join
the Thanksgivin' procession."
[Illustration: "'You can begin to drop that corn this very afternoon'"]
"Oh, Chi, you 're making fun of us," laughed Rose.
"Don't you believe it, Rose-pose; never was more in earnest in my life.
Come along, 'n' I 'll show you."
VIII
A LIVELY CORRESPONDENCE
It was a trial of patience to have to wait twenty-one days before the
first of the "four hundred" could be expected to appear.
"You 'll have to be kind of careful 'bout steppin' round in the dark,
Mis' Blossom, 'n' you, too, Ben," said Chi, "for you 'll find a settin'
hen most anywheres nowadays."
Mrs. Blossom laughed. "Oh, Chi, what dear children they are, even if
they aren't quite perfect."
"Can't be beat," replied Chi, earnestly. "Look at them now, will you?"
Mrs. Blossom stepped out on the porch, and looked over to the south
slope and the corn-patch. "What if her father were to see her now!"
She laughed again, both at her thoughts and the sight.
"'T would give him kind of a shock at first," Chi chuckled, "but he 'd
get over it as soon as he 'd seen that face."
"It is wonderful how she has improved. I shouldn't be surprised if he
came up here soon to see Hazel."
"Well, he 'll find somethin' worth lookin' at. See there, now!"
The girls had been making scarecrows to protect the young corn, stuffing
old shirts and trousers with hay and straw, while March and Budd had
been getting ready the cross-tree frames. In dropping and covering the
corn that Saturday afternoon after the initiation, the girls had found
their skirts and petticoats not only in the way as they bent over their
work, but greatly soiled by contact with the soft, damp loam. So they
had begged to wear overalls of blue denim like Chi's and the boys'. The
request had been gladly granted. "It will save no end of washing," said
Mrs. Blossom, and forthwith made up three pairs on the machine.
The girls found it great fun. They tucked in their petticoats and
buttoned down their shoulder-straps with right good will. Then Mr.
Blossom presented them with broad, coarse straw hats, such as he and Chi
used, and with these on their heads they rushed off to the corn-patch.
There now they were,--five good-looking boys with hands joined, dancing
and capering around a scarecrow, that looked like a gentleman tramp gone
entirely to seed, and singing at the top of their voices Budd's
favorite, "I won't play in your back yard."
At that very hour, when the gentleman scarecrow of the corn-patch was
looking amiably, although slightly squint-eyed, out from under his
tattered straw hat (for March had drawn rude features on the white cloth
bag stuffed with cotton-wool which served for a head, and on it Rose had
sewed skeins of brown yarn to imitate hair) at the antics of the five
pairs of blue overalls, Mr. Clyde, having finished his nine o'clock
breakfast, asked for the mail.
"Yes, Marse John" (so Wilkins always called Mr. Clyde when they were
alone), "'spect dere 's one from Miss Hazel by de feel an' de smell."
Mr. Clyde smiled. "How can you tell by the 'feel and the smell,'
Wilkins?"
"Case it's bunchy lake in de middle, an' de vi'lets can't hide dere
bref."
"Well, we 'll see," said Mr. Clyde, willing to indulge his faithful
servant's childish curiosity. Wilkins busied himself quietly about the
breakfast-room.
As Mr. Clyde opened the envelope, the crushed blue and white violets
fell out. Suddenly he burst into such a hearty laugh that Wilkins had
hard work to suppress a sympathetic chuckle.
"I shall have to carry this letter over to the Doctor, Wilkins," he
said, still laughing. "I shall be in time to find him a few minutes
alone before office hours." He rose from the table.
Wilkins followed him out to give his coat a last touch with the brush;
he was fearful Mr. Clyde might leave without revealing anything of the
contents of the letter from his beloved Miss Hazel.
"'Sense me, Marse John," he said in desperation, as Mr. Clyde went
towards the front door, "but Miss Hazel ain't no wusser case yo' goin'
to de Doctah's?"
"Oh, Wilkins, I forgot; you want to know how Miss Hazel is. She is
doing finely; as happy as a bird, and sends her love to you in a
postscript. I think I 'll run up and see her soon."
Wilkins ducked and beamed. "'Pears lake dis yere house ain't de same
place wif de little missus gone."
"You 're right, Wilkins," said Mr. Clyde, earnestly. "I shall not open
the Newport cottage this year; it would be too lonesome without her."
"Well, Dick," he said gayly, as he entered the Doctor's office, "I shall
hold you responsible for some of the lives of the 'Four Hundred.' Here,
read this letter."
MOUNT HUNGER, MILL SETTLEMENT, BARTON'S
RIVER, VERMONT, May 19, 1896.
DEAREST PAPA,--Good-morning! I am answering your long letter a little
sooner than I expected to, because I want you to do something for me in
a business way; that's the way March says it must be.
I don't know how to begin to tell you, but I 've joined the N.B.B.O.O.
Society and one of the by-laws is that we must help others all we can
and just as much as we can. I wish you'd been at the initiashun. (I
don't know about that spelling, and I 'm in a hurry, or I 'd ask.) I
had the hand of fellowship from a supposed corpse's hand first, and then
I was branded on the arm. And afterwards they all took me in, and now
we 're raising four hundred chickens to help others; I 'll tell you all
about it when you come. Chi, that's the hired man, but he is really our
friend, took me sitting-hen hunting day before yesterday, for I am to
own some myself; and we drove all over the hills to the farmhouses and
found and bought twelve, or rather Chi did, for I had to borrow the
money of him, as I felt so bad when I kissed you good-bye that I forgot
to tell you my quarterly allowance was all gone, and I know you won't
like my borrowing of Chi, for you have said so many times never to owe
anybody and I've always tried to pay for everything except when I had to
borrow of Gabrielle, or Mrs. Scott, when I forgot my purse.
But truly the hens were in such an awful hurry to sit, that it did seem
too bad to keep them waiting even three days till I could get some money
from you; and then, too, we 've all of us, March and Rose and Budd and
Cherry and me, bet on which hen would get the first chicken, and that
chicken is going to be a prize chicken and especially fatted, and of
course, if I waited for the money to come from you, I could n't stand a
chance of coming out ahead in our four hundred chicken race, so I
borrowed of Chi. The hens came to just $4 and eighty cents. I'll pay
you back when I earn it, and don't you think it would have been a pity
to lose the chance for the prize chicken just for that borrow?
Please send the money by return mail. I 've other letters to write, so
please excuse my not paragraphing and so little punctuation, but I 've
so much to do and this must go at once.
Your loving and devoted daughter,
HAZEL CLYDE.
P.S. The hens are sitting around everywhere. Give my love to Wilkins.
H.C.
The Doctor shouted; then he stepped to the dining-room door and called,
"Wifie, come here and bring that letter."
Mrs. Heath came in smiling, with a letter in her hand, which, after
cordially greeting Mr. Clyde, she read to him,--an amazed and outwitted
father.
MOUNT HUNGER, MILL SETTLEMENT, BARTON'S
RIVER, VERMONT, May 19, 1896.
MY DEAR MRS. HEATH,--Please thank my dear Doctor Heath for the note he
sent me two weeks ago. I ought to write to him instead of to you, for I
don't owe you a letter (your last one was so sweet I answered it right
off), but he never allows his patients strawberry preserve and jam, so
it would be no use to ask his help just now, as this is pure business,
March says.
We are trying to help others, and the strawberries--wild ones--are as
thick as spatter--going to be--all over the pastures, and we 're going
to pick quarts and quarts, and Rose is going to preserve them, and then
we 're going to sell them.
Do you think of anybody who would like some of this preserve? If you do,
will you kindly let me know by return mail?
I can't tell just the price, and March says that is a great drawback in
real business, and this _is_ real--but it will not be more than $1 and
twenty-five cents a quart. They will be fine for luncheon. _I_ never
tasted any half so good at home.
My dear love to the Doctor and a large share for yourself from
Your loving friend,
HAZEL CLYDE.
P.S. Rose says it is n't fair for people to order without knowing the
quality, so we 've done up a little of Mrs. Blossom's in some Homeepatic
(I don't know where that "h" ought to come in) pellet bottles, and will
send you a half-dozen "for samples," March says, to send to any one to
taste you think would like to order. H.C.
"The cure is working famously," said Doctor Heath, rubbing his hands in
glee.
"Well," said Mr. Clyde, laughing, "I may as well make the best of it;
but I can't help wondering whether the wholesale grocers in town have
been asked to place orders with Mount Hunger, or the Washington Market
dealers for prospective chickens! There 's your office-bell; I won't
keep you longer, but if this 'special case' of yours should develop any
new symptoms, just let me know."
"I 'll keep you informed," rejoined the Doctor. "Better run up there
pretty soon, Johnny," he called after him.
"I think it's high time, Dick. Good-bye."
At that very moment, a symptom of another sort was developing in Z----
Hall, Number 9, at Harvard.
Jack Sherrill and his chum were discussing the last evening's Club
theatricals. "I saw that pretty Maude Seaton in the third or fourth
row, Jack; did she come on for that,--which, of course, means you?"
"Wish I might think so," said Jack, half in earnest, half in jest,
pulling slowly at his corn-cob pipe.
"By Omar Khayyam, Jack! you don't mean to say you 're hit, at last!"
"Hit,--yes; but it's only a flesh-wound at present,--nothing dangerous
about it."
"She 's got the style, though, and the pull. I know a half-dozen of the
fellows got dropped on to-night's cotillion."
"Kept it for me," said Jack, quietly.
"No, really, though--" and his chum fell to thinking rather seriously
for him.
Just then came the morning's mail,--notes, letters, special delivery
stamps, all the social accessories a popular Harvard man knows so well.
Jack looked over his carelessly,--invitations to dinner, to theatre
parties, "private views," golf parties, etc. He pushed them aside,
showing little interest. He, like his Cousin Hazel, was used to it.
The morning's mail was an old story, for Sherrill was worth a fortune in
his own right, as several hundred mothers and daughters in New York and
Boston and Philadelphia knew full well.
Moreover, if he had not had a penny in prospect, Jack Sherrill would
have attracted by his own manly qualities and his exceptionally good
looks. His riches, to which he had been born, had not as yet wholly
spoiled him, but they cheated him of that ambition that makes the best
of young manhood, and Life was out of tune at times--how and why, he did
not know, and there was no one to tell him.
He had rather hoped for a note from Maude Seaton, thanking him, in her
own charming way, for the flowers he had sent her on her arrival from
New York the day before. True, she had worn some in her corsage, but,
for all Jack knew, they might have been another man's; for Maude Seaton
was never known to have less than four or five strings to her bow. It
was just this uncertainty about her that attracted Jack.
"Hello! Here 's a letter for you by mistake in my pile," said his chum.
"Why, this is from my little Cousin Hazel, who is rusticating just now
somewhere in the Green Mountains." Jack opened it hastily and read,--
MOUNT HUNGER, MILL SETTLEMENT, BARTON'S
RIVER, VERMONT, May 19, 1896.
DEAREST COUSIN JACK,--It is perfectly lovely up here, and I 've been
inishiated into a Secret Society like your Dicky Club, and one of the
by-laws is to help others all we can and wherever we can and as long as
ever we can, and so I 've thought of that nice little spread you gave
last year after the foot-ball game, and how nice the table looked and
what good things you had, but I don't remember any strawberry jam or
preserves, do you?
We 're hatching four hundred chickens to help others,--I mean we have
set 40 sitting hens on 520 eggs, not all the 40 on the five hundred and
twenty at once, you know; but, I mean, each one of the 40 hens are
sitting on 13 eggs apiece, and March says we must expect to lose 120
eggs--I mean, chickens,--as the hens are very careless and sit
sideways--I 've seen them myself--and so an extra egg is apt to get
chilly, and the chickens can't stand any chilliness, March says. But
Chi, that's my new friend, says some eggs have a double yolk, and maybe,
there 'll be some twins to make up for the loss.
Anyway, we want 400 chickens to sell about Thanksgiving time, and, of
course, we can't get any money till that time. So now I 've got back to
your spread again and the preserves, and while we 're waiting for the
chickens, we are going to make preserves--_dee_-licious ones! I mean we
are going to pick them and Rose is going to preserve them. We 've
decided to ask $1 and a quarter a quart for them; Rose--that's Rose
Blossom--says it is dear, but if you could see my Rose-pose, as Chi
calls her, you 'd think it cheap just to eat them if she made them. She
's perfectly lovely--prettier than any of the New York girls, and when
she kneads bread and does up the dishes, she sings like a bird,
something about love. I'll write it down for you, sometime. _I 'm_ in
love with her.
Please ask your college friends if they don't want some jam and wild
strawberry preserves. If they do, March says they had better order
soon, as I've written to New York to see about some other orders.
Yours devotedly,
HAZEL.
P.S. I 've sent you a sample of the strawberry preserve in a homeepahtic
pellet bottle, to taste; Rose says it is n't fair to ask people to buy
without their knowing what they buy. I saw that Miss Seaton just before
I came away; she came to call on me and brought some flowers. She said
I looked like you--which was an awful whopper because I had my head
shaved, as you know; I asked her if she had heard from you, and she said
she had. She is n't half as lovely as Rose-pose. H.C.
IX
THE PRIZE CHICKEN
There was wild excitement, as well as consternation, in the farmhouse on
the Mountain.
On the next day but one after Hazel had sent her letters, Chi had
brought up from the Mill Settlement a telegram which had come on the
stage from Barton's. It was addressed to, "Hazel Clyde, Mill
Settlement, Barton's River, Vermont," and ran thus:--
CAMBRIDGE, May 20, 1 P.M.
Hope to get in our order ahead of New York time. Seventeen dozen of
each kind. Letter follows.
JACK.
"Seventeen dozen!" screamed Rose, on hearing the telegram.
"Seventeen dozen of _each kind_!" cried Budd.
"Oh, quick, March, do see what it comes to!" said Hazel.
Then such an arithmetical hubbub broke loose as had never been heard
before on the Mountain.
"Seventeen times twelve," said Rose,--"let me see; seven times two are
fourteen, one to carry--do keep still, March!" But March went on
with:--
"Twelve times four are forty-eight--seventeen times forty-eight,
hm--seven times eight are fifty-six, five to carry--Shut up, Budd; I
can't hear myself think." But Budd gave no heed, and continued his
computation.
"Four times seventeen are--four times seven are twenty-eight, two to
carry; four times one are four and two are--I say, you 've put me all
out!" shouted Budd, and, putting his fingers in his ears, he retired to
a corner. Rose continued to mumble with her eyes shut to concentrate her
mind upon her problem, threatening Cherry impatiently when she
interrupted with her peculiar solution, which she had just thought
out:--
"If one quart cost one dollar and twenty-five cents, twelve quarts will
cost twelve times one dollar and twenty-five cents, which is, er--twelve
times one are twelve; twelve times twenty-five! Oh, gracious, that's
awful! What's twelve times twenty-five, March?"
"Shut up," growled March; "you 've put me all off the track."
"Me, too," said Rose, in an aggrieved tone.
Mrs. Blossom had been listening from the bedroom, and now came in,
suppressing her desire to smile at the reddened and perplexed faces.
"Here 's a pencil, March, suppose you figure it out on paper."
A sigh of relief was audible throughout the room, as March sat down to
work out the result. "Eight hundred and sixteen quarts at one dollar
twenty-five a quart," said March to himself; then, with a bound that
shook the long-room, he shouted, "One thousand and twenty dollars!" and
therewith broke forth into singing:--
"Glory, glory, halleluia!
Glory, glory, halleluia!
Glory, glory, halleluia,
For the N.B.B.O.O.!"
The rest joined in the singing with such goodwill that the noise brought
in Chi from the barn. When he was told the reason for the rejoicing, he
looked thoughtful, then sober, then troubled.
"What's the matter, Chi? Cheer up! You have n't got to pick them,"
said March.
"'T ain't that; but I hate to throw cold water on any such
countin'-your-chickens-'fore-they 're-hatched business," said Chi.
"'T is n't chickens; it's preserves, Chi," laughed Rose.
"I know that, too," said Chi, gravely. "But suppose you do a little
figuring on the hind-side of the blackboard."
"What _do_ you mean, Chi?" asked Hazel.
"Well, I 'll figure, 'n' see what you think about it. Seventeen dozen
times four, how much, March?"
"Eight hundred and sixteen."
"Hm! eight hundred and sixteen glass jars at twelve and a half cents
apiece--let me see: eight into eight once; eight into one no times 'n'
one over. There now, your jars 'll cost you just one hundred and two
dollars."
There was a universal groan.
"'N' that ain't all. Sugar 's up to six cents a pound, 'n' to keep
preserves as they ought to be kept takes about a pound to a quart. Hm,
eight hundred 'n' sixteen pounds of sugar at six cents a pound--move up
my point 'n' multiply by six--forty-eight dollars 'n' ninety-six cents;
added to the other--"
"Oh, don't, Chi!" groaned one and all.
"It spoils everything," said Rose, actually ready to cry with
disappointment.
"Well, Molly Stark, you 've got to look forwards and backwards before
you _promise_ to do things," said Chi, serenely; and Rose, hearing the
Molly Stark, knew just what Chi meant.
She went straight up to him, and, laying both hands on his shoulders,
looked up smiling into his face. "I 'll be brave, Chi; we 'll make it
work somehow," she said gently; and Chi was not ashamed to take one of
the little hands and rub it softly against his unshaven cheek.
"That's my Rose-pose," he said. "Now, don't let's cross the bridges
till we get to them; let's wait till we hear from New York."
They had not long to wait. The next day's mail brought three
letters,--from Mrs. Heath, Mr. Clyde, and Jack. Hazel could not read
them fast enough to suit her audience. There was an order from Mrs.
Heath for two dozen of each kind, and the assurance that she would ask
her friends, but she would like her order filled first.
Mr. Clyde wrote that he was coming up very soon and would advance
Hazel's quarterly allowance; at which Hazel cried, "Oh-ee!" and hugged
first herself, then Mrs. Blossom, but said not a word. She wanted to
surprise them with the glass jars and the sugar. Her father had
enclosed five dollars with which to pay Chi, and he and Hazel were
closeted for full a quarter of an hour in the pantry, discussing ways
and means.
Jack wrote enthusiastically of the preserves and chickens, and, like
Hazel, added a postscript as follows:
"Don't forget you said you would write down for me the song about Love
that Miss Blossom sings when she is kneading bread. Miss Seaton is just
now visiting in Boston. I 'm to play in a polo match out at the
Longmeadow grounds next week, and she stays for that." This, likewise,
Hazel kept to herself.
Meanwhile, the strawberry blossoms were starring the pastures, but only
here and there a tiny green button showed itself. It was a discouraging
outlook for the other Blossoms to wait five long weeks before they could
begin to earn money; and the thought of the chickens, especially the
prize chicken, proved a source of comfort as well as speculation.
As the twenty-first day after setting the hens drew near, the excitement
of the race was felt to be increasing. Hazel had tied a narrow strip of
blue flannel about the right leg of each of her twelve hens, that there
might be no mistake; and the others had followed her example, March
choosing yellow; Cherry, white; Rose, red; and Budd, green.
The barn was near the house, only a grass-plat with one big elm in the
centre separated it from the end of the woodshed. As Chi said, the hens
were sitting all around everywhere; on the nearly empty hay-mow there
were some twenty-five, and the rest were in vacant stalls and
feed-boxes.
It was a warm night in early June. Hazel was thinking over many things
as she lay wakeful in her wee bedroom. To-morrow was the day; somebody
would get the prize chicken. Hazel hoped she might be the winner. Then
she recalled something Chi had said about hens being curious creatures,
set in their ways, and never doing anything just as they were expected
to do it, and that there was n't any time-table by which chickens could
be hatched to the minute. What if one were to come out to-night! The
more she thought, the more she longed to assure herself of the condition
of things in the barn. She tossed and turned, but could not settle to
sleep. At last she rose softly; the great clock in the long-room had
just struck eleven. She looked out of her one window and into the face
of a moon that for a moment blinded her.
Then she quietly put on her white bath-robe, and, taking her shoes in
her hand, stepped noiselessly out into the kitchen.
There was not a sound in the house except the ticking of the clock.
Softly she crept to the woodshed door and slipped out.
Chi, who had the ears of an Indian, heard the soft "crush, crush," of
the bark and chips underneath his room. He rose noiselessly, drew on his
trousers, and slipped his suspenders over his shoulders, took his rifle
from the rack, and crept stealthily as an Apache down the stairs. Chi
thought he was on the track of an enormous woodchuck that had baffled
all his efforts to trap, shoot, and decoy him, as well as his attempts
to smoke and drown him out. But nothing was moving in or about the shed.
He stepped outside, puzzled as to the noise he had heard.
"By George Washin'ton!" he exclaimed under his breath, "what's up now?"
for he had caught sight of a little figure in white fairly scooting over
the grass-plat under the elm towards the barn. In a moment she
disappeared in the opening, for on warm nights the great doors were not
shut.
"Guess I 'd better get out of the way; 't would scare her to death to
see a man 'n' a gun at this time of night. It's that prize chicken, I
'll bet." And Chi chuckled to himself. Then he tiptoed as far as the
barn door, looked in cautiously, and, seeing no one, but hearing a creak
overhead, he slipped into a stall and crouched behind a pile of grass he
had cut that afternoon for the cattle.
He heard the feet go "pat, pat, pat," overhead. He knew by the sound
that Hazel was examining the nests. Then another noise--Cherry's
familiar giggle--fell upon his ear. He looked out cautiously from
behind the grass. Sure enough; there were the twins, robed in sheets and
barefooted. Snickering and giggling, they made for the ladder leading
to the loft.
"The Old Harry 's to pay to-night," said Chi, grimly, to himself. "When
those two get together on a spree, things generally hum! I 'd better
stay where I 'm needed most."
Hazel, too, had caught the sound of the giggle and snicker, and
recognized it at once.
"Goodness!" she thought, "if they should see me, 't would frighten
Cherry into fits, she 's so nervous. I 'd better hide while they 're
here. They 've come to see about that chicken, just as I have!" Hazel
had all she could do to keep from laughing out loud. She lay down upon
a large pile of hay and drew it all over her. "They can't see me now,
and I can watch them," she thought, with a good deal of satisfaction.
Surely the proceedings were worth watching. The moonlight flooded the
flooring of the loft, and every detail could be plainly seen.
"Nobody can hear us here if we do talk," said Budd. "You 'll have to
hoist them up first, to see if there are any chickens, and be sure and
look at the rag on the legs; when you come to a green one, it's mine,
you know."
"Oh, Budd! I can't hoist them," said Cherry, in a distressed voice.
"They do act kinder queer," replied Budd, who was trying to lift a
sleeping hen off her nest, to which she seemed glued. "I 'll tell you
what's better than that; just put your ear down and listen, and if you
hear a 'peep-peep,' it's a chicken."
Cherry, the obedient slave of Budd, crawled about over the flooring on
her hands and knees, listening first at one nest, then at another, for
the expected "peep-peep."
"I don't hear anything," said Cherry, in an aggrieved tone, "but the old
hens guggling when I poke under them. Oh! but here 's a green rag
sticking out, Budd."
"And a speckled hen?" said Budd, eagerly.
"Yes."
"Well, that's the one I 've been looking for; it's dark over here in
this corner. Lemme see."
Budd put both hands under the hen and lifted her gently.
"Ak--ok--ork--ach," gasped the hen, as Budd took her firmly around the
throat; but she was too sleepy to care much what became of her, and so
hung limp and silent.
"I 'll hold the hen, Cherry, and you take up those eggs one at a time
and hold them to my ear."
"What for?" said Cherry.
"Now don't be a loony, but do as I tell you," said Budd, impatiently.
Cherry did as she was bidden; Budd listened intently.
"By cracky! there 's one!" he exclaimed. "Here, help me set this hen
back again, and keep that one out."
"What for?" queried Cherry, forgetting her former lesson.
"Oh, you ninny!--here, listen, will you?" Budd put the egg to her ear.
"Why, that's a chicken peeping inside. I can _hear_ him," said Cherry,
in an awed voice.
"Yes, and I 'm going to let him out," said Budd, triumphantly.
"But then you'll have the prize chicken, Budd," said Cherry, rather
dubiously, for she had wanted it herself.
"Of course, you goosey, what do you suppose I came out here for?"
demanded Budd.
"But, Budd, will it be fair?" said Cherry, timidly.
"Fair!" muttered Budd; "it's fair enough if it's out first. It's their
own fault if they don't know enough to get ahead of us."
"Did you think it all out yourself, Budd?" queried Cherry, admiringly,
watching Budd's proceeding with wide-open eyes.
"Yup," said Budd, shortly.
They were not far from Hazel's hiding-place, and, by raising her head a
few inches, she could see the whole process.
First Budd listened intently at one end of the egg, then at the other.
He drew out a large pin from his pajamas and began very carefully to
pick the shell.
"Oh, gracious, Budd! what are you doing?" cried Cherry.
"What you see," said Budd, a little crossly, for his conscience was not
wholly at ease.
He picked and picked, and finally made an opening. He examined it
carefully.
"Oh, thunder!" he exclaimed under his breath, "I 've picked the wrong
end."
"What do you mean?" persisted Cherry.
"I wanted to open the 'peep-peep' end first, so he could breathe,"
replied Budd, intent upon his work. Cherry watched breathlessly. At
last the other end was opened, and Budd began to detach the shell from
something which might have been a worm, a fish, a pollywog, or a baby
white mouse, for all it looked like a chicken. It lay in Budd's hand.
"Oh, Budd, you 've killed it!" cried Cherry, beginning to sniff.
"Shut up, Cherry Blossom, or I'll leave you," threatened Budd. Just
then the moon was obscured by a passing cloud, and the loft became
suddenly dark and shadowy. Cherry screamed under her breath.
"Oh, Budd, don't leave me; I can't see you!"
There was a soft rapid stride over the flooring; and before Budd well
knew what had happened, he was seized by the binding of his pajamas,
lifted, and shaken with such vigor that his teeth struck together and he
felt the jar in the top of his head.
As the form loomed so unexpectedly before her, Cherry screamed with
fright.
"I 'll teach you to play a business trick like this on us, you mean
sneaking little rascal!" roared March. "Do you think I did n't see you
creeping out of the room along the side of my bed on all fours? You did
n't dare to walk out like a man, and I might have known you were up to
no good!" Another shake followed that for a moment dazed Budd. Then,
as he felt the flooring beneath his feet, he turned in a towering
passion of guilt and rage on March.
"You 're a darned sneak yourself," he howled rather than cried. "Take
that for your trouble!" Raising his doubled fist, he aimed a quick,
hard blow at March's stomach. But, somehow, before it struck, one
strong hand--not March's--held his as in a vice, and another, stronger,
hoisted him by the waist-band of his pajamas and held him, squirming and
howling, suspended for a moment; then he felt himself tossed somewhere.
He fell upon the hay under which Hazel had taken refuge, and landed upon
her with almost force enough to knock the breath from her body. Cherry,
meanwhile, had not ceased screaming under her breath, and, as Budd
descended so unexpectedly upon Hazel, a great groan and a sharp wail
came forth from the hay, to the mortal terror of all but Chi, who grew
white at the thought of what might have happened to his Lady-bird, and,
unintentionally, through him.
That awful groan proved too much for the children. Gathering themselves
together in less time than it takes to tell it, they fled as well as
they could in the dark,--down the ladder, out through the barn, over the
grass-plat, into the house, and dove into bed, trembling in every limb.
"What on earth is the matter, children?" said Mrs. Blossom, appearing at
the foot of the stairs. "Did one of you fall out of bed?"
Budd's head was under the bedclothes, his teeth chattering through fear;
likewise Cherry. March assumed as firm a tone as he could.
"Budd had a sort of nightmare, mother, but he 's all right now." March
felt sick at the deception.
"Well, settle down now and go to sleep; it's just twelve." And Mrs.
Blossom went back into the bedroom where Mr. Blossom was still soundly
sleeping.
Meanwhile, Chi was testing Hazel to see that no harm had been done.
"Oh, I 'm all right," said Hazel, rather breathlessly. "But it really
knocked the breath out of my body." She laughed. "I never thought of
your catching up Budd that way and plumping him down on top of me!"
"Guess my wits had gone wool-gatherin', when I never thought of your
hidin' there," said Chi, recovering from his fright. "But that boy made
me so pesky mad, tryin' to play such a game on all of us, that I kind of
lost my temper 'n' did n't see straight. Well--" he heaved a sigh of
relief, "he 's got his come-uppance!"
"Where do you suppose that poor little chicken is?"
"We 'll look him up; the moon 's comin' out again."
There, close by the nest, lay the queer something on the floor. "I 'll
tuck it in right under the old hen's breast, 'n' then, if there 's any
life in it, it 'll come to by mornin'." He examined it closely. "I 'll
come out 'n' see. Come, we 'd better be gettin' in 'fore 't is dark
again--"
He put the poor mite of a would-be chicken carefully under the old hen,
where it was warm and downy, and as he did so, he caught sight of the
rag hanging over the edge of the nest. He looked at it closely; then
slapping his thigh, he burst into a roar of laughter.
"What is it, Chi?" said Hazel, laughing, too, at Chi's mirth.
"Look here, Lady-bird! you 've got the Prize Chicken, after all. That
boy could n't tell green from blue in the moonlight, 'n' he 's hatched
out one of yours. By George Washin'ton! that's a good one,--serves him
right," he said, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes.
The chicken lived, but never seemed to belong to any one in particular;
and as Chi said solemnly the next morning, "The less said on this
Mountain about prize chickens, the better it 'll be for us all."
X
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
It was a busy summer in and about the farmhouse on Mount Hunger. What
with tending the chickens--there were four hundred and two in all--and
strawberry-picking and preserving, and in due season a repetition of the
process with raspberries and blackberries, the days seemed hardly long
enough to accomplish all the young people had planned.
Mr. Clyde came up for two days in June, and upon his return told Doctor
Heath that he, too, felt as if he needed that kind of a cure.
Hazel was the picture of health and fast becoming what Chi had
predicted, "an A Number 1" beauty. Her dark eyes sparkled with the joy
of life; on her rounded cheeks there was the red of the rose; the
skull-cap had been discarded, and a fine crop of soft, silky rings of
dark brown hair had taken its place.
"Never, no, never, have I had such good times," she wrote to her Cousin
Jack at Newport. "We eat on the porch, and make believe camp out in the
woods, and we ride on Bess and Bob all over the Mountain. We've about
finished the preserves and jams, and Rose has only burnt herself twice.
The chickens, Chi says, are going to be prime ones; it 's awfully funny
to see them come flying and hopping and running towards us the minute
they see us--March says it's the 'Charge of the Light Brigade.'
"I wish you could be up here and have some of the fun,--but I 'm afraid
you 're too old. I enclose the song Rose sings which you asked me for.
I don't understand it, but it's perfectly beautiful when she sings it."
Hazel had asked Rose for the words of the song, telling her that her
Cousin Jack at Harvard would like to have them. Rose looked surprised
for a moment.
"What can he want of them?" she asked in a rather dignified manner; and
Hazel, thinking she was giving the explanation the most reasonable as
well as agreeable, replied:--
"I don't know for sure, but I think--you won't tell, will you, Rose?"
"Of course I won't. I don't even know your cousin, to begin with."
"I think he is going to be engaged, or is, to Miss Seaton of New York.
All his friends think she is awfully pretty, and papa says she is
fascinating. I think Jack wanted them to give to her."
"Oh," said Rose, in a cool voice with a circumflex inflection, then
added in a decidedly toploftical tone, "I've no objection to his making
use of them. I 'll copy them for you."
"Thank you, Rose," said Hazel, rather puzzled and a little hurt at
Rose's new manner.
This conversation took place the first week in August, and the verses
were duly forwarded to Jack, who read them over twice, and then,
thrusting them into his breast-pocket, went over to the Casino,
whistling softly to himself on the way. There, meeting his chum and
some other friends, he proposed a riding-trip through the Green Mountain
region for the latter part of August.
"The Colonel and his wife will go with us, I 'm sure, and any of the
girls who can ride well will jump at the chance," said his chum. "It's
a novelty after so much coaching."
"I 'll go over and see Miss Seaton about it," said Jack, and walked off
singing to himself,--
"'--the stars above
Shine ever on Love'--"
His friend turned to the others. "That's a go; I 've never seen
Sherrill so hard hit before." Then he fell to discussing the new plan
with the rest.
Jack was wily enough, as he laid the plan before Maude Seaton, to
attempt to kill two birds with one stone. He had had a desire, ever
since the first letter of Hazel's, to see his little cousin in her new
surroundings, and this desire was immeasurably strengthened by his
curiosity to see a girl who sang Barry Cornwall's love-lyrics on Mount
Hunger. Consequently, in planning the high-roads to be followed through
the Green Mountains, he had not omitted to include Barton's River, as it
boasted a good inn.
"Here 's Woodstock,--just here," he explained to pretty Maude Seaton, as
they sat on the broad morning-porch of the palatial Newport cottage,
with a map of Vermont on the table between them. "We can stop there a
day or two, and make our next stop at Barton's River; I 've heard it's a
beautiful place, with glorious mountain rides within easy distance.
Suppose we arrange to stop three or four days there and take it all in?
I 've been told it's the finest river-valley in New England."
"Oh, do let's! The whole thing is going to be delightful. I 'm so tired
of coaching; I believe nobody enjoys it now, unless it's the one who
holds the reins, and then all the others are bored. But with fine
horses this will be no end of fun. We can send on our trunks ahead,
can't we?"
"Oh, yes, that's easily arranged. By the way, what horse will you take?
Remember," he said, looking her squarely in the eyes with a flattering
concern, "it's a mountain country, and we can't afford to have anything
happen to you."
"No danger for me," laughed Maude, meeting his look as squarely. "And I
can't worry about you after seeing the polo game you played yesterday,"
she added with frank admiration.
"It was a good one, was n't it?" said Jack, his eyes kindling at the
remembrance. "It was my mascot did the business--see?" He put his hand
in his breast-pocket, expecting to draw forth a ribbon bow of Maude's
that she had given him for "colors;" but, to his amazement, and to Miss
Seaton's private chagrin, he drew forth only the slip of paper with
Barry Cornwall's love-song in Rose Blossom's handwriting.
Where the dickens was that bow? Jack felt the absurdity of hunting in
all his pockets for something he had intended should express one phase,
at least, of his sentiments. He felt the blood mounting to the roots of
his hair, and, laughing, put a bold face on it.
He held out the slip of paper. "It looks innocent, doesn't it?" he said
mischievously, and enjoyed to the full Maude's look of discomfiture,
which, only for a second, she could not help showing. "She 'll know now
how a fellow feels when he has sent her flowers and sees her wearing
another man's offering," he thought. He turned to the map again.
"Well, what horse will you ride?"
"I 'll take Old Jo; he 's safe, and splendid for fences. Of course you
'll take Little Shaver?"
"Yes, he and I don't part company very often. So it's settled, is it?"
he asked, feeling cooler than he did.
"So far as I am concerned, it is; and I know the Colonel and Mrs.
Fenlick will go; it's just the thing they like."
"Well, I 'll leave you to speak to the other girls, and I 'll go over
and see Mrs. Fenlick. Good-bye." He held out his hand, but Miss Seaton
chose to be looking down the avenue at that moment.
"Oh, there are the Graysons beckoning to me!" she exclaimed eagerly.
"Excuse me, and good-bye--I must run down to see them." As she walked
swiftly and gracefully over the lawn, she knew Jack Sherrill was
watching her. "Yes, it's settled," she thought, as she hurried on; "and
something else is settled, too, Mr. Sherrill! You 've been hanging fire
long enough--and the idea of his forgetting that bow!"
The Graysons thought they had never seen Maude Seaton quite so pretty as
she was that morning, when she stood chatting and laughing with all in
general, and fascinating each in particular. The result was, the
Graysons joined the riding-party in a body, and Sam Grayson vowed he
would cut Jack Sherrill out if he had to fight for it.
It was a glorious first of September when the riding-party, ten in
number, cantered up to the inn at Barton's River, and it was a merry
group in fresh toilets that gathered after dinner and a rest of an hour
or two in their rooms, on the long, narrow, vine-covered veranda of the
inn. It had been a warm day, and the afternoon shadows were gratefully
cooling.
"Will you look at that load coming down the street?" said Mrs. Fenlick.
"I never saw anything so funny!"
The whole party burst out laughing, as the vehicle, an old apple-green
cart, apparently filled with bobbing calico sunbonnets and straw hats,
shackled and rattled up to the side door of the inn.
"I shall call them the Antediluvians," laughed Maude Seaton. "Do you
know where they come from?" she said, speaking in at the open
office-window to the boy.
"I guess they come to sell berries from a place the folks round here
call 'The Lost Nation,'" he replied, grinning.
"'The Lost Nation!' Do you hear that?" said Sam Grayson. "Let's have a
nearer view of the natives." They all went to the end of the veranda
nearest the cart. Sam Grayson and Jack went out to investigate.
Two boys in faded blue overalls and almost brimless straw hats jumped
down before the wagon stopped, and began lifting out six-quart pails of
shining blackberries from beneath an old buffalo robe. Jack, with his
hands in his pockets, sauntered up to the tail of the cart.
"Buy them all, do--do!" cried Miss Seaton, clapping her hands. "We need
them to-morrow for our picnic; and pay a good price," she added, "for
the sake of the looks. I wouldn't have missed it for anything?"
"How do you sell them?" said Jack to the tall boy who stood with his
back to him, busied with the berries.
The boy turned at the sound of the pleasant voice, and lifted his
brimless hat by the crown with an air a Harvard freshman might have
envied. Jack, seeing it, was sorry he was bareheaded, for he hated to
be outdone in such courtesy.
"Ten cents a quart, sir."
"What a handsome fellow!" whispered Mrs. Fenlick. "You rarely see such a
face; and where did he get such manners?"
"How many quarts have--halloo, Little Sunbonnet! Look out!" said Jack,
laughing, as he caught the owner of the yellow sunbonnet, who, perched
on the side of the wagon, suddenly lost her balance because of Bess's
uneasy movements in fly-time.
"Well, you are an armful," he laughed as he set her down and tried in
vain to peer up under the drooping bonnet and discover a face.
"Whoa--ah, Bess!" shouted the driver, as Bess reared and snorted and
shuddered and finally rid herself of the tormenting horse-fly. "All
right, Cherry Bounce?" he said, turning at last when the horse was
quieted.
But Cherry was dumb with embarrassment, and Jack answered for her.
"Little Sunbonnet's all safe, but what--" He got no further with that
sentence. To the amazement of the group on the veranda and Jack's
overwhelming astonishment, a wild, gleeful "Oh-ee!" issued from the
depths of another sunbonnet in the cart, and the owner thereof
precipitated herself recklessly over the side, and cast herself upon
Jack's neck, hugging and "oh-eeing" with all her might.
"Why, Hazel! Hazel!" Except for that, Jack was dumb like Cherry, but
not with embarrassment. Was this Hazel? Her sunbonnet had fallen off,
and the dark blue gingham dress set off the wonderful richness of
coloring that helped to make Hazel what she had become, "a perfect
beauty."
"Oh, Jack, you old darling, why did n't you let us know you were coming?
Chi, Chi!" Hazel was fairly wild with joy at seeing a dearly loved
home-face. "This is my Cousin Jack we 've talked about. Jack, this is
my friend, Chi."
Chi put out his horny brown hand, and Jack grasped it.
"Guess she 's givin' you away pretty smart, ain't she?" said Chi, with a
twist of his mouth and a motion of his thumb backwards to the veranda.
"Well, rather," said Jack, laughing, for he felt that Chi's keen eyes
had taken in the whole situation at a glance. "I meant to surprise her,
but she has succeeded in surprising me." He stood with his arm about
Hazel. "And these are your friends, Hazel?" he inquired; he felt he must
make the best of it now.
"Oh, Jack, I 'm ashamed of myself; I 'm so glad to see you I 've
forgotten my manners. Rose," she spoke up to the other sunbonnet that
had kept its position straight towards the horse and never moved during
this surprise party. Then Rose turned. "Rose, this is Cousin Jack."
The sunbonnet bowed stiffly, and Jack heard a low laugh behind him. It
was Maude Seaton's. Rose heard it, too; so did Chi and March. It
affected each in the same way. As Chi said afterwards, he "b'iled" when
he heard it. Then Rose spoke:--
"I 'm very glad to see you, Mr. Sherrill, we 've heard so much of you."
Her voice rang sweet and clear; every word was heard on the veranda.
"And these berries are n't to be preserved; but evidently you are going
to buy them just the same,--as well as your friends," she added, looking
towards the veranda.
Jack bit his lip. "I should like to introduce all my friends to you,"
he said, without much enthusiasm, however. "I know this is March;" he
turned pleasantly to him, but dared not offer his hand, for the look on
the boy's face warned him that March had resented the laugh. "Will you
come?" He held up his hand to Rose to help her down.
"Thank you." Rose sprang down, ignoring the proffered help.
She knew just how she looked, and her face burned at the thought. Her
old green and white calico dress was shrunken and warped with many
washings; her shoes were heavy and patched; fortunately her sunbonnet
with its green calico cape was of a depth to hide her burning face. But
that laugh had been like a challenge to her pride.
"Drive up to the front veranda, Chi," she commanded rather brusquely;
and Chi, muttering to himself, "She's game, though; I would n't thought
it of Rose-pose; but I glory in her spunk!" drew up to the front door in
a truly rattling style.
Then Rose and Hazel were introduced to them all; but in vain did Maude
Seaton try to get a look into her face. It was only a ceremony, and Rose
felt it as such; nevertheless she said very pleasantly, "Hazel, wouldn't
you like to invite your friends up to tea on the porch to-morrow? that
is, if you are to be here?" she added, addressing Mrs. Fenlick.
"Oh, Rose, that would be lovely. Then they can see the chickens!" said
Hazel. There was a general laugh.
"I fear it will be too much trouble, Miss Blossom," said Mrs. Fenlick,
courteously, for she felt like apologizing for that laugh of Maude
Seaton's; "there are so many of us."
"Oh, no, my mother will be glad to meet you," Rose replied with serene
voice; "won't she, Chi?"
"Sure," said Chi, addressing the general assembly; "the more the
merrier; 'n' if you come along about four, you 'll get a view you don't
get round here, 'n' a wholesale piazzy to eat it on. How many do you
count up?" Jack winced at the burst of merriment that followed the
question.
"We'll line up, and you can count," said Sam Grayson, the fun getting
the better of him. "Here, Miss Seaton, stand at the head."
"Miss Blossom, there are ten of us; are you going to retract your
invitation?" said Mrs. Fenlick, shaking her head at Sam.
"Not if you wish to come," said Rose, pleasantly. "We will have tea at
five. Come, Hazel, we must be going: there are the berries to sell--or
shall we leave you here with your cousin till we come back?"
"No, I won't leave you even for Jack," said Hazel, earnestly; "besides,
I 've never had the fun of selling berries."
"I 'm thinkin' you 've lost your fun, anyway," said Chi, "for Budd says
the tavern-keeper has taken all; guess _he 's_ goin' into the jam
business, too."
"I 'll pick some more, then, to-morrow, and you 'll have to buy some of
them, Jack," said Hazel, "for I 'm bound to sell some berries this
summer."
"We 'll take all you can pick, Hazel," said Maude Seaton, sweetly.
Then, as the cart rattled away with the three sunbonnets held rigid and
erect, she turned to Mrs. Fenlick and the other girls: "What an idea
that was of Doctor Heath's to put Hazel away up here in such a family--a
girl in her position!"
"She seems to have thriven wonderfully on it," remarked Mrs. Fenlick;
"she will be the prettiest of her set when they come out. I am
delighted to have a chance to see Doctor Heath's mountain sanatorium."
"Oh, I 'm sure it will be amusing," replied Maude, dryly. Then she shook
out her light draperies, pulled down her belt, and went down the road a
bit to meet Jack and Sam Grayson, who had accompanied the cart for a few
rods along the village street.
When they had turned back to the inn, the storm in the apple-green cart
burst forth.
"Did you hear that girl laugh?" demanded March, with suppressed wrath in
his voice.
"Just as plain as I hear that crow caw," said Chi.
"I can't bear her," said Hazel; "telling me she would buy my berries
when I only meant Jack."
"Kinder sweet on him, ain't she?" asked Chi, carelessly.
"I should think so!" was Hazel's indignant answer. "I heard Aunt Carrie
tell papa she was always sending him invitations to everything. But is
n't Cousin Jack splendid, Rose?"
Rose's sunbonnet was still very rigid, and Chi knew that sign; so he
spoke up promptly, knowing that she did not care to answer just then:--
"He 's about as handsome as they make 'em, Lady-bird; if he wears well,
I sha'n't have nothin' against him."
Hazel felt rather depressed without knowing exactly why. March returned
to the charge.
"Did you hear that laugh, Rose?"
"Yes, I did," said Rose, shortly. March looked at her in surprise, but
Chi managed to give him a nudge, which March understood, and the subject
was dropped on the homeward way.
That the berry-sellers were under a cloud was evident to Mrs. Blossom as
soon as they drove up to the woodshed.
"Did you have good luck, children?" she called to them cheerily.
"We 've sold all our berries," said Budd.
"But March and Rose are cross, Martie," added Cherry.
"Tired 'n' hungry, too, Mis' Blossom," Chi hastened to say, trying to
shield Hazel and the other two. "I wish you 'd just step out to the
barn with a spoonful of your good lard. Bess has rubbed her shin a
little mite, 'n' I want to grease it good to save the hair." Mrs.
Blossom, reading his face, took the hint.
He made his confession in the barn.
"I don't know what we 've done, Mis' Blossom; but Rose has invited 'em
all up here to-morrow to supper,--they 're regular high-flyers, girls
'n' fellers, 'n' the Colonel and his wife. There 's ten of 'em; 'n'
it's a-goin' to make you an awful sight of work, but, by George
Washin'ton! that pesky girl--Miss Seaver, or somethin' like it--riled me
so, that I ain't got over it yet, 'n' I 'd backed up Rose if she 'd
offered to take the whole of 'em to board for a week. I just b'iled
when I heard her laugh, 'n' she can't hold a candle to our Rose; 'n'
she's that sassy--although you can't put your finger on anything
special--that you can't sass back; the worst kind every time; 'n' she 's
set her cap for the straightest sort of chap--that's Hazel's
cousin--there is goin', 'n', by George Washin'ton! I 'm afraid he 's
fool enough to catch at that bait.
"There!" said Chi, stopping to draw breath, "I 've had my blow-out 'n' I
feel better. Now, what are we goin' to do about it?"
"We 'll manage it, Chi," said Mrs. Blossom, smiling in spite of herself
at Chi's wrath. "After all, the children have been carefully guarded in
our home up here, and, sometimes, I think too much,--it won't hurt them
to take a prick now and then. Besides, Chi," she added, laughing
outright as she turned to go into the house, "the children did look
perfectly ridiculous in those old berry-picking rigs. I laughed myself
when I saw you drive off with them."
But she left Chi grumbling.
That night, after the children were in bed, and Mrs. Blossom was sure
they were all asleep except Rose, she went upstairs a second time and
spoke softly at the door:
"Rose."
"Yes, Martie; oh, you 're coming! I 'm so glad." And as Mrs. Blossom
knelt by the bed, whispering, "Now tell me all about it," Rose threw one
arm over her mother's shoulder and whispered her confession.
"They were n't rude to you, dear, were they?"
"No, Martie," whispered Rose, "it was n't that, but I just _hated_ them
far a minute,--Hazel's cousin and all."
"That is n't like you, Rose dear, to hate anyone without reason."
"Oh, Martie, I 'm ashamed to tell you--" the arm came close about her
mother's neck, "I 'm too old to have such feelings, but I could n't bear
them because I looked as I did. I was ashamed of my looks and the
children's; and I was ashamed even of Chi--dear, old Chi!--" there was a
smothered sob and an effort to go on. "And they were all dressed so
beautifully, and Hazel's cousin had on a lovely white flannel suit, and
I was just a little rude to him; but it was nothing but my dreadful
pride! I did n't know I had it till to-day,--oh, dear!" The head went
under the counterpane to smother the sound of the sobs.
"But, my dear little girl--" (When Rose cried, which was seldom, Mrs.
Blossom called her daughter who was as tall as herself, "little girl,"
and nothing comforted Rose more than that.) So now, hearing the loving
words, the head emerged from the bedclothes, and a tear-wet face was
meekly held over the side of the bed for a kiss.
"But, my dear little girl," Mrs. Blossom went on after the interruption,
"surely you were courteous and thoughtful of Hazel's happiness, at
least, to ask them all up here to tea. You have n't that to regret."
There was a fresh burst, smothered quickly under the sheet. "Oh,
Martie, that's the worst part of it! I did n't ask them for Hazel's
sake, but just for myself, because I knew--I knew--" Rose smothered the
rising sob; "that if they came, I could have on my one pretty dress, and
they 'd see that I--that I--" Rose was unable to finish.
"Could look as well as they did?" said Mrs. Blossom, completing the
sentence.
"Yes," sighed Rose, "and I feel like a perfect hypocrite towards every
one of them;--and, oh, Martie! the truth is, I was ashamed of being poor
and selling berries--" again the head went under the coverlet, and Mrs.
Blossom caught only broken phrases:--
"I am so proud of--of you and Popsey--poor Chi made it worse--they
laughed--March was mad, too,--and Miss Seaton 's so
pretty--clothes--Hazel's cousin tried to be polite--Hazel--just her dear
own self--but she 's rich--and Cherry f-fell into his arms--and I
know--and I know--I know he wanted to be out of the whole thing--oh
dear!"
Mrs. Blossom patted the bunch under the clothes whence came the
smothered, broken sentences, and smiled while a tear rolled down her
cheek. After all, this was real grief, and she wished she might have
shielded her Rose from just this kind of contact with the world. But
she was wise enough not to say so.
"Well, Rose dear, let's look on the other side now the invitation has
been given. I, for my part, shall be glad to see what they are like. I
know you looked queer in those old clothes, but, after all, would n't it
have been just as queer to have been all dressed up selling berries?"
"Yes, I think it would, Martie," said Rose, emerging from her retreat.
"I 'm not such a goose as not to realize we must have looked perfectly
comical."
"Well, now comfort yourself with the thought, that to-morrow you need
only look just as nice as you can in honor of our guests. I 'm sure I
shall," said Mrs. Blossom, laughing softly. "I 'm not going to be
outdone by all those 'high-flyers,' as dear, old Chi calls them. We 'll
put on our prettiest--and there is n't much choice, you know, for we
have just one apiece--and we 'll set the table with grandmother's old
china out on the porch, and we 'll give them of our best, and queens,
Rose-pose, can do no more. That's _our_ duty; we'll let the others look
out for theirs. Now, what will be nice for tea?"
"Not preserves, Martie, for Chi said--" Her mother interrupted her,--
"Never mind what Chi said now, dear, but plan for the tea. We shall
have to work as hard as we can jump to-morrow forenoon to get ready. I
'm sorry father can't be at home."
"Could n't we have blackberries and those late garden raspberries Chi
has been saving?" said Rose.
"Yes, those will look pretty and taste good; and then hot rolls, and
fresh sponge and plum cake, and tea, and cold chicken moulded in its
jelly, the way we tried it last month--"
"Oh, that will be lovely, Martie," whispered Rose, eagerly.
"And if Chi and March have the time," went on Mrs. Blossom, entering
heart and soul into the hospitable plan, "I 'll ask them to go
trout-fishing and bring us home two strings of the speckled beauties,
and if those served hot don't make them respect old clothes--then
nothing on earth will," concluded Mrs. Blossom, with mock solemnity.
"Oh, Martie Blossom, you're an angel!" cried Rose, softly, rising in bed
and throwing both arms about her mother's neck--"there!"--a squeeze,
"and there--" another squeeze and a kiss, "and now you won't have to
complain of me to-morrow."
"That's mother's own daughter Rose," said Mrs. Blossom, smoothing the
sheet under the round chin. "Now, good-night--sleep well, for I depend
upon you to make those rolls to-morrow forenoon."
XI
JACK
Jack Sherrill had always had a particularly warm interest in his Cousin
Hazel. He, too, was motherless. The fifteen-year-old lad had gone into
one of the great preparatory schools with the terrible mother-want in
his heart and life. Like Hazel, he, too, was an only child, and
consequently without the guidance and help of an elder brother or
sister. His father was all that a man, absorbed in large business
interests, could be to the son whom he saw in vacation time only.
"You are born a gentleman, Jack," he had said to him when he was about
to enter Harvard; "remember to conduct yourself as such. You 'll not
find it an easy matter at times--I did n't--but you will find it pays;
and--and remember your mother." Then Mr. Sherrill had wrung his boy's
hand, and hurried away.
It was the only time in the three years since she had been lost to him,
that his father had borne to mention the lad's mother to him. To Jack
it was like a last will and testament, and he wrote it not only in his
memory, but on his heart.
He had tried, yes, honestly, amid the manifold temptations of his life
and his "set," to live up to a certain ideal of his own, but it had been
slow work; and the last three months of his sophomore year had been far
from satisfactory to himself.
He was thinking this over as he rode slowly up the steep road to Mount
Hunger. He had come up that morning to call on Mrs. Blossom, for he
knew that the social law of hospitality demanded that he should pay his
respects to Rose Blossom's mother and Hazel's guardian before his
friends should break bread in the house.
That tall girl in the sunbonnet was a disappointment--but then, he had
been a fool to expect anything else just because she happened to sing
one of Barry Cornwall's love-songs. He rode out of the leafy
woods'-road, and came unexpectedly upon the farmhouse. Chi saw him from
the barn, and came out to meet him.
"Is Mrs. Blossom at home?" asked Jack, lifting his cap.
Chi patted Little Shaver's neck, shining like polished mahogany. "Yes,
she 's home, 'n' she 'll be glad to see you. You 'll find her right in
the kitchen, 'n' I 'll tend to this little chap--what's his name?"
"Little Shaver, he 's my polo pony."
"George Washington! He knows a thing or two. He most winked at me,"
laughed Chi.
"Oh, he knows a stable when he sees it," said Jack, smiling; "but where
's the kitchen?"
"Right off the porch.--There 's Rose singing now; guess that 'll be as
good a guide-post as you could have. Come along, Little Shaver,--a good
name for you."
Jack went up on the porch, but stopped short at the open door. Rose was
at the kitchen table, patting out the dough for the rolls. Her sleeves
were turned up above the elbows, and the round, yet delicate, white arms
and the pretty hands were working energetically with the rolling-pin.
She was singing from pure lightheartedness, and she emphasized the
rhythm by substantial thumps with the culinary utensil.
[Illustration: "Rose was at the kitchen table, patting out the dough for
the rolls"]
"'I told thee when love was hopeless; (thump)
But now he is wild and sings--(thump)
That the stars above (thump! thump!!)
Shine ever on Love--(thump--)'"
Jack knocked rather loudly, and Rose turned with a little "Oh!" and an
attitude that made Jack long for a button-hole kodak.
"Come in, Mr. Sherrill," she said, cordially, but thinking to herself,
"Caught again! well, I don't care."
"I hope I have n't come too early this morning to be received," said
Jack, extending his hand.
"I can't shake, Mr. Sherrill," laughed Rose, "and if I stop to wash
them, you won't have any rolls for tea."
"Do go on then," said Jack, eagerly, "only don't let me be a bother. I
was afraid it might be too early and inconvenience you, but--"
"Not a bit," said Rose as she turned to the kneading-board again. "If
you don't mind, I 'm sure I don't; only these rolls must be attended
to."
"You 're very good to let me stay and watch the process," said Jack,
humbly, deferentially taking his stand by the table. "I hope I shall
not interfere so much with Mrs. Blossom; I forgot that--that--" Jack
grew red and confused.
"That we did our own work?" Rose supplied the rest of his thought with
such winning frankness, that Jack succumbed then and there to the
delight of a novel experience.
"I 'll be out in a few minutes, Mr. Sherrill," called a cheery voice
from the pantry behind him. Jack started,--then laughed.
"Am I interrupting you, too, Mrs. Blossom?" he said, addressing a crack
in the pantry door.
"I don't mean to let you, or you will have no sponge cakes for tea; I 'm
beating eggs and can't leave them or they 'll go down."
"Can't I help, Mrs. Blossom? I 've no end of unused muscle," said Jack,
entering into the fun of the situation.
"No, thank you, I shall be but a few minutes. Rose dear, just feel the
oven, will you?"
Jack began to think himself a nonentity in all this domesticity. "'Feel
the oven,'" he said to himself. "Do girls do that often, I wonder." He
watched Rose's every movement.
"Now, confess, Mr. Sherrill, have you ever seen anyone make biscuit
before?" said Rose, cutting off a piece of dough, flouring it, patting
it, cuddling it in both hands, folding it over with a little slap to
hold a bit of butter, and tucking it into the large, shallow pan.
"No--" Jack drew a long breath, "I never have. You see I have always
thought it a kind of drudgery, but this--" Jack sought for a word that
should express his feelings in regard to the process as performed by
Rose--"this is, why--it's poetry!" he exclaimed with a flashing smile
that became his expressive face wonderfully, and caused Rose to fail
absolutely in making a shapely poem of the next roll.
She laughed merrily. "There now, they 'll soon be done--in good shape
too, if you don't compliment them too much."
"I 'll eat a dozen of them, I warn you now." Jack was waxing dangerous,
for he was already possessed with an insane desire to become a piece of
dough for the sake of having those pretty hands pat him into shape.
"Do you hear that, Martie?" cried Rose, flushing with pleasure.
"Yes. That's the best compliment you can pay them, Mr. Sherrill. I
hope my cakes will fare as well," she said, coming from the pantry with
extended hand.
It was strange! But when Jack Sherrill returned the cordial pressure of
that same hand, small, shapely, but worn and hardened with toil, his
eyes suddenly filled with tears. This, truly, was a home, with what
makes the home--a mother in it.
Mrs. Blossom saw the tears, the struggle for composure, and, knowing
from Hazel he was motherless, read his thought;--then all her sweet
motherhood came to the surface.
"My dear boy," she said with quivering lip, "it is very thoughtful of
you to come up and pioneer the way over the Mountain for all your city
friends."
Jack found his voice. "Mrs. Fenlick wanted to come, too, Mrs. Blossom,
but I managed to put it so she thought it would be better to wait until
afternoon. They are all looking forward to it."
"I 'm sorry Hazel is n't here; she is out picking berries with the
children. If Rose had n't so much to do, I 'd send her to hunt them
up."
Jack protested. He had come to call on Mrs. Blossom and had detained
them altogether too long.
"I don't want to go," he said laughingly, "but I know I ought. It seems
almost an imposition for so many of us to come up here and put you to
all this trouble. Why did you ask us, Miss Blossom?" At which
question, Rose did not belie her name, for a sudden wave of color surged
into her face, and she looked helplessly and appealingly at her mother.
"I 've put my foot into it now," was Jack's thought, as Mrs. Blossom
responded quickly, "For more reasons than one, Mr. Sherrill."
They were out on the porch; Chi was bringing up Little Shaver.
"It will be a regular stampede this afternoon," said Jack, gayly, as he
vaulted into the saddle. "Have you room enough for so many horses?" He
turned to Chi.
"Plenty 'n' to spare, 'n' I 'm goin' to give 'em a piazzy tea of their
own. Little Shaver knows all about it: I 've told him. I never saw but
one horse before that could most talk, 'n' that's Fleet."
Little Shaver whinnied, and with a downward thrust and twist of his head
tried to get it under Chi's arm.
"Did n't I tell you?" said Chi, delightedly.
"Can I get on to the main road by going over the Mountain?" Jack asked
him.
"Yes, you can get over, if you ain't particular how you get," said Chi.
"No road?"
"Kind of a trail;--over the pasture 'n' through the woods, an acre or
two of brush, 'n' then some pretty steep slidin' down the other side,
'n' a dozen rods of swimmin', 'n' a tough old clamber up the bank--'n'
there you are on the river road as neat as a pin."
Jack laughed. "Just what Little Shaver glories in; I 'll try it, and
much obliged to you, Mr.--" he hesitated.
"Call me, Chi."
"Chi," said Jack, in such a tone of good comradeship that it brought the
horny hand up to his in a second's time.
Jack grasped it; "Good-bye till this afternoon." He spoke to Little
Shaver, who ducked his head and fairly scuttled across the mowing,
scrambled up the pasture, took the three-rail fence at the top in a sort
of double bow-knot of a jump, and then disappeared in the woods, leaving
the three gazing after him in admiration.
"That feller's got the right ring," said Chi, emphatically; "but if he
had n't come up here this mornin', first thing, after that invite of
Rose-pose's, I 'd have set him down alongside of that Miss Seaver--'n' a
pretty low seat that would be!"
"I 'll put up some lunch, Chi, for you and March, and, if you can find
him, you would do well to start now for the trout."
Mrs. Blossom turned to Rose. "Come, dear, we 've a hundred and one
things to do to be ready in time. You may set the table on the porch,
and we 'll all picnic for dinner to-day; I 've no time to get a regular
one, and father is n't at home."
It was a perfect afternoon on that second of September. At a quarter of
five Mrs. Blossom and Rose and Hazel were on the porch, looking down
upon the lower road for the first glimpse of the party.
The table was set on the huge rough veranda that Mr. Blossom and Chi had
built just off the kitchen long-room. Clematis and maiden-hair ferns,
which abounded on the Mountain, were the decorations, and set off to
good advantage Mrs. Blossom's mother's old-fashioned tea-set of delicate
green and white china.
On one end was a large china bowl heaped with blackberries, on the other
stood a common glass one filled with luscious, red raspberries. The
sponge cakes gleamed, appetizingly golden, from plates covered with
grape-vine leaves for doilies.
The chicken quivered in its own jelly on a platter wreathed with
clematis. The delicious odor of fried trout floated out from the
long-room, and the rolls were steaming hot in snow-white napkins.
"Oh, dear!" moaned Rose. "Everything will get cold, it's so late."
Just then there was a shout from the advance-guard of the twins, and the
cavalcade came into view; Jack on Little Shaver, who, after his
thirty-mile morning ride, was as fresh as a pastured colt--riding beside
Maude Seaton on Old Jo.
There was a general dismounting, assisted by Chi; a gathering and
looping up of riding habits; a bit of general brushing down among the
men; then, with one accord they turned to the broad step of the porch.
Mrs. Fenlick, telling of it afterwards, said that, for a moment, she did
nothing but look with all her eyes; for there on the porch step stood a
woman still in the prime of life and beautiful. She was dressed in an
India mull of the fashion of a quarter of a century ago, with a lace
kerchief folded in a V about the open neck, and fastened with an
old-fashioned brooch.
"At her side," said Mrs. Fenlick, "stood one of the loveliest girls off
of canvas I have ever seen. She had on a gown of old-fashioned
lawn--pale blue with a rose-bud border. She was tall and straight, and
the skirt was a little skimpy, and so plain that had she designed it to
set off the grace of her figure she could n't have succeeded better.
And the face and head!" Mrs. Fenlick used to wax eloquent at this
point--"were simply ideal. Hazel, of course, looked as handsome as a
picture in her full, dark blue frock of wash silk trimmed with Irish
lace, and with that rich color in her cheeks--but that girl's face was
simply divine! Just imagine a complexion of pure white, and dark blue
eyes--real violet color--black almost in her pretty excitement of
welcoming us, and the loveliest golden brown hair just plaited and
puffed a little at the temples, and a braid, that big--" Mrs. Fenlick
generally put her two delicate wrists together at this point,--"that
fell below her waist fully half a yard! I never saw such hair!"
Mrs. Fenlick used to pause for breath at this point, and then add,
"Well, the whole thing was too lovely to be described. Of course, we
ate--lots; for that ride and the air were enough to make a saint hungry
in Lent, but I was only dimly conscious of ever so many good things I
was eating, for that face fascinated me. And manners! Just as if those
two women had had nothing to do all their lives but entertain royalty!
"I had sense enough, however, to notice that Jack Sherrill said very
little and ate a great deal. I counted twelve rolls--of course they
were small--for one thing; and I don't blame him,--I wanted more. Well,
the whole thing was perfect--the valley and the great mountains were
just in front of the porch, and everything harmonized. Even that lovely
girl had a bunch of purple-blue pansies at her belt and a few in the bit
of cotton lace at her throat; and the sunset and the mountains matched
them--as if she had had the whole thing made to order."
Mrs. Fenlick always ended with, "I 've got one bone to pick with that
dear Doctor Heath--a mountain sanatorium! I 'd be willing, almost, to
get nervous prostration to be sent up there.
"But oh! you should have seen Maude Seaton!" And thereupon, Mrs.
Fenlick would go off into a fit of laughter at the remembrance. "She
was looking about for the 'rigid sunbonnet,' as she called it, of the
day before, and did n't hear when Rose Blossom spoke to her; and when
she did realize that the two were one and the same, her look was the
kind 'Life' likes to get hold of, you know.
"As for Jack Sherrill," Mrs. Fenlick concluded in her most serious
manner, "I have my own thoughts about some things." More than that she
would not say, for fear it might get back to Maude Seaton's ears.
Jack, too, had his own thoughts about some things--and kept them to
himself.
XII
RESULTS
It was the middle of November. A wild, cold wind was sweeping over the
Mountain, and driving black clouds in quick succession across the tops
of the woodlands. It howled around the farmhouse and, as now and again
a more furious blast hurled itself against doors and windows, the
children drew nearer together on the rug before the huge fireplace with
a delightful sense of safety and cosiness.
A kettle of molasses was simmering on the stove, and Chi was wielding
the corn-popper with truly professional skill before the open fire.
It was such fun to see the hurry, and scurry, and hustle, and rattle,
and pop, and sudden white transformation of the heated kernels! A huge,
wooden bowl received the contents of the popper, and March salted them.
Oh, how good it smelt! And Rose was going to make molasses corn-balls
to put aside for the next evening.
"It's just like having a party every night, there are so many of us,"
said Hazel, clapping her hands in delight.
"I should think you 'd miss some of your real parties, Hazel," said
Rose, thoughtfully.
"Miss them! Not a bit; why, they are n't half so nice as this, and at
home it's so lonesome when papa isn't there. Is n't it lovely to think
he 's coming up Christmas? Even up here, you know, it would n't be quite
Christmas for me without him. That makes me think, I must write him
very soon about some things." Hazel looked mysterious.
"We hung up our stockings last year, but we did n't get what we wanted,"
said Cherry rather mournfully.
"Why not?" asked Hazel.
"Coz Popsey was so sick he could n't go out to the Wishing-Tree, and so
he did n't know."
"What is the Wishing-Tree?" said Hazel, consumed with curiosity.
Cherry's mouth was full of corn, so Budd carried on the conversation
between mouthfuls.
"I 'll show you to-morrow. It's a big butternut up in the corner of the
pasture, an' there 's a little hollow in the trunk where the squirrels
used to hide beech-nuts, but March has made a door to it with a hinge
and put a little padlock on it--that's the key hanging up on the clock."
Hazel saw a tiny key suspended by a string from one of the pointed knobs
that ornamented the tall clock.
"'N' nobody touches it till All-hallow-e'en," said Cherry, when the
sound of her munching had somewhat diminished, although her articulation
was by no means clear. "'N' then Chi goes up with us in the dark, 'n' we
put in our wishes, 'n'--"
"Let me tell Hazel," said Budd. "You 've begun at the wrong end. You
see, we write what we want for Christmas down on paper, an' seal it with
beeswax, an' then don't tell anybody what we 've written; an' then Chi
goes up there with us after dark, an' we 're all dressed up like
Injuns--"
"Indians, Budd," corrected March.
"Well, Old Pertic'lar, Indians, then," said Budd, a little crossly, "an'
then--
"Oh, you 've forgot the dish-pan and the little tub," Cherry's voice
came muffled through the corn. "We take the dish-pan, Hazel, 'n' the
little wash-tub, me 'n' Budd between us, 'n' beat on them with the iron
spoon 'n' the dish-mop handle, 'n' play 'tom-toms'--"
"Yes, an' March gives an awful war-whoop--" Budd, in his earnestness,
had risen and gone over to Chi's side, and now sat down by the big bowl,
but, unfortunately, on the popper which Chi had just emptied. There was
a smell of scorched wool, and, simultaneously, a wild, "Oh, gee-whiz!!"
from Budd, who leaped as if shot, and stood ruefully rubbing the seat of
his well-patched knicker-bockers, while the rest rolled over on the rug
in their merriment.
"Oh, do go on, Budd!" cried Hazel, wiping the tears of mirth from her
eyes. Cherry had laughed so hard that she was hiccoughing with
outrageous rapidity; and March--forgetting May--chose that opportune
moment to give forth a specimen of his best war-whoop, for the purpose,
as he explained afterwards, of frightening her out of them.
By the time order had been restored, Cherry was able to take up the
thread of the story;
"'N' we join hands--Chi 'n' all of us--'n' sing as loud as we can sing:
"'Intery, mintery, cutery corn,
Apple seed, apple thorn;
Wire, briar, limber lock,
Five geese in a flock--
Sit and sing by the spring;
You are OUT.'
Then we all give a great shout and grunt like In-di-ans--," said Cherry,
emphatically, looking at March; and March nodded approval.
"How's that?" asked Hazel, who was listening with all her ears.
"A hannah--a hannah--a hannah," grunted the children as well as they
could, hampered by mouths full of corn. "An' then," went on Budd, "we
drop the wishes into the hollow in the tree-trunk, an' Chi locks the
door an' keeps it, an'--"
"'N' each of us ties two feathers from a rooster's tail to different
colored strings, 'n' fastens them on to a branch of the tree, 'n' that
brings us good luck; March calls it 'winging the wishes.' That's the
way we get our presents."
"Oh, what fun!" cried Hazel. "May I do it this year?"
"Course," replied Budd, "but how will your father know anything about
it?"
"I never thought of that," said Hazel, all her Christmas castles
toppling over suddenly.
"We 'll fix it somehow, Lady-bird," said Chi, who, having finished his
labors, had seated himself in a chair behind the children and provided
himself with a private bowl of his own.
"But now, speakin' of roosters, I 'd like to know how you 're comin' out
about chicken money. I sold the last lot but one down in Barton's
to-day. There 's been a lot of express to pay, 'n' I thought I 'd
better pay dividends to-night, 'n' get it off my mind, seein' it's most
Wishin'-Tree time."
Rose took her little account book from her pocket. "We cleared one
hundred and ten dollars on our preserves and jams after we 'd paid Hazel
what we had borrowed for the jars and sugar, and paid for the express
and boxes. I 'm awfully sorry we could n't fill all the orders, but we
'll try to next year. I 'll go and get the money. I like to look at
it, knowing it means so much to us all."
She ran upstairs and came back with a little wooden box that Chi had
made for her years ago. The children crowded about her. "There," said
Rose, proudly, as she took out the money and smoothed it, one crisp bill
after another, on her knees; "they 're all in ones, so it will seem as
if we had more when we divide. Now we 've agreed to divide this
equally, so that 'll make just twenty-two apiece."
"Let's play 'Hold-fast-all-I-give-you' in earnest," said Cherry, sitting
down again on the rug and holding out her hands. "That 'll be
twenty-two times round and make it seem a lot more."
"Good for you, Cherry," said March, approvingly, and they all followed
her example. With a gravity befitting the occasion, the "truly-bruly"
game, as Budd called it, went on to the supreme satisfaction of those
interested as well as the enjoyment of father and mother and Chi; for to
the two former the money-making had long been, of necessity, an open
secret.
Chi, after watching them a little while, left the room. When he
reappeared a few minutes later, he was greeted with a prolonged "Ah!" of
satisfaction; for in one hand he held his old account-book, and in the
other a long, dark blue woollen stocking which bulged fearfully from the
toe halfway up the leg, where it was tied with a stout piece of leather
whip-lash.
The whole business of disposing of the chickens had been intrusted to
Chi, and the members of the N.B.B.O.O. Society had pledged themselves
not to ask him any questions in regard to the sale of them until he
should tell them of his own accord. This pledge they had kept, and now
they were to have their rewards.
"If this is going to be a meeting of the N.B.B.O.O. Society, I move we
ask those who aren't members to adjourn to the bedroom," said March,
looking significantly at his mother and father. Mr. and Mrs. Blossom
took the hint, and, without waiting for anyone to "second the motion,"
betook themselves, laughing, into the other room.
"Guess we 'll sit up to the table 'n' count it out," said Chi, "coz we
don't want any of it to fly up chimney. We should never find it again
in this gale."
He emptied the stocking of its contents--bills, pennies, and silver
pieces of all denominations--upon the table, and the children drew up
their chairs.
"Now we 'll sort," said Chi. "You take the bills, Rose, 'n' the rest
take the other pieces, 'n' make little piles before you of a dollar
each. Then we can reckon up easy. I 'll take the pennies and the
nickels."
"I choose the ten-cent pieces," said Cherry, "an' you take the quarters,
Budd." March and Hazel took the rest.
"This is a kind of stockholders' meetin'," said Chi, as the piles were
completed. "We 'll divide the proceeds accordin' the number of hens
each set; coz I could n't keep run of so many chicks after they'd struck
out for themselves."
He opened his book.
"Here 's some items you better hear, before you find any fault with the
management:
"Mem. July. 15 chicks killed by hen-hawks.
"Mem. August. 21 chicks died of the pip.
"Mem. September. Skunks stole ten.
"Mem. October. 2 can't find.
"There 's a dead loss to all the stockholders, share 'n' share alike.
Now for expenses:
"Mem. Corn for feed till October--7 bushels.
"Mem. November. Express, $5.50. Crates expressin'--$1.10. Now for
the profits!" said Chi, with a ring of triumph in his voice. "Count up
your piles."
How the cheeks flushed and the eyes grew dark with excitement as the
counting proceeded: "One hundred--one hundred and thirty-two--one
hundred and seventy-seven--two hundred!"
"Oh-ee!" cried Hazel, as March fairly thundered "Two hundred!" "There
's more, there 's more!"
"Go on, go on!" she cried again, almost beside herself with excitement.
"Two hundred and seven--TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN!!"
"Chi!" exclaimed Rose, almost breathless, "How _did_ you make all that?"
and thereupon, without waiting for his answer, she sprang up from her
chair, and, to Chi's amazement, took his weather-worn face between her
two hands, and popped a kiss upon his forehead.
Chi cleared his throat and attempted to make his explanation, but was
interrupted by March, who got hold of his right hand and wrung it
without speaking. Chi saw the boy turn a little white about the mouth
and his gray eyes flash through tears; words were not needed.
Budd and Cherry did not realize all this meant to the elder brother and
sister, but they did not wish to be outdone by the others in expressing
their appreciation of Chi. So Budd thumped him unmercifully on the back,
saying, "You 're a trump, Chi; tell us how you did it," in a most
patronizing tone, and Cherry danced around the table, singing; "I love
my Love with a big, big C!"
Hazel looked on, rejoicing in their joy, but wondering why such a little
sum, less than her yearly allowance, should create all that happiness.
"But tell us how you did it, Chi," said Rose again.
"Well, I sold most of them for broilers, they bring a pretty good price;
'n' then I sold the feathers; 'n' you forget all those forty hens have
been layin' the last two months, 'n' I sold the eggs. Then, too,--" a
slow smile wrinkled Chi's eyes--"I was n't interfered with, 'n' that
made a great difference in the business. How much have you got
altogether?"
"Three hundred and twenty-seven dollars," said March.
"What you goin' to do with it? that's the next question. You can't let
your money lay round in wooden boxes 'n' old stockin's. It ought to be
bringing you in interest."
"I 'm going to give my share to Rose, to prepare for college with," said
Hazel.
"Indeed, I sha'n't take your money, Hazel; you 've earned it fairly for
yourself. I should be ashamed to accept it, but it's lovely of you to
think of it-- Why, Hazel!" she cried, throwing her arm around her, for
the tears were rolling down Hazel's cheeks, and her chest heaving with a
bona fide sob.
But Hazel flung off the encircling arm and threw herself full length
upon the settle in an abandonment of woe.
"I don't care anything about your old money," she sobbed. "I did n't
want it for myself, and I 've worked so hard picking berries and
all--and you said you 'd keep the by-law--and I 've been so happy
working to help others, and I never would have believed it of you, Rose
Blossom, that you 'd go back on your word--you promised--you promised to
help others--a regular solemn pl-pledge, Chi says, and now--and the only
way you could help me--was to let--to let me help y-ou-oo-oo!"
March and Rose looked at each other aghast at this unwonted outburst
from Hazel, and Mrs. Blossom, hearing the wail, made her appearance from
the bedroom.
"Why, Hazel dear, what is the matter?" she said.
"They 've spoiled all my good times," sobbed Hazel, refusing to be
comforted even when Mrs. Blossom, sitting down by her, stroked her head
and begged her to sit up and tell her all about it.
"Oh, mother!" cried Rose, holding back the tears as well as she could,
"it's all my fault. It's my old pride that keeps coming up at every
little thing, somehow, and I know it 'll be the death of me! March has
it, too; and between us we have made it just horrid for Hazel."
"Why, Rose, what do you mean?" asked her mother, gravely.
"Things that we 've kept from you, Martie. Hazel wanted to give us the
jars and the sugar, and we would n't let her; and she wanted to give me
a blue wash silk like hers, because I said I wished I could afford one
like it,--and I--and I was a little angry, and showed it; and March
spoke up and said we would n't be patronized if we were poor--"
"Why, March Blossom!" was all his mother said.
"Yes," broke in Budd, ready to place himself on the side of
righteousness, "an' Cherry told her that March called her 'a perfect
guy,' an' that meant she was homely; an' that Chi said she was awful
poor, an' we were a great deal richer than she was, an' that you would
n't have had her here if you had n't pitied her--"
"Children!" Not one of them ever remembered to have heard their mother
speak with such stern anger in her voice. "I 'm ashamed of you; you
have disgraced your parents' name." Then she turned to Hazel, drew her
up into her arms, and said, tenderly:
"Hazel, my dear little girl, why did n't you come to me with this
trouble?"
"Because--because you were n't _my mother_, you were theirs; but, oh! I
wish you were mine! I love you so--" Hazel flung both arms around Mrs.
Blossom's neck and sobbed out,--"I 've wanted to call you Mother Blossom
and hug and kiss you like the rest--but Cherry was so jealous--the first
time I did it--that she--she stuck burrs in my bed and led me through
the nettle-patch when we were raspberrying, because she knew I did n't
know nettles; and Chi told me we 'd got to be brave if we joined the
N.B.B.O.O., and I knew I ought to bear it--for I _do_ love to be
here--and I love them all, for most of the time they 're lovely to
me;--and I don't think you 've been horrid, Rose, only you did hurt my
feelings when you would n't let me give you the blue silk--and--and it
is n't my fault if I _am_ rich, and it is n't fair not to like me for
it!"
[Illustration: "Hazel flung both arms around Mrs. Blossom's neck"]
"No more it ain't, Lady-bird," said Chi, who, after drawing the back of
his hand across his eyes, was apparently the only dry-eyed one in the
room. March had flung himself on the other end of the settle and buried
his face deep among the patch-work cushions. Rose was sobbing outright
with her head on her arms as she sat at the dining-room table.
Cherry, in her shame and misery--for she had come to love Hazel dearly
without wholly conquering her jealousy--softly opened the pantry door
and slipped inside where she sniffed to her heart's content. As for
Budd, he stood over the wood-box, repiling its contents while the tears
ran off his nose so fast that he saw all the sticks double through them.
"You may go to bed, children," said Mrs. Blossom, still holding Hazel in
her arms. At this fiat, there was a general increase in the humidity of
the atmosphere; and, knowing perfectly well when their mother spoke in
that tone, that words, tears, or prayers would not avail, they, one and
all,--for Cherry had been listening at the pantry door,--made a rush for
the stairs and stumbled up, blinded by their tears.
Mrs. Blossom led Hazel still sobbing into her own little bedroom, and
shut the door.
Chi, president of the vanished N.B.B.O.O. Society, was left alone. He
gazed meditatively awhile at the little piles of money and the vacant
chairs opposite each. Then he gathered them up carefully and placed
them in orderly rows in the wooden box. His next move was to the shed
door. As he opened it, a gust of wind extinguished the lamp on the
table.
"Guess I 'll go to bed, too," said Chi to himself, coming back for the
box, which the firelight showed plainly enough. "The barometer's
dropped, 'n' it always makes me feel low in my mind."
He heaved a prodigious sigh and went out into the shed and up the back
stairs. The wooden box he put under the head of the mattress; he
barricaded the door and placed his rifle beside it against the wall.
Then he turned in and drew the coverlet up over his head with another
sigh, so long, so profound, that it mingled with the wind as it swept
through the cracks of the shed beneath, and made a part of the dismality
of the night.
Mrs. Blossom returned to the long-room, and, sitting down in her low
rocker before the fire, waited. She knew her children.
Soon, it might have been within half an hour, she heard Rose call softly
at the top of the stairs:--
"Martie."
"Yes, Rose."
"May I come?"
"Yes, dear."
"O Martie! may I, too?" wailed Cherry.
"Yes."
"I 'm coming, mother," said March, speaking in a low, determined voice
through the knot-hole.
"Very well, March."
"Come along, Budd," said March, and Budd was only too glad to grip his
brother's pajamas and follow after.
Down they came, tiptoeing in their bare feet, Rose heading the
penitential procession. She knelt by her mother's side, and March and
Budd and Cherry knelt, too.
Then, to their mother's, "Are you _truly_ ready, children?" they
answered heartily, "Yes, Martie."
Together they said in subdued but earnest tones, "Our Father;" together
they prayed, "'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who
trespass against us'"--and after the heart-felt, "Amen," each received a
kiss by way of absolution; and together, until the clock struck ten,
they talked the whole matter over and resolved to fight their Apollyons
daily and hourly, and, with God's grace, conquer them.
These were the rare hours, the memory of which held March Blossom in the
way of right and honor when he went out to battle for himself in the
world. These were the hours, the memory of which kept him in his
college days unspotted from the world. It was such an hour that ripened
Rose Blossom into a thinking, feeling woman, and made Budd into a knight
of the Twentieth Century.
It was for such an hour that Jack Sherrill would have given his entire
fortune.
XIII
A SOCIAL ADDITION
It was a chastened household that gathered about the breakfast table the
next morning; and for a week afterwards, every one was so thoughtful and
considerate of everybody else that Mrs. Blossom said, laughing, to her
husband; "They 're so angelic, Ben, I 'm afraid they are all going to be
ill. I declare, I miss their little naughtinesses."
Several things had been settled during the week and, apparently, to
everyone's satisfaction. At a very serious-minded meeting of the
N.B.B.O.O., it had been decided to keep the larger part of the money in
order to start March on his career. Not without protest, however, on
March's part. But he was overruled. Rose argued that if he were going
to college, he must begin to prepare that very winter, and if their
earnings were divided among the five, no one would reap any special
benefit from them, least of all, March.
"I can wait well enough another year, perhaps two," she said; "and,
meanwhile, we 'll be earning more. But you, March, ought to be in the
academy at Barton's this very minute."
"I know it," said March, dejectedly; "but I do hate to take girls'
money; somehow, it does not seem quite--quite manly."
"Better remember what your mother talked to you 'bout last Sunday, 'bout
its bein' more of a blessin' to give than to get," said Chi,
sententiously.
"I do remember, and there 's nobody in the world I 'd be more willing to
take it from than from you, all of you, but--"
"Me, too?" interrupted Hazel, leaning nearer with great, eager,
questioning eyes.
"Yes, you, too, Hazel," March replied gently, with such unwonted
humility of spirit shining through his rare, sweet smile, that Hazel
bounced up from her seat at the table, and, going behind March's chair,
clasped both arms tightly around his neck, laid the dark, curly head
down upon the top of his golden one, exclaiming delightedly:
"Oh, March, you are the dearest fellow in the world. I never thought you
'd give in so--and I love you for it! There now,"--with a big squeeze of
the golden head--"you 've made me superfluously happy." Hazel took her
seat, flushed rosy red in pleasurable anticipation of being allowed, at
last, to give to those she loved, and wholly unmindful of her slip of
the tongue.
"Now that's settled, I move that each of you keep three dollars of that
money 'gainst the Wishin'-Tree business. Chris'mus 'll be here 'fore you
can say 'Jack Robinson.'"
"Second the motion," said Budd and Cherry in the same breath.
It was a unanimous vote.
"There is just one thing I want to say," said March, who, in a
bewilderment of happy emotions, had been unable to reply one word to
Hazel, "and that is, that I want you to consider that you have lent it
to me and let me have the pleasure of paying back, sometime, when I am a
man."
"That's fair enough," said Chi. "I glory in your independence, Markis.
That's the right kind to have. Put it to vote."
Again there was a unanimous vote of approval, for they all knew that to
one of March's proud spirit it meant much to accept the money, from the
girls especially; and they felt it would make him happier if he were to
accept it as a loan.
"I can save a lot by not boarding down at Barton's, and by working for
my board at the tavern, or in some family," said March, thoughtfully.
"No you don't," said Chi, emphatically. "'T ain't no way for a boy to
be doin' chores before he goes to school in the mornin' 'n' tendin'
horses after he gets out in the afternoon. If you 're goin' to try for
college in two years, you 've got to buckle right down to it--'n' not
waste time workin' for other folks that ain't your own. Here comes Mis'
Blossom, we 'll ask her what she has to say about it."
"Why, Martie, where have you been all this afternoon? I saw you and
father driving off in such a sly sort of way, I knew you did n't want us
to know where you were going. Now, 'fess!" laughed Rose.
"'Fess, 'fess, Martie!" cried Budd and Cherry, hilariously breaking up
the meeting. "We 've got you now!" And without more ado they anchored
her to the settle, each linked to an arm, while Hazel took off her hood,
March drew off her rubbers, and Rose unpinned her shawl.
Mrs. Blossom laughed. "No, you guess," she replied.
"Down to the Mill Settlement?"
"Wrong."
"Over to Aunt Tryphosa's?"
"No."
"Down to see the Spillkinses?"
"Wrong again."
"Over eastwards to the Morris farm," said Chi.
"Right," said Mrs. Blossom, smiling. "How did you know, Chi?"
"I didn't, just guessed it; coz I knew the new folks was goin' to move
in this week."
"What new folks?" chorussed the children in surprise.
"An addition to the Lost Nation," replied their mother, "and a very
charming one. Now there are five families on our Mountain."
"Who are they, Martie?"--"Are you going to ask them to Thanksgiving,
too?"--"What's their name?"--"How many are there of them?"--"Any boys?"
They were all talking together.
"One at a time, please," laughed Mrs. Blossom, putting her hands over
her ears. "I never heard such mill-clappers!"
"_Do_ hurry up, mother," said March, appealingly.
"A young man from New Haven has taken the lease of the farm for three
years. He has his mother and sister with him. He was in the law school
at Yale until last spring; then his father died, and his sister, a
little older than you, Rose, was injured in some accident--I don't know
what it was--and now she is very delicate. The doctor says if she can
live in this mountain country for a few years, she may recover her
health. The brother and mother are perfectly devoted to her. She calls
herself a 'Shut-in'--"
"Then she can't come over for Thanksgiving dinner," said Rose,
interrupting.
"Not this year, but I hope she may next."
"Did he give up college for his sister's sake?" asked March.
"He gave up the last year of his law course; they could not afford to
travel so many years for the benefit of her health, so they came up
here. I do pity them; it must be such a change. But, oh, March! how
you will enjoy that house! They have been there only a week, yet it
looks as if they had lived there always. They have such beautiful
framed photographs of places they visited when they were in Europe with
their father, and cases of books, and a grand piano--I don't see how
they ever got it up the Mountain. The young man and his mother both
play, and he plays the violin, too."
The children and Chi were listening open-eyed as Mrs. Blossom went on
enthusiastically:--
"It's just like a fairy story, only it's all true. Just two weeks ago,
when your father and I drove by there, that long, rambling house looked
so bleak and bare and desolate--your father and I always call it the
'House of the Seven Gables,' for there are just seven--and the spruce
woods behind it looked fairly black, and the wind drew through the pines
by the south door with such an eerie sound, that I shivered. And
to-day, what a change! All the shutters were open, and muslin curtains
at the windows, and the sun was streaming into the four windows of the
great south room that they have made their living-room. There was a
roaring big fire in the hall fireplace, and plants--oh, Rose, you should
see them! palms and rubber trees and sword ferns,--and lovely rugs,
and--I can't begin to tell you about it; you must go and see for
yourselves." Mrs. Blossom paused for breath, with a glad light in her
eyes.
"It sounds too good to be true," said Rose, "and you look as if you had
been to a real party, Martie."
"Well, I have, my dear. Just to see such people and such a house is a
party for me."
"And you can keep having it, too, can't you, Martie? because they 're
going to be neighbors," cried Cherry, every individual curl dancing and
bobbing with excitement.
"Is the young man good-looking?" asked Hazel, earnestly.
"Very," replied Mrs. Blossom, smiling.
"As handsome as Jack?" said Hazel.
"Very different looking, Hazel; quiet and grave, but genial. Not so
tall as Mr. Sherrill, I should say; talks but little, but what he says
is well worth listening to--and when he smiled! I did n't hear him
laugh, but I know he can enjoy fun. He has a fine saddle horse, Chi,
and he wants you to come and give him some advice about selecting
stock."
"'Fraid he 's too high-toned for me," said Chi, modestly; "but if I can
help him anyway, I 'd like to. Seems a likely young man from all you
say."
"He 's more than 'likely,' Chi," returned Mrs. Blossom, with a twinkle
in her eye that only Chi caught.
"Speakin' of horses, Mis' Blossom, we 've decided to send March to the
Academy at Barton's, 'n' if I let him have Fleet, he could come 'n' go,
a matter of sixteen miles a day, without bein' from home nights. I
don't approve of that for boys."
"No, indeed, neither his father nor I would think of such a thing for a
moment. But how kind of you, Chi, to let March have Fleet."
"I want to help on the college education all I can; 'n' if our boy wants
to go, he 's goin' to have the best to get him there so far as I 'm
concerned."
"I don't know how to thank you, Chi," said March, "but I 'll treat Fleet
like a lady and
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