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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6909-0.txt b/6909-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0022013 --- /dev/null +++ b/6909-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6135 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Caravan Days, by Mary Hartwell Catherwood + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Old Caravan Days + +Author: Mary Hartwell Catherwood + + +Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6909] +This file was first posted on February 10, 2003 +Last Updated: March 8, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD CARAVAN DAYS *** + + + + +Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Juliet Sutherland, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team. This file was produced from images generously made +available by the Canadian Institute for Historical +Microreproductions. + + + + + + + + +OLD CARAVAN DAYS + + +By Mary Hartwell Catherwood + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + I. THE START + + II. THE LITTLE OLD MAN WITH A BAG ON HIS BACK + + III. THE TAVERN + + IV. THE SUSAN HOUSE + + V. THE SUSAN HOUSE CELLAR + + VI. MR. MATTHEWS + + VII. ZENE'S MAN AND WOMAN + + VIII. LITTLE ANT RED AND BIG ANT BLACK + + IX. THE GREAT CAMP MEETING + + X. THE CRY OF A CHILD IN THE NIGHT + + XI. THE DARKENED WAGON + + XII. JONATHAN AND THRUSTY ELLEN + + XIII. FAIRY CARRIE AND THE PIG-HEADED MAN + + XIV. SEARCHING + + XV. THE SPROUTING + + XVI. THE MINSTREL + + XVII. THE HOUSE WITH LOG STEPS + +XVIII. “COME TO MAMMA!” + + XIX. FAIRY CARRIE DEPARTS + + XX. SUNDAY ON THE ROAD + + XXI. HER MOTHER ARRIVES + + XXII. A COUNTRY SUNDAY-SCHOOL + +XXIII. FORWARD + + XXIV. THE TOLL-WOMAN + + XXV. THE ROBBERS + + XXVI. THE FAIR AND THE FIERCE BANDIT + +XXVII. A NIGHT PICTURE OF HOME + + + + +OLD CARAVAN DAYS. + + + + +CHAPTER I. THE START. + + +In the year eighteen hundred and fifty-seven, on the fifth day of +June, the Padgett carriage-horses faced the west, and their mistress +gathered the lines into her mitted hands. + +The moving-wagon was ready in front of the carriage. It was to be +driven by Zene, the lame hired man. Zene was taking a last drink from +that well at the edge of the garden, which lay so deep that your face +looked like a star in it. Robert Day Padgett, Mrs. Padgett's +grandson, who sat on the back seat of the carriage, decided that he +must have one more drink, and his aunt Corinne who sat beside him, +was made thirsty by his decision. So the two children let down the +carriage steps and ran to the well. + +It was like Sunday all over the farm, only the cattle were not +straying over the fields. The house was shut up, its new inhabitants +not having arrived. Some neighbor women had come to bid the family +good-bye again, though it was so early that the garden lay in heavy +dew. These good friends stood around the carriage; one of them held +the front-door key in trust for the new purchaser. They all called +the straight old lady who held the lines grandma Padgett. She was +grandma Padgett to the entire neighborhood, and they shook their +heads sorrowfully in remembering that her blue spectacles, her +ancient Leghorn bonnet, her Quaker shoulder cape and decided face +might be vanishing from them forever. + +“You'll come back to Ohio,” said one neighbor. “The wild Western +prairie country won't suit you at all.” + +“I'm not denying,” returned grandma Padgett, “that I could end my +days in peace on the farm here; but son Tip can do very little here, +and he can do well out there. I've lost my entire family except son +Tip and the baby of all, you know. And it's not my wish to be +separated from son Tip in my declining years.” + +The neighbors murmured that they knew, and one of them inquired as +she had often inquired before, at what precise point grandma +Padgett's son was to meet the party; and she replied as if giving new +information, that it was at the Illinois State line. + +“You'll have pretty weather,” said another woman, squinting-in the +early sun. + +“Grandma Padgett won't care for weather,” observed the neighbor with +the key. “She moved out from Virginia in the dead o' winter.” + +“Yes; I was but a child,” said grandma Padgett, “and this country +one unbroken wilderness. We came down the Ohio River by flatboat, and +moved into this section when the snow was so deep you could ride +across stake-and-rider fences on the drifts.” + +“Folks can get around easier now, though,” said the squinting +neighbor, “since they got to going on these railroads.” + +“I shipped part of my goods on the railroad,” remarked grandma +Padgett with--a laugh. “But I don't know; I ain't used to the things, +and I don't know whether I'd resk my bones for a long distance or +not. Son Tip went out on the cars.” + +“The railroads charge so high,” murmured a woman near the back +wheels. “But they do say you can ride as far West as you're a goin' +on the cars.” + +“How long will you be gettin' through?” inquired another. + +“Not more than two or three weeks,” replied grandma Padgett +resolutely. “It's a little better than three hundred and fifty miles, +I believe.” + +“That's a long distance,” sighed the neighbor at the wheels. + +But aunt Corinne and her nephew, untroubled by the length of +pilgrimage before them, ran from the well into the garden. + +“I wish the kerns were ripe,” said aunt Corinne. “Look out, Bobaday! +You're drabblin' the bottoms of your good pants.” + +“'Twouldn't do any good if the kerns were ripe,” said Bobaday, +turning his pepper-and-salt trousers up until the linings showed. +“This farm ain't ours now, and we couldn't pull them.” + +Aunt Corinne paused at the fennel bed: then she impulsively +stretched forth her hand and gathered it full. + +“I set out these things,” said aunt Corinne, “and I ain't countin' +them sold till the wagon starts.” So she gathered sweetbrier, and a +leaf of sage and two or three pinks. + +“O Bobaday,” said aunt Corinne--this name being a childish +corruption of Robert Day: for aunt Corinne two years younger than her +nephew, and had talked baby talk when he prided himself on distinct +English--“you s'pose brother Tip's got a garden like this at the new +place? Oh, the pretty little primroses! Who'll watch them pop open +to-night? How you and me have sat on the primrose bed and watched the +t-e-e-nty buds swell and swell till finally--pop! they smack their lips +and burst wide open!” + +“We'll have a primrose bed out West,” said Bobaday. “We'll plant +sweet anise too, and have caraway seeds to put in the cakes. Aunt +Krin, did you know grandma's goin' to have green kern pie when we +stop for dinner to-day?” + +“I knew there was kern pie made,” said aunt Krin. “I guess we better +get into the carriage.” + +She held her short dress away from the bushes, and scampered with +Bobaday into the yard. Here they could not help stopping on the +warped floor of the porch to look into the empty house. It looked +lonesome already. A mouse had ventured out of the closet by the tall +sitting-room mantel; and a faint outline of the clock's shape +remained on the wall. + +The house with its trees was soon fading into the past. The +neighbors were going home by the road or across fields. Zene's wagon, +drawn by the old white and gray, moved ahead at a good pace. It was +covered with white canvas drawn tight over hoops which were held by +iron clamps to the wagon-sides. At the front opening sat Zene, +resting his feet on the tongue. The rear opening was puckered to a +round O by a drawing string. Swinging to and fro from the hind axle, +hung the tar-bucket. A feed box was fitted across the hind end of the +wagon. Such stores as might be piled to the very canvas roof, were +concealed from sight by a black oilcloth apron hanging behind Zene. +This sheet of oilcloth was designed for an additional roof to keep +the goods dry when it rained. + +Under the wagon, keeping well away from the tar-bucket, trotted +Boswell and Johnson. Bobaday named them; he had read something of +English literature in his grandfather's old books. Johnson was a fat +black and white dog, who was obliged to keep his tongue out of his +mouth to pant during the greater part of his days. He had fits of +meditation, when Boswell galloped all over him without provoking a +snap. Johnson was, indeed, a most amiable fellow, and had gained a +reputation as a good watch dog, because on light nights he barked the +shining hours away. + +Boswell was a little short-legged dog, built like a clumsy weasel; +for his body was so long it seemed to plead for six legs instead of +four, to support it, and no one could blame his back for swaying a +little in the middle. Boswell was a brindled dog. He had yellow spots +like pumpkin seeds over his eyes. His affection for Johnson was +extreme. He looked up to Johnson. If he startled a bird at the +roadside, or scratched at the roots of a tree after his imagination, +he came back to Johnson for approval, wagging his tail until it made +his whole body undulate. Johnson sometimes condescended to rub a nose +against his silly head, and this threw him into such fire of delight +that he was obliged to get out of the wagon-track, and bark around +himself in a circle until the carriage left him behind. Then he came +up to Johnson again, and panted along beside him, with a smile as +open and constant as sunshine. + +No such caravan as the Padgett family has been seen moving West +since those days when all the States were in a ferment: when New York +and the New England States poured into Ohio, and Pennsylvania and +Ohio, Kentucky and Tennessee into Indiana, Illinois, and even--as a +desperate venture, Missouri. The Old National Turnpike was then a +lively thoroughfare. Sometimes a dozen white-covered wagons stretched +along in company. All classes of society were represented among the +movers. There were squalid lots to--be avoided as thieves: and there +were carriages full of families who would raise Senators, Presidents, +and large financiers in their new home. The forefathers of many a man +and woman, now abroad studying older civilization in Europe, came +West as movers by the wagon route. + +Aunt Corinne and her nephew were glad when Zene drove upon the +'pike, and the carriage followed. The 'pike had a solid rumbling base +to offer wheels. You were comparatively in town while driving there, +for every little while you met somebody, and that body always +appeared to feel more important for driving on the 'pike. It was a +glittering white highway the ruts worn by wheels were literally worn +in stone. Yet never were roadsides as green as the sloping 'pike +sides. No trees encroached very close upon it, and it stretched in +endless glare. But how smoothly you bowled along! People living aside +in fields, could hear your progress; the bass roar of the 'pike was +as distinct, though of course not as loud, as the rumble of a train. + +Going through Reynoldsburg however, was the great triumphal act of +leave-taking. The Padgetts went to church in Reynoldsburg. To-day it +is a decayed village, with many of its houses leaning wearily to one +side, or forward as if sinking to a nap. But then it was a lively +coach town, the first station out from the capital of the State. + +[Illustration: THE STAGE SWEPT BY LIKE A FLASH.] + +The Reynoldsburgers looked forth indifferently. They saw movers +every hour of the day. But with recognition growing in their faces, +many of them hastened to this particular carriage for parting words +with grandma Padgett and the children. Robert Day set up against the +high back, accepting his tribute of envious glances from the boys he +knew. He was going off to meet adventures. They--had to stay at home +and saw wood, and some of them would even be obliged to split it when +they had a tin box full of bait and their fish-poles all ready for +the afternoon's useful employment. There had been a time when Robert +thought he would not like to be called “movers.” Some movers fell +entirely below his ideas. But now he saw how much finer it was to be +travelling in a carriage than on the swift-shooting cars. He felt +sorry for the Reynoldsburg boys. One of them hinted that he might be +expected out West himself some day, and told Robert to watch down the +road for him. He appeared to think the West was a large prairie full +of benches, where folks sat down and told their adventures in coming. + +Bobaday considered his position in the carriage the only drawback to +the Reynoldsburg parade. He ought to be driving. In the course of the +journey he hoped grandma Padgett would give up the lines--which she +had never yet done. + +They drove out of Reynoldsburg. The tin-covered steeple on the +church dazzled their eyes for perhaps the last time. + +Then coming around a curve in the 'pike appeared that soul-stirring +sight, the morning stage from Columbus. Zene and grandma Padgett drew +off to the side of the road and gave it a wide passage, for the stage +had the same right of way that any regular train now has on its own +track. It was drawn by six of the proudest horses in the world, and +the grand-looking driver who guided them, gripped the complication of +lines in his left hand while he held a horn to his mouth with the +right, and through this he blew a mellow peal to let the +Reynoldsburgers know the stage was coming. The stage, billowing on +springs, was paneled with glittering pictures, gilded on every part, +and evidently lined with velvet. Travellers inside looked through the +open windows with what aunt Corinne considered an air of opulent +pride. She had always longed to explore the interior of a stage, and +envied any child who had been shut in by the mysterious click and +turn of the door-handle. The top was crowded with gentlemen looking +only less important than the luxurious passengers inside: and behind +on a vast rack was such a mountain of-baggage swaying with the stage, +but corded firmly to place, and topped with bandboxes, that aunt +Corinne believed their moving wagon would not have contained it all. +Yet the stage swept past like a flash. All its details had to be +gathered by a quick eye. The leaders flew over the smooth +thoroughfare, holding up their heads like horse princes; and Bobaday +knew what a bustle Reynoldsburg would be in during the few minutes +that the stage halted. + +After viewing this sumptuous pageant the little caravan moved +briskly on toward Columbus. Zene kept some distance ahead, yet always +in sight. And in due time the city began to grow around them. The +'pike never lost its individuality among the streets of the capital. +They saw the great penitentiary surrounded by stone walls as thick as +the length of a short boy. They saw trains of cars trailing in and +out; manufactories, and vistas of fine streets full of stores. They +even saw the capitol building standing high up on its shaded grounds, +many steps and massive pillars giving entrance to the structure which +grandma Padgett said was one of the finest in the United States. It +was not very long before they reached the western side of the city +and were crossing the Scioto River in a long bridge and entering what +was then a shabby suburb called Frankfort. At this point aunt Corinne +and her nephew entered unbroken ground. + + + + +CHAPTER II. THE LITTLE-OLD MAN WITH A BAG ON HIS BACK. + + +Grandma Padgett had prepared the noon lunch that very day, but +scarcely expected to make use of it. On the western borders of +Columbus lived a cousin Padgett in such a country place as had long +been the talk of the entire family connection. Cousin Padgett was a +mighty man in the city, and his wife and daughters had unheard-of +advantages. He had kept up a formal but very pleasant intercourse +with grandma's branch; and when he learned at the State Fair, the +year previous, her son Tip's design to cast their future lots in the +West, he said he should take it very ill if they did not spend the +first night of their journey with him. Grandma Padgett decided that +relationship must claim her for at least one meal. + +Bobaday and Corinne saw Zene pause at the arched gates of this +modern castle, according to his morning's instructions. Corinne's. +heart thumped apprehensively. It was a formidable thing to be going +to cousin Padgett's. He lived in such overwhelming grandeur. She +knew, although she had never seen his grounds, that he kept two +gardeners on purpose to take care of them. His parlors were covered +with carpets in which immense bouquets of flowers were wrought, and +he had furniture not only of horsehair, but of flowered red velvet +also. I suppose in these days cousin Padgett's house would be +considered the extreme of expensive ugliness, and a violation of all +laws of beauty. But it was the best money could buy then, and that +was considered enough. Robert was not affected by the fluttering care +of his young aunt. He wanted to see this seat of grandeur. And when +Zene walked back down the avenue from making inquiries, and announced +that the entire family were away from home, Bobaday felt a shock of +disappointment. + +Cousin Padgett did not know the exact date of the removal, and +people wrote few letters in those days. So he could not be blamed for +his absence when they came by. Zene limped up to his seat in front of +the wagon, and they moved forward along the 'pike. + +“Good!” breathed aunt Corinne, settling back. + +“'Tisn't good a bit!” said Bobaday. + +And whom should they meet in a few miles but cousin Padgett himself, +riding horseback and leading a cream-colored horse which he had been +into the country to purchase. This was almost as trying as taking +dinner at his house. He insisted that the party should turn back. His +wife and daughters had only driven into the city that morning. Cousin +Padgett was a charming, hearty man, with a ring of black whiskers +extending under his face from ear to ear, and the more he talked the +less Corinne feared him. When he found that his kinspeople could not +be prevailed upon to return with him, he tied up his horses to the +wagon in the wood-shed where Zene unhitched, and took dinner with +grandma Padgett. + +Aunt Corinne sat on a log beside him and ate currant pie. He went +himself to the nearest house and brought water. And when a start was +made, he told the children he still expected a visit from them, and +put as a parting gift a gold dollar as delicate as an old three-cent +piece, into the hand of each. + +Bobaday felt his loss when the cream-colored horse could no longer +be discerned in the growing distance. Grandma Padgett smiled +pleasantly ahead through her blue glasses: she had received the +parting good wishes of a kinsman; family ties had very strong +significance when this country was newer. Aunt Corinne gazed on the +warm gold dollar in her palm, and wagged her head affectionately over +it for cousin Padgett's sake. + +The afternoon sun sagged so low it stared into grandma's blue. +spectacles and made even Corinne shelter her eyes. Zene drove far +ahead with his load to secure lodgings for the night. Having left +behind the last acquaintance and entered upon the realities of the +journey, grandma considered it time to take off her Leghorn bonnet +and replace it with the brown barege one drawn over wire. So Bobaday +drew out a bandbox from under the back seat and helped grandma make +the change. The seat-curtain dropped over the Leghorn in its bandbox; +and this reminded him that there were other things beside millinery +stowed away in the carriage. Playthings could be felt by an +appreciative hand thrust under the seat; and a pocket in the side +curtain was also stuffed. + +“I think I'll put my gold money in the bottom of that pocket,” said +aunt Corinne, “just where I can find it easy every day.” + +She drew out all the package and dropped it in, and, having stuffed +the pocket again, at once emptied it to see that her piece had not +slipped through some ambushed hole. Aunt Corinne was considered a +flighty damsel by all her immediate relatives and acquaintances. She +had a piquant little face containing investigating hazel eyes. Her +brown hair was cut square off and held back from her brow by a round +comb. Her skin was of the most delicate pink color, flushing to rosy +bloom in her cheeks. She was a long, rather than a tall girl, with +slim fingers and slim feet, and any excitement tingled over her +visibly, so that aunt Corinne was frequently all of a quiver about +the most trivial circumstances. She had a deep dimple in her chin and +another at the right side of her mouth, and her nose tipped just +enough to give all the lines of her face a laughing look. + +But this laughing look ran ludicrously into consternation when, +twisting away from the prospect ahead, she happened to look suddenly +backward under the looped-up curtain, and saw a head dodging down. +Somebody was hanging to the rear of the carriage. + +Aunt Corinne kneeled on the cushion and stretched her neck and eyes +out over a queer little old man, who seemed to carry a bunch of some +kind on his back. He had been running noiselessly behind the +carriage, occasionally hanging by his arms, and he was taking one of +these swings when his dodging eyes met hers, and he let go, rolling +in the 'pike dust. + +“You _better_ let go!” scolded aunt Corinne. “Bob'day, there's +a beggar been hangin' on! Ma Padgett, a little old man with a bag on +his back was goin' to climb into this carriage!” + +[Illustration: A QUEER LITTLE OLD MAN.] + +“Tisn't a bag,” said Bobaday laughing, for the little old man looked +funny brushing the dust off his ragged knees. + +“_'Tis_ a bag,” said aunt Corinne, “and he ought to hurt himself +for scarin' us.” + +“There's no danger of his doing us harm,” said grandma Padgett +mildly, after she had leaned out at the side and brought her blue +glasses to bear upon the lessening figure of the little old man. + +Yet Corinne watched him when he sat down on a bank to rest; she +watched him grow a mere bunch and battered hat, and then fade to a +speck. + +The 'pike was the home of such creatures as he appeared to be. The +advance guard of what afterwards became an army of tramps, was then +just beginning to move. But they were few, and, whether they asked +help or not, were always known by the disreputable name of “beggars.” + A beggar-man or beggar-woman represented to the minds of aunt Corinne +and her nephew such possible enemies as chained lions or tigers. If +an “old beggar” got a chance at you there was no telling in what part +of the world he would make merchandise of you! They always suspected +the beggar boys and girls were kidnapped children. While it was +desirable to avoid these people, it was even more desirable that a +little girl should not offend them. + +Aunt Corinne revolved in her mind the remark she had made to the +little old man with a bag on his back. She could take no more +pleasure in the views along the 'pike; for she almost expected to see +him start out of a culvert to give her cold shivers with his +revengeful grimaces. The culverts were solid arches of masonry which +carried the 'pike unbroken in even a line across the many runs and +brooks. The tunnel of the culvert was regarded by most children as +the befitting lair of beggars, who perhaps would not object to +standing knee-deep in water with their heads against a slimy arch. + +“This is the very last culvert,” sighed Corinne, relieved, as they +rumbled across one and entered the village where they were to stop +over night. + +It was already dusk. The town dogs were beginning to bark, and the +candles to twinkle. Zene's wagon was unhitched in front of the +tavern, and this signified that the carriage-load might confidently +expect entertainment. The tavern was a sprawled-out house, with an +arch of glass panes over the entrance door. A fat post stood in front +of it, upholding a swinging sign. + +The tavern-keeper came out of the door to meet them when they +stopped, and helped his guests alight, while a hostler stood ready to +lead the horses away. + +Aunt Corinne sprung down the steps, glad of the change after the +day's ride, until, glancing down the 'pike over their late route, she +saw tramping toward the tavern that little old man with a bag on his +back. + + + + +CHAPTER III. THE TAVERN. + + +But the little old man with a bag on his back was left out in the +dusk, and aunt Corinne and her party went into the tavern parlor. The +landlady brought a pair of candles in brass candlesticks, setting one +on each end of the mantel. Between them were snuffers on a snuffer-tray, +and a tall mass of paper roses under a glass case. The fireplace +was covered by a fireboard on which was pasted wallpaper like that +adorning the room. Grandma Padgett sat down in a rocking settee, and +Corinne and Bobaday on two of the chairs ranged in solemn rows along +the wall. They felt it would be presumption to pull those chairs an +inch out of line. + +It was a very depressing room. Two funeral urns hung side by side, +done in India ink, and framed in chipped-off mahogany. Weeping +willows hung over the urns, and a weeping woman leaned on each. There +was also a picture of Napoleon in scarlet standing on the green rock +of St. Helena, holding a yellow three-cornered hat under his elbow. +The house had a fried-potato odor, to which aunt Corinne did not +object. She was hungry. But, besides this, the parlor enclosed a +dozen other scents; as if the essences of all the dinners served in +the house were sitting around invisible on the chairs. There was not +lacking even that stale cupboard smell which is the spirit of hunger +itself. + +The landlady was very fat and red and also melancholy. She began +talking at once to Grandma Padgett about the loss of her children +whom the funeral urns commemorated, and Grandma Padgett sympathized +with her and tried to outdo her in sorrowful experiences. But this +was impossible; for the landlady had-lived through more ordeals than +anybody else in town, and her manner said plainly, that no passing +stranger should carry off her championship. + +So she made the dismal room so doleful with her talk that aunt +Corinne began to feel terribly about life, and Robert Day wished he +had gone to the barn with Zene. + +Then the supper-bell rung, and the landlady showed them into the big +bare dining-room where she forgot all her troubles in the clatter of +plates and cups. A company of men rushed from what was called the bar-room, +though its shelves and counter were empty of decanters and glasses. +They had the greater part of a long table to themselves, and Zene sat +among them. These men the landlady called the boarders: she placed +Grandma Padgett's family at the other end of the table; it seemed the +decorous thing to her that a strip of empty table should separate the +boarders and women-folks. + +There were stacks of eatables, including mango stuffed with cabbage +and eggs pickled red in beet vinegar. All sorts of fruit butters and +preserves stood about in glass and earthen dishes. One end of the +table was an exact counterpart of the other, even to the stacks of +mighty bread-slices. Boiled cabbage and onions and thick corn-pone +with fried ham were there to afford a strong support through the +night's fast. Nothing was served in order: you helped yourself from +the dishes or let them alone at your pleasure. The landlord appeared +just as jolly as his wife was dismal. He sat at the other end of the +table and urged everybody with jokes to eat heartily; yet all this +profusion was not half so appetizing as some of Grandma Padgett's +fried chicken and toast would have been. + +After supper Bobaday went out to the barn and saw a whole street of +horse-stalls, the farthest horse switching his tail in dim distance; +and such a mow of hay as impressed him with the advantages of travel. +A hostler was forking down hay for the evening's feeding, and Robert +climbed to his side, upon which the hostler good-naturedly took him +by the shoulders and let him slide down and alight upon the spongy +pile below. This would have been a delightful sensation had Bobaday +not bitten his tongue in the descent. But he liked it better than the +house where his aunt Corinne wandered uneasily up stairs which were +hollowed in the middle of each step, and along narrow passages where +bits of plaster had fallen off. + +There was a dulcimer in the room aunt Corinne occupied with her +mother. She took the hammer and beat on its rusty wires some time +before going to bed. It tinkled a plea to her to let it alone, but +what little girl could look at the queer instrument and keep her +hands off it? The landlady said it was left there by a travelling +showman who could not pay his board. He hired the bar-room to give a +concert in, and pasted up written advertisements of his performance +in various parts of the town. He sent free tickets to the preacher +and schoolmaster, and the landlord's family went in for nothing. +Nobody else came, though he played on the flute and harmonium, +besides the dulcimer, and sang _Lilly Dale_, and _Roll on, +Silver Moon_, so touchingly that the landlady wiped her eyes at +their mere memory. As he had no money to pay stage-fare further, and +the flute and harmonium--a small bellows organ without legs--were +easier to carry than the dulcimer, he left it and trudged eastward. +And no one at that tavern could tell whether he and his instruments +had perished piecemeal along the way, or whether he had found crowded +houses and forgotten the old dulcimer in the tide of prosperity. + +Grandma Padgett's party ate breakfast before day, by the light of a +candle covering its candlestick with a tallow glacier. It made only a +hole of shine in the general duskiness of the big dining-room. The +landlady bade them a pathetic good-by. She was sure there were +dangers ahead of them. The night stage had got in three hours late, +owing to a breakdown, and one calamity she said, is only the +forerunner of another. + +Zene had driven ahead with the load. It was a foggy morning, and +drops of moisture hung to the carriage curtains. There was the +morning star yet trembling over the town. Aunt Corinne hugged her +wrap, and Bobaday stuck his hands deep in his pockets. But Grandma +sat erect and drove away undaunted and undamped. She merely searched +the inside of the carriage with her glasses, inquiring as a last +precaution: + +“Have we left anything behind?” + +“I got all my things,” said Robert. “And my gold dollar's in my +pocket.” + +At this aunt Corinne arose and plunged into the carriage pocket on +her side. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE SUSAN HOUSE. + + +The contents of that pocket she piled upon her seat; she raked the +interior with her nails, then she looked at Robert Day with dilating +eyes. + +“_My_ gold dollar's gone!” said aunt Corinne. “That little old +man with a bag on his back--I just know he got into the barn and took +it last night.” + +“You put it in and took it out so many times yesterday,” said +Bobaday, “maybe it fell on the carriage floor.” So they unavailingly +searched the carriage floor. + +The little old man with a bag on his back was now fixed in Corinne's +imagination as the evil genius of the journey. If he spirited out her +gold dollar, what harm could he not do them! He might throw stones at +them from sheltered places, and even shoot them with guns. He could +jump out of any culvert and scare them almost to death! This +destroyed half her pleasure as the day advanced, in watching boys +fish with horse-hair snares in the runs which trickled under +culverts. But Robert felt so much interest in the process that he was +glad to have the noon halt made near such a small fishing-place. He +took his lunch and sat on the bank with the boys. They were very +dirty, and one of them had his shirtsleeve split to the shoulder, +revealing a sun-blistered elbow joint that still worked with a right +good will at snaring. But no boys were ever fuller of out-door +wisdom. They had been swimming, and knew the best diving-hole in the +world, only a couple of miles away. They had dined on berries, and +expected to catch it when they got home, but meant to attend a show +in one of their barns that afternoon, the admission price being ten +pins. Bobaday learned how to make a slip-knot with the horse-hair and +hold it in silent suspense just where the minnows moved: the moment a +fish glided into the open snare a dexterous jerk whipped him out of +the water, held firmly about the middle by the hair noose. It +required skill and nice handling, and the split-sleeved boy was the +most accomplished snarer of all. + +[Illustration: BOBADAY LUNCHES WITH STRANGE BOYS.] + +Robert shared his lunch with these youths, and parted from them +reluctantly when the horses were put in. But aunt Corinne who stood +by in a critical attitude, said she couldn't see any use in catching +such little fish. You never fried minnies. You used 'em for bait in +deep water, though, the split-sleeved boy condescended to inform her, +and you _could_ put 'em into a glass jar, and they'd grow like +everything. Aunt Corinne was just becoming fired with anxiety to own +such a jarful herself, when the carriage turned toward the road and +her mother obliged her to climb in. + +About the middle of the afternoon Zene halted and waited for the +carriage to come up. He left his seat and came to the rear of Old +Hickory, the off carriage horse, slapping a fly flat on Old Hickory's +flank as he paused. + +“What's the matter, Zene?” inquired Grandma Padgett. “Has anything +happened?” + +“No, marm,” replied Zene. He was a quiet, singular fellow, halting +in his walk on account of the unevenness of his legs; but faithful to +the family as either Boswell or Johnson. Grandma Padgett having +brought him up from a lone and forsaken child, relied upon all the +good qualities she discovered from time to time, and she saw nothing +ludicrous in Zene. But aunt Corinne and Bobaday never ceased to +titter at Zene's “marm.” + +“I've been inquirin' along, and we can turn off of the 'pike up here +at the first by-road, and then take the first cross-road west, and +save thirty mile o' toll gates. The road goes the same direction. +It's a good dirt road.” + +Grandma Padgett puckered the brows above her glasses. She did not +want to pay unnecessary bounty to the toll-gate keepers. + +“Well, that's a good plan, Zene, if you're sure we won't lose the +way, or fall into any dif-fick-ulty.” + +“I've asked nigh a dozen men, and they all tell the same tale,” said +Zene. + +“People ought to know the lay of the land in their own neighborhood,” + admitted Grandma Padgett. “Well, we'll try what virtue there is in the +dirt road.” + +So she clucked to the carriage horses and Zene went back to his +charge. + +The last toll-gate they would see for thirty miles drew its pole +down before them. Zene paid according to the usual arrangement, and +the toll-man only stood in the door to see the carriage pass. + +“I wouldn't like to live in a little bit of a house sticking out on +the 'pike like that,” said aunt Corinne to her nephew. “Folks could +run against it on dark nights. Does he stay there by himself? And if +robbers or old beggars came by they could nab him the minute he +opened his door.” + +“But if he has any boys,” suggested Robert looking back, “they can +see everybody pass, and it'd be just as good as going some place all +the time. And who's afraid of robbers!” + +Zene beckoned to the carriage as he turned off the 'pike. For a +distance the wagon moved ahead of them, between tall stake fences +which were overrun with vines or had their corners crowded with bushes. +Wheat and cornfields and sweet-smelling buckwheat spread out on each +side until the woods met them, and not a bit of the afternoon heat +touched the carriage after that. Aunt Corinne clasped a leather-covered +upright which hurt her hand before, and leaned toward the trees on +her side. Every new piece of woodland is an unexplored country containing +moss-lined stumps, dimples of hollows full of mint, queer-shaped trees, +and hickory saplings just the right saddle-curve for bending down as +“teeters,” such as are never reproduced in any other piece of woodland. +Nature does not make two trees alike, and her cool breathing-halls under +the woods' canopies are as diverse as the faces of children wandering +there. Moss or lichens grow thicker in one spot; another particular +enclosure you call the lily or the bloodroot woods, and yet another +the wild-grape woods. This is distinguished for blackberries away up +in the clearings, and that is a fishing woods, where the limbs stretch +down to clear holes, and you sit in a root seat and hear springs +trickling down the banks while you fish. Though Corinne could possess +these reaches of trees only with a brief survey, she enjoyed them as a +novelty. + +“I would like to get lost in the woods,” she observed, “and have +everybody out hunting me while I had to eat berries and roots. I +don't believe I'd like roots, though: they look so big and tough. And +I wouldn't touch a persimmon! Nor Injun turnip. You's a bad boy that +time you give me Injun turnip to eat, Bobaday Padgett!” + +She turned upon her nephew, fierce with the recollection, and he +laughed, saying he wished he'd some to fool somebody with now. + +“It bit my mouth so a whole crock of milk wouldn't help it, and if +brother Tip'd been home, Ma Padgett wouldn't let you off so easy.” + +“You wanted to taste it,” said Robert. “And you'd eat the green +persimmons if they'd puckered your mouth clear shut.” + +“I wanted to see what the things that the little pig that lived in +the stone house filled his churn with, tasted like,” admitted aunt +Corinne lucidly; so she subsided. + +“Do you see the wagon, children?” inquired Grandma Padgett, who felt +the necessity of following Zene's lead closely. She stopped Old +Hickory and Old Henry at cross-roads. + +“No; but he said turn west on the first road we came to,” counseled +Bobaday. + +“And this is the first, I counted,” said aunt Corinne. + +“I wish we could see the cover ahead of us. We don't want to resk +gettin' separated,” said Grandma Padgett. + +Yet she turned the horses westward with a degree of confidence, and +drove up into a hilly country which soon hid the sun. The long shades +crept past and behind them. There was a country church, with a +graveyard full of white stones nearly smothered in grass and briers. +And there was a school-house in an open space, with a playground +beaten bare and white in the midst of a yellow mustard jungle. They +saw some loiterers creeping home, carrying dinner-pail and basket, +and taking a languid last tag of each other. The little girls looked +up at the passing carriage from their sunbonnet depths, but the boys +had taken off their hats to slap each other with: they looked at the +strangers, round-eyed and ready to smile, and Robert and Corinne +nodded. Grandma Padgett bethought herself to ask if any of them had +seen a moving wagon pass that way. The girls stared bashfully at each +other and said “No, ma'am,” but the boys affirmed strongly that they +had seen two moving wagons go by, one just as school was out, and the +boldest boy of all made an effort to remember the white and gray +horses. + +The top of a hill soon stood between these children, and the +travellers, but in all the vista beyond there was no glimpse of Zene. + +Grandma Padgett felt anxious, and her anxiety increased as the dusk +thickened. + +“There don't seem to be any taverns along this road,” she said; “and +I hate to ask at any farmer's for accommodations over night. We don't +know the neighborhood, and a body hates to be a bother.” + +“Let's camp out,” volunteered Bobaday. + +“We'd need the cover off of the wagon to do that, and kittles,” said +Grandma Padgett, “and dried meat and butter and cake and things +_out_ of the wagon.” + +“Maybe Zene's back in the woods campin' somewhere,” exclaimed aunt +Corinne. “And he has his gun, and can shoot birds too.” + +“No, he's goin' along the right road and expectin' us to follow. And +as like as not has found a place to put up,--while we're off on the +wrong road.” + +“How'll we ever get to brother Tip's, then?” propounded aunt +Corinne. “Maybe we're in Missouri, or Iowa, and won't never get to +the Illinois line!” + +“Humph!” remarked Robert her nephew; “do you s'pose folks could go +to Iowa or Missouri as quick as this! Cars'd have to put on steam to +do it.” + +“And I forgot about the State lines,” murmured his aunt. “The' +hasn't been any ropes stretched along't _I_ saw.” + +“They don't bound States with ropes,” said Robert Day. + +“Well, it's lines,” insisted aunt Corinne. + +“Do you make out a house off there?” questioned Grandma Padgett, +shortening the discussion. + +“Yes, ma'am, and it's a tavern,” assured her grandson, kneeling upon +the cushion beside her to stretch his neck forward. + +It was a tavern in a sandy valley. It was lighting a cautious candle +or two as they approached. A farmer was watering his team at the +trough under the pump spout. All the premises had a look of Holland, +which Grandma Padgett did not recognize: she only thought them very +clean. There was a side door cut across the centre like the doors of +mills, so that the upper part swung open while the lower part +remained shut. A fat white woman leaned her elbows upon this, +scarcely observing the travellers. + +Grandma Padgett paused at the front of the house and waited for +somebody to come out. The last primrose color died slowly out of the +sky. If the tavern had any proprietor, he combined farming with +tavern keeping. His hay and wheat fields came close to the garden, +and his corn stood rank on rank up the hills. + +“They must be all asleep in there,” fretted Grandma Padgett. The +woman with her arms over the half door had not stirred. + +“Shall I run in?” said Bobaday. + +“Yes, and ask if Zene stopped here. I don't see a sign of the wagon.” + +Her grandson opened the carriage door and ran down the steps. The +white-scrubbed hall detained him several minutes before he returned +with a large man who smoked a crooked-stemmed pipe during the +conference. The man held the bowl of the pipe in his hand which was +fat and red. So was his face. He had a mighty tuft of hair on his +upper lip. His shirt sleeves shone like new snow through the dark. + +“Goot efenins,” he said very kindly. + +“I want to stop here over night,” said Grandma Padgett. “We're +moving, and our wagon is somewhere on this road. Have you seen +anything of a wagon--and a white and a gray horse?” + +“Oh, yes,” said the tavern keeper, nodding his head. “Dere is lots +of wakkons on de road aheadt.” + +“Well, we can't go further ourselves. Can you take the lines?” + +“Oh, nein,” said the tavern-keeper mildly. “I don't keep moofers mit +my house. Dey goes a little furter.” + +“You don't keep movers!” said Grandma Padgett indignantly. “What's +your tavern for?” + +“Oh, yah,” replied the host with undisturbed benevolence. “Dey goes +a little furter.” + +“Why have you put out a sign to mislead folks?” + +The tavern keeper took the pipe out of his mouth to look up at his +sign. It swayed back and forth in the valley breeze, as if itself +expostulating with him. + +“Dot's a goot sign,” he pronounced. “Auf you go up te hill, tere ist +te house I put up mit te moofers. First house. All convenient. You +sthay tere. I coom along in te mornin'. Tere ist more as feefty +famblies sthop mit tat house. Oh, nien, I don't keep moofers mit te +tafern.” + +“This is a queer way to do,” said Grandma Padgett, fixing the full +severity of her glasses on him. “Turn a woman and two children away +to harbor as well as they can in some old barn! I'll not stop in your +house on the hill. Who'd 'tend to the horses?” + +“Tare ist grass and water,” said the landlord as she turned from his +door. “And more as feefty famblies hast put up tere. I don't keep +moofers mit te tafern.” + +Robert and Corinne felt very homeless as she drove at a rattling +pace down the valley. They were hungry, and upon an unknown road; and +that inhospitable tavern had turned them away like vagrants. + +“We'll drive all night before we'll stop in his movers' pen,” said +Grandma Padgett with her well-known decision. “I suppose he calls +every vagabond that comes along a mover, and his own house is too +clean for such gentry. I've heard about the Swopes and the Dutch +being stupid, but a body has to travel before they know.” + +But well did the Dutch landlord know the persuasion of his house on +the hill after luckless travellers had passed through a stream which +drained the valley. This was narrow enough, but the very banks had a +caving, treacherous look. Grandma Padgett drove in, and the carriage +came down with a plunge on the flanks of Old Hickory and Old Henry, +and they disappeared to their nostrils and the harness strips along +the centre of their backs. + +[Illustration: “HASN'T THE CREEK ANY BOTTOM?” CRIED GRANDMA PADGETT.] + +“Hasn't the creek any bottom?” cried Grandma Padgett, while Corinne +and Robert clung to the settling carriage. The water poured across +their feet and rose up to their knees. Hickory and Henry were urged +with whip and cry. + +“Hold fast, children! Don't get swept out!” Grandma Padgett +exhorted. “There's no danger if the horses can climb the bank.” + +They were turned out of their course by the current, and Hickory and +Henry got their fore feet out, crumbling a steep place. Below the +bank grew steeper. If they did not get out here, all must go whirling +and sinking down stream. The landing was made, both horses leaping up +as if from an abyss. The carriage cracked, and when its wheels once +more ground the dry sand, Grandma Padgett trembled awhile, and moved +her lips before replying to the children's exclamations. + +“We've been delivered from a great danger,” she said. “And that +miserable man let us drive into it without warning!” + +“If I's big enough,” said Robert Day, “I'd go back and thrash him.” + +“It ill becomes us,” rebuked Grandma Padgett, “to give place to +wrath after escaping from peril. But if this is the trap he sets for +his house on the hill, I hope he has been caught in it himself +sometime!” + +“Where'll we go now?” Corinne wailed, having considered it was time +to begin crying. “I'm drownded, and my teeth knock together, I'm +gettin' so cold!” + +They paused at the top of the hill, Corinne still lamenting. + +“I don't want to stop here,” said Grandma Padgett, adding, “but I +suppose we must.” + +The house was large and weather-beaten; its gable-end turned toward +the road. The “feefty famblies” had left no trace of domestic life. +Grass and weeds grew to the lower windows. The entrance was at one +side through a sea of rank growths. + +“It looks like they's ghosts lived here,” pronounced Robert dismally. + +“Don't let me hear such idle speeches!” said Grandma Padgett, +shaking her head. “Spooks and ghosts only live in people's +imaginations.” + +“If they got tired of that,” said Robert, “they'd come to live here.” + +“The old house looks like its name was Susan,” wept Corinne. “Are we +goin' to stay all night in this Susan house, ma?” + +Her parent stepped resolutely from the carriage, and Bobaday +hastened to let down some bars. He helped his grandmother lead the +horses into a weedy enclosure, and there unhitch them from the +carriage. There was a shed covered with straw which served for a +stable. The horses were watered--Robert wading to his neck among +cherry sprouts to a curb well, and unhooking the heavy bucket from +its chain, after a search for something else available. Then leaving +the poor creatures to browse as best they could, the party prepared +to move upon the house. Aunt Corinne came out of the wet carriage. + +Grandma Padgett picked up some sticks and chips. They attempted to +unlock the door; but the lock was broken. “Anybody can go in!” + remarked the head of the party. “But I don't know that we can even +build a fire, and as to provisions, I s'pose we'll have to starve +this night.” + +But stumbling into a dark front room, and feeling hopelessly along +the mantel, they actually found matches. The tenth one struck flame. + +There were ashes and black brands in the fireplace, left there possibly, +by the landlord's last moofer. Grandma Padgett built a fire to which the +children huddled, casting fearful glances up the damp-stained walls. +The flame was something like a welcome. + +“Perhaps,” said Grandma with energy, “there are even provisions in +the house. I wouldn't grudge payin' that man a good price and cookin' +them myself, if I could give you something to eat.” + +“We can look,” suggested Bobaday. “They'd be in the cellar, wouldn't +they?” + +“It's lots lonesomer than our house was the morning we came away,” + chattered aunt Corinne, warming her long hands at the blaze. + +And now beneath the floor began a noise which made even Grandma +Padgett stand erect, glaring through her glasses. + +“_Something's_ in the cellar!” whispered Bobaday. + + + + +CHAPTER V. THE SUSAN HOUSE CELLAR. + + +It was not pleasant to stand in a strange house in an unknown +neighborhood, drenched, hungry and unprotected, hearing fearful +sounds like danger threatening under foot. + +Corinne felt a speechless desire to be back in the creek again and +on the point of drowning; that would soon be over. But who could tell +what might occur after this groaning in the cellar? + +“I heard a noise,” said Grandma Padgett, to bespeak their attention, +as if they could remember ever hearing anything else. + +“It's cats, I think,” said Robert Day, husky with courage. + +Cats could not groan in such short and painful catches. Conjectures +of many colors appeared and disappeared like flashes in Bobaday's +mind. The groaner was somebody that bad Dutch landlord had half +murdered and put in the cellar. Maybe the floor was built to give way +and let every traveller fall into a pit! Or it might be some boy or +girl left behind by wicked movers to starve. Or a beggarman, wanting +the house to himself, could be making that noise to frighten them +away. + +The sharp groans were regularly uttered. Corinne buried her head in +her mother's skirts and waited to be taken or left, as the Booggar +pleased. + +“Well,” said Grandma Padgett, “I suppose we'll have to go and see +what ails that Thing down there. It may be a human bein' in distress.” + +Robert feared it was something else, but he would not have mentioned +it to his grandmother. + +“What'll we carry to see with?” he eagerly inquired. It was easy to +be eager, because they had no lights except the brands in the +fireplace. + +Grandma Padgett, who in her early days had carried live coals from +neighbors' houses miles away, saw how to dispense with lamp or +candle. She took a shovel full of embers--and placed a burning chip +on top. The chip would have gone out by itself, but was kept blazing +by the coals underneath. + +“Shall I go ahead?” inquired Robert. + +“No, you walk behind. And you might carry a piece of stick,” replied +his grandmother, conveying a hint which made his shoulder blades feel +chilly. + +They moved toward the cellar entrance in a slow procession, to keep +the chip from flaring out. + +“Don't hang to me so!” Grandma Padgett remonstrated with her +daughter. “I sh'll step on you, and down we'll all go and set the +house afire.” + +Garrets are cheerful, cobwebby places, always full of slits where +long, smoky sun-rays can poke in. An amber warmth cheers the darkness +of garrets; you feel certain there is nothing ugly hiding behind the +remotest and dustiest box. If rats or mice inhabit it, they are +jovial fellows. But how different is a cellar, and especially a +cellar neglected. You plunge down rough steps into a cavern. A mouldy +air from dried-up and forgotten vegetables meets you. The earth may +not be moist underfoot, but it has not the kind feeling of sun-warmed +earth. And if big rats hide there, how bold and hideous they are! +There are cool farmhouse cellars floored with cement and shelved with +sweet-smelling pine, where apple-bins make incense, and swinging-shelves +of butter, tables of milk crocks, lines of fruit cans and home-made +catsup bottles, jars of pickles and chowder, and white covered pastry +and cake, promise abundant hospitality. But these are inverted garrets, +rather than cellars. They are refrigerators for pure air; and they keep +a mellow light of their own. When you go into one of them it seems as +if the house were standing on its head to express its joy and comfort. + +But the Susan House cellar was one of dread, aside from the noise +proceeding out of it. Bobaday knew this before they opened a door +upon a narrow-throated descent. + +One of Zene's stories became vivid. It was a story of a house where +nobody could stay, though the landlord offered it rent-free. But +along came two good youths without any money, and for board and +lodging, they undertook to break the spell by sleeping there three +nights. The first two nights they were not disturbed, and sat with +their candle, reading good books until after midnight. But the third, +just on the stroke of twelve, a noise began in the cellar! So they +took their candle, and, armed with nothing except good books, went +below, and in the furthest corner they saw a little old man with a +red nightcap on his head, sitting astride of a barrel! In Zene's +story the little old man only had it on his mind to tell these good +youths where to dig for his money; and when they had secured the +money, he amiably disappeared, and the house was pleasant to live in +ever afterward. + +This tale, heard in the barn while Zene was greasing harnesses, and +heard without Grandma Padgett's sanction, now made her grandson +shiver with dread as his feet went down into the Susan House dungeon. +It was trying enough to be exploring a strange cellar full of groans, +without straining your eyes in expectation of seeing a little old man +in a red nightcap, sitting astride of a barrel! + +“Who's there?” said Grandma Padgett with stern emphasis, as she held +her beacon stretched out into the cellar. + +The groaning ceased for an awful space of time. Aunt Corinne was +behind her nephew, and she squatted on the step to peer with +distended eyes, lest some hand should reach up and grab her by the +foot. + +It was a small square cellar, having earthen sides, but piles of +pine boxes made ambushes everywhere. + +“Come out!” Grandma Padgett spoke again. “We won't have any tricks +played. But if you're hurt, we can help you.” + +It was like addressing solid darkness, for the chip was languishing +upon its coals, and cast but a dim red glare around the shovel. + +Still some being crept toward them from the darkness, uttering a +prolonged and hearty groan, as if to explode at once the +accumulations of silence. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. MR. MATTHEWS. + + +Aunt Corinne realizing it was a man, rushed to the top of the steps +and hid her eyes behind the door. She knew her mother could deal with +him, and, if he offered any harm, pour coals of fire upon his head in +a literal sense. But she did not feel able to stand by. Robert, on +the other hand, seeing no red nightcap on the head thrust up toward +them, supported his grandmother strongly, and even helped to pull the +man up-stairs. + +One touch of his soft, foolish body was enough to convince any one +that he was a harmless creature. His foot was sprained. + +Robert carried a backless chair and set it before the fire, and on +this the limping man was placed. Grandma Padgett emptied her coals on +the hearth and surveyed him. He had a red face and bashful eyes, and +while the top of his head was quite bald, he had a half-circle of +fuzz extending around his face from ear to ear. He wore a roundabout +and trousers, and shoes with copper toes. His hands were fat and +dimpled as well as freckled. Altogether, he had the appearance of a +hugely overgrown boy, ducking his head shyly while Grandma Padgett +looked at him. + +“For pity sake!” said Grandma Padgett. “What ails the creature? +What's your name, and who are you?” + +At that the man chanted off in a nasal sing-song, as if he were +accustomed to repeating his rhyme: + + J. D. Matthews is my name, + Ohio-r is my nation, + Mud Creek is my dwellin' place, + And glory is my expectation. + +“Yes,” said Grandma Padgett, removing her glasses, as she did when +very much puzzled. + +Corinne, in a distant corner of the lighted room, began to laugh +aloud, and after looking towards her, the man laughed also, as if +they two were enjoying a joke upon the mother. + +“Well, it may be funny, but you gave us enough of a scare with your +gruntin' and your groanin',” said Grandma Padgett severely. + +J. D. Matthews reminded of his recent tribulations, took up one of +his feet and began to groan over it again. He was as shapeless and +clumsy as a bear, and this motion seemed not unlike the tiltings of a +bear forced to dance. + +“There you go,” said Grandma Padgett. “Can't you tell how you came +in the cellar, and what hurt you?” + +Mr. Matthews piped out readily, as if he had packed the stanza into +shape between the groans of his underground sojourn: + + To the cellar for fuel I did go, + And there I met my overthrow; + I lost my footing and my candle, + And grazed my shin and sprained my ankle. + +“The man must be a poet,” pronounced Grandma Padgett with contempt. +“He has to say everything in rhyme.” + +Chanted Mr. Matthews: + + I was not born in a good time, + I cannot speak except in rhyme. + +“Ain't he funny?” said Bobaday, rubbing his own knees with enjoyment. + +“He's very daft,” said the grandmother. “And what to do for him I +don't know. We've nothing to eat ourselves. I might wet his foot and +tie it up.” + +Mr. Matthews looked at her smilingly while he recited: + + I have a cart that does contain + A pana_seer_ for ev'_ry_ pain. + There's coffee, also there is _chee_, + Sugar and cakes, bread and hone-ee. + I have parch corn and liniment, + Which causes me to feel content. + There is some half a dozen kittles + To serve me when I cook my vittles. + Butter and eggs I do deal in; + To go without would be a sin. + When I sit down to cook my meals, + I know how good a king feels. + +“Well, if you had your cart handy it would be worth while,” said +Grandma Padgett indulgently. “But talkin' of such things when the +children are hungry only aggravates a body more.” + +Producing a key from his roundabout pocket, Mr. Matthews lifted his +voice and actually sung: + + J. D. Matthews' cart stands at your door. + Lady, will you step out and see my store? + I've cally-co and Irish table linen, + Domestic gingham and the best o' flannen. + I take eggs and butter for these treasures, + I never cheat, but give good measures. + +“Let me see if there is a cart,” begged Bobaday, reaching for the +key which his grandmother reluctantly received. + +He then went to the front door and groped in the weeds. The hand-cart +was there, and all of Mr. Matthews' statements were found to be +true. He had plenty of provisions, as well as a small stock of dry +goods and patent medicines, snugly packed in the vehicle which he was +in the habit of pushing before him. There were even candles. Grandma +Padgett lighted one, and stuck it in an empty liniment bottle. Then +she dressed the silly pedler's ankle, and put an abundant supper on +the fire to cook in his various kettles; the pedler smiling with pure +joy all the time to find himself the centre of such a family party. + +Bobaday and Corinne came up, and stood leaning against the ends of +the mantel. No poached eggs and toast ever looked so nice; no honey +ever had such melting yellow comb; no tea smelled so delicious; no +ginger cakes had such a rich moistness. They sat on the carriage +cushions and ate their supper with Grandma Padgett. It was placed on +the side of an empty box, between them and the pedlerman. He divided +his attention betwixt eating and chanting rhymes, interspersing both +with furtive laughs, into which he tried to draw the children. +Grandma Padgett overawed him; but he evidently felt on a level with +aunt Corinne and her nephew. In his foolish red face there struggled +a recollection of having gone fishing, or played marbles, or hunted +wild flowers with these children or children like them. He nodded and +twinkled his eyes at them, and they laughed at whatever he did. His +ankle was so relieved by a magic liniment, that he felt able to +hobble around the house when Grandma Padgett explored it, repeating +under his breath the burst he indulged in when she arrayed the supper +on the box: + + O, I went to a friend's house, + The friend says, 'Come in, + Have a hot cup of coffee; + And how have you been?' + +Grandma Padgett said she could not sleep until she knew what other +creatures were hidden in the house. + +They all ascended the enclosed staircase, and searched echoing dusty +rooms where rats or mice whisked out of sight at their approach. + +“This is a funny kind of an addition to a tavern,” remarked the head +of the party. “No beds: no anything. We'll build a fire in this upper +fireplace, and bring the cushions and shawls up, and see if we can +get a wink of sleep. It ain't a cold night, and we're dry now. You +can sleep by the fireplace down-stairs,” she said to the pedler, “and +I'll settle with you for our breakfast and supper before we leave in +the morning. It's been a providence that you were in the house.” + +Mr. Matthews smiled deferentially, and appeared to be pondering a +new rhyme about Grandma Padgett. But the subject was so weighty it +kept him shaking his head. + +They came down-stairs for fuel and coals, and she requested the +pedler to take possession of the lower room and make himself +comfortable, but not to set the house on fire. + +“What shall we give him to sleep on?” pondered the grandmother. “I +can't spare things from the children; it won't do to let him sleep on +the floor.” + + “I have a cart, it has been said, + Which serves me both for cupboard and bed,” + +chanted Mr. Matthews. + +“Well, that's a good thing,” said Grandma Padgett. “If you could +pull a whole furnished house out of that cart 'twouldn't surprise me.” + +The pedler opened the door and dragged his cart in over the low +sill. They then bolted the door with such rusty fastenings as +remained to it. + +As soon as he felt the familiar handle on his palms, J. D. Matthews +forgot that his ankle had been twisted. He was again upon the road, +as free as the small wild creatures that whisked along the fence. +Grandma Padgett's grown-up strength of mind failed to restrain him +from acting the horse. He neighed, and rattled the cart wildly over +the empty room. Now he ran away and pretended to kick everything to +pieces; and now he put himself up at a manger, and ground his feed. +He broke out of his stable and careened wildly around a pasture, +refusing to be hitched, and expressing his contempt for the cart by +kicking up at it. + +“I guess your sprain wasn't as bad as you let on,” observed Grandma +Padgett. + +The observation, or a twinge, reminded Mr. Matthews to double +himself down and groan again. + +With painful limps, and Robert Day's assistance, he got the cart +before the fireplace. It looked like a narrow, high green box on +wheels. The pedler blocked the wheels behind, and propped the handle +level. Then he crept with great contentment to the top, and stretched +himself to sleep. + +“He's a kind of a fowl of the air,” said Grandma Padgett. + +“Oh, but I hope he's going our road!” said Bobaday, as they re-ascended +the stairs. “He's more fun than a drove of turkeys!” + +“And I'm not a bit afraid of him,” said aunt Corinne. “He ain't like +the old man with a bag on his back.” + +But J. D. Matthews was going in the opposite direction. + +Before Grandma Padgett had completed her brief toilet next morning, +and while the daylight was yet uncertain, the Dutch landlord knocked +at the outer door for his fee. He seemed not at all surprised at +finding the pedler lodging there, but told him to stop at the tavern +and trade with the vrow. + +“And a safe time the poor simple soul will have,” said Grandma +Padgett, making her spectacles glitter at the landlord, “gettin' +through the creek that nigh drowned us. I suppose, _you_ have a +ford that you don't keep for movers.” + +“Oh, yah!” said the landlord. “Te fort ist goot.” + +“How dared you send a woman and two children to such an empty, +miserable shell as this?” + +[Illustration: J. D. MATTHEWS RUNS AWAY.] + +“I don't keep moofers to mine tafern,” said the landlord, putting +his abundant charge into his pocket. “Chay-Te, he always stops here. +He coes all ofer te countries, Chay-Te toes. His headt ist pat.” + +“But his heart is good,” said the grandmother. “And that will count +up more to his credit than if he was an extortioner, and ill-treated +the stranger within his gate.” + +“Oh, Chay-Te ist a goot feller!” said the Dutch landlord +comfortably, untouched by any reflections on his own conduct. + +Grandma Padgett could not feel placid in her mind until the weeds +and hill hid him from sight. + +Mr. Matthews arose so sound from his night's slumber, that he was +able after pumping a prodigious lot of water over himself, and +blowing with enjoyment, to help her get the breakfast, and put the +kettles in travelling order afterwards. He had a great many +housewifely ways, and his tidiness was a satisfaction to Grandma +Padgett. The breakfast was excellent, but Corinne and Bobaday on one +side of the box, and J. D. Matthews on the other, exchanged glances +of regret at parting. He helped Robert put the horses to the +carriage, making blunders at every stage of the hitching up. + +They all came out of the Susan House, and he pushed his cart into +the road. + +“I almost hate to leave it,” said aunt Corinne, “because we did have +a good time after we were scared so bad.” + +“Seems as if a body always hates to leave a place,” remarked +Bobaday. “The next people that come along will never know we lived +here one night. But _we'll_ always remember it.” + +Grandma Padgett before entering the carriage, was trying to make the +pedler take pay for the food her family ate. He smiled at her +deferentially, but backed away with his cart. + +“What a man this is!” she exclaimed impatiently. “We owe you for two +meals' vittles.” + +“I have some half a dozen kittles,” murmured Mr. Matthews. + +“But won't you take the money? The landlord was keen enough for his.” + +The pedler had got his rhyme about Grandma Padgett completed. He +left her, still stretching her hand out, and rattled his cart up to +the children who were leaning from the carriage towards him. + +“She is a lady of renown,” chanted J. D. Matthews, indicating their +grandmother. + + She makes good butter by the pound, + Her hand is kind, so is her tongue; + But when she comes I want to run! + +He accordingly ran, rattling the cart like a hailstorm before him, +downhill; and out of their sight. + +“Ah, there he goes!” sighed aunt Corinne, “and he hardly limps a +bit. I hope we'll see him again some time.” + +“I might 'a forced the money into his pocket,” reflected Grandma +Padgett, as she took up the lines. “But I'd rather feel in debt to +that kind, simple soul than to many another. Why didn't we ask him if +he saw Zene's wagon up the road? These poor horses want oats. They'll +be glad to sight the white cover once more.” + +“I would almost rather have him come along,” decided Robert Day, +“than to find the wagon. For he could make a camp anywhere, and speak +his poetry all the time. What fun he must have if he wants to stay in +the woods all night. I expect if he wanted to hide he could creep +into that cart and stretch out, with his face where he could smell +the honey and ginger cakes. I'd like to have a cart and travel like +that. Are we going on to the 'pike again, Grandma?” + +“Not till we find Zene,” she replied, driving resolutely forward on +the strange road. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. ZENE'S MAN AND WOMAN. + + +A covered wagon appeared on the first crossroad, moving steadily +between rows of elder bushes. The carriage waited its approach. A +figure like Zene's sat resting his feet on the tongue behind the old +gray and the old white. + +“It's our wagon,” said Robert Day. Presently Zene's countenance, and +even the cast in his eyes, became a certainty instead of a wavering +indistinctness, and he smiled with satisfaction while halting his +vehicle at right angles with the carriage. + +“Where have you been?” inquired Grandma Padgett. + +“Over on t'other road,” replied Zene, indicating the direction with +his whip, “huntin' you folks. I knowed you hadn't made the right turn +somehow.” + +Grandma Padgett mentioned her experience with the Dutch landlord and +the ford, both of which Zene had avoided by taking another cross-road +that he had neglected to indicate to them. He said he thought they +would see the wagon-track and foller, not bein' fur behind. When he +discovered they were not in his train, he was in a narrow road and +could not turn; so he tied the horses and walked back a piece. He got +on a corn-field fence and shouted to them; but by that time there was +no carriage anywhere in the landscape. + +“Such things won't do,” said Grandma Padgett with some severity. + +“No, marm,” responded Zene humbly. + +“We must keep together,” said the head of the caravan. + +“Yes, marm,” responded Zene earnestly. + +“Well, now, you may drive ahead and keep the carriage in sight till +it's dinner-time and we come to a good place to halt.” + +Bobaday said he believed he would get in with Zene and try the wagon +awhile. Springs and cushions had become tiresome. He half-stood on +the tongue, to bring his legs down on a level with Zene's, and +enjoyed the jolting in every piece of his backbone. He had had a +surfeit of woman-society. Even the horsey smell of Zene's clothes was +found agreeable. And above all, he wanted to talk about J. D. +Matthews, and tell the terrors of a bottomless ford and a house with +a strange-sounding cellar. + +“But the man was the funniest thing,” said Bobaday. “He just talked +poetry all the time, and Grandma said he was daft. I'd like to talk +that way myself, but I can't make it jee.” + +Zene observed mysteriously, that there were some queer folks in this +section. + +Yes, Bobaday admitted; the landlord was as Dutch as sour-krout. + +Zene observed that all the queer folks wasn't Dutch. He shook his +head and looked so steadily at a black stump that Robert knew his +eyes were fixedly cast on the horizon. The boy speculated on the +possibility of people with crooked eyes seeing anything clearly. But +Zene's hints were a stimulant to curiosity. + +“Where did _you_ stay last night?” inquired Robert, bracing +himself for pleasant revelations. + +“Oh, I thought at first I'd put up in the wagon.” replied Zene. + +“But you didn't?” + +“No: not _intirely_.” + +“What _did_ you do?” pressed Robert Day. + +“Well, I thought I'd better git nigh some house, on account of +givin' me a chance to see if you folks come by. I thought you'd +inquire at all the houses.” + +“Did you stop at one?” + +[Illustration: ZENE EXCITES BOBADAY'S CURIOSITY.] + +“I took the team out _by_ a house. It was plum dark then.” + +“I'd gone in to see what kind of folks they were first,” remarked +Bobaday. + +“Yes, sir; that's what I'd orto done. But I leads them round to +their feed-box after I watered 'em to a spring o' runnin' water. Then +I doesn't know but the woman o' the house will give me a supper if I +pays for it. So I slips to the side door and knocks. And a man opens +the door.” + +Robert Day drew in his breath quickly. + +“How did the man look?” he inquired. + +“I can't tell you that,” replied Zene, “bekaze I was so struck with +the looks of the woman that I looked right past him.” + +Robert considered the cast in Zene's eyes, and felt in doubt whether +he looked at the man and saw the woman, or looked at the woman and +saw the man. + +“Was she pretty?” + +“Pretty!” replied Zene. “Is that flea-bit-gray, grazin' in the +medder there, pretty?” + +“Well,” replied Bobaday, shifting his feet, “that's about as good-looking +as one of our old grays.” + +“You don't know a horse,” said Zene indulgently. “Ourn's an iron +gray. There's a sight of difference in grays.” + +“Was the woman ugly?” + +“Is a spotted snake ugly?” + +“Yes,” replied Robert decidedly; “or it 'pears so to me.” + +“That's how the woman 'peared to me. She was tousled, and looked +wild out of her eyes. The man says, says he, 'What do you want?' I +s'ze, 'Can I git a bite here?'” + +Robert had frequently explained to Zene the utter nonsense of this +abbreviation, “I s'ze,” but Zene invariably returned to it, perhaps +dimly reasoning that he had a right to the dignity of third person +when repeating what he had said. If he said of another man, “says +he,” why could he not remark of himself, “I says he?” He considered +it not only correct, but ornamental. + +“The man says, says he, 'We don't keep foot-pads.' And I s'ze--for I +was mad--'I ain't no more a foot-pad than you are,' I s'ze. 'I've got +a team and a wagon out here,' I s'ze, 'and pervisions too, but I've +got the means to pay for a warm bite,' I s'ze, 'and if you can't +accommodate me, I s'pose there's other neighbors that can.'” + +“You shouldn't told him you had money and things!” exclaimed Robert, +bulging his eyes. + +“I see that, soon's I done it,” returned Zene, shaking a line over +the near horse. “The woman spoke up, and she says, says she, 'There +ain't any neighbor nigher than five miles.' Thinks I, this settlement +looked thicker than that. But I doesn't say yea or no to it. And they +had me come in and eat. I paid twenty-five cents for such a meal as +your gran'marm wouldn't have set down on her table.” + +“What did they have?” + +“Don't ask me,” urged Zene; “I'd like to forget it. There was +vittles, but they tasted so funny. And they kept inquirin' where I's +goin' and who was with me. They was the uneasiest people you ever +see. And nothing would do but I must sleep in the house. There was +two rooms. I didn't see till I was in bed, that the only door I could +get out of let into the room where the man and woman stayed.” + +Robert Day began to consider the part of Ohio through which his +caravan was passing, a weird and unwholesome region, full of +shivering delights. While the landscape lay warm, glowing and natural +around him, it was luxury to turn cold at Zene's night-peril. + +“I couldn't go to sleep,” continued Zene, “and I kind of kept my eye +on the only window there was.” + +Robert drew a sigh of relief as he reflected that an enemy watching +at the window would be sure Zene was looking just in the opposite +direction. + +“And the man and woman they whispered.” + +“What did they whisper about?” + +“How do I know?” said Zene mysteriously. “Whisper--whisper--whisper--z-z! +That's the way they kept on. Sometimes I thought he's threatenin' her, +and sometimes I thought she's threatenin' him. But along in the middle +of the night they hushed up whisperin'. And then I heard somebody open +the outside door and go out. I s'ze to myself, 'Nows the time to be up +and ready.' So I was puttin' on the clothes I'd took off, and right +there on the bed, like it had been there all the time, was two great +big eyes turnin' from green to red, and flame comin' out of them like +it does out of coals when the wind blows.” + +“Was it a cat?” whispered Robert Day, hoping since Zene was safe, +that it was not. + +Zene passed the insinuation with a derisive puff. He would not stoop +to parley about cats in a peril so extreme. + +“'How do _I_ know what it was?” he replied. “I left one of my +socks and took the boot in my hand. It was all the gun or anything o' +that kind I had. I left my neckhan'ketcher, too.” + +“But you didn't get out of the window,” objected Bobaday eagerly. +“They always have a hole dug, you know, right under the window, to +catch folks in.” + +“Yes, I did,” responded Zene, leaping a possible hole in his +account. “I guess I cleared forty rod, and I come down on all-fours +behind a straw-pile right in the stable-lot.” + +“Did the thing follow you?” + +“Before I could turn around and look, I see that man and that woman +leadin' our horses away from the grove where I'd tied 'em to the +feed-box.” + +“What for?” inquired Robert Day. + +Zene cast a compassionate glance at his small companion. + +“What do folks ever lead critters away in the night for?” he hinted. + +“Sometimes to water and feed them.” + +“I s'ze to myself,” continued Zene, ignoring this absurd +supposition, “'now, if they puts the horses in their stable, they +means to keep the wagon too, and make way with me so no one will ever +know it. But,' I s'ze, 'if they tries to lead the horses off +somewhere for to hide 'em, then _that's_ all they want, and +they'll pretend in the morning to have lost stock themselves.'” + +“And which did they do?” urged Robert after a thrilling pause. + +“They marched straight for their stable.” + +The encounter was now to take place. Robert Day braced himself by +means of the wagon-tongue. + +“Then what did _you_ do?” + +“I rises up,” Zene recounted in a cautious whisper, “draws back the +boot, and throws with all my might.” + +“Not at the woman?” urged Bobaday. + +“I wanted to break her first,” apologized Zene. “She was worse than +the man. But I missed her and hit him.” + +Robert was glad Zene aimed as he did. + +“Then the man jumps and yells, and the woman jumps and yells, and +the old gray he rears up and breaks loose. He run right past the +straw pile, and before you could say Jack Robinson, I had him by the +hitch-strap--it was draggin'--and hoppin' against the straw, I jumped +on him.” + +“Jack Robinson,” Zene's hearer tried half-audibly. “Then what? Did +the man and woman run?” + +“I makes old Gray jump the straw pile, and I comes at them just like +I rose out of the ground! Yes,” acknowledged Zene forbearingly, “they +run. Maybe they run toward the house, and maybe they run the other +way. I got a-holt of old White's hitch-strap and my boot; then I +cantered out and hitched up, and went along the road real lively. It +wasn't till towards mornin' that I turned off into the woods and tied +up for a nap. Yes, I slept _part_ of the night in the wagon.” + +Robert sifted all these harrowing circumstances. + +“_Maybe_ they weren't stealing the horses,” he hazarded. “Don't +folks ever unhitch other folks' horses to put 'em in their stable?” + +Zene drew down the corners of his mouth to express impatience. + +“But I'd hated to been there,” Robert hastened to add. + +“I guess you would,” Zene observed in a lofty, but mollified way, +“if you'd seen the pile of bones I passed down the road a piece from +that house.” + +“Bones?” + +“Piled all in a heap at the edge of the woods.” + +“What kind of bones, Zene?” + +“Well, I didn't get out to handle 'em. But I see one skull about the +size of yours, with a cap on about the size of yours.” + +This was all that any boy could ask. Robert uttered a derisive “Ho!” + but he sat and meditated with pleasure on the pile of bones. It cast +a lime-white glitter on the man and woman who but for that might have +been harmless. + +“I didn't git much rest,” concluded Zene. “I could drop off sound +now if I'd let myself.” + +“I'll drive,” proposed Bobaday. + +Zene reluctantly considered this offer. The road ahead looked smooth +enough. “I guess there's no danger unless you run into a fence +corner,” he remarked. + +“I can drive as well as Grandma Padgett can,” said Robert indignantly. + +Zene wagged his head as if unconvinced. He never intended to let +Robert Day be a big boy while he stayed with the family. + +“Your gran'marm knows how to handle a horse. Now if I's to crawl +back and take a nap, and you's to run the team into any accident, I'd +have to bear all the blame.” + +Robert protested: and when Zene had shifted his responsibility to +his satisfaction, he crept back and leaned against the goods, falling +into a sound sleep. + +The boy drove slowly forward. It seemed that old gray and old white +also felt last night's vigils. They drowsed along with their heads +down through a landscape that shimmered sleepily. + +Robert thought of gathering apples in the home orchard: of the big +red ones that used to fall and split asunder with their own weight, +waking him sometimes from a dream, with their thump against the sod. +What boy hereafter would gather the sheep-noses, and watch the early +June's every day until their green turned suddenly into gold, and one +bite was enough to make you sit down under the tree and ask for +nothing better in life! He used to keep the chest in his room floored +with apples. They lay under his best clothes and perfumed them. His +nose knew the breath of a russet, and in a dark cellar he could smell +out the bell-flower bin. The real poor people of the earth must be +those who had no orchards; who could not clap a particular comrade of +a tree on the bark and look up to see it smiling back red and yellow +smiles; who could not walk down the slope and see apples lying in +ridges, or pairs, or dotting the grass everywhere. Robert was half-asleep, +dreaming of apples. He felt thirsty, and heard a humming like the +buzz of bees around the cider-press. He and aunt Corinne used to sit +down by the first tub of sweet cider, each with two straws apiece, +and watch their faces in the rosy juice while they drank Cider from +the barrels when snow was on the ground, poured out of a pitcher into +a glass, had not the ecstatic tang of cider through a straw. The Bees +came to the very edge of the tub, as if to dispute such hiving of +diluted honey; and more of them came, from hanging with bent bodies, +around the dripping press. + +Their buzz increased to a roar. Robert Day woke keenly up to find +the old white and the old gray just creeping across a railroad track, +and a locomotive with its train whizzing at full speed towards them. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. LITTLE ANT RED AND BIG ANT BLACK. + + +A breath's delay must have been fatal. Robert had no whip, but +doubling the lines and shouting at the top of his voice, he braced +himself and lashed the gray. The respectable beast leaped with +astonishment, dragging its fellow along. The fore wheels cleared the +track, and Bobaday's head was filled with the prolonged cry of the +locomotive. Zene sprang up, and the hind part of the wagon received a +crash which threw the boy out at the side, and Zene quite across the +gray's back. + +The train came to a stop after running a few yards further. But +finding that no lives were lost, it put on steam and disappeared on +its course, and Zene and his trembling assistant were trying to prop +up one corner of the wagon when Grandma Padgett brought her +spectacles to bear upon the scene. + +One hind wheel had been splintered by the train, the leap of the +gray turning the wagon from the road. Grandma Padgett preserved her +composure and asked few questions. Her lips moved at frequent +intervals for a long time after this accident. But aunt Corinne flew +out of the carriage, and felt her nephew's arms and wailed over the +bump his cheek received, and was sure his legs were broken, and that +Zene limped more than ever, and that the train had run straight +across their prostrate forms. + +Zene busied himself with shamefaced eagerness in getting the wagon +off the road and preparing to hunt a shop. He made piteous grimaces +over every strap he unfastened. + +“We cannot leave the goods standing here in the wagon with nobody to +watch 'em,” said the head of the caravan. “It's nigh dinner-time, and +we'll camp in sight, and wait till we can all go on together. A +merciful Providence has brought us along safe so far. We mustn't git +separated and run ourselves into any more dangers than we can help.” + +Zene lingered only to pitch the camp and find water at a spring +running down into a small creek. Then he bestrode one of the wagon +horses, and, carrying the broken wheel-hubs, trotted away. + +Grandma Padgett tucked up her dress, took provisions from the wagon, +and got dinner. Aunt Corinne and her nephew made use of this occasion +to lay in a supply of nuts for winter. The nuts were old ones, lying +under last autumn's leaves, and before a large heap had been +gathered, aunt Corinne bethought her to examine if they were fit to +eat. They were not; for besides an ancient flavor, the first kernel +betrayed the fact that these were pig-nuts instead of hickory. + +[Illustration: BOBADAY'S NARROW ESCAPE.] + +“You would have 'em,” said Bobaday, kicking the pile. “I didn't +think they's good, anyhow.” + +“They looked just like our little hickories,” said aunt Corinne, +twisting her mouth at the acrid kernel, “that used to lay under that +tree in the pasture. And their shells are as sound.” + +But there was compensation in two saplings which submitted to be +rode as teeters part of the idle afternoon. + +Grandma Padgett had put away the tea things before Zene returned. He +brought with him a wagon-maker from one of the villages on the 'pike. +The wagon-maker, after examining the disabled vehicle, and getting +the dimensions of the other hind wheel which Zene had forgotten to +take to him, assured the party he would set them up all right in a +day or two. + +Grandma Padgett was sitting on a log knitting. + +“We'd better have kept to the 'pike,” she remarked. + +“Yes, marm,” responded Zene. + +“The toll-gates would be a small expense compared to this.” + +“Yes, indeed, marm,” responded Zene, grimacing piteously. + +“Still,” said Grandma Padgett, “we have much to be thankful for, in +that our lives and health have been spared.” + +“Oh, yes, marm! yes, marm!” responded Zene. + +The wagon-maker hung by one careless leg to his horse before +cantering off, and inquired with neighborly interest: + +“How far West you folks goin'?” + +“We're goin' to Illinois,” replied Grandma Padgett. + +“Oh, pshaw, now!” said the wagon-maker. “Goin' to the Eeleenoy! +that's a good ways. Ain't you 'fraid you'll never git back?” + +“We ain't expectin' to come back,” said Grandma Padgett. “My son's +settled there.” + +“He has!” said the wagon-maker with an accent of surprise. “Well, +well! they say that's an awful country.” + +“My son writes back it's as fine land as he ever saw,” said Grandma +Padgett with dignity and proper local pride. + +“But the chills is so bad,” urged the wagon-maker, who looked as if +he had experienced them at their worst. “And the milk-sick, they say +the milk-sick is all over the Eeleenoy.” + +“We're not borrowing any trouble about such things,” said Grandma +Padgett. + +“Some of our townsfolks went out there,” continued the wagon-maker, +“but what was left of 'em come back. They had to buy their drinkin' +water, and the winters on them perrares froze the children in their +beds! Oh, I wouldn't go to the Eeleenoy,” said the wagon-maker +coaxingly. “You're better off here, if you only knew it.” + +As Grandma Padgett heard this remonstrance with silent dignity, the +wagon-maker took himself off with a few additional remarks. + +Then they began to make themselves snug for the night. The wagon-cover +was taken off and made into a tent for Grandma Padgett and aunt Corinne. +Robert Day was to sleep in the carriage, and Zene insisted on sleeping +with blankets on the wagon where he could watch the goods. He would be +within calling distance of the camp. + +“We're full as comfortable as we were last night, anyhow,” observed +the head of the caravan. + +Zene said it made no difference about his supper. He took thankfully +what was kept for him, and Robert Day felt certain Zene was trying to +bestow on him some conscience-stricken glances. + +It was an occasion on which Zene could be made to tell a story. He +was not lavish with such curious ones as he knew. Robert sometimes +suspected him to be a mine of richness, but it took such hard mining +to get a nugget out that the results hardly compensated for the +effort. + +But when the boy climbed upon the wagon in starlight, and made a few +leading remarks, Zene really plunged into a story. He thereby +relieved his own feelings and turned the talk from late occurrences. + +“I told you about Little Ant Red and Big Ant Black?” + +“No, you never!” exclaimed Bobaday. + +“Well, once there was Little Ant Red and Big Ant Black lived +neighbors.” + +“Whose aunts were they--each other's?” inquired the boy. + +“They wasn't your father's or mother's sisters; they was +_antymires_,” explained Zene. + +“Oh,” said Robert Day. + +“Ant Red, she was a little bit of a thing; you could just see her. +But Ant Black, she was a great big critter that went like a train of +cars when she was a mind to.” + +“I don't like either kind,” said Robert. “The little ones got into +our sugar once, and Grandma had to fight 'em out with camphor, and a +big black got into my mouth and I bit him in two. He pinched my +tongue awful, and he tasted sour.” + +“Big Ant Black,” continued Zene, “she lived in a hill by a stump, +but Little Ant Red she lived on a leaf up a tree.” + +“I thought they always crept into houses,” urged Bobaday. + +“This one didn't. She lived on a leaf up a tree. And these two ants +run against each other in everything. When they met in the grass +they'd stand up on their hind feet and shake hands as friendly as you +please, but as soon as their backs was turned they'd talk! Big Ant +Black said Little Ant Red was always a meddling, and everybody knowed +her son was drowned in under the orchard cider-press where his mother +sent him to snuff round. And Little Ant Red she used to tell how Ant +Black was so graspin' she tried to carry that cider-press off and +hide it in her hole. + +“They had all the neighbors takin' sides. There was a yellow-back +spider. He took up for Ant Red; he hoped to get a taste of her, and +Ant Black he knowed was big enough to bite him unless he was mighty +soople in wrappin' the web around her. Every mornin' when the dew +stood in beads on his net he told Ant Red they was tears he shed +about her troubles, and she run up and down and all around, talkin' +like a sawmill, but keepin' just off the web. And there was Old +Grasshopper, he sided with Ant Red, and so did Miss Green Katydid. +But all the beetles, and them bugs that lived under the bark of the +old stump, they took up for Ant Black, 'cause she was handy. And the +snake-feeder was on her side. + +“Well, it run along, feelin's gittin' harder and harder, till Ant +Black she jumped up and kitched Ant Red fussin' round her cow pasture +one night, and then the cows began to give bloody milk, and then Ant +Black she give out that Ant Red was a witch. + +“Now, these kind of critters, they're as smart as human bein's if +you only knowed it. And that was enough. The katydid, she said she +felt pins and needles in her back whenever Ant Red looked at her; and +the snake-feeders said she shot arries at 'em when they was flyin' +over a craw-fish hole. All the beetles and wood-bugs complained of +bein' hit with witch-bells, and the more Ant Red acted careful the +more they had ag'in her. + +“Well, the spider he told her to come into his den and live, and +she'd be safe from hangin', but she wasn't sure in her mind about +that. Even the grasshopper jumped out of her way, and bunged his eyes +out at her; as if she could harm such a great big gray lubber as him! +She was gittin' pretty lonesome when she concluded to try a projic.” + +“What's a projic?” inquired Robert Day. + +“Why, it's a--p'epperation, or--a plan of some kind,” explained Zene. + +“So she invites Big Ant Black and all her family, and the spider and +all his family, and the beetles and bugs and all their families, and +the snake-feeders and Miss Katydid for young folks, and don't leave +out a neighbor, to an apple-bee right inside the orchard fence. + +“So it was pleasant weather, and they all come and brung the babies, +the old grasshopper skippin' along as nimble and steppin' on the +shawl that was wrapped round his young one. And the snake-feeders +they helped Miss Katydid over the lowest fence-rail, and here come +Big Ant Black with such a string behind her it looked like a funeral +instead of a family percession and she twisted her neck from side to +side as soon as she see the great big apple, kind of wonderin' if +they couldn't carry it off. + +“Little Ant Red had all her children's heads combed and the best +cheers set out, and she had on her good dress and white apron, and +she says right and left, 'Hoddy-do, sir? hoddy-do, marm? Come right +in and take cheers. And they all shook hands with her as if they'd +never dreamt of callin' her a witch, and fell right on to the apple +and begun to eat. And they all e't and e't, till they'd made holes in +the rind and hollered it out. And Big Ant Black she gits her family +started, and they carries off chunk after chunk of that apple till +the road was black and white speckled between her house and the +apple-tree. + +“Little Ant Red she walks around urgin' them all to help +theirselves, and that made them all feel pleasant to her. But Big Ant +Black she got so graspin' and eager, that what does she do but try to +help her young ones carry off the whole apple-shell. It did look +jub'ous to see such a big thing movin' off with such little critters +tuggin' it. And then Ant Red got on to a clover-head and showed the +rest of the company what Ant Black was a-doin'. Says Ant Red: 'You +ain't e't more'n a mouthful, Mr. Grasshopper.' + +“'No, marm,' says he. + +“'I s'ze to myself,' says Ant Red, 'here is this polite company, and +the snake-feeders don't touch nothin,' and everybedy knows Miss +Katydid lives on nothin' but rose-leaf butter, and the bugs and +beetles will hardly take enough, to keep 'em alive.' 'And I s'ze to +myself,' says Ant Red, 'here's this big apple walkin' off with nobody +but Ant Black to move it. This great big sound apple. And it looks to +me like witchcraft. That's what it looks like,' says Ant Red. + +“They all declared it looked just like witchcraft. Ant Black tried +to show them how holler the apple was, and they declared if she'd +hollered it that way so quick, it was witchcraft certain. + +“So what does they do but pen her and her young ones in the apple-shell +and stop it up with mud. Even the mud-wasps and tumble-bugs that hadn't +been bid come and took part when they see the dirt a-flyin'. Ant Red +set on the clover-head and teetered. + +“Now, down to this present minute,” concluded Zene, “you never pick +up an apple and find a red ant walkin' out of it. If ants is there, +it's one of them poor black fellers that was shut up at the apple-bee, +and they walk out brisk; as if they's glad to find daylight once more.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE GREAT CAMP MEETING. + + +Towards evening of the next day the broken wagon wheel was replaced. +By that time the children were not more anxious to move forward than +was Grandma Padgett. So just before sunset they broke up camp and +moved along the country road until the constellations were swinging +overhead. Zene took the first good crossway that led to the 'pike, +and after waiting to be sure that the noses of Old Hickory and Old +Henry were following, he jogged between dewy fence rows, and they +came to the broad white ribbon of high road, and in time to the +village of Somerford, having progressed only ten miles that day. + +Bobaday and Corinne were so sleepy, and their departure from +Somerford next morning was taken at such an early hour, that they +remembered it only as a smell of tallow candles in the night, +accompanied by a landlady's head in a ruffled nightcap. + +Very different was Springfield, the county seat of Clark County. +That was a town with people moving briskly about it, and long streets +could be seen, where pleasant houses were shaded with trees. + +Zene inquired the names of all small places as soon as they entered +the main street, and then, obligingly halting the wagon at one side, +he waited until Grandma Padgett came up, and told her. He learned and +announced the cities long before any of them came into view. It was a +pleasure to Bobaday and aunt Corinne to ride into a town repeating +its name to themselves and trying to fasten its identity on their +minds. First they would pass a gang of laborers working on the road, +or perhaps a man walking up and down telegraph poles with sharp-shod +heels; then appeared humble houses with children playing thickly +around them. Finer buildings crowded on the sight, and where the +signs of business flaunted, were women and little children in pretty +clothes, always going somewhere to buy something nice. Once they met +a long procession of carriages, and in the first carriage aunt +Corinne beheld and showed to her nephew a child's coffin made of +metal. It glittered in the sun. Grandma Padgett said it was zinc. But +aunt Corinne secretly suspected it was made of gold, to enclose some +dear little baby whose mother would not put it into anything else. + +At New Carlisle, a sleepy little village where the dogfennel was +wonderfully advanced for June, Zene took the gray from the wagon and +hitched him to the carriage, substituting Old Hickory. The gray's +shoulder was rubbed by his collar, and Zene reasoned that the lighter +weight of the carriage would give him a better chance of healing his +bruise. Thus paired the horses looked comical. Hickory and Henry +evidently considered the change a disgrace to them. But they made the +best of it and uttered no protest, except keeping as wide a space as +possible between themselves and their new mates. But the gray and +white, old yoke fellows at the plough, who knew nothing of the +dignity of carriage drawing, and cared less, who had rubbed noses and +shared feed-boxes ever since they were colts, both lifted up their +voices in mournful whinneys and refused comfort and correction. The +white turned his head back over his shoulder and would have halted +anywhere until his mate came up; while the gray strained forward, +shaking his head, and neighing as if his throat were full of tears +every time a tree or a turn in the road hid the wagon. + +The caravan moving to this irregular and doleful music, passed +through another little town which Zene said was named Boston, late on +a rainy afternoon. Here they crossed the Miami River in a bridge +through the cracks of which Robert Day and Corinne looked at the full +but not very wide stream. It flowed beneath them in comparative +silence. The rain pricked the water's surface into innumerable +puckers. + +“Little boys dancing up,” said aunt Corinne, in time-honored phrase. + +“No; it's bees stingin' the water,” said her nephew, “with long +stingers that reach clear out of the clouds.” + +These sky-bees stung the dusty road until it lay first in dark +dimples and last in swollen mud rows and shallow pools. The 'pike +kept its dignity under the heaviest rains. Its very mud was light and +plaster-like, scarcely clinging to the wheels or soiling the horses' +legs. Its flint ribs rung more sharply under the horses' shoes. +Through the damp dusk aunt Corinne took pleasure in watching the fire +struck by old Henry and the gray, against the trickling stones. They +pulled the carriage curtains down, and Grandma Padgett had the +oilcloth apron drawn up to her chin, while she continued to drive the +horses through a slit. The rear of the wagon made a blur ahead of +them. Now the 'pike sides faded from fresh green to a general +dulness, and trees whispering to the rain lost their vistas and +indentations of shade, and became a solid wall down which a steady +pour hissed with settled monotony. Boswell and Johnson no longer +foraged at the 'pike sides, or lagged behind or scampered ahead. They +knew it was a rainy October night without lightning and thunder, +slipped by mistake into the packet of June weather; and they trotted +invisibly under the carriage, carrying their tails down, and their +lolling tongues close to the puddles they were obliged to scamper +through or skip. Boswell and Johnson remembered their experiences at +the lonesome Susan house, where they lay in the deep weeds and were +forgotten until morning by the harassed family; and they rolled their +eyes occasionally, with apprehension lest the grinding of the wheels +should cease, and some ghostly wall loom up at one side of their way, +unlighted by a single glimmer and unperfumed by any whiff of supper. +It was a fine thing to be movers' dogs when the movers went into camp +or put up in state at a tavern. Around a camp were all sorts of +woodsy creatures to be scratched out of holes or chased up trees, or +to be nosed and chewed at. There were stray and half-wild pigs that +had tails to be bitten, and what could be more exhilarating than +making a drove of grunting pigs canter like a hailstorm away into +deep woods! And in the towns and villages all resident dogs came to +call on Boswell and Johnson. At every tavern Boswell picked a fight +and Johnson fought it out; sometimes retiring with his tail to the +earth and a sad expression of being outnumbered, but oftener a victor +to have his wounds dressed and bandaged by Boswell's tongue. There +was plenty to eat at taverns and camps, and good hunting in the +woods; but who could tell what hungry milestone might stand at the +end of this day's journey? + +Grandma Padgett herself was beginning to feel anxious on this +subject. She drove faster in order to overtake Zene and consult with +him, but before his attention could be attracted, both carriage and +wagon reached a broad belt of shine stretching across the 'pike, and +making trees in the meadow opposite stand out as distinct individuals. + +This illumination came from many camp-fires extending so far into +the woods that the last one showed like a spark. A great collection +of moving wagons were ranged in line along the extent of these fires, +and tents pitched under the dripping foliage revealed children +playing within their snug cover, or women spreading the evening meal. +Kettles were hung above the fires, and skillets hissed on the coals. +The horses, tied to their feed-boxes, were stamping and grinding +their feed in content, and the gray lifted up his voice to neigh at +the whole collection as Grandma Padgett stopped just behind Zene. All +the camp dogs leaped up the 'pike together, and Boswell and Johnson +met them in a neutral way while showing the teeth of defence. To Boswell +and Johnson as well as to their betters, this big and well-protected +encampment had an inviting look, provided the campers were not to be +shunned. + +A man came up the 'pike side through the rain and kicked some of the +dogs aside. + +“Hullo,” said he most cheerfully. “Want to put up?” + +“What is it?” inquired Zene cautiously. He then craned his neck +around to look at Grandma Padgett, whose spectacles glared seriously +at the man. + +This hospitable traveller wore a red shirt and a slouched hat, and +had his trousers tucked in his boots. He pulled off his hat to shake +the rain away, and showed bushy hair and a smiling bearded face. No +weather could hurt him. He was ready for anything. + +“Light down,” he exclaimed. “Plenty of room over there if you want +it.” + +“Who's over there?” inquired Zene. + +“Oh, it's a big camp-meeting,” replied the man. “There's twenty or +thirty families, and lots of fun.” + +“Do you mean,” inquired Grandma Padgett, “a camp-meeting for +religious purposes?” + +“You can have that if you want it,” responded the man, “and have +your exhorters along. It's a family camp. Most of us going out to +Californy. Goin' to cross the plains. Some up in the woods there +goin' to Missoury. Don't care where they're goin' if they want to +stop and camp with us. _We're_ from the Pan Handle of Virginia. +There's a dozen families or more of us goin' out to Californy +together. The rest just happened along.” + +“I'm a Virginian myself,” said Grandma Padgett, warming, “though +Ohio's been my State for many years.” + +“Well, now,” exclaimed the mover, “if you want to light right down, +we'll be all the gladder for that. I saw you stoppin' here uncertain; +and there's the ford over Little Miami ahead of you. I thought you'd +not like to try it in the dark.” + +“You're not like a landlord back on the road that let us risk our +necks!” said Grandma Padgett with appreciation. “But if you take +everybody into camp ain't you afraid of getting the wrong sort?” + +“Oh, no,” replied the Virginian. “There's enough of _us_ to +overpower _them_.” + +“Well, Zene,” said Grandma Padgett, “I guess we'd better stop here. +We've provisions in our wagon.” + +“How far you goin'?” inquired the hospitable mover. + +“Into Illinois,” replied the head of the small caravan. + +“Your trip'll soon be done, then. Come on, now, and go to Californy, +why don't you! _That's_ the country to get rich in! You'll see +sights the other side of the Mississippi!” + +“I'm too old for such undertakings,” said Grandma Padgett, passing +over the mover's exuberance with a smile. + +“Why, we have a granny over ninety with us!” he declared. “Now's the +time to start if you want to see the great western country.” + +Zene drove off the 'pike on the temporary track made by so many +vehicles, and Grandma Padgett followed, the Virginian showing them a +good spot near the liveliest part of the camp, upon which they might +pitch. + +The family sat in the-carriage while Zene took out the horses, +sheltered the wagon under thick foliage where rain scarcely +penetrated, and stretched the canvas for a tent. Then Grandma Padgett +put on her rubber overshoes, pinned a shawl about her and descended; +and their fire was soon burning, their kettle was soon boiling, in +defiance of water streams which frequently trickled from the leaves +and fell on the coals with a hiss. The firelight shone through slices +of clear pink ham put down to broil. Aunt Corinne laid the cloth on a +box which Zene took out of the wagon for her, and set the cups and +saucers, the sugar and preserves, and little seed cakes which grew +tenderer the longer you kept them, all in tempting order. They had +baker's bread and gingercakes in the carriage. Since her adventure at +the Susan house, Grandma Padgett had taken care to put provisions in +the carriage pockets. Then aunt Corinne, assisted by her nephew, got +potatoes from the sack, wrapped them in wet wads of paper, and +roasted them in the ashes. A potato so roasted may be served up with +a scorched and hardened shell, but its heart is perfumed by all the +odors of the woods. It tastes better than any other potato, and while +the butter melts through it you wonder that people do not fire whole +fields and bake the crop in hot earth before digging it, to store for +winter. + +[Illustration: BOBADAY'S CANOPIED THRONE.] + +Zene had frequently assured Robert Day that an egg served this way +was better still. He said he used to roast eggs in the ashes when +burning stumps, and you only needed a little salt with them, to make +them fit for a king. But Robert Day scorned the egg and remained true +to the potato. + +While they were at supper the Virginian's wife came to see them, +carrying in her hand an offering of bird-pie. Grandma Padgett +responded with a dish of preserves. And they then talked about the +old State, trying to discover mutual interests there. + +The Virginian's wife was a strong, handsome, cordial woman. Her +family came from the Pan Handle, but from the neighborhood of +Wheeling, They were not mountaineers. She had six children. They were +going to California because her husband had the mining fever. He +wanted to go years before, but she held out against it until she saw +he would do no good unless he went. So they sold their land, and +started with a colony of neighbors. + +The names of all her relatives were sifted, and Grandma Padgett made +a like search among her own kindred, and they discovered that an +uncle of one, and a grandfather of the other, had been acquainted, +and served together in the War of '12. This established a bond. +Grandma Padgett was gently excited, and told Bobaday and Corinne +after the Virginia woman's departure to her own wagons, that she +should feel safe on account of being an old neighbor in the camp. + + + + +CHAPTER X. THE CRY OF A CHILD IN THE NIGHT. + + +But the camp was too exciting to let the children fall asleep early. +Fires were kept briskly burning, and some of the wagoners feeling in +a musical humor, shouted songs or hummed melancholy tunes which +sounded like a droning accompaniment to the rain. The rain fell with +a continuous murmur, and evidently in slender threads, for it +scarcely pattered on the tent. It was no beating, boisterous, +drenching tempest, but a lullaby rain, bringing out the smell of +barks, of pennyroyal and May-apple and wild sweet-williams from the +deep woods. + +Robert Day crept out of the carriage, having with him the oil-cloth +apron and a plan. Four long sticks were not hard to find, or to +sharpen with his pocket knife, and a few knocks drove them into the +soft earth, two on each side of a log near the fire. He then +stretched the oil-cloth over the sticks, tying the corners, and had a +canopied throne in the midst of this lively camp. A chunk served for +a footstool. Bobaday sat upon his log, hearing the rain slide down, +and feeling exceedingly snug. His delight came from that wild +instinct with which we all turn to arbors and caves, and to +unexpected grapevine bowers deep in the woods; the instinct which +makes us love to stand upright inside of hollow sycamore-trees, and +pretend that a green tunnel among the hazel or elderberry bushes is +the entrance hall of a noble castle. + +Bobaday was very still, lest his grandmother in the tent, or Zene in +the remoter wagon, should insist on his retiring to his uneasy bed +again. He got enough of the carriage in daytime, having counted all +its buttons up and down and crosswise. The smell of the leather and +lining cloth was mixed with every odor of the journey. One can have +too much of a very easy, well-made carriage. + +The firelight revealed him in his thoughtful mood: a very white boy +with glistening hair and expanding large eyes of a gray and velvet +texture. Some light eyes have a thin and sleepy surface like inferior +qualities of lining silk; and you cannot tell whether the expression +or the humors of the eye are at fault. But Nature, or his own +meditations on what he read and saw in this delicious world, had +given to Bobaday's irises a softness like the pile of gray velvet, +varied sometimes by cinnamon-colored shades. + +His eyes reflected the branches, the other campfires, and many +wagons. It gave him the sensation of again reading for the first time +one of grandfather's Peter Parley books about the Indians, or Mr. +Irving's story of Dolph Heyleger, where Dolph approaches Antony +Vander Heyden's camp. He saw the side of one wagon-cover dragged at +and a little night-capped head stuck out. + +“Bobaday!” whispered aunt Corinne, creeping on tiptoe toward him, +and anxious to keep him from exclaiming when he saw her. + +“What did you get up for?” he whispered back. + +“What did _you_ get up for?” retaliated aunt Corinne. + +Robert Day made room for her on the log under the canopy, and she +leaned down and laced her shoes after being seated. “Ma Padgett's +just as tight asleep! What'd she say if she knew we wasn't in bed!” + +It was so exciting and so nearly wicked to be out of bed and +prowling when their elders were asleep, they could not possibly enjoy +the sin in silence. + +“Ain't it nice?” whispered aunt Corinne. “I saw you fixin' this +little tent, and then I sl-ip-ped up and hooked some of my clothes +on, and didn't dast to breathe 'fear Ma Padgett'd hear me. There must +be lots of children in the camp.” + +“Yes; I've heard the babies cryin'.” + +“Do you s'pose there's any gipsy folks along?” + +“Do 'now,” whispered Bobaday, his tone inclining to an admission +that gipsy folks might be along. + +“The kind that would steal us,” explained aunt Corinne. + +This mere suggestion was an added pleasure; it made them shiver and +look back in the bushes. + +“There might be--away back yonder,” whispered Robert Day, emboldened +by remembering that his capable grandmother was just within the tent, +and Zene at easy waking distance. + +“But all the people will hitch up and drive away in the morning,” he +added, “and we won't know anything about 'em.” + +To aunt Corinne this seemed a great pity. “I'd like to see how +everybody looks,” she meditated. + +“So'd I,” whispered her nephew. + +“It's hardly rainin' a drizzle now,” whispered aunt Corinne. + +“I get so tired ridin' all day long,” whispered Robert, “that I wish +I was a scout or something, like that old Indian that was named +Trackless in the book--that went through the woods and through the +woods, and didn't leave any mark and never seemed to wear out. You +remember I read you a piece of it?” + +Aunt Corinne fidgeted on the log. + +“Wouldn't you like,” suggested her nephew, whose fancy the nighttime +stimulated, “to get on a flying carpet and fly from one place to +another?” + +Aunt Corinne cast a glance back over her shoulder. + +“We could go a little piece from our camp-fire and not get lost,” + she suggested. + +“Well,” whispered Robert boldly, “le's do it. Le's take a walk. It +won't do any harm. 'Tisn't late.” + +“The's chickens crowin' away over there.” + +“Chickens crow all times of the night. Don't you remember how our +old roosters used to act on Christmas night? I got out of bed four +times once, because I thought it was daylight, they would crow so!” + +“Which way'll we take?” whispered aunt Corinne. + +Robert slid cautiously from the log and mapped out the expedition. + +“Off behind the wagon so's Zene won't see us. And then we'll slip +along towards that furthest fire. We can see the others as we go by. +Follow me.” + +It was easy to slip behind the wagon and lose themselves in the +brush. But there they stumbled on unseen snags and were caught or +scratched by twigs, and descended suddenly to a pig-wallow or other +ugly spot, where Corinne fell down. Bobaday then thought it expedient +for his aunt to take hold of his jacket behind and walk in his +tracks, according to their life-long custom when going down cellar +for apples after dark. Grandma Padgett was not a woman to pamper the +fear of darkness in her family. She had been known to take a child +who recoiled from shapeless visions, and lead him into the unlighted +room where he fancied he saw them. + +So after proceeding out of sight of their own wagon, aunt Corinne +and her nephew, toughened by this training, would not have owned to +each other a wish to go back and sit in safety and peace of nerve +again upon the log. Robert plodded carefully ahead, parting the +bushes, and she passed through the gaps with his own figure, +clinching his jacket with fingers that tightened or relaxed with her +tremors. + +They had not counted on being smelled out by dogs at the various +watch-fires. One lolling yellow beast sprang up and chased them. Aunt +Corinne would have flown with screams, but her nephew hushed her up +and put her valiantly on a very high stump behind himself. The dog +took no trouble to trace them. He was too comfortable before the +brands, too mud-splashed and stiff from a long day's journey, to care +about chasing any mystery of the wood to its hole. But this warned +them not to venture too near other fires where other possible dogs +lay sentry. + +“Why didn't we fetch old Johnson?” whispered aunt Corinne, after +they slid down the tree stump. + +“'Cause Boswell'd been at his heels, and the whole camp'd been in a +fight,” replied Bobaday. “Old Johnson was under our wagon; I don't +know where Bos was. I was careful not to wake him.” + +Through gaps in foliage and undergrowth they saw many an individual +part of the general camp; the wagon-cover in some cases being as dun +as the hide of an elephant. When a curtain was dropped over the front +opening of the wagon, Bobaday and Corinne knew that women and +children were sleeping within on their chattels. Here a tent was made +of sheets and stretched down with the branch of an overhanging tree +for a ridge-pole; and there horse-blankets were made into a canopy +and supported by upright poles. Within such covers men were asleep, +having sacks or comforters for bedding. + +On a few wagon tongues, or stretched easily before fires, men +lingered, talking in steady, monotonous voices as if telling stories, +or in indifferent tones as if tempting each other to trades. + +The rain had entirely ceased, though the spongy wet wood sod was not +pleasant to walk upon. “I guess,” said-aunt Corinne, “we'd better go +back.” + +“Well, we've seen consider'ble,” assented her nephew. “I guess we'd +better.” + +So he faced about. But quite near them arose the piercing scream of +a child in mortal fear. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE DARKENED WAGON. + + +Aunt Corinne and her nephew felt pierced by the cry. Her hands +gripped his jacket with a shock. Robert Day turning took hold of his +aunt's wrist to pinch her silent, but his efforts were too zealous +and turned her fright to indignation. + +“I don't want my hand pinched off, Bobaday Padgett!” whispered aunt +Corinne, jerking away and thus breaking the circuit of comfort and +protection which was supposed to flow from his jacket. + +“But listen,” hissed Robert. + +“I don't want to listen,” whispered aunt Corinne; “I want to go back +to our camp-fire.” + +“Nobody can hurt us,” whispered her nephew, gathering boldness. “You +stay here and let me creep through the bushes to that wagon. I want +to see what it was.” + +“If you stay a minute I'll go and leave you,” remonstrated aunt +Corinne. “Ma Padgett don't want us off here by ourselves.” + +But Robert's hearing was concentrated upon the object toward which +he moved. He used Indian-like caution. The balls of his large eyes +became so prominent that they shone with some of the lustre of a +cat's in the dark. + +Corinne took hold of the bushes in his absence. + +The wind was breathing sadly through the trees far off. What if some +poor little child, lost in the woods, should come patting to her, +with all the wildness of its experience hanging around it? Oh, the +woods was a good play-house, on sunshiny days, but not the best of +homes, after all. That must be why people built houses. When the snow +lay in a deep cake, showing only the two thumb-like marks at long +intervals made by the rabbit in its leaping flight, and when the air +was so tense and cold you could hear the bark of a dog far off, +Bobaday used to say he would love to live in the woods all the time. +He would chop to keep himself warm. He loved to drag the air into his +lungs when it seemed frozen to a solid. Corinne remembered how his +cheeks burned and his eyes glittered during any winter exertion. And +what could be prettier, he said, than the woods after it sleeted all +night, and hoar frost finished the job! Every tree would stand +glittering in white powder, as if dressed for the grandest occasion, +the twigs tipped with lace-work, and the limbs done in tracery and +all sorts of beautiful designs. Still this white dress was deadly +cold to handle. Aunt Corinne had often pressed her fingers into the +velvet crust upon the trunks. She did not like the winter woods, and +hardly more did she like this rain-soaked place, and these broad, +treacherous leaves that poured water down her neck in the humid dark. + +Bobaday pounced upon her with such force when he appeared once more, +that she was startled into trying to climb a bush no higher than +herself. + +He had not a word to say, but hitched his aunt to his jacket and +drew her away with considerable haste. They floundered over logs and +ran against stumps. Their own smouldering fire, and wagon with the +hoops standing up like huge uncovered ribs, and the tents wherein +their guardian slept after the fatigue of the day, all appeared +wonderfully soon, considering the time it had taken them to reach +their exploring limit. + +Aunt Corinne huddled by the coals, and Bobaday sat down on the foot-chunk +he had placed for his awning throne. + +“You better go to bed quick as ever you can,” he said. + +“I guess I ain't goin',” said aunt Corinne with indignant surprise, +“till you tell me somethin' about what was up in the bushes. I stayed +still and let you look, and now you won't tell me!” + +“You heard the sound,” remonstrated Robert. + +“But I didn't see anything,” argued aunt Corinne. + +“You wouldn't want to,” said Bobaday. + +They were talking in cautious tones, but no longer whispering. It +had become too tiresome. Aunt Corinne would now have burst out with +an exclamation, but checked herself and tilted her nose, talking to +the coals which twinkled back to her between her slim fingers. + +“Boys think they are so smart! They want to have all the good times +and see all the great shows, and go slidin' in winter time, when +girls have to stay in the house and knit, and then talk like they's +grown up, and we's little babies!” + +Robert Day fixed his eyes on his aunt with superior compassion. + +“Grandma Padgett wouldn't want me to scare you,” he observed. + +Corinne edged several inches closer to him. She felt that she must +know what her nephew had seen if she had to thread all the dark mazes +again and look at it by herself. + +“Ma Padgett never 'lows me to act scared,” she reminded him. “I +always have to go up to what I'm 'fraid of.” + +“You won't go up to this.” + +“Maybe I will. Tisn't so far back to that wagon.” + +“I wouldn't stir it up for considerable,” said Robert. + +“Was it a lion or a bear? Was it goin' to eat anything? Is that what +made the little child cry?” + +“The little child hollered 'cause 'twas afraid of it. I was glad you +didn't look in at the end of the wagon with me.” + +Aunt Corinne edged some inches nearer her protector. + +“How could you see what was in a dark wagon?” + +“There was a candle lighted inside. Aunt Krin, there was a little +pretty girl in that wagon that I do believe the folks stole!” + +This was like a story. The luxury of a real stolen child had never +before come in aunt Corinne's way. + +“Why, Bobaday?” she inquired affectionately. + +“Because the little girl seemed like she was dead till all at once +she opened her eyes, and then her mouth as if she was going to scream +again, and they stopped her mouth up, and covered her in clothes.” + +“What did the wagon look like?” + +“Like a little room. And they slept on the floor. They had tin +things hangin' around the sides, and a stove in one corner with the +pipe stickin' up through the cover. And the cover was so thick you +couldn't see a light through it. You could only see through the +pucker-hole where it comes together over the feed-box.” + +“And how many folks were there?” + +“I don't know. I saw them fussing with the little girl, and I saw +it, and then I didn't stay any longer.” + +“What was it, Bobaday?” + +“I don't know,” he solemnly replied. + +“Yes, but what did it look like?” + +Her nephew stared doubtingly upon her. + +“Will you holler if I tell you?” + +Aunt Corinne went through an impressive pantomime of deeding and +double-deeding herself not to holler. + +“Will you be afraid all the rest of the night?” + +No; aunt Corinne intimated that her courage would be revived and +strengthened by knowing the worst about that wagon. + +He pierced her with his dilating eyes, and beckoned her to put up +her ear for the information. + +“You ain't goin' to play any trick,” remonstrated his relative, “like +you did when you got me to say grandmother, grandmother, +thith--thith--thith, and then hit my chin and made me bite my tongue?” + +Robert was forced to chuckle at the recollection, but he assured +aunt Corinne that grandmother, grandmother, thith--thith--thith was +far from his thoughts. He hesitated, with aunt Corinne's ear jogging +against his chin. Then in a loud whisper he communicated: + +“_It_ was a man with a pig's _head on_ him!” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. JONATHAN AND THRUSTY ELLEN. + + +Aunt Corinne drew back into a rigid attitude. “I don't believe it!” + she said. + +Robert Day passed over her incredulity with a flickering smile. + +“People don't have pigs' heads on them!” argued aunt Corinne. “Did +he grunt?” + +“And he had a tush stickin' out from his lower jaw,” added Robert. + +They gazed at each other in silent horror. While this awful +pantomime was going on, the flap of Grandma Padgett's tent was +lifted, and a voice of command, expressing besides astonishment and +alarm, startled their ears with-- + +“Children!” + +Aunt Corinne leaped up and turned at bay, half-expecting to find the +man with the pig's head gnashing at her ear. But what she saw in the +sinking light was a fine old head in a night-cap, staring at them +from the tent. Bobaday and his aunt were so rapid in retiring that +their guardian was unable to make them explain their conduct as fully +as she desired. They slept so long in the morning that the camp was +broken up when Grandma Padgett called them out to breakfast. + +[Illustration: THE VIRGINIAN AND HIS CHILDREN.] + +Zene wanted the tent of aunt Corinne to stretch over the wagon-hoops. +He had already hitched the horses, restoring the gray and the white to +their former condition of yoke-fellows, and these two rubbed noses +affectionately and had almost as much to whisper to each other as had +Robert and Corinne over their breakfast. + +The darkened wagon was nowhere to be seen. Corinne climbed a tall +stump as an observatory, and Bobaday went a piece into the bushes, +only to find that all that end of the camp was gone. The colony of +Virginians was also partly under way. + +Aunt Corinne felt a certain sadness steal over her. She had brought +herself to admit the pig-headed man, with limitations. He might have +a pig's head on him, but it wasn't fast. He did it to frighten +children. She had fully intended to see him and be frightened by him +at any cost. Now he was gone like a bad dream in the night. And she +should not know if the little girl was stolen. She could only revenge +herself on Robert Day for having seen into that darkened wagon, with +the stove-pipe sticking out when she had not, by sniffing doubtfully +at every mysterious allusion to it. They did not mention the +pigheaded man to Grandma Padgett, though both longed to know if such +a specimen of natural history had ever come under her eyes. She would +have questioned then about the walk that led to this discovery. Her +prejudices against children's prowling away from their elders after +dark were very strong. + +Aunt Corinne thought the pig-headed man might have come to their +carriage when they were ready to start, instead of the Virginian. + +“Right along the pike?” he inquired cheerfully. + +“I believe so,” said Grandma Padgett. + +“You'll be in our company then as far as you go. It'll be better for +you to keep in a big company.” + +“It will indeed,” said Grandma Padgett sincerely. + +“Oh, you'll keep along to Californy,” said the Virginian. + +“To the Illinois line,” amended Grandma Padgett, at which he +laughed, adding: + +“Well, we'll neighbor for a while, anyhow.” + +“Let your little boy and girl ride in our carriage,” begged Robert +Day, seizing on this relief from monotony. + +“Yes do,” said his grandmother, turning her glasses upon the little +boy and girl. Aunt Corinne had been inspecting them as they stood at +their father's heels, and bestowing experimental smiles on them. The +boy was a clear brown-eyed fellow with butternut trousers up to his +arm-pits, and a wool hat all out of shape. The little girl looked +red-faced and precise, the color from her lips having evidently become +diluted through her skin. Over a linsey petticoat she wore a calico +belted apron. The belt was as broad as the length of aunt Corinne's +hand, for in the course of the morning aunt Corinne furtively +measured it. Although it was June weather, this little girl also wore +stout shoes and yarn stockings. + +“Well, they might get in if they won't crowd you,” assented their +father. “You're all to take dinner with us, my wife says.” + +The children were hoisted up the steps, which they climbed with +agile feet, as if accustomed to scaling high cart wheels. Bobaday sat +by his grandmother, and the back seat received this addition to the +party without at all crowding aunt Corinne. She looked the boy and +girl over with great satisfaction. They were near her own age. + +“Do you play teeter in the woods?” she inquired with a fidget, by +way of opening the conversation. + +The boy rolled his eyes towards her and replied in a slow drawl, +sometimes they did. + +Robert Day then put it to him whether he liked moving. + +“I like to ride the leaders for fawther,” replied the boy. + +“What's your name?” inquired aunt Corinne, directing her inquiry to +both. + +The little girl turned redder, answering in a broad drawl like her +brother, “His name's Jonathan and mine's Clar'sy Ellen.” + +Aunt Corinne looked down at the hind wheel revolving at her side of +the carriage, and her lips unconsciously moved in meditation. + +“Thrusty Ellen!” she repeated aloud. + +“Clar'sy Ellen,” corrected the little girl, her broad drawl still +confusing the sound. + +Aunt Corinne's lips continued to move. She whispered to the hind +wheel, “Mercy! If I was named Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen, I'd wish my +folks'd forgot to name me at all!” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. FAIRY CARRIE AND THE PIG-HEADED MAN. + + +Little Miami river was crossed without mishap, and the Padgetts and +Breakaways took dinner together. + +Robert Day could not help noticing the difference between his +grandmother's wagon and the wagons of the Virginians. Their wagon-beds +were built almost in the shape of the crescent moon, bending down +in the centre and standing high at the ends, and they appeared half +as long again as the Ohio vehicle. The covers were full of innumerable +ribs, and the puckered end was drawn into innumerable puckers. + +The children took their dinners to the yellow top of a brand-new +stump which, looked as if somebody had smoothed every sweet-smelling +ring clean on purpose for a picnic table. Some branches of the felled +tree were near enough to make teeter seats for Corinne and Thrusty +Ellen. Jonathan and Robert stood up or kneeled against the arching +roots. Dinner taken from the top of a stump has the sap of out-door +enjoyment in it; and if you have to scare away an ant, or a pop-eyed +grasshopper thuds into the middle of a plate, you still feel kindly +towards these wild things for dropping in so sociably. + +Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen were rather silent, but such remarks as +they made were solid information. + +“You don't know wher' my fawther's got his money,” said Jonathan. + +This was stated so much like a dare that Robert yearned to retort +that he did know, too. As he did not know, the next best thing was to +pretend it was no consequence anyhow, and find out as quickly as +possible; therefore Robert Day said: + +“Ho! Maybe he hasn't any.” + +“He has more gold pieces 'n ever you seen,” proceeded Jonathan +weightily. + +“Then why don't he give you some?” exclaimed aunt Corinne with a +wriggle. “I had a gold dollar, but I b'lieve that little old man with +a bag on his back stole it.” + +Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen made round eyes at a young damsel who had +been trusted with gold. + +[Illustration] + +“My fawther calls 'em yeller boys,” said Jonathan. “He carries 'em +and his paper money in a belt fastened round his waist under all his +clothes.” + +“You don't ought to tell,” said Thrusty Ellen. “Father said we +shouldn't talk about it.” + +“_He_ won't steal it,” said Jonathan, indicating Robert with +his thumb. “_She_ won't neither,” indicating aunt Corinne. + +Aunt Corinne with some sharpness assured the Virginia children that +her nephew and herself were indeed above such suspicion; that Ma +Padgett and brother Tip had the most money, and even Zene was well +provided with dollars; while they had silver spoons among their goods +that Ma-Padgett said had been in the family more than fifty years! + +Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen accepted this information with much +stolidity. The grandeur of having old silver made no impression on +them. They saw that Grandma Padgett had one pair of horses hitched to +her moving-wagon instead of three pairs, and they secretly rated her +resources by this fact. + +It was very cheerful moving in this long caravan. When there was a +bend in the 'pike, and the line of vehicles curved around it, the +sight was exhilarating. + +Some of the Virginians sat on their horses to drive. There was singing, +and calling back and forth. And when they passed a toll-gate, all the +tollkeeper's family and neighbors came out to see the array. Jonathan +and Robert rode in his father's easiest wagon, while Thrusty Ellen, and +her mother enjoyed Grandma Padgett's company in the carriage. As they +neared Richmond, which lay just within the Indiana line, men went ahead +like scouts to secure accommodations for the caravan. At Louisburg, +the last of the Ohio villages, aunt Corinne was watching for the boundary +of the State. She fancied it stretched like a telegraph wire from pole +to pole, only near the ground, so the cattle of one State could not stray +into the other, and so little children could have it to talk across, +resting their chins on the cord. But when they came to the line and +crossed it there was not even a mark on the ground; not so much as a +furrow such as Zene made planting corn. And at first Indiana looked +just like Ohio. Later, however, aunt Corinne felt a difference in the +States. Ohio had many ups and downs; many hillsides full of grain basking +in the sun. The woods of Indiana ran to moss, and sometimes descended to +bogginess, and broad-leaved paw-paw bushes crowded the shade; mighty +sycamores blotched with white, leaned over the streams: there was a +dreamy influence in the June air, and pale blue curtains of mist hung +over distances. + +But at Richmond aunt Corinne and her nephew, both felt particularly +wide awake. They considered it the finest place they had seen since +the capital of Ohio. The people wore quaint, but handsome clothes. +They saw Quaker bonnets and broad-brimmed hats. Richmond is yet +called the Quaker city of Indiana. But what Robert Day and Corinne +noticed particularly was the array of wagons moved from street to +street, was an open square such as most Western towns had at that +date for farmers to unhitch their teams in, and in that open square a +closely covered wagon connected with a tent. It was nearly dark. But +at the tent entrance a tin torch stuck in the ground showed letters +and pictures on the tent, proclaiming that the only pig-headed man in +America was therein exhibiting himself and his accomplishments, +attended by Fairy Carrie, the wonderful child vocalist. + +Before Bobaday had made out half the words, he telegraphed a message +to aunt Corinne, by leaning far out of the Brockaway wagon and +lifting his finger. Aunt Corinne was leaning out of the carriage, and +saw him, and she not only lifted her finger, but violently wagged her +head. + +The caravan scouts had not been able to find lodging for all the +troops, and there was a great deal of dissatisfaction about the rates +asked by the taverns. So many of the wagons wound on to camp at the +other side of the town, the Brockaways among them. But the neighborly +Virginian, in exchanging Robert for his wife and daughter at the +carriage door, assured Grandma Padgett he would ride back to her +lodging-place next morning and pilot her into the party again. + +“I thank you kindly,” said Grandma Padgett in old-fashioned phrase. +“It's growing risky for me to sleep too much in the open night air. +At my age folks must favor themselves, and I'd like a bed to-night, +if it is a tavern bed, and a set, table, if the vittles are tavern +vittles. And we can stir out early.” + +So Thrusty Ellen and Jonathan rode away with their father, +unconscious of Robert and Corinne's superior feeling in stopping at a +tavern. + +In the tavern parlor were a lot of sumptuous paper flowers under a +glass case. There were a great many stairs to climb, and a gong was +sounded for supper. + +After supper Grandma Padgett made Zene take her into the stable-yard, +that she might carry from the wagon some valuables which thieves in +a town would be tempted to steal. + +It was about this time that Corinne and Robert Day strayed down the +front steps, consulted together and ventured down the street, came +back, and ventured again to the next corner. + +“He gave us the slip before,” said Robert, “but I'd like to get a +good look at him for once.” + +“Would you da'st to spend your gold dollar, though,” said aunt +Corinne. + +“Well, that's better than losin' it,” he responded. + +It seemed very much better in aunt Corinne's eyes. + +“We can just run down there, and run right back after we go in, +while Ma Padgett is busy.” + +“Then we'll have to be spry,” said Robert Day. + +Having passed the first corner they were spry, springing along the +streets with their hands locked. It was not hard to find one's way +about in Richmond then, and the tavern was not far from the open +square. They came upon the tent, the smoky tin torch, the crowd of +idlers, and a loud-voiced youth who now stood at the entrance +shouting the attractions within. + +Robert dragged his aunt impetuously to the tent door and offered his +gold dollar to the shouter. + +“Pass right in, gentlemen and ladies,” said the ill-looking youth in +his monotonous yell, bustling as if he had a rush of business, “and +make room for the crowd, all anxious to see the only pig-headed man +in America, and to hear the wonderful warblings of Fairy Carrie, the +child vocalist. Admission fixed at the low figure of fifteen cents +per head,” said the ill-looking youth, dropping change into Robert's +hand and hustling him upon the heels of Corinne who craned her neck +toward the inner canvas. “Only fifteen cents, gentlemen, and the last +opportunity to see the pig-headed man who alone is worth the price of +admission, and has been exhibited to all the crowned heads of Europe. +Fifteen cents. Five three cent pieces only. Fairy Carrie, the +wonderful child vocalist, and the only living pig-headed man standing +between the heavens and earth to-day.” + +But when aunt Corinne had reached the interior of the tent, she +turned like a flash, clutched Robert Day, and hid her eyes against +him. A number of people standing, or seated on benches, were watching +the performances on a platform at one end of the tent. + +“He won't hurt you,” whispered Robert. + +“Go 'way!” whispered aunt Corinne, trembling as if she would drive +the mere image from her thoughts. + +“It's the very thing I saw at the camp,” whispered Robert. + +“Le's go out again.” + +“I want my money's worth,” remonstrated Robert in an injured tone. +“And now he's pickin' up his things and going behind a curtain. Ain't +he ugly! I wonder how it feels to look that way? Why don't you stand +up straight and act right! Folks'll notice you. I thought you wanted +to see him so bad!” + +“I got enough,” responded aunt Corinne. “But there comes the little +girl. And it's the little girl I saw in the wagon. Ain't she pretty!” + +[Illustration] + +“She ain't got a pig's head, has she?” demanded aunt Corinne. + +“She's the prettiest little girl I ever saw,” responded Robert +impatiently. “I guess if she sees you she'll think, you're sheep-headed. +You catch me spendin' gold dollars to take you to shows any more!” + +The shrill treble of a little child began a ballad at that time very +popular, and called “Lilly Dale.” Aunt Corinne faced about and saw a +tiny creature, waxen-faced and with small white hands, and feet in +bits of slippers, standing in a dirty spangled dress which was made +to fluff out from her and give her an airy look. Her long brown curls +hung about her shoulders. But her black eyes were surrounded with +brownish rings which gave her a look of singing in her sleep, or in a +half-conscious state. She was a delicate little being, and as she +sung before the staring people, her chin creased and the corners of +her mouth quivered as if she would break into sobs if she only dared. +Her song was accompanied by a hand-organ ground behind the scenes; +and when she had finished and run behind the curtain, she was pushed +out again in response to the hand-clapping. + +Robert Day hung entranced on this performance. But when Fairy Carrie +had sung her second song and disappeared, he took hold of his aunt's +ear and whispered cautiously therein: + +“I know the pig-headed man stole that little girl.” + +Aunt Corinne looked at him with solemn assent. Then there were signs +of the pig-headed man's returning to the gaze of the public. Aunt +Corinne at once grasped her nephew's elbow and pushed him from the +sight. They went outside where the ill-looking youth was still +shouting, and were crowded back against the wagon by a group now +beginning to struggle in. + +Robert proposed that they walk all around the outside, and try to +catch another glimpse of Fairy Carrie. + +They walked behind the wagon. A surly dog chained under it snapped +out at them. Aunt Corinne said she should like to see Fairy Carrie +again, but Ma Padgett would be looking for them. + +At this instant the little creature appeared back of the tent. +Whether she had crept under the canvas or knew some outlet to the +air, she stood there fanning herself with her hands, and looking up +and about with an expression which was sad through all the dusk. + +Corinne and Robert Day approached on tiptoe. Fairy Carrie continued +to fan herself with her fingers, and looked at them with a dull gaze. + +“Say!” whispered aunt Corinne, indicating the interior of the tent, +“is he your pa?” + +Fairy Carrie shook her head. + +“Is your ma in there?” + +Fairy Carrie again shook her head, and her face creased as if she +were now determined in this open air and childish company to cry and +be relieved. + +“Can't you talk?” whispered aunt Corinne. + +“No,” said the child. + +“Yes, you can, too! Did the show folks steal you?” + +Fairy Carrie's eyes widened. Tears gathered and dropped slowly down +her cheeks. + +Aunt Corinne seized her hand. “Why, Bobaday, Padgett! You just feel +how cold her fingers are!” + +Robert did so, and shook his head to indicate that he found even her +fingers in a pitiable condition. + +“You come with us to Ma Padgett,” exhorted aunt Corinne in an +excited whisper. “I wouldn't stay where that pig-man is for the world.” + +The dog under the wagon was growling. + +“If the pig-man stole you, Ma Padgett will have him put in jail.” + +“Le's go back this way, so they won't catch her,” cautioned Bobaday. + +The dog began to bark. + +Robert and Corinne moved away with the docile little child between +them. At the barking of the dog one or two other figures appeared +behind the tent. Fairy Carrie in her spangled dress was running +between Robert and Corinne into the dark. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. SEARCHING. + + +But Grandma Padgett did not enjoy the tavern bed or the tavern +breakfast. She passed the evening until midnight searching the +streets of Richmond, accompanied by Zene and his limp. Some of the +tavern people had seen her children in front of the house, but the +longest search failed to bring to light any trace of them in or about +that building. The tavern-keeper interested himself; the chamber +maids were sympathetic. Two hostlers and a bartender went different +ways through the town making inquiries. The landlady thought the +children might have wandered off to the movers' encampment, where +there were other children to play with. Grandma Padgett bade Zene put +himself on one of the carriage horses and post to camp. When he came +back he reported that Thrusty Ellen and Jonathan were asleep in the +tents, and nobody had seen Robert and Corinne. + +While searching the streets earlier in the evening, Grandma Padgett +observed the pig-headed man's pavilion, and this she also explored +with Zene. A crowd was making the canvas stifling, and the pig-headed +man's performances were being varied by an untidy woman who screamed +and played on a portable bellows which had ivory keys, after +explaining that Fairy Carrie, the Wonderful Musical Child, had been +taken suddenly ill and could appear no more that night. + +Grandma Padgett remained only long enough to scan twice over every +face in the tent. She went out, telling Zene she was at her wits' end. + +“Oh, they ain't gone far, marm,” reassured Zene. “You'll find out +they'll come back to the tavern all right; mebby before we get there.” + +But every such hopeful return to base disheartened the searchers +more. At last the grandmother was obliged to lie down. + +Early in the morning the Virginian came, full of concern. His party +was breaking camp, but he would stay behind and help search for the +children. + +“That I won't allow,” said Grandma Padgett. “You're on a long road, +and you don't want to risk separating from the colony. Besides no one +can do more than we can--unless it was Son Tip. As I laid awake, I +wished in my heart Son Tip was here.” + +“Can't you send him a lightnin' message?” said the Virginian. “By +the telegraphic wire,” he explained, quoting a line of a popular song. + +“I wish I could,” said Grandma Padgett, “but there's no telegraph +office in miles of where he's located. I thought of it last night. +There's no way to reach him that I can see, but by letter, and +sometimes _they_ lay over on the road. And I don't allow to stop +at this place. I'm goin' to set out and hunt in all directions till I +find the children.” + +The Virginian agreed that her plan was best. He also made +arrangements to ride back and tell her if the caravan overtook them +on the 'pike during that day's journey. Then he and Grandma Padgett +shook hands with each other and reluctantly separated. + +She made inquiries about all the other roads leading out of +Richmond. Zene drove the carriage out of the barnyard, and Grandma +Padgett, having closed her account with the tavern, took the lines, +an object of interest and solicitude to all who saw her depart, and +turned Old Hickory and Old Henry on a southward track. Zene followed +with the wagon; he was on no account to loiter out of speaking +distance. The usual order of the march being thus reversed, both +vehicles moved along lonesomely. Even Boswell and Johnson scented +misfortune in the air. Johnson ran in an undeviating line under the +carriage, as if he wished his mistress to know he was right there +where she could depend on him. His countenance expressed not only +gravity, but real concern. Boswell, on the other hand, was in a state +of nerves. If he saw a bank at the roadside he ran ahead and mounted +it, looking back into the carriage, demanding to know, with a yelping +howl, where Bobaday and Corinne were. When his feelings became too +strong for him he jumped at the step, and Grandma Padgett shook her +head at him. + +“Use your nose, you silly little fice, and track them, why don't you?” + +As soon as Boswell understood this reproach he jumped a fence and +smelt every stump or tuft of grass, every bush and hummock, until the +carriage dwindled in the distance. Then he made the dust smoke under +his feet as a sudden June shower will do for a few seconds, and +usually overtook the carriage with all of his tongue unfurled and his +lungs working like a furnace. Johnson reproved him with a glance, and +he at once dropped his tail and trotted beside Johnson, as if +throwing himself on that superior dog for support in the hour of +affliction. + +At noon no trace of Robert and Corinne had been seen. Grandma +Padgett halted, and when Zene came up she said: + +“We'll eat a cold bite right here by the road, and then go on until +sunset. If we don't find them, we'll turn back to town and take +another direction.” + +They ate a cold bite, brought ready packed from the Richmond tavern. +The horses were given scant time for feeding, and drank wherever they +could find water along the road. + +Cloudless as the day was, Grandma Padgett's spectacles had never +made any landscape look as blue as this one which she followed until +sunset. Sometimes it was blurred by a mist, but she wiped it off the +glasses. + +At sunset they had not seen a track which might be taken for Robert +or Corinne's. The grasshoppers were lonesome. There was a great void +in the air, and the most tuneful birds complained from the fence-rails. +Grandma Padgett constantly polished her glasses on the backward road. + +Nothing was said about making a halt for supper or any kind of cold +bite. The carriage was silently turned as one half the sun stood +above the tree-tops, I and it passed the wagon without other sign. +The wagon turned as silently. The shrill meadow insects became more +and more audible. Some young calves in a field, remembering that it +was milking time, began to call their mothers, and to remonstrate at +the bars in voices full of sad cadences. The very farmhouse dogs, +full-fed, and almost too lazy to come out of the gates to interview +Boswell and Johnson, barked as if there was sickness in their +respective families and it was all they could do to keep up their +spirits and refrain from howling. + +The carriage and wagon jogged along until the horizon rim was all of +that indescribable tint that evening mixes with saffron, purple and +pink. Grandma Padgett became anxious to reach Richmond again. The +Virginian might have returned over the road with news of her +children. Or the children themselves might be at the tavern waiting +for her. Zene drove close behind her, and when they were about to +recross a shallow creek, scooped between two easy swells and floating +a good deal of wild grapevine and darkly reflecting many sycamores, +he came forward and loosened the check-reins of Hickory and Henry to +let them drink. Grandma Padgett felt impatient at any delay. + +“I don't think they want water, Zene,” said she. + +“They'd better cool their mouths, marm.” he said. But still he +fingered the check reins, uncertain how to state what had sent him +forward. + +“Seems like I heard somebody laugh, marm,” said Zene. + +“Well, suppose you did,” said Grandma Padgett. “The whole world +won't mourn just because we're in trouble.” + +“But it sounded like Corinne,” said Zene uncertainly. + +Grandma Padgett's glasses glared upon him. + +“You'd' be more apt to hear her crying,” she exclaimed. “When did +you hear it?” + +“Just now. I jumped right off the load.” + +Hickory and Henry, anxious to taste the creek, would have moved +forward, but were checked by both pairs of hands. + +“What direction?” + +“I don't feel certain, marm,” said Zene, “but it come like it was +from that way through the woods.” + +Grandma Padgett stretched her neck out of the carriage toward the +right. + +“Is that a sled track?” she inquired. “It's gittin' so dim I can't +see.”. + +Zene said there was a sled track, pointing out what looked like a +double footpath with a growth of grass and shrubs along the centre. + +“We'll drive in that way,” she at once decided, “and if we get +wedged among the trees, we'll have to get out the best way we can.” + +Zene turned the gray and white, and led on this new march. Hickory +and Henry, backed from the creek without being allowed to dip their +mouths, reluctantly thumped the sled track with their shoes, and +pretended to distrust every tall stump and every glaring sycamore +limb which rose before their sight. Scrubby bushes scraped the bottom +of the carriage bed. Now one front wheel rose high over a chunk, and +the vehicle rolled and creaked. Zene's wagon cover, like a big white +blur, moved steadily in front, and presently Hickory and Henry ran +their noses against it, and seemed to relish the knock which the +carriage-pole gave the feed-box. Zene had halted to listen. + +It was dark in the woods. A rustle could be heard now and then as of +some tiny four-footed creature moving the stiff grass; or a twig cracked. +The frogs in the creek were tuning their bass-viols. A tree-toad rattled +on some unseen trunk, and the whole woods heaved its great lungs in the +steady breathing which it never leaves off, but which becomes a roar +and a wheeze in stormy or winter weather. + +“There isn't anything”--began Grandma Padgett, but between thing and +“here” came the distinct laugh of a child. + +[Illustration: “WHERE'S BOBADAY?”] + +Zene cracked his whip over the gray and the white, and the wagon +rumbled ahead rapidly, jarring against roots, and ends of decayed +logs, turning short in one direction, and dipping through a long +sheltered mud-hole to the very wheel-hubs, brushing against trees and +under low branches until guttural remonstrances were scraped out of +the cover, and finally descending into an abrupt hollow, with the +carriage rattling at its hind wheels. + +Grandma Padgett had been through many experiences, but she felt she +could truly say to her descendants that she never gave up so entirely +for pure joy in her life as when she saw Robert and Corinne sitting +in front of a fire built against a great stump, and talking with a +fat, silly-looking man who leaned against a cart-wheel. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. THE SPROUTING. + + +“Why, Bobaday Padgett,” exclaimed aunt Corinne, “if there isn't our +wagon--and Ma Padgett.” + +Both children came running to the carriage steps, and their guardian +got down, trembling. She put her arms around them, and after a silent +hug, shook one in each hand. + +The fire illuminated wagon and carriage, J. D. Matthew's cart, and +the logs and bushes surrounding them. It flickered on the blue +spectacles and gave Grandma Padgett a piercing expression while she +examined her culprits. + +“Where have you been, while Zene and I hunted up and down in such +distress?” + +“We's going right back to the tavern soon's he could get us there,” + Robert hastened to explain. “It's that funny fellow, J. D., Grandma. +But he thought we better go roundabout, so they wouldn't catch us.” + +Zene, limping down from his wagon, listened to this lucid statement. + +“O Zene,” exclaimed aunt Corinne, “I'm so glad you and Ma Padgett +have come! But we knew you wouldn't go on to Brother Tip's without +us. Bobaday said you'd wait till we got back, and we ran right +straight out of town.” + +“You ought to be well sprouted, both of you,” said Grandma Padgett, +still trembling as she advanced toward the fire. “Robert Day, break +me a switch; break me a good one, and peel the leaves off. So you +came across this man again, and he persuaded you to run away with +him, did he?” + +J. D. Matthews, who had stood up smiling his widest, now moved +around to the other side of his cart and crouched in alarm. + +Grandma Padgett now saw that the cart was standing level and open, +and within it there appeared a nest of brown curls and one slim, +babyish hand. + +“What's that?” she inquired. + +“Why, don't you see, Grandma?” exclaimed Robert, “that's Fairy +Carrie that we ran away with. They made her sing at the show. We just +went in a minute to see the pig-headed man. I had my gold dollar. And +she felt so awful. And we saw her behind the tent.” + +“She cried, Ma Padgett,” burst in aunt Corinne, “like her heart was +broke, and she couldn't talk at all. Then they were coming out to +make her go in again, and we said didn't she want to go to you? You +wouldn't let her live with a pig-headed man and have to sing. And she +wanted to go, so they came out. And we took hold of her hands and +ran. And they chased us. And we couldn't go to the tavern 'cause they +chased us the other way: it got dark, and when Bobaday hid us under a +house, they chased past us, and we waited, oh! the longest time.” + +“And then,” continued Robert, “when we came out, we didn't know +which way to go to the tavern, but started roundabout, through fields +and over fences, and all, so the show people wouldn't see us. Aunt +Corinne was scared. And we stumbled over cows, and dogs barked at us. +But we went on till after 'while just as we's slippin' up a back +street we met J. D. and the cart, and he was so good! He put the poor +little girl in the cart and pushed her. She was so weak she fell down +every little bit when we's runnin'. Aunt Corinne and me had to nearly +carry her.” + +“Well, why didn't he bring you back to the tavern?” + +“Grandma, if he had, the show people would been sure to get her! We +thought they'd travel on this morning. And we were so tired! He took +us to a cabin house, and the woman was real good. The man was real +good, too. They had lots of dogs. We got our breakfast and stayed all +night. They knew we'd strayed off, but they said J. D. would get us +back safe. I gave them the rest of my dollar. Then this morning we +all started to town, but J. D. had to go away down the road first, +for some eggs and things. And it took us so long we only got this far +when it came dusk.” + +“J. D. took good care of us,” said aunt Corinne. “Everybody knows +him, and he is so funny. The folks say he travels along the pike all +through Indiana and Ohio.” + +“Well, I'm obliged to him,” said Grandma Padgett, still severely; +“we owe him, too, for a good supper and breakfast he gave us the +other time we saw him. But I can't make out how he can foot it faster +than we can ride, and so git into this State ahead of us.” + +Mr. Matthews now came forward, and straightening his bear-like +figure, proceeded to smile without apprehension. He cleared his voice +and chanted: + + Sometimes I take the wings of steam, + And on the cars my cart I wheel. + And so I came to Richmond town + Two days ago in fair renown. + +“Oh,” said Grandma Padgett. + +“What's that he's givin' out, marm?” inquired Zene. + +“It's a way he has,” she explained. “He talks in verses. This is the +pedler that stayed over in that old house with us, near by the Dutch +landlord and the deep creek. Were you going to camp here all night?” + she inquired of J. D. + +“We wanted him to,” coaxed aunt Corinne, “my feet ached so bad. Then +we could walk right into town in the morning, and he'd hide Fairy +Carrie in his cart till we got to the tavern.” + +“Zene,” said Grandma Padgett, “you might as well take out the horses +and feed them. They haven't had much chance to-day.” + +“Will we stay here, marm?” + +“I'll see,” said Grandma Padgett. “Anyhow, I can't stand it in the +carriage again right away.” + +“Let's camp here,” urged Robert. “J. D.'s got chicken all dressed to +broil on the coals, and lots of good things to eat.” + +“He wouldn't have any money the last time, and I can't have such +doings again. I'm hungry, for I haven't enjoyed a meal since +yesterday. Mister, see here,” said Grandma Padgett, approaching the +cart. + +J. D. moved backwards as she came as if pushed by an invisible pole +carried in the brisk grandmother's hands. + +“Stand still, do,” she urged, laying a bank bill on his cart. She, +snapped her steel purse shut again, put it in her dress pocket, and +indicated the bill with one finger. “I don't lay this here for your +kindness to the children, you understand. You've got feelings, and +know I'm more than obliged. But here are a lot of us, and you buy +your provisions, so if you'll let us pay you for some, we'll eat and +be thankful. Take the money and put it away.” + +Thus commanded, J. D. returned cautiously to the other side of the +cart, took the money and thrust it into his vest pocket without +looking at it. He then smiled again at Grandma Padgett, as if the +thought of propitiating her was uppermost in his mind. + +“Now go on with your chicken-broiling,” she concluded, and he went +on with it, keeping at a distance from her while she stood by the +cart or when she sat down on a log by the fire. + +“Here's your stick, Grandma,” said Robert Day, offering her a limb +of paw paw, stripped of all its leaves. + +Grandma Padgett took it in her hands, reduced its length and tried +its limberness. + +“If I had given my family such trouble when I's your age,” she said +to Corinne and Robert, “I should have been sprouted as I deserved.” + +They listened respectfully. + +“Folks didn't allow their children to run wild then. They whipped +them and kept them in bounds. I remember once father whipped brother +Thomas for telling a falsehood, and made welts on his body.” + +Corinne and Robert had heard this tale before, but their +countenances, put on a piteous expression. + +“You ought to have a sprouting,” concluded their guardian as if she +did not know how to compromise with her conscience, “but since you +meant to do a good turn instead of a bad one”-- + +“Oh, we never intended to run away, Grandma, and worry you so,” + insisted Robert. + +“We's just sorry for the little girl,” murmured aunt Corinne.--“Why, +I'll let it pass this time. Only never let me know you to do such a +thing again.” The paw paw sprout fell to the ground, unwarped by use. +Corinne and Robert were hearty in promising never to run away with +Fairy Carrie or any other party again. + +This serious business completed, the grandmother turned her +attention to the child in the cart. + +“How sound asleep the little thing is,” she observed, smoothing +Fairy Carrie's cheek from dark eye-circle to chin, “and her flesh so +cold!” + +“She's just slept that way ever since J. D. put her in his cart!” + exclaimed aunt Corinne. “We made her open her eyes and take some +breakfast in her mouth, but she went to sleep again while she's +eatin'.” + +“And we let her sleep ever since,” added Bobaday. “It didn't make a +bit of difference whether the cart went jolt-erty-jolt over stones or +run smooth in the dust. And we shaded her face with bushes.” + +“She's not well,” said their experienced elder. “The poor little +thing may have some catching disease! It's a pretty face. I wonder +whose child she is? You oughtn't to set up your judgment and carry a +little child off with you from her friends. I hardly know what we'll +do about it.” + +“Oh, but they wern't her friends, Ma Padgett,” asserted aunt Corinne +solemnly. “She isn't the pig-headed man's little girl. Nor any of +them ain't her folks. Bobaday thinks they stole her away.” + +“If she'd only wake up and talk,” said Robert, “maybe she could tell +us where she lives. But she was afraid of the show people.” + +“I should think that was likely,” said Grandma Padgett. + +In the heat of his sympathy, he confided to his grandmother what he +had seen of the darkened wagon the night they met the Virginians at +the large camp. + +The paw paw stick had been laid upon the fire. It blackened +frowningly. But Robert and Corinne had known many an apple sprout to +preach them such a discourse as it had done, without enforcing the +subject matter more heavily. + +Grandma Padgett reported that she had searched for her missing +family in the show tent, though she could not see why any sensible +boy or girl would want to enter such a place. And it was clear to her +the child might be afraid of such creatures, and very probable that +she did not belong to them by ties of blood. But they might prove her +lawful guardians and cause a small moving party a great deal of +trouble. “But we won't let them find her again,” said aunt Corinne. +“Ma, mayn't I keep her for my little sister?--and Bobaday would like +to have another aunt.” + +“Then we'd be stealing her,” said Grandma Padgett. “If she's a lost +child she ought to be restored to her people, and travelling along +the 'pike we can't keep the showmen from finding her.” + +Bobaday and Corinne gazed pensively at the stump fire, wondering how +grown folks always saw the difficulties in doing what you want to do. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE MINSTREL. + + +J. D. Matthews spread his supper upon a log. He had delicacies which +created a very cheerful feeling in the party, such as always rises +around the thanksgiving board. + +Zene sat at one side of the log by J. D. Matthews. Opposite them the +grandmother and her children, camped on chunks covered with shawls +and horse-blankets Seeing what an accomplished cook this singular +pedler was, how much at home he appeared in the woods, and what a +museum he could make of his cart, Zene respectfully kept from +laughing at him, except in an indulgent way as the children did. + +“I guess we'll stay just where we are until morning,” said Grandma +Padgett. “The night's pleasant and warm, and there are just as few +mosquitoes here as in the tavern. I didn't sleep last night.” She +felt stimulated by the tea, and sufficiently recovered from the +languor which follows extreme anxiety, to linger up watching the +fire, allowing the children to linger also, while J. D. Matthews put +his cupboard to rights after supper. + +It was funny to see his fat hands dabbling in dishwater; he laughed +as much about--it as aunt Corinne did. + +Grandma Padgett removed the sleeping child from his cart, and after +trying vainly to make her eat or arouse herself, put her in the bed +in the tent, attired in one of aunt Corinne's gowns. + +“She was just as helpless as a young baby,” said Grandma Padgett, +sitting down again by the fire. “I'll have a doctor look at that +child when we go through Richmond. She acts like she'd been drugged.” + +J. D. Matthews having finished--his dishwashing, sat down in the +shadow some distance from the outspoken woman in spectacles, and her +family. + +“Now come up here,” urged aunt Corinne, “and sing it all over--what +you was singing before Ma Padgett came.” + +J. D. ducked his head and chuckled, but remained in his shadow. + +“Awh-come on,” urged Robert Day “Zene'll sing 'Barb'ry Allen' if +you'll sing your song again.” + +Zene glanced uneasily at Grandma Padgett, and said he must look at +the horses. “Barb'ry Allen” was a ballad he had indulged the children +with when at a distance from her ears. + +But the tea and the hour, and her Virginia memories through which +that old sing-song ran like the murmur of bees, made Grandma Padgett +propitious, and she laid her gracious commands on Zene first, and J. +D. Matthews afterwards. So that not only “Barb'ry Allen” was sung, +but J. D.'s ditty, into which he plunged with nasal twanging and much +personal enjoyment. + +“It's why he didn't ever get married,” explained aunt Corinne, +constituting herself prologue. + +“I should think he needn't make any excuses for that,” remarked +Grandma Padgett, smiling. + +J. D. sawed back and forth on a log, his silly face rosy with +pleasure over the tale of his own woes: + + O, I went to a friend's house, + The friend says “Come in. + Take a hot cup of coffee, + O where have you been?” + + It's down to the Squi-er's + With a license I went, + And my good Sunday clothes on, + To marry intent. + + “O where is the lady?” + The good Squi-er, says he. + “O she's gone with a wed'wer + That is not poor J. D.” + + “It's now you surprise me,” + The friend says a-sigh'n, + “J. D. Matthews not married, + The sun will not shine!” + +“Well, I think she was simple!” exclaimed aunt Corinne in epilogue, +“when she might have had a man that washed the dishes and talked +poetry all the time.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. THE HOUSE WITH LOG STEPS. + + +Richmond must soon have seemed far behind Grandma Padgett's little +caravan, had not Fairy Carrie still drowsed in the carriage, keeping +the Richmond adventures always present. + +They had parted from J. D. Matthews and the Virginian and his troop. +Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen were somewhere on the road ahead, but at a +point unknown to Robert and Corinne. They might turn off towards the +southwest if all the emigrants agreed to forsake the St. Louis route. +No one could tell where J. D. might be rattling his cart. + +The afternoon which finally placed Richmond in diminishing +perspective, Robert rode with Zene and lived his campaign over again. +This was partly necessary because little Carrie lay on the back +carriage-seat. But it was entirely agreeable, for Zene wanted to know +all the particulars, and showed a flattering, not to say a +stimulating anxiety to get a good straight look at Bobaday's prowess +in rescuing the distressed. Said Zene: + +“But what if her folks never turn up?” + +“Then my pa will take her to live with us,” said Robert Day, “and +Grandma Padgett will do by her just as she does by aunt Krin and me. +She isn't a very lively little girl. I'd hate to play Blind Man with +her to be blinded; for seems as if she'd just stand against the wall +and go to sleep. But it'll be a good thing to have one still child +about the house: aunt Corinne fidgets so. I believe, though, her +folks are hunting her. Look what a fuss there was about us I When +people's children get lost or stolen, they hunt and hunt, and don't +give it up.” + +In the carriage, aunt Corinne sitting by her mother, turned her head +at every fifth revolution of the wheels, to see how the strange +little girl fared. + +“Do you s'pose she will ever be clear awake, Ma Padgett?” inquired, +aunt Corinne. + +“She'll drowse it off by and by,” replied Ma Padgett. “The rubbing I +give her this morning, and the stuff the Richmond doctor made her +swallow, will bring her out right.” + +“She's so pretty,” mused aunt Corinne. “I'd like to have her hair if +she never wanted it any more.” + +“That's a covetous spirit. But it puts me in mind,” said Grandma +Padgett, smiling, “of my sister Adeline and the way she took to get +doll's hair.” + +Aunt Corinne had often heard of sister Adeline and the doll's hair, +but she was glad to hear the brief tale told again in the pleasant +drowsing afternoon. + +The Indiana landscape was beautiful in tones of green and stretches +of foliage. Whoever calls it monotonous has never watched its varying +complexions or the visible breath of Indian summer which never +departs from it at any season. + +“Mother came in from meeting one day,” said Grandma Padgett, “and +went into her bedroom and threw her shawl on the bed. She had company +to dinner and was in a hurry. It was a fine silk shawl with fringe +longer than my hand. Uncle Henry brought it over the mountains as a +present. But Adeline come in and saw the fringe and thought what nice +doll hair it would make. So by and by mother has an errand in the +bedroom, and she sees her shawl travelling down behind the bed, and +doesn't know what to think. Then she hears something snip, snip, and +lifts up the valance and looks under the bed, and there sets Adeline +cutting the fringe off her shawl! She had it half cut off.” + +“And what did Grandma do then?” aunt Corinne omitted not to ask. + +“Oh, she punished Adeline. But that never had any effect on her. +Adeline was a funny child,” said Grandma Padgett, retrospective +tenderness showing through her blue glasses. “I remember once she got +to eatin' brown paper, and mother told her it would kill her if she +didn't quit it. Adeline--made up her mind she was going to eat brown +paper if it did kill her. She never doubted that it would come true +as mother said. But she prepared to die, and made her will and +divided her things. Mother found it out and put a stop to the +business. I remember,” said Grandma Padgett, laughing, “that I was +disappointed, because I had to give back what she willed to me! yet I +didn't want Adeline to die. She was a lively child. She jumped out of +windows and tom-boyed around, but everybody liked her. Once I had +some candy and divided fair enough, I thought, but Adeline after she +ate up what she had, said I'd be sorry if I didn't give her more, +because she was going, to die. It worked so well on my feelings that +next time I tried that plan on Adeline's feelings, and told her if +she didn't do something I wanted her to do _she'd_ be sorry; for +I was going to die. She said she knew it; everybody was going to die +some day, and she couldn't help it and wasn't going to be sorry for +any such thing! Poor Adeline: many a year she's been gone, and I'm +movin' further away from the old home.” + +Grandma Padgett lifted the lines and slapped them on the backs of +old Hickory and Henry. Rousing themselves from coltish recollections +of their own, perhaps, the horses began to trot. + +[Illustration: THE LAWYER.] + +In Indiana, some reaches of the 'pike were built on planks instead +of broken stone, and gave out a hollow rumble instead of a flinty +roar. The shape and firmness of the road-bed were the same, but the +ends of boards sometimes cropped out along the sides. In this day, +branches of the old national thoroughfare penetrate to every part of +the Hoosier State. The people build 'pikes instead of what are called +dirt roads. There are, of course, many muddy lanes and by-ways. But +they have some of the best drives which have been lifted out of the +Mississippi Valley. + +Though the small caravan had lost time, and Son Tip might be waiting +at the Illinois line before they reached that point, Grandma Padgett +said they would all go to morning meeting in the town where they +stopped Saturday night, and only drive a short piece on Sunday +afternoon. She hated to be on expense, but they had much to return +thanks for; and the Israelites made Sabbath day's journeys when they +were moving. + +The first Sunday--which seemed so remote now--had been partially +spent in a grove where they camped for dinner, and Grandma Padgett +read the Bible, and made Bobaday and Corinne answer their catechism. +But this June Sunday was to be of a thanksgiving character. And they +spent it in Greenfield. + +At Cambridge City little Carrie roused sufficiently to eat with +evident relish. But no such recollection of Dublin, Jamestown called +Jimtown for short, by some inhabitants, and only distinguished by its +location from another Jamestown in the State---Knightstown and +Charlottesville, remained to her as remained to Bobaday and Corinne. +The Indiana village did not differ greatly from the Ohio village +situated on the 'pike. There were always the church with a bonny +little belfry, and the schoolhouse more or less mutilated as to its +weather boarding. The 'pike was the principal street, and such houses +as sat at right angles to it, looked lonesome, and the dirt roads +weedy or dusty. + +Greenfield was a country seat and had a court house surrounded by +trees. It looked long and straggling in the summer dusk. Zene, riding +ahead to secure lodgings, came back as far as the culvert to tell +Grandma Padgett there was no room at the tavern Court, was session, +and the lawyers on the circuit filled the house. But there was +another place, near where they now halted, that sometimes took in +travellers for accommodation's sake. He pointed it out, a roomy +building with a broad flight of leg steps leading up to the front +doors. Zene said it was not a tavern, but rather nicer than a tavern. +He had already prevailed on the man and woman keeping it to take in +his party. + +Robert and aunt Corinne scampered up the log steps and Grandma +Padgett led Fairy Carrie; after them. A plain tidy woman met them at +the door and took them into a square room. There were the homemade +carpet, the centre-table with daguerreotypes standing open and +glaring such light as they had yet to reflect, samplers and colored +prints upon the walls, but there was also a strange man busy with +some papers at the table. + +His hat stood beside him on the floor, and he dropped the sorted +papers into it. He was, as Grandma Padgett supposed, one of the +lawyers on the circuit. After looking up, he kept on sorting and +folding his papers. + +The woman went out to continue her supper-getting. In a remote part +of the house bacon could be heard hissing over the fire. Robert and +Corinne sat upright on black chairs, but their guardian put Carrie on +a padded lounge. + +The little creature was dressed in aunt Corinne's clothing, giving it +a graceful shape in spite of the broad tucks in sleeve, skirt and +pantalet, which kept it from draggling over her hands or on the floor, +She leaned against the wall, gazing around her with half-awakened +interest. The dark circles were still about her eyes, but her pallor +was flushed with a warmer color, Grandma Padgett pushed the damp +curls off her forehead. + +“Are you hungry, Sissy?” she inquired. + +“No, ma'am,” replied Carrie. “Yes, ma'am,” she added, after a +moment's reflection. + +“She actually doesn't know,” said Bobaday, sitting down on the +lounge near Carrie. Upon this, aunt Corinne forsook her own black +chair and sat on the other side of their charge. + +“Do you begin to remember, now?” inquired Robert Day, smoothing the +listless hands on Carrie's lap. + +“How we run off with you--you know,” prompted aunt Corinne, dressing +a curl over her finger. + +The child looked at each of them, smiling. + +“Don't pester her,” said Grandma Padgett, taking some work out of +her dress pocket and settling herself by a window to make use of the +last primrose light in the sky. + +“If we don't begin to make her talk, she'll forget how,” exclaimed +aunt Corinne. “Can't you 'member anything about your father and mother +now, Carrie?” + +[Illustration: THE “YOUNG MAN WHO SOLD TICKETS” APPEARS AT THE DOOR.] + +The man who was sorting his papers at the table, turned an attentive +eye and ear toward the children. But neither Bobaday nor Corinne +considered that he broke up the family privacy. They scarcely noticed +him. + +“Grandma,” murmured Carrie vaguely, turning her eyes toward their +guardian by the window. + +“Yes, that's Grandma,” said Bobaday. “But don't you know where your +own pa and ma are?” + +“Papa,” whispered Carrie, like a baby trying the words. “Mamma. +Papa--mamma.” + +“Yes, dear,” exclaimed aunt Corinne. “Where do they live? She's big +enough to know that if she knows anything.” + +“Let's get her to sing a song,” suggested Bobaday. “If she can +remember a song, she can remember what happened before they made her +sing.” + +“That papa?” said Carrie, looking at the stranger by the table. + +“No,” returned aunt Corinne, deigning a glance his way. “That's only +a gentleman goin' to eat supper here. Sing, Carrie. Now, Bobaday +Padgett,” warned aunt Corinne, shooting her whisper behind the curled +head, “don't you go and scare her by sayin' anything about that pig-man.” + +“Don't you scare her yourself,” returned Robert with a touch of +indignation. “You've got her eyes to stickin' out now. Sing a pretty +tune, Carrie. Come on, now.” + +The docile child slid off the lounge and stood against it, piping +directly one of her songs. Yet while her trembling treble arose, she +had a troubled expression, and twisted her fingers about each other. + +In an instant this expression became one of helpless terror. She +crowded back against the lounge and tried to hide herself behind +Bobaday and Corinne. + +They looked toward the door, and saw standing there the young man +who sold tickets at the entrance of the pig-headed individual's show. +His hands were in his pockets, but he appeared ready to intone forth: + +“Walk right in, ladies and gentlemen, and hear Fairy Carrie, the +child vocalist!” And the smoky torch was not needed to reveal his +satisfaction in standing just where he did. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. “COME TO MAMMA!” + + +Though the dissipated looking young man only stood at the door a +moment, and then walked out on the log steps at a sauntering pace, he +left dismay behind him. Aunt Corinne flew to her mother, imploring +that Carrie be hid. Robert Day stood up before the child, frowning +and shaking his head. + +“All the pig-headed folks will be after her,” exclaimed aunt +Corinne. “They'll come right into this room so soon as that fellow +tells them. Le's run out the back way, Ma Padgett!” + +Grandma Padgett, who had been giving the full strength of her +spectacles to the failing light and her knitting, beheld this +excitement with disapproval. + +“You'll have my needles out,” she objected. “What pig-headed folks +are after what? Robert, have you hurt Sissy?” + +“Why, Grandma Padgett, didn't you see the doorkeeper looking into +the room?” + +“Some person just looked in--person they appear to object to,” said +the strange man, giving keen attention to what was going forward. +“Are these your own children, ma'am?” + +Grandma Padgett rolled up her knitting, and tipped her head slightly +back to bring the stranger well under her view. + +“This girl and the boy belong to my family,” she replied. + +“But whose is the little girl on the lounge?” + +“I don't know,” replied Grandma Padgett, somewhat despondently. “I +wish I did. She's a child that seems to be lost from her friends.” + +“But you can't take her away and give her to the show people again,” + exclaimed aunt Corinne, turning on this stranger with nervous +defiance. “She's more ours than she is yours, and that ugly man +scared her so she couldn't do anything but cry or go to sleep. If +brother Tip was here he wouldn't let them have her.” + +“That man that just went out, is a showman,” explained Robert Day, +relying somewhat on the stranger for aid and re-inforcement. “She was +in the show that he tended door for. They were awful people. Aunt +Krin and I slipped her off with us.” + +“That's kidnapping. Stealing, you know,” commented the stranger. + +“_They'd_ stolen her,” declared Bobaday. + +“How do you know?” + +“Look how 'fraid she was! I peeped into their wagon in the woods, +and as soon as she opened her eyes and saw the man with the pig's +head, she began to scream, and they smothered her up.” + +Grandma Padgett was now sitting on the lounge with Carrie lifted +into her lap. Her voice was steady, but rather sharp. “This child's +in a fit! Robert Day, run to the woman of the house and tell her to +bring hot water as soon as she can.” + +During the confusion which followed, and while Carrie was partially +undressed, rubbed, dipped, and dosed between her set teeth, the +stranger himself went out to the log steps and stood looking from one +end of the street to the other. The dissipated young man appeared +nowhere in the twilight. + +Returning, the lawyer found Grandma Padgett holding her patient +wrapped in shawls. The landlady stood by, much concerned, and talking +about a great many remedies beside such as she held in her hands. +Aunt Corinne and Robert Day maintained the attitude of guards, one on +each side of the door. + +Carrie was not only conscious again, but wide awake and tingling +through all her little body. Her eyes had a different expression. +They saw everything, from the candle the landlady held over her, to +the stranger entering: they searched the walls piteously, and passed +the faces of Bobaday and aunt Corinne as if they by no means +recognized these larger children. + +“I want my mamma!” she wailed. Tears ran down her face and Grandma +Padgett wiped them away. But Carrie resisted her hand. + +“Go away!” she exclaimed. “You aren't my mamma!” + +“Poor little love!” sighed the landlady, who had picked up some +information about the child. + +“And you aren't my mamma!” resented Carrie. “I want my mamma to come +to her little Rose.” + +“Says her name's Rose,” said Grandma Padgett, exchanging a flare of +her glasses for a startled look from the landlady. + +“She says her name's Rose,” repeated the landlady, turning to the +lawyer as a general public who ought to be informed. Robert and +Corinne began to hover between the door and the lounge, vigilant at +both extremes of their beat. + +“Rose,” repeated the lawyer, bending forward to inspect the child. +“Rose what? Have you any other name, my little girl?” + +“I not your little girl,” wept their excited patient. “I'm my +mamma's little girl. Go away! you're an ugly papa.” + +Bobaday and Corinne chuckled at this accusation. Aunt Corinne could +not bring herself to regard the lawyer as an ally. If he wished to +play a proper part he should have gone out and driven the doorkeeper +and all the rest of those show-people from Greenfield. Instead of +that, he stood about, listening. + +“I haven't even seen such people,” murmured the landlady in reply to +a whispered question from Grandma Padgett. “There was a young man +came in to ask if we had more room, but I didn't like his looks and +told him no, we had no more. Court-times we can fill our house if we +want to. But I'm always particular. We don't take shows at all. The +shows that come through here are often rough. There was a magic-lantern +man we let put up with us. But circuses and such things can go to +the regular tavern, says I. And if the regular tavern can't accommodate +them, it's only twenty mile to Injunop'lis.” + +“I was afraid they might have got into the house,” said Grandma +Padgett. “And I wouldn't know what to do. I couldn't give her up to +them again, when the bare sight throws her into spasms, unless I was +made to do it.” + +“You couldn't prove any right to her,” observed the lawyer. + +“No, I couldn't,” replied Grandma Padgett, expressing some injury in +her tone. “But on that account ought I to let her go to them that +would mistreat her?” + +“She may be their child,” said the lawyer. “People have been known +to maltreat their children before. You only infer that they stole her.” + +Aunt Corinne told her nephew in a slightly guarded whisper, that she +never had seen such a mean man as that one was. + +“They ought to prove it before they get her, then,” said Grandma +Padgett. + +“Yes,” he assented. “They ought to prove it.” + +“And they must be right here in the place,” she continued. “I'm +afraid I'll have trouble with them.” + +“We could go on to-night,” exclaimed Robert Day. “We could go on to +Indianapolis, and that's where the governor lives, Zene says; and +when we told the governor, he'd put the pig-headed folks in jail.” + Small notice being taken of this suggestion by the elders, Robert and +Corinne bobbed their heads in unison and discussed it in whispers +together. + +The woman of the house locked up that part which let out upon the +log steps, before she conducted her guests to supper. She was a +partisan of Grandma Padgett's. + +At table the brown-eyed child whom Grandma Padgett still held upon +her lap, refused food and continued to demand her mother. She leaned +against the old lady's shoulder seeing every crack in the walls, +every dish upon the cloth, the lawyer who sat opposite, and the +concerned faces of Bobaday and Corinne. Supper was too good to be +slighted, in spite of Carrie's dangerous position. The man of the +house was a Quaker, and while his wife stood up to wait on the table, +he repeatedly asked her in a thee-and-thou language highly edifying +to aunt Corinne, for certain pickles and jams and stuffed mangoes; +and as she brought them one after the other, he helped the children +plentifully, twinkling his eyes at them. He was a delicious old +fellow; as good in his way as the jams. + +“And won't thee have some-in a sasser?” he inquired tenderly of +Carrie, “and set up and feed thyself? Thee ought to give thy grandame +a chance to eat her bite--don't thee be a selfish little dear.” + +“I want my mamma,” responded Carrie, at once taking this twinkle-eyed +childless father into her confidence. “I'm waiting for my mamma. When +she comes she'll give me my supper and put me to bed.” + +“Thee's a big enough girl to wait ort thyself,” said the Quaker, not +understanding the signs his wife made to him. + +“She doesn't live at your house,” pursued the child. “She lives at +papa's house.” + +“Where is papa's house?” inquired the lawyer helping himself to +bread as if that were the chief object of his thoughts. + +“It's away off. Away over the woods.” + +“And what's papa's name?” + +Carrie appeared to consider the questioner rather than the question, +and for some unexpressed reason, remained silent. + +“Mother,” said the Quaker from the abundant goodness of his heart, +“doesn't thee mind that damson p'serve thee never let's me have +unless I take the ag'y and shake for it? Some of that would limber a +little girl's tongue, doesn't thee think?” + +“It's in the far pantry on a high shelf,” said the woman of the +house, demurring slightly. + +“I can reach it down.” + +“No, I'll bring it myself. The jars are too crowded on that shelf +for a man's hands to be turned loose among 'em.” + +The Quaker smiled, sparkling considerably under his gray eyebrows +while his wife took another light and went after the damson +preserve. She had been gone but a moment when knocking began at the +front door, and the Quaker rose at once from his place to answer it. + +[Illustration: “COME TO MAMMA.”] + +Robert Day and Corinne looked at each other in apprehension. They +pictured a fearful procession coming in. Even their guardian gave an +anxious start. She parted her lips to beg the Quaker not to admit any +one, but the request was absurd. + +Their innocent host piloted straight to the dining-room a woman whom +Robert and Corinne knew directly. They had seen her in the show, and +recalled her appearance many a time afterwards when speculating about +Carrie's parents. + +“Here you are!” she exclaimed to the child in a high key. “My poor +little pet! Come to mamma!” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. FAIRY CARRIE DEPARTS. + + +Neither William Sebastian, the Quaker landlord, nor his wife, +returning with the damson preserves in her hand--not even Grandma +Padgett and her family, looked at Fairy Carrie more anxiously than +the lawyer. + +“Is this your mother, Sissy?” inquired Grandma Padgett. + +“No,” replied the child; A blank, stupid expression replacing her +excitement. “Yes. Mamma?” + +The woman sat down and took Carrie upon her lap, twisting her curls +and caressing her. + +“Where have you been, frightening us all to death!” she exclaimed. +“The child is sick; she must have some drugs to quiet her.” + +“She's just come out of a spasm,” said Grandma Padgett distantly. +“Seems as if a young man scared her.” + +“Yes; that was Jarvey,” said the woman. “'E found her here. Carrie +was always afraid of Jarvey after he-tried to teach her wire-walking, +and let her fall. Jarvey would've fetched her right away with him, +But 'e knows I don't like to 'ave 'im meddle with her now.” + +“She says her name's Rose,” observed the wife of William Sebastian, +taking no care to veil her suspicion. + +“'Tis Rose,” replied the woman indifferently, passing her hand in +repeated strokes down the child's face as it was pressed to her +shoulder. “The h'other's professional--Fairy Carrie. We started +'igher. I never expected to come down with my child to such a +miserable little combination. But we've 'ad misfortunes. Her father +died coming over. We're English. We 'ad good engagements in the +Provinces, and sometimes played in London. The manager as fetched us +over, failed to keep his promises, and I had no friends 'ere. I had +to do what I could.” + +An actual resemblance to Carrie appeared in the woman's face. She +wiped tears from, the dark rings under her eyes. + +William Sebastian's wife rested her knuckles on the table, still +regarding Carrie's mother with perplexed distrust. + +While returning none of the caresses she received, the child lay +quite docile and submissive. + +“Well,” said Grandma Padgett, still distantly “folks bring up their +children different. There's gypsies always live in tents, and I +suppose show-people always expect to travel with shows. I don't know +anything about it. But I do know when that child came to me she'd +been dosed nearly to death with laudanum, or some sleepin' drug, and +didn't really come to her senses till after her spasm.” + +The woman cast a piteous expression at her judge. + +“She's so nervous, poor pet! Perhaps I'm in the 'abit of giving her +too much. But she lives in terror of the company we 'ave to associate +with, and I can't see her nerves be racked.” + +“Thee ought to stop such wrong doings,” pronounced William +Sebastian, laying his palm decidedly on the table. “Set theeself to +some honest work and put the child to school. Her face is a rebuke to +us that likes to feel at peace.” + +The woman glanced resentfully at him. + +“The child is gifted,” she maintained. “I'm going to make a hartist +of her.” + +She smoothed Carrie's wan hands, and, as if noticing her borrowed +clothing for the first time, looked about the room for the tinsel and +gauze. + +[Illustration: THE CHILD LAY QUITE DOCILE AND SUBMISSIVE.] + +“The things she had on her when she come to us,” said Grandma +Padgett, “were literally gone to nothing. The children had run so far +and rubbed over fences and sat in the grass. I didn't even think it +was worth while to save the pieces; and I put my least one's clothes +on her for some kind of a covering. + +“It was her concert dress,” said the woman, regarding aunt Corinne's +pantalets with some contempt. “I suppose I hought to thank you, but +since she was hinticed away, I can't. When one 'as her feelings +'arrowed up for nearly a week as mine have been 'arrowed, one can't +feel thankful. I will send these 'ere things back by Jarvey. Well, +ladies and gentlemen, let me bid you good evening. The performance +'as already begun and we professionals cannot shirk business.” + +“You give an exhibition in Greenfield to-night, do you?” inquired +the lawyer. + +“Yes, sir,” replied the woman, standing with Carrie in arms. She had +some difficulty in getting at her pocket, but threw him a handbill. + +Then passing out through the hall, she shut the front door behind her. + +There were two other front doors to the house, though only the +central one was in constant use, being left open in the summer +weather, excepting on occasions such as the present, when William +Sebastian's wife thought it should be locked. One of the other front +doors opened into the sitting-room, but was barred with a tall +bureau. The third let into a square room devoted to the lumber +accumulations of the house. A bar and shelves for decanters remained +there, but these William Sebastian had never permitted to be used +since his name was painted on the sign. + +Mrs. Sebastian felt a desire to confuse the outgoing woman by the +three doors and imprison her in the old store room. + +“I don't think the child's hers,” exclaimed Mrs. Sebastian. + +“Thee isn't Solomon,” observed the Quaker, twinkling at his wife. +“Thee cannot judge who the true mother may be.” + +“She shouldn't got in here if I'd had the keeping of the door,” + continued Mrs. Sebastian. “I may not be Solomon, but I think I could +keep the varmints out of my own chicken house.” + +Grandma Padgett set her glasses in a perplexed stare at the door. + +“She didn't let us say good-by to Fairy Carrie,” exclaimed aunt +Corinne indignantly, “and kept her face hid away all the time so she +couldn't look at us. I'd hate to have such a ma!” + +“She'll whip the poor little thing for running off with us, when she +gets her away,” said Robert Day, listening for doleful sounds. + +“Well, what does thee think of this business?” inquired William +Sebastian of the lawyer who was busying himself drawing squares on +the tablecloth with a steel fork. “It ought to come in thy line. Thee +deals with criminals and knows the deceitfulness of our human hearts. +What does thee say to the woman?” + +The lawyer smiled as he laid down his fork, and barely mentioned the +conflicting facts: + +“She took considerable pains to tell something about herself: more +than was necessary. But if they kidnapped the child, they are +dangerously bold and confident in exhibiting and claiming her.” + + + + +CHAPTER XX. SUNDAY ON THE ROAD. + + +Aunt Corinne occupied with her mother a huge apartment over the +sitting-room, in which was duplicated the fireplace below. At this +season the fireplace was closed with a black board on which paraded +balloon-skirted women cut out of fashion plates. + +The chimneys were built in two huge stacks at the gable-ends of the +house, outside the weather boarding: a plan the architects of this +day utterly condemn. The outside chimney was, however, as far beyond +the stick-and-clay stacks of the cabin, as our fire-stone flues are +now beyond it. This house with log steps no longer stands as an old +landmark by the 'pike side in Greenfield. But on that June morning it +looked very pleasant, and the locust-trees in front of it made the +air heavy with perfume. There is no flower like the locust for +feeding honey to the sense of smell. Half the bees from William +Sebastian's hives were buzzing overhead, when Bobaday and aunt +Corinne sat down by Zene on the log steps to unload their troubles. +All three were in their Sunday clothes. Zene had even greased his +boots, and looked with satisfaction on the moist surfaces which he +stretched forth to dry in the sun. + +He had not seen Carrie borne away, but he had been to the show +afterwards, and heard her sing one of her songs. He told the children +she acted like she never see a thing before her, and would go dead +asleep if they didn't stick pins in her like they did in a woman he +seen walkin' for money once. Robert was fain to wander aside on the +subject of this walking woman, but aunt Corinne kept to Fairy Carrie, +and made Zene tell every scrap of information he had about her. + +“After I rubbed the horses this mornin',” he proceeded, “I took a +stroll around the burg, and their tent and wagon's gone!” + +“Gone!” exclaimed aunt Corinne. “Clear out of town?” + +Zene said he allowed so. He could show the children where the tent +and wagon stood, and it was bare ground now. He had also discovered +the time-honored circus-ring, where every summer the tinseled host +rode and tumbled. But under the circumstances, a circus-ring had no +charms. + +“Then they've got her,” said Bobaday. “We'll never see the pretty +little thing again. If I'd been a man I wouldn't let that woman have +her, like Grandma Padgett did. Grown folks are so funny. I did wish +some grand people would come in the night and say she was their +child, and make the show give her up.” + +Aunt Corinne arose to fly to her mother and Mrs. Sebastian with the +news. But the central door opening on the instant and Mrs. Sebastian, +her husband and guest coming out, aunt Corinne had not far to fly. + +“The woman is a stealer,” she added to her breathless recital. “She +didn't even send my things back.” + +“She's welcome to them,” said Grandma Padgett, shaking her head, +“but I feel for that child, whether the rightful owners has her or +not.” + +“This is Lord's Day,” said William Sebastian to the children, “along +the whole length of the pike, and across the whole breadth of the +country. Thy little friend will get her First Day blessing.” + +He wore a gray hat, half-high in the crown, and a gray coat which +flapped his calves when he walked. His trousers were of a cut which +reached nearly to his armpits, but this fact was kept from the public +by a vest crawling well toward his knees. Yet he looked beautifully +tidy and well-dressed. His wife, who was not a Quaker, had by no +means such an air of simple grandeur. + +Grandma Padgett and aunt Corinne, somewhat reluctantly followed by +Zene, were going to the Methodist church. Already its bell was +filling the air. But Robert hung back and asked if he might not go to +Quaker meeting. + +“Thee couldn't sit and meditate,” said William Sebastian. + +Bobaday assured William Sebastian he could sit very still, and he +always meditated. When he ran after his grandmother to get her +consent, it occurred to him to find out from Zene how the pig-headed +man was, and if he looked as ugly as ever. But aunt Corinne scorned +the question, and quite flew af him for asking it. + +The Methodist services Robert knew by heart: the open windows, the +high pulpit where the preacher silently knelt first thing, hymn books +rustling cheerfully, the hymn given out two lines at a time to be +sung by the congregation, then the kneeling of everybody and the +prayer, more singing, and the sermon, perhaps followed by an +exhortation, when the preacher talked loud enough for the boys +sitting out on the fence to hear every word. Perhaps a few children +whispered, or a baby cried and its mother took it out. Everybody +seemed happy and astir. After church there was so much handshaking +that the house emptied very slowly. + +But on his return he described the Quaker meeting to aunt Corinne. + +“They all sat and sat,” said Bobaday. “It was a little bit of a +house and not half so many folks could get in it as sit in the +corners by the pulpit in Methodist meeting. And they sat and sat, and +nobody said a word or gave out a hymn. The women looked at the cracks +in the floor. You could hear everything outdoors. After a long time +they all got up and shook hands. Mrs. Sebastian said to Mr. Sebastian +when we came away, 'The spirit didn't appear to move anybody this +morning.' And he said, 'No: but it was a blessed meeting.'” + +“Didn't your legs cramp?” inquired aunt Corinne. + +“Yes; and my nose tickled and I wanted to sneeze.” + +“But you dursn't move your thumb even. That lawyer that ate supper +here last night would like such a meeting, wouldn't he?” + +The lawyer was coming up the log steps while Robert spoke of him. +And with him was a lady who looked agitated, and whom he had to assist. + +Robert and Corinne, at the open sitting-room window, looked at each +other with quick apprehension. + +“Aunt Krin, _that's_ her mother,” said aunt Krin's nephew. His +young relative grasped his arm and exclaimed in an awe-struck whisper: + +“Bobaday Padgett!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. HER MOTHER ARRIVES. + + +Both children regarded the strange lady with breathless interest +when the lawyer seated her in the room. They silently classed her +among the rich, handsome and powerful people of the earth. She had +what in later years they learned to call refinement, but at that date +they could give it no name except niceness. When Grandma Padgett and +the landlord's wife were summoned to the room, she grew even younger +and more elegant in appearance, though her face was anxious and her +eyes were darkened by crying. + +“This is Mrs. Tracy from Baltimore,” said the lawyer. “She was in +Chicago yesterday, and I telegraphed for her a half-hour or so before +the child was taken out of the house. She came as far as +Indianapolis, and found no Pan Handle train, this morning, so she was +obliged to get a carriage and drive over. Mrs. Sebastian, will you be +kind enough to set out something for her to eat as soon as you can? +She has not thought of eating since she started. And Mrs.--what did I +understand your name to be?” + +[Illustration: “THIS IS LORD'S DAY,” SAID WILLIAM SEBASTIAN.] + +“Padgett,” replied the children's guardian. + +“Yes; Mrs. Padgett. Mrs. Padgett, my client is hunting a lost child, +and hearing this little girl was with you some days, she would like +to make some inquiries.” + +“But the child's taken clear away!” exclaimed Grandma Padgett. + +“If you drove out from Injunop'lis,” said the Quaker's wife, “you +must have met the show-wagon on the 'pike.” + +“The show-wagon took to a by-road,” observed the lawyer. “We have +men tracking it now.” + +“I knew it wasn't right for them to carry off that child,” said the +Quaker's wife, “and if I'd tended the door they wouldn't carried her +off.” + +“It was best not to arouse their suspicions before she could be +identified,” said the lawyer. “It's easy enough to take her when we +know she is the child we want.” + +“Maybe so,” said the Quaker's wife. + +“Easy enough. The vagabonds can't put themselves beyond arrest +before we can reach them, and on the other hand, they could make a +case against us if we meddle with them unnecessarily. Since Mrs. +Tracy came West a couple of weeks ago, and since she engaged me in +her cause, we have had a dozen wrong parties drawn up for +examination; children of all ages and sizes.” + +“Did she,” inquired Mrs. Tracy, bringing her chair close to Grandma +Padgett and resting appealing eyes on the blue glasses, “have hair +that curled? Rather long hair for a child of her years.” + +“Yes'm,” replied Grandma Padgett with dignified tenderness. “Long +for a child about five or six, as I took her to be. But she was +babyish for all that.” + +“Yes--oh, yes!” said Mrs. Tracy. + +“And curly. How long since you lost her?” + +The lady from Baltimore sobbed on her handkerchief, but recovered +with a resolute effort, and replied: + +“It was nearly three months ago. She was on the street with her +nurse, and was taken away almost miraculously. We could not find a +trace. Her papa is dead, but I have always kept his memory alive to +her. My friends have helped me search, but it has seemed day after +day as if I could not bear the strain any longer.” + +Grandma Padgett took off her glasses and polished them. + +“I know how you feel,” she observed, glancing at Robert Day and +Corinne. “I had a scare at Richmond, in this State.” + +“Are these your children?” + +“My youngest and my grandson. It was their notion of running away +with the little girl, and their gettin' lost, that put me to such a +worry:” + +Mrs. Tracy extended her hands to Bobaday and aunt Corinne, drawing +one to each side of her, and made the most minute inquiries about +Fairy Carrie. She knew that the child had called herself Rose, and +that she had been in a partially stupified state during her stay with +the little caravan. But when Robert mentioned the dark circles in the +child's face, and her crying behind the tent, the lady turned white +and leaned back, closing her eyes and groping for a small yellow +bottle in her pocket. Having smelled of this, she recovered herself. + +But aunt Corinne, in spite of her passionate sympathy, could barely +keep from tittering at the latter action. Though the smelling bottle +was yellow, instead of a dull blue, like the one Ma Padgett kept in +the top bureau drawer at home, aunt Corinne recognized her enemy and +remembered the time she hunted out that treasure and took a long, +strong, tremendous snuff at it, expecting to revel in odors of +delight. Her head tingled again while she thought about it; she felt +a thousand needles running through her nose, and saw herself sitting +on the floor shedding tears. How anybody could sniff at a hartshorn +bottle and find it a consolation or restorative under any +circumstances, she could not understand. + +Mrs. Sebastian, in her First Day clothes, and unwilling to lose a +word of what was going on in the sitting-room, had left the early +dinner to her assistant. But she brought in a cup of strong tea, and +some cream toast, begging the bereaved mother to stay her stomach +with that until the meal's victuals was ready. Mrs. Tracy appeared to +have forgotten that her stomach needed staying, but she thanked the +landlady and drank the tea as if thirsty, between her further +inquiries about the child. + +“Are you not sure,” she asked the lawyer, “that we are on the right +track this time?” + +He said he was not sure, but indications were better than they had +been before. + +“I don't wish to reproach you,” said Mrs. Tracy, “but it is a +fearful thought to me, that they may be poisoning my child with +opiates again and injuring her perhaps for life. You might have +detained her.” + +“That's what I've said right along,” exclaimed Mrs. Sebastian. + +“But there was that woman who pretended to be her rightful mother,” + observed Grandma Padget, who, though not obliged to set up any +defence, wanted the case seen in all its bearings. “There _she_ +set, easy and deliberate, telling _her_ story, how the little +thing's father died comin' over the water, and how hard, it was for +her to do the right thing by the child. She maintained she only dosed +the child to keep her from sufferin'. I didn't believe her, but we +had nothing to set up against her.” + +Mrs. Tracy became as erect and fierce in aspect as such a delicate +creature could become. The long veil of crape which hung from her +bonnet and swept the floor, emphasizing the blackness of all her +other garments, trembled as she rose. + +“Why am I sitting here and waiting for anything, when that woman is +claiming my child for her own? The idea of anybody's daring to own my +child! It is more cruel than abuse. I never thought of their being +able to teach her to forget me--that they could confuse her mamma +with another person in her mind!” + +“You're tired out,” said the lawyer, “and matters are moving just as +rapidly as if you were chasing over all the roads in Hancock County. +You must quiet yourself, ma'am, or you'll break down.” + +Mrs. Tracy made apparent effort to quiet herself. She took hold of +Grandma Padgett's arm when they were called out to dinner. Robert +walked on the other side of her, having her hand on his shoulder and +aunt Corinne went behind, carrying the end of the crape veil as if +Fairy Carrie's real mother could thus receive support and consolation +through the back of the head. + +Nobody was more concerned about her trouble than William Sebastian. +And he remembered more tempting pickles and jellies than had ever +been on the table before at once. Yet the dinner was soon over. + +Grandma Padgett said she had intended to go a piece on the road that +afternoon anyhow, but she could not feel easy in her mind to go very +far until the child was found. Virginia folks and Marylanders were +the same as neighbors. If Mrs. Tracy would take a seat in the +carriage, they would make it their business to dally along the road +and meet the word the men out searching were to bring in. Mrs. Tracy +clung to Grandma Padgett's arm as if she knew what a stay the Ohio +neighbors had always found this vigorous old lady. The conveyance +which brought her from Indianapolis had been sent back. She was glad +to be with, the Padgetts. No railroad trains would pass through until +next day. William Sebastian helped her up the carriage steps, and +aunt Corinne set down reverently on the back seat beside her. Zene +was already rumbling ahead with the wagon. Mrs. Sebastian came down +the steps of log and put a hearty lunch in. It was particularly for +the child they hoped to find. + +[Illustration: MRS. TRACY MAKES INQUIRIES.] + +“Make her eat something,” she counselled the mother. “She hardly +tasted a bite of supper last night, and according to all accounts, +she ain't in hands that understands feedin' children now.” + +“The Lord prosper all thy undertakings,” said William Sebastian, +“and don't thee forget to let us know what hour we may begin to +rejoice with thee.” + +The lawyer touched his hat as Hickory and Henry stepped away on the +plank 'pike. He remained in Greenfield, and was to ride after them if +any news came in about Fairy Carrie. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. A COUNTRY SUNDAY-SCHOOL. + + +However we may spend our Sabbath, it is different from the other +days of the week. I have often thought the little creatures of field +and woods knew the difference. They run or sing with more gladness +and a less business-like air. The friskiest lambs, measuring strength +with each other by stiff-legged jumps, are followed by gentle bleats +from their mothers, and come back after a frolic to meditate and +switch their tails. The fleecy roll of a lamb's tail, and the dimples +which seem to dint its first coat, the pinkness of its nose, and the +drollery of its eye, are all worth watching under a cloudless Sunday +sky. + +As the carriage and wagon rolled along the 'pike, they met other +vehicles full of people driving for an outing, or going to afternoon +Sunday-school held in schoolhouses along the various by-roads. + +Mrs. Tracy leaned forward every time a buggy passed the wagon, and +scanned its occupants until they turned towards the right to pass +Grandma Padgett. + +The first messenger they met entered on the 'pike from a cross-road +some distance ahead of them, but was checked in his canter toward +Greenfield by Zene, who stopped the wagon for a parley. Mrs. Tracy +was half irritated by such officiousness, and Grandma Padgett herself +intended to call Zene to account, when he left the white and gray and +came limping to the carriage at the rider's side. However, the news +he helped to bring, and the interest he took in it, at once excused +him. This man, scouring the country north and south since early +morning, had heard nothing of the show-wagon. + +It might be somewhere in the woods, or jogging innocently along a +dirt road. It was no longer an object to the searchers. He believed +the woman and child had left it, intending to rejoin it at some +appointed place when all excitement was over. He said he thought he +had the very woman and child back here a piece, though they might +give him the slip before he could bring anybody to certainly identify +them. + +“My little one 'give me the slip'!” exclaimed Mrs. Tracy indignantly. + +The man said his meaning was, she might be slipped off by her keeper. + +“Where have you got them?” inquired Grandma Padgett. + +“He saw 'em goin' into Sunday-school, marm,” explained Zene. +“There's a meetin'-house over yonder three or four mile,” pointing +with his whip. + +“It's the unlikeliest place that ever was,” said the messenger, +polishing his horse's wet neck. “And I suppose that's what the woman +thought when she slipped in there. If I hadn't happened by in the +nick of time I wouldn't mistrusted. She didn't see me. She was goin' +up the steps, with her back to the road, and the meetin'-house sets a +considerable piece from the fence. They was all singin' loud enough +to drown a horse's feet in the dust.” + +“And both were like the descriptions you had?” said Mrs. Tracy. + +“So nigh like that I half-pulled up and had a notion to go in and +see for myself. Then, thinks I, you better wait and bring-the ones +that would know for sure. There ain't no harm in that.” + +Before the mother could speak again, Grandma Padgett told the man to +turn back and direct them, and Zene to fall behind the carriage with +his load. He could jog leisurely in the wake of the carriage, to +avoid getting separated from it: that would be all he need attempt. +She took up her whip to touch Hickory and Henry. + +After turning off on the by-road, Grandma Padgett heard Zene +leisurely jogging in the wake of the carriage, and remembered for a +moment, with dismay, the number of breakable things in his load. He +drove all the way to the meeting-house with the white and gray +constantly rearing their noses from contact with the hind carriage +curtains; up swells, when the road wound through stump-bordered +sward, and down into sudden gullies, when all his movables clanged +and rumbled, as if protesting against the unusual speed they had to +endure. Zene was as anxious to reach the meeting-house as the man who +cantered ahead. + +They drew up to where it basked on the rising ground, an old brown +frame with lichens crusting the roof. There were two front doors, a +flight of wooden steps leading up to each, and three high windows +along the visible side. All these stood open letting out a pleasant +hum, through which the cracked voice of an old man occasionally +broke. No hump of belfry stood upon its back. The afternoon sun was +the bell which called that neighborhood together for Sunday-school. +And this unconscious duty performed, the afternoon sun now brightened +the graves which crowded to the very fence, brought out the glint and +polish of the new marble headstones, or showed the grooved names in +the old and leaning slate ones. Some graves were enclosed by rails, +and others barely lifted their tops above the long grass. There were +baby-nests hollowing into the turf, and clay-colored piles set head +and foot with fresh boards. And on all these aunt Corinne looked with +an interest which graves never failed to rouse in her, no matter what +the occasion might be. + +[Illustration: THE FIRST MESSENGER.] + +The horses switched their tails along the outside of the fence. One +backed his vehicle as far as his hitching-strap would let him, +against the wheels of another's buggy, that other immediately +responding by a similar movement. Some of them turned their heads and +challenged Hickory and Henry and the saddle-horse with speaking +whinneys. “Whe-hee-hee-hee! You going to be tied up here for the +grass-flies to bite too? Where do you come from, and why don't you +kick your folks for going to afternoon meeting in hot June time?” + +The pilot of the caravan had helped take horse-thieves in his time, +and he considered this a similar excursion. He dismounted swiftly, +but with an air of caution, and as he let down the carriage steps, +said he thought they better surround the house. + +But Mrs. Tracy reached the ground as if she did not see him, and ran +through the open gate with her black draperies flowing in a rush +behind her. Robert Day and aunt Corinne were anxious to follow, and +the man tied Grandma Padgett's horses to a rail fence across the +road, while some protest was made among the fly-bitten row against +the white cover of Zene's moving-wagon. + +Although Bobaday felt excited and eager as he trotted up the grass +path after Mrs. Tracy, the spirit of the country Sunday-school came +out of doors to meet him. + +There were the class of old men and the class of old women in the +corner seats each side of the pulpit, and their lesson was in the Old +Testament. The young ladies listened to the instruction of the smart +young man of the neighborhood, and his sonorous words rolled against +the echoing walls. He usually taught the winter district and singing +schools. The young girl who did for summer schoolmiss, had a class of +rosebud children in the middle of the meetinghouse, and they crowded +to Her lap and crawled up on her shoulders, though their mothers, in +the mothers' class, shook warning heads at them. Scent of cloves, +roses and sweetbrier mingled with the woody smell of a building shut +close six days out of seven. Two rascals in the boys' class, who, +evading their teacher's count, had been down under the seats kicking +each other with stiff new shoes, emerged just as the librarian came +around with a pile of books, ready to fight good-naturedly over the +one with the brightest cover. The boy who got possession would never +read the book, but he could pull it out of his jacket pocket and +tantalize the other boy going home. + +The Sunday-school was a wholesome, happy place, even for these young +heathen who were enjoying their bodies too much to care particularly +about their souls. And when the superintendent stood up to rap the +school to order for the close of the session, and line out one of +Watts's sober hymns, there was a pleasant flutter of getting ready, +and the smart young man of the neighborhood took his tuning-fork from +his vest pocket to hit against his teeth so he could set the tune. He +wore a very short-tailed coat, and had his hair brushed up in a high +roach from his forehead, and these two facts conspired to give him a +brisk and wide awake appearance as he stepped into the aisle holding +a singing book in his hand. + +But no peaceful, long-drawn hymn floated through the windows and +wandered into the woods. The twang of the tuning-fork was drowned by +a succession of cries. The smart young man's eyebrows went up to meet +his roach while he stood in the aisle astonished to see a lady in +trailing black clothes pounce upon a child strange to the +neighborhood, and exclaim over, and cover it with kisses. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. FORWARD. + + +Some of the boys climbed upon seats to look, and there was +confusion. A baby or two in the mothers' class began to cry, but the +mothers themselves soon understood what was taking place, and forgot +the decorum of Sunday-school, to crowd up to Mrs. Tracy. + +“The child is hers,” one said to another. “It must have been lost. +Who brought it in here?” + +The fortunate messenger who had been successful in his undertaking, +talked in undertones to the superintendent, telling the whole story +with an air of playing the most important part in it. In return, the +superintendent mentioned the notice he had taken of those two +strangers, his attempt to induce the woman to go to the mothers' +class, her restlessness and the child's lassitude. + +The smart young man stood close by, receiving the correct version of +the affair, and holding his tuning-fork and book behind him; and all +the children, following their elders, flocked to seats around Mrs. +Tracy, gazing over one another's shoulders, until she looked up +abashed at the chaos her excitement had made. + +“It's really your child?” said Grandma Padgett, sitting down beside +the mother with a satisfied and benevolent expression. + +“Oh, indeed, yes! Don't you know mamma, darling?” + +For reply, the little girl was clinging mutely to her mother's neck. +Her curls were damp and her eyes very dark-ringed. But there was +recognition in her face very different from the puzzled and crouching +obedience she had yielded to the one who claimed her before. + +“They've been dosing her again,” pronounced Grandma Padgett severely. + +“And she's all beat out tramping, poor little thing!” said one of +the neighborhood mothers. “Look at them dusty feet!” + +Mrs. Tracy gathered the dusty feet into her lap and wiped them with +her lace handkerchief. + +Word went forth to the edge of the crowd that the little girl needed +water to revive her, and half a dozen boys raced to the nearest house +for a tin pailful. + +With love-feast tenderness the neighborhood mothers administered the +dripping cup to little Rose Tracy when the boys returned. Her face +and head were bathed, and hands and feet cooled. The old women all +prescribed for her, and her mother listened to everybody with +distended eyes, but fell into such frequent paroxysms of kissing her +little girl that some of the boys ducked their heads to chuckle. This +extravagant affection was more than they could endure. + +“But where's that woman?” inquired Robert Day. He stood up on the +seat behind his grandmother and Mrs. Tracy, and could see all over +the house, but his eyes roamed unsuccessfully after the English +player. The people having their interest diverted by that question, +turned their heads and began to ask each other where she was. Nobody +had noticed her leave the church, but it was a common thing to be +passing in and out during Sunday school. She had made her escape. +Half the assembly would have pursued her on the instant; she could +not be far away. But Mrs. Tracy begged them to let her go; she did +not want the woman, could not endure the sight of her, and never +wished to hear of her again. Whatever harm was done to her child, was +done. Her child was what she had come in search of, and she had it. + +So the group eager to track a kidnapper across fields and along +fence-corners, calmed their zeal and contented themselves with going +outdoors and betting on what direction the fugitive from punishment +had taken. + +Perhaps she had grown to love little Rose, and was punished in +having to give her up. In any case, the Pig-headed man and the +various people attached to his show, no more appeared on the track +followed by Grandma Padgett's caravan. Mrs. Tracy would not have him +sought out and arrested, and he only remained in the minds of Robert +and aunt Corinne as a type of monster. + +When they left the meeting-house, the weather had changed. People +dismissed from Sunday-school with scanter ceremony than usual, got +into their conveyances to hurry home, for thunder sounded in the +west, and the hot air was already cooled by a rush of wet fragrance +from the advancing rain. + +[Illustration: THEY BADE FAIRY CARRIE GOOD-BY.] + +It proved to be a quick shower, white and violent while it lasted, +making the fields smoke, and walling out distant views. Spouts of +water ran off the carriage top down the oil cloth apron which +protected Robert and his grandmother. Mrs. Tracy held her little girl +in her lap, and leaned back with an expression of perfect happiness. +The rain came just as her comfort had come, after so much parching +suspense. Aunt Corinne wondered in silence if anything could be nicer +than riding under a snug cover on which the sky-streams pelted, +through a wonderland of fragrance. Every grateful shrub and bit of +sod, the pawpaw leaves and spicewood stems, the half-formed hazel-nuts +in fluted sheaths, and even new hay-stacks in the meadows, breathed +out their best to the rain. The world never seems so fresh and lovable +as after a June shower. + +Presently the sun was shining, and the ground-incense steaming with +stronger sweetness, and they came to the wet 'pike stretching like a +russet-colored ribbon east and west, and turned west toward +Indianapolis. + +On the 'pike they met another of the men sent out by Mrs. Tracy and +the lawyer. His horse's coat was smoking. Mrs. Tracy took up a gold +pencil attached to her watch, and wrote a note to the lawyer. She was +going on to the city, and would return directly home with her child. +The note she sent by the men, after thanking them, and paying them in +what Robert and his aunt considered a prodigal and wealthy manner. + +So large a slice out of the afternoon had their trip to the meeting-house +taken, that it was quite dark when the party drove briskly into +Indianapolis. + +It was a little city at that date. Still, Bobaday felt exalted by +clanging car-bells and railroad crossings. It being Sunday evening, +the freights were making up. The main street, called Washington, was +but an extension of the 'pike, stretching broad and straight through +the city. He noticed houses with balconies, set back on sloping +lawns. Here a light disclosed a broad hall with dim stairs at the +back. And in another place children were playing under trees; he +could hear their calls, and by straining his eyes, barely discern +that they wore sumptuous white city raiment. The tide of home-makers +and beautifiers had not then rolled so far north of East Washington +street as to leave it a mere boundary line. + +Grandma Padgett and her party stopped at a tavern on Illinois +street. Late in the night they were to separate, Mrs. Tracy taking +the first train for Baltimore. So aunt Corinne and Robert, before +going to bed, bade good-by to the child who had scarcely been a +playmate to them, but more like a delicate plaything in whose +helplessness they had felt such interest. + +Rose, obeying her mamma, put her arms around their necks and kissed +them, telling them to come and see her at home. She looked brighter +than hitherto, and remembered a dollhouse and her birds at mamma's +house; yet, her long course of opiates left her little recognition of +the boy and girl she had so dimly seen. + +Her mamma hugged them warmly, and Bobaday endured his share of the +hugging with a very good grace, though he was so old. Then it seemed +but a breath until morning, and but another breath until they were +under way, the wagon creaking along the dewy 'pike ahead of them, an +opal clearness growing through the morning twilight, and no Fairy +Carrie asleep, like some tiny enchanted princess, on the back seat. + +“The rest of the way,” observed Robert Day to his aunt, “there won't +be anything happening--you see if there will. Zene says we're half +across the State now. And I know we'll never see J. D. Matthews +again. And nobody will be lost and have to be found, and there's no +tellin' where that great big crowd Jonathan and his folks moved with, +are.” + +“I feel lonesome,” observed aunt Corinne somewhat pensively. “When +Mrs. Tracy was sending back word to the Quaker tavern man, I wished +we's going back to stay awhile longer. Some places are so nice!” + +“Now it's a pretty thing for you to begin at your time of life,” + said Grandma Padgett, “to set your faces backward and wish for what's +behind. That's a silly notion. Folks that encourage themselves in +doin' it don't show sound sense. The One that made us knew better +than to let us stand still in our experience, and I've always found +them that go forward cheerfully will pretty generally keep the land +of Beulah right around them. Git up, Hickory!” + +Thus admonished, the children entered the lone bridge over White +River, or that branch of White River on which Indianapolis is +situated. The stream, seen between chinks in the floor, appeared +deep, but not particularly limpid. How the horses' feet thundered on +the boards, and how long they trod before the little star at the +other end grew to an opening quite large enough to let any vehicle +out of the bridge! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. THE TOLL-WOMAN. + + +Still, as crossing the Sciota at Columbus, had been entering a land +of adventure, crossing the White River at Indianapolis, seemed at +first entering a land of commonplace. + +The children were very tired of the wagon. Even aunt Corinne got +permission to ride stretches of the road with Robert Day and Zene in +the wagon. It gave out a different creak and jolted her until she was +grateful for springs and cushions when obliged to go back to them. +The landscape was still hazy, the woods grew more beautiful. But +neither of the children cared for the little towns along the route: +Bellville, Stilesville, Meridian, Manhattan, Pleasant Garden. Hills +appeared and ledges of rock cropped out in them. Yet even hills may +be observed with indifference by eyes weary of an endless panorama. + +They drove more rapidly now to make up for lost time. Both children +dived into the carriage pockets for amusement, and aunt Corinne +dressed her rag doll a number of times each day. They talked of Rose +Tracy, still calling her Fairy Carrie. Of the wonderful clothes her +mother laid out to put upon her the night of her departure, in place +of aunt Corinne's over-grown things, and the show woman's tawdry +additions. They wondered about her home and the colored people who +waited on her, and if she would be quite well and cured of her stupor +by the time she reached Baltimore. Grandma Padgett told them +Baltimore was an old city down in Maryland, and the National 'Pike +started in its main street. From Baltimore over the mountains to +Wheeling, in the Pan Handle of Virginia, was a grand route. There +used to be a great deal of wagoning and stage-coaching, and driving +droves of horses and cattle by that road. Perhaps, suggested aunt +Corinne, Fairy Carrie would watch the 'pike for the Padgett family, +but Bobaday ridiculed the idea. When he grew up a man he meant to go +to Baltimore but the railroad would be his choice of routes. + +Both Robert and his aunt were glad the day they stopped for dinner +near a toll-house, and the woman came and invited them to dine with +her. + +The house stood on the edge of the 'pike, with its gate-pole ready +to be lowered by a rope, looking like any other toll place. But the +woman was very brisk and Yankee-like, and different from the many +slatternly persons who had before taken toll. She said her people +came from “down East,” but she herself was born in Ohio. She thought +the old lady would like a cup of strong tea, and her dinner was just +ready, and it did get lonesome eating by a body's self day after day. + +The Padgetts added their store to the square table set in a back +room, and the toll-woman poured her steaming tea into cups covered +with flower sprigs. Everything about her was neat and compact as a +ship's cabin. Her bed stood in one corner, curtained with white +dimity. There were two rooms to the toll-house, the front one being a +kind of shop containing a counter, candy jars set in the windows, +shoestrings and boxes of thread on shelves, and a codfish or two +sprawled upon nails and covered with netting. From the back door you +could descend into a garden, and at the end of the garden was a pig-sty, +occupied by a white pig almost as tidy and precise as his owner. In +the toll-woman's living room there was a cupboard fringed with tissue +paper, a rocking-chair cushioned in red calico, curtains to match, a +cooking-stove so small it seemed made for a play-thing, and yellow +chairs having gold-leaf ornaments on their backs. She herself was a +straight, flat woman, looking much broader in a front or back view +than when she stood sidewise toward you. Her face was very good-natured. +Altogether she seemed just the ready and capable wife for whom the +man went to London after the rats and the mice led him such a life. +Though in her case it is probable the wheelbarrow would not have +broken, nor would any other mishap have marred the journey. + +“You don't live here by yourself, do you?” inquired Grandma Padgett +as the tea and the meal in common warmed an acquaintance which the +fact of their being from one State had readily begun. + +“Since father died I have,” replied the toll-woman. “Father moved in +here when about everything else failed him, and he'd lost ambition, +and laws! now I am used to it. I might gone back to Ohio, but when +you fit me into a place I never want to pull up out of it.” + +“And don't you ever get afraid, nights or any time, without men +folks about?” + +“Before I got used to being alone, I did. And there's reason yet +every little while. But I only got one bad scare.” + +A wagon paused at the front door, so near the horses might have put +their heads in and sniffed up the merchandise, and the woman went to +take toll, before telling about her bad scare. + +“How do you manage in the nights?” inquired her guest. + +“That's bad about fair-times, when the wild young men get to racin' +late along. The pole's been cut when I tied it down, and sometimes +they've tried to jump it. But generally the travellers are peaceable +enough. I've got a box in the front door like a letter-box, with a +slit outside for them to drop change into, and the pole rope pulls +down through the window-frame. There ain't so much travel by night as +there used to be, and a body learns to be wakeful anyhow if they've +ever had the care of sick old people.” + +“You didn't say how you got scared,” remarked aunt Corinne, sitting +straight in one of the yellow chairs to impress upon her mind the +image of this heroine of the road. + +“Well, it was robbers,” confessed the toll-woman, “breakin' into the +house, that scared me.” + +Robbers! Aunt Corinne's nephew mentally saw a cavern in one of the +neighboring hills, and men in scarlet cloaks and feathers lurking +among the bushes. If there is any word sweeter to the young male ear +than Indian or Tagger, it is robbers. + +“Are there many robbers around here?” he inquired, fixing intent +eyes on the toll-woman. + +“There used to be plenty of horse-thieves, and is, yet,” she replied. +“They've come huntin' them from away over in Illinois. I remember that +year the milk-sick was so bad there was more horse-thieves than we've +ever heard of since.” + +“But they ain't true robbers, are they?” said aunt Corinne's nephew +in some disgust, his scarlet bandits paling. + +“Not the kind that come tryin' the house when I got scared,” + admitted the toll-woman. + +“And did they get in?” exclaimed Robert Day's aunt. + +“I don't like to think about it yet,” remarked the toll-woman, +cooling her tea and intent on enjoying her own story. “'Twasn't so +very long ago, either. First comes word from this direction that a +toll-gate keeper and his wife was tied and robbed at the dead o' +night. And then comes word from the other direction of an old man +bein' knocked on the head when he opened his door. It wouldn't seem +to you there'd be enough money at a toll-gate to make it an object,” + said the woman, looking at Zene's cross eyes with unconcealed +disfavor. “But folks of that kind don't want much of an object.” + +“They love to rob,” suggested Bobaday, enjoying himself. + +“They're a desp'rate, evil set,” said the toll-woman sternly. “Why, +I could tell things that would make your hair all stand on end, about +robberies I've known.” + +Aunt Corinne felt a warning stir in her scalp-lock. But her nephew began +to desire permanent encampment in the neighborhood of this toll-gate. +Robber-stories which his grandmother not only allowed recited, but +drank in with her tea, were luxuries of the road not to be left behind. + +“Tell some of them,” he urged. + +“I'll tell you about their comin' _here_,” said the toll-woman. +“'Twas soon after father's death. They must known there was a lone +woman here, and calculated on findin' it an easy job. He'd kept me +awake a good deal, for father suffered constant in his last sickness, +and though I was done out, I still had the habit of wakin' regular at +his medicine-hours. The time was along in the fall, and there was a +high wind that night. Fair time, too, so there was more travel on the +'pike of people comin' and goin' to the Fair and from it, in one day, +than in a whole week ordinary times.” + +[Illustration: THE TOLL-WOMAN.] + +“I opened my eyes just as the clock struck two and seemed like I +heard something at the front door. I listened and listened. It wasn't +the wind singin' along the telegraph wires as it does when there's a +strong draught east and west. And it wasn't anybody tryin' to wake me +up. Some of our farmers that buys stock and has to be out early and +late in a droviete way, often tells me beforehand what time o' night +they'll be likely to come by, and I set the pole so it'll be easy for +them that knows how to tip up. Then they put their money in the box, +and tip the pole back after they drive through, to save wakin' me, +for the neighbors are real accommodating and they knew father took a +heap of care. But the noise I heard wasn't anybody droppin' coppers +in the box, nor raisin' or lowerin' the pole. The rope rasps against +the hole when the gate goes up or down. It was just like a lock was +bein' picked, or a rattly old window bein' slid up by inches. + +“I mistrusted right away. It wouldn't do any good for me to holler. +The nearest neighbor was two miles off. I hadn't any gun, and never +shot off a gun in my life. I would hate to hurt a human bein' that +way. Still, I was excited and afraid of gettin' killed myself; so if +I'd _had_ a gun I _might_ have shot it off, for by the time +I got my dress and stockin's on, that window was up, and somethin' +was in that front room. I could hear him step, still as a cat. + +“I thought about the toll-money. Everybody knew the box's inside the +door, so I was far from leavin' it there till the collector came. I +always took the money out and tied it in a canvas sack and hid it. A +body would never think of lookin' where I hid that money.” + +“Where did you hide it?” inquired aunt Corinne. + +The toll-woman rose up and went to collect from a carriage at the +door. The merry face of a girl in the carriage peeped through the +house, and some pleasant jokes were exchanged. + +“That's the daughter of the biggest stock man around here,” said the +toll-woman, returning, and passing over aunt Corinne's question. “She +goes to college, but it don't make a simpleton of _her_. She always +has a smile and a pleasant word. Her folks are real good friends of +mine. They knew our folks in Ohio.” + +“And did he come right in and grab you?” urged Bobaday, keeping to +the main narrative. + +“I was that scared for a minute,” resumed the toll-woman, “that I +hadn't any strength. The middle door never is locked. I leave it on +the latch like, so I can hear wheels better. What to do I didn't +know, but a body thinks fast at such times. First thing I knew I was +on the back doorstep, hookin' the door on the outside. Then a gust of +wind like, came around the corner of the house, and voices came with +it, and I felt sure there were more men waitin' there to ketch me, if +I tried to run.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. ROBBERS. + + +It was a light night, but the new moon looked just like it was +blowed through the sky by the high wind. I noticed that, because I +remembered it afterwards. + +“Now I was outside, I didn't know which way to turn. If I run to +either side, there were the men, and if I took toward the pig-pen +they'd see me. And they'd be comin' around and 'd ketch me where I +was.” + +“What did you do?” exclaimed aunt Corinne, preserving a rigid +attitude. + +The toll-woman laughed cheerfully as she poured out more tea for +herself, Grandma Padgett having waved back the teapot spout. + +“I took the only chance I saw and jumped for that there cave.” + +Both Robert and his aunt arose from their chairs to look out of the +back door. + +The cave was a structure which I believe is peculiar to the West, +being in reality a kind of dug-out. It flourished before people built +substantial houses with cellars under them, and held the same +relation to the family's summer economy as the potato, apple, and +turnip holes did to its winter comfort. Milk, butter, perishable +fruit, lard, meats, and even preserves were kept in the cave. It was +intended for summer coolness and winter warmth. To make a cave, you +lifted the sod and dug out a foot of earth. The bottom was covered +with straw. Over this you made boards meet and brace each other with +the slope of the roof. The ends were boarded up, leaving room for a +door, and the whole outside sodded thickly, so that a cave looked +like a sharp-printed bulge in the sward, excepting at that end where +the heavy padlocked door closed it. It was a temptation to bad boys +and active girls; they always wanted to run over it and hear the +hollow sound of the boards under their feet. I once saw a cave break +through and swallow one out of such a galloping troup, to his great +dismay, for he was running over an imaginary volcano, and when he sat +down to his shoulders in an apple-butter jar, the hot lava seemed +ready made to his hand. + +From the toll-woman's cave-roof, spikes of yellow mustard were +shooting up into the air. The door looked as stout as the opening to +a bank vault, though this comparison did not occur to the children, +and was secure with staple and padlock and three huge hinges. +Evidently, no mischievous feet had cantered over the ridge of this +cave. + +It stood a few yards from the back door. + +“I had the key in my pocket,” said the toll-woman, “and ever since +then I've never carried it anywhere else. I clapped, it into the +padlock and turned, but just as I pulled the door I heard feet comin' +around the house full drive. Instead of jumpin' into the cave I +jumped behind it. I thought they had me, but I wasn't goin' to be +crunched to death in a hole, like a mouse. My stocking-feet slipped, +and I came down flat, but right where the shadow of the house and the +shadow of the cave fell all over me. If I hadn't slipped I'd been +runnin' across that field, and they'd seen me sure. Folks around here +made a good deal of fuss over the way things turned out, but I don't, +take any more credit than's my due, so I say it just happened that I +didn't try to run further. + +“The two men outside unlocked the back door and the one inside came +on to the step. + +“'There's nothin' in the box and nobody in here,' says he. 'She's +jumped out o' bed and run and carried the cash with her.' + +“'Did you look under the bed?' says one of the outsiders. And he ran +and looked himself; anyway, he went in the house and came out again. +I was glad I hadn't got under the bed. + +“'This job has to be done quick,' says the first one. 'And the best +way is to ketch the woman and make her give up or tell where the +stuff is hid. She ain't got far, because I heard her open this door.' + +“Then they must have seen the cave door stannin' open. I heard them +say something about 'cave,' and come runnin' up. + +“'Hold on,' says one, and he fires a pistol-shot right into the +cave. I was down with my mouth to the ground, flat as I could lay, +but the sound of a gun always made me holler out, and holler I did as +the ball seemed to come thud! right at me; but it stuck in the back +of the cave. + +“'All right. Here she is!' says the foremost man, and in they all +went. I heard them stumble as they stepped down, and one began to +blame the others for crowdin' after him when they ought to stopped at +the mouth to ketch me if I slipped through his fingers. + +“I don't know to this hour how I did it,” exclaimed the toll-woman, +fanning herself, “nor when I thought of it. But the first thing I +felt sure of I had that door slammed to, and the key turned in the +padlock, and them three robbers was ketched like mice in a trap, +instead of it's bein' me!” + +Robert Day gave a chuckle of satisfaction, but aunt Corinne braced +herself against the door-frame and gazed upon the magic cave with +still wider eyes. + +“Did they yell?” inquired Bobaday. + +“It ain't fit to tell,” resumed the toll-woman, “what awful language +them men used; and they kicked the door and the boards until I +thought break through they would if they had to heave the whole +weight, of dirt and sod out of the top. Then I heard somebody comin' +along the 'pike, and for a minute I felt real discouraged; for, +thinks I, if there's more engaged to help them, what's a poor body to +do? + +“But 'twas a couple of stock-men, riding home, and they stopped at +the gate, and I run through the open house to tell my story, and it +didn't take long for them with pistols in their pockets and big black +whips loaded with lead in the handles, to get the fellows out and tie +'em up firm. I hunted all the new rope in the house, and they took +the firearms away from the robbers, and drove 'em off to jail, and +the robbers turned out to be three of the most desp'rate characters +in the State, and they're in prison now for a long term of years.” + +“What did you do the rest of the night?” inquired Grandma Padgett. + +“O, I locked everything tight again, and laid down till daylight,” + replied the toll-woman, with somewhat boastful indifference. “Folks +haven't got done talkin' yet about that little jail in my back yard,” + she added, laughing. “They came from miles around to look into it and +see where the men pretty nigh kicked the boards loose.” + +This narrative was turned over and over by the children after they +resumed their journey, and the toll-woman and her cave had faded out +in distance. If they saw a deserted cabin among the hollows of the +woods, it became the meeting place of robbers. Now that aunt +Corinne's nephew turned his mind to the subject, he began to think +the whole expedition out West would be a failure--an experience not +worth alluding to in future times--unless the family were well robbed +on the way. Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen, in the great overland colony, +would have Indians to shudder at, a desert and mountains to cross, +besides the tremendous Mississippi River. Robert would hate to meet +Jonathan in coming days--and he had a boy's faith that he should be +constantly repassing old acquaintances in this world--and have no +peril to put in the balance against Jonathan's adventures. Of course +he wanted to come out on the right side of the peril, it does not +tell well otherwise. + +But while aunt Corinne's mind ran as constantly on robbers, they had +no charms for her. She did not want to be robbed, and was glad her +lines had not fallen in the lonely toll-house. Being robbed appeared +to her like the measles, mumps, or whooping-cough; more interesting +in a neighboring family than in your own. She would avoid it if +possible, yet the conviction grew upon her that it was not to be +escaped. The strange passers-by who once pleasantly varied the road, +now became objects of dread. Though Zene got past them in safety, and +though they gave the carriage a wide road, aunt Corinne never failed +to turn and watch them to a safe distance, lest they should make a +treacherous charge in the rear. + +Had they been riding through some dismal swamp, the landscape's +influence would have accounted for all these terrors. But it was the +pretty region of Western Indiana, containing hills and bird-songs +enough to swallow up a thousand stories of toll-gate robberies in +happy sight and sound. + +Grandma Padgett, indeed, soon put her ban upon the subject of caves +and night-attacks. But she could not prevent the children thinking. +Nor was she able to drive the carriage and at the same time sit in +the wagon when they rode with Zene and stop the flow of recollection +to which they stimulated him. While sward, sky, and trees became +violet-tinted to her through her glasses, and she calmly meditated +and chewed a bit of calamus or a fennel seed, Bobaday and aunt +Corinne huddled at the wagon's mouth, and Zene indulgently harrowed +up their souls with what he heard from a gentleman who had been in +the Mexican war. + +“The very gentleman used to visit at your grand-marm's house,” said +Zene to Robert, “and your marm always said he was much of a +gentleman,” added Zene to aunt Corinne. “Down in the Mexican country +when they didn't fight they stayed in camp, and sometimes they'd go +out and hunt. Man that'd been huntin', come runnin' in one day scared +nigh to death. He said he'd seen the old Bad Man. So this gentleman +and some more of the fine officers, they went to take a look for +themselves. They hunted around a good spell. Most of them gave it up +and went back: all but four. The four got right up to him.” + +“O don't, Zene!” begged aunt Corinne, feeling that she could not +bear the description. + +But to Robert Day's mind arose the picture of Apollyon, in _Pilgrim's +Progress_, and he uttered something like a snort of enjoyment, saying: + +“Go on, Zene.” + +[Illustration: ZENE'S WILD MAN.] + +“I guess it was a crazy darkey or Mexican,” Zene was careful to +explain. “He was covered with oxhide all over, so he looked red and +white hairy, and the horns and ears were on his head. He had a long +knife, and cut weeds and bark, and muttered and chuckled to himself. +He was ugly,” acknowledged Zene. “The gentleman said he never saw +anything better calkilated to look scary, and the four men followed +him to his den. They wouldn't shoot him, but they wanted to see what +he was, and he never mistrusted. After a long round-about, they +watched him crawl on all-fours into a hole in a hill, and round the +mouth of the hole he'd built up a tunnel of bones. The bones smelt +awful,” said Zene. “And he crawled in with his weeds and bark in his +hand, and they didn't see any more of him. That's a true story,” + vouched Zene, snapping his whip-lash at Johnson, “but your grandmarm +wouldn't like for me to tell it to you. Such things ain't fit for +children to hear.” + +Robert Day felt glad that Zene's qualms of repentance always came +after the offence instead of before, and in time to prevent the +forbidden tale. + +Yet, having made such ardent preparation for robbers, and tuned +their minds to the subject by every possible influence, the children +found they were approaching the last large town on the journey +without encountering any. + +This was Terre Haute. One farmer on the road, being asked the distance, +said, it was so many miles to Tarry Hoot. Another, a little later met, +pronounced the place Turry Hut; and a very trim, smooth-looking man +whom Zene classed as a banker or judge, called it Tare Hote. So the +inhabitants and neighbors of Terra Haute were not at all unanimous in +the sound they gave her French name; nor are they so to this day. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. THE FAIR AND THE FIERCE BANDIT. + + +At Terra Haute, where they halted for the night, Robert Day was made +to feel the only sting which the caravan mode of removal ever caused +him. + +The tavern shone resplendent with lights. When Grandma Padgett's +party went by the double doors of the dining-room, to ascend the +stairs, they glanced into what appeared a bower or a bazaar of +wonderful sights. They had supper in a temporary eating-room, and the +waiter said there was a fair in the house. Not an agricultural +display, but something got up by a ladies' sewing-society to raise +money for poor people. + +Now Robert Day and Corinne knew all about an agricultural display. +They had been to the State Fair at Columbus, and seen cattle standing +in long lines of booths, quilts, and plows, and chickens, pies, +bread, and fancy knitting, horses, cake stands, and crowds of people. +They considered it the finest sight in the world, except, perhaps, a +fabulous crystal palace which was or had been somewhere a great ways +off, and which everybody talked about a great deal, and some folks +had pictured on their window blinds. But a fair got up by a ladies' +sewing-society to raise money for the poor, was so entirely new and +tantalizing to them that they begged their guardian to take them in. + +Grandma Padgett said she had no money to spare for foolishness, and +her expenses during the trip footed up to a high figure. Neither +could she undertake to have the trunks in from the wagon and get out +their Sunday clothes. But in the end, as both children were neatly +dressed, and the fair was to help the poor, she gave them a five-cent +piece each, over and above admission money, which was a fip'ney-bit, +for children, the waiter said. Zene concluded he would black his +boots and look into the fair awhile also, and as he could keep a +protecting eye on her young family, and had authority to send them +up-stairs in one hour and a half by the bar-room time, Grandma Padgett +went to bed. She was glad the journey was so nearly over, for every +night found her quite tired out. + +Zene, magnifying his own importance and authority, ushered aunt +Corinne and Robert into the fair, and limped after them whenever he +thought they needed admonition or advice. The landlord's pert young +son noticed this and made his intimates laugh at it. Besides, he was +gorgeously attired in blue velvet jacket and ruffles and white +trousers, and among the crowds of grown people coming and going, +other children shone in resplendent attire. Aunt Corinne felt the +commonness of her calico dress. She had a “white” herself, if Ma +Padgett had only let her put it on, but this could not be explained +to all the people at the fair. And there were so many things to look +at, she soon forgot the white. Dolls of pink and pearly wax, with +actual hair, candy or wooden dogs, cats, and all domestic animals, +tables of cakes, and lines of made-up clothing which represented the +sewing society's labors. There was too much crowding for comfort, and +too much pastry trodden into the floor; and aunt Corinne and her +nephew felt keen anxiety to spend their five-cent pieces to the best +advantage. She was near investing in candy kisses, when yellow and +scarlet-backed books containing the history of “Mother Hubbard,” or +the “Babes in the Woods,” or “Little Red Riding Hood,” attracted her +eye, and she realized what life-long regret she must have suffered +for spending five cents on candy kisses, when one such volume might +be hers for the same money. + +Just as aunt Corinne laid her silver on the book counter, however, +and gave her trembling preference to the “History of Old Dame Trot +and her Cat,” Bobaday seized her wrist and excitedly told her there +was a magic-lantern show connected with the fair, which could be seen +at five cents per pair of eyes. Dame Trot remained unpurchased, and +the coin returned to aunt Corinne's warm palm. But she inquired with +caution, + +“What's a magic-lantern show?” + +“Why, the man, you know,” explained Robert, “has pitctures in a +lantern, and throws light through 'em, and they spread out on a wet +sheet on the wall. The room's all dark except the place on the wall. +A Chinese man eatin' mice in his sleep: he works his jaws! And about +Saul in the Bible, when he was goin' to kill the good people, and it +says, 'Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?' And when they let him +down in a basket. And there's a big star like grandma's star quilt, +only it keeps turning all kinds of colors and working in and out on +itself. And a good many more. Zene went in. He said he wanted to see +if we ought to look at it. And he'll stand by the door and pay our +money to the man if we want to go. There's such a crowd to get in.” + +Robert Day's aunt caught the fire of his enthusiasm and went +straight with him to the door wherein the magic lantern performed. A +crowd of children were pushing up, but Zene, more energetic than +courteous pushed his charges ahead so that they gained chairs before +the landlord's son could make his choice. + +[Illustration: AT THE SEWING SOCIETY FAIR.] + +He sat down directly behind Robert and aunt Corinne, and at once +began to annoy them with impertinent remarks. + +“Movers' young ones are spry,” said the landlord's son, who had been +petted on account of his pretty face until he was the nuisance of the +house. “I wouldn't be a movers' young one.” + +Robert felt a stinging throb in his blood, but sat still, looking at +the wall. Aunt Corinne, however, turned her head and looked +witheringly at the blue-jacketed boy. + +“Movers' young ones have to wear calico,” he continued, “and their +lame pap goes lippity-clink around after them.” + +“He thinks Zene's our father!” exclaimed aunt Corinne, blazing at +the affront she received. + +“Don't mind him,” said Robert, slowly. “He's the hostler's boy, and +used to staying in the stable. He doesn't know how to behave when +they let him into the house.” + +This bitter skirmishing might have become an open engagement at the +next exchange of fires, for the landlord's son stood up in rage while +his chums giggled, and Robert felt terribly equal to the occasion. He +told Zene next day he had his fist already doubled, and he didn't +care if the landlord put them all in jail. But just then the magic +light was turned upon the wall, the landlord's son was told by twenty +voices to sit down out of the way, the lantern man himself sternly +commanding it. So he sunk into his seat feeling much less important, +and the wonders proceeded though Aunt Corinne felt she should always +regret turning her back on the Dame Trot book and coming in there to +have Zene called her lame pap, while Robert wondered gloomily if any +stigma did attach to movers' children. He had supposed them a class +to be envied. + +This grievance put the robbers out of his mind when they trotted +ahead next day. The Wabash River could scarcely soothe his ruffled +complacence. And never an inch of the Wabash River have I seen that +was not beautiful and restful to the eye. It flows limpidly between +varying banks, and has a trick of throwing up bars and islands, +wooded to the very edges--captivating places for any tiny Crusoe to +be wrecked upon. Skiffs lay along the shore, and small steamers felt +their way in the channel. It was a river full of all sorts of +promises; so shallow here that the pebbles shone in broad sheets like +a floor of opals wherever you might wade in delight, so deep and +shady with sycamore canopies there, that a good swimmer would want to +lie in ambush like a trout, at the bottom of the swimming hole, half +a June day. + +Perhaps it was the sight of the Wabash River which suggested washing +clothes to Grandma Padgett. She said they were now near the Illinois +State line, and she would not like to reach the place with everything +dirty. There was always plenty to do when a body first got home, +without hurrying up wash-day. + +So when they passed a small place called Macksville, and came to +Sugar Creek, she called a halt, and they spent the day in the woods. +Sugar Creek, though not sweet, was clear. Zene carried pails full of +it to fill the great copper kettle, and slung this over a fire. The +horses munched at their feed-box or cropped grass, wandering with +their heads tied to their forefeet to prevent their cantering off. +Grandma Padgett at the creek's brink, set up her tubs and buried +herself to the elbows in suds, and aunt Corinne with a matronly +countenance, assisted. All that day Robert went barelegged, and +splashed water, wading out far to dip up a gourdful; and he thought +it was fun to help stretch the clothes-line among saplings, and lift +the scalded linen on a paddle into the tub, losing himself in the +stream. Ordinary washdays as he remembered them, were rather disagreeable. +Everybody had to wake early, and a great deal of fine-split wood was +needed. The kitchen smelt of suds, and the school-lunch was scraps +left from Sunday instead of new cake, turnovers and gingerbread. + +[Illustration: GRANDMA PADGETT'S WASHING-DAY IN THE WOODS.] + +But this woods wash-day was an experience to delight in, like +sailing on a log in the water, and pretending you are a bold +navigator, or lashing the rocking-chair to a sled for a sleighride. +It was something out of the common. It was turning labor into +fantastic tricks. + +They had an excellent supper, too, and after dusk the clothes stood +in glintly array on the line, the camp-fire shone ruddy in a place +where its smoke could not offend them, and they were really like +white stones encircling an unusual day. + +But when Robert awoke in the night they gave him a pang of fright, +and he was sorry his grandma had decided to let them bleach in the +dew of the June woods. From his bed in the carriage he could see both +the road and the lines of clothes. A horseman came along the road and +halted. He was not attracted by the camp-fire, because that had died +to ashes. He probably would not have heard the horses stamp in their +sleep, for his own horse's feet made a noise. And the wagon cover was +hid by foliage. But woods and sight were not dark enough to keep the +glint of the washing out of his eyes. Robert saw this rider dismount +and heard him walking cautiously into their camp. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. A NIGHT PICTURE OF HOME. + + +Here at last was the robber. After you have given over expecting a +robber, and even feel that you can do without him, to find him +stealing up in the night when you are camped in a lonely place and +not near enough either tent or wagon to wake the other sleepers for +reinforcements, is trying to the nerves. + +Bobaday sat up in the carriage, bracing his courage for the +emergency. He could take a cushion, jump out and attack the man with +that. It was not a deadly weapon, and would require considerable +force back of it to do damage. The whip might be better. He reached +for the whip and turned the handle uppermost. There was no cave at +hand to trap this robber in, but a toll-woman should not show more +spirit than Robert Day Padgett in the moment of peril. + +Though the robber advanced cautiously, he struck his foot against a +root or two, and stumbled, making the horse take irregular steps +also, for he was leading his horse with the bridle over his arm. + +And he came directly up to the carriage. Robert grasped the whip +around the middle with both hands, but some familiar attitude in the +stranger's dim outline made him lower it. + +“Bobby,” said the robber, speaking guardedly, “are you in here?” + +“Pa Padgett,” exclaimed Robert Day, “is that you?” + +“Hush! Yes. It's me, of course. Don't wake your grandma. Old folks +are always light sleepers.” + +Pa Padgett reached into the carriage, shook hands with his boy, and +kissed him. How good the bushy beard felt against Bobaday's face. + +He said nothing about robbers, while his father unsaddled his horse +and tied the animal snugly to a limb. + +Then Pa Padgett put his foot on the hub and sprang into the carriage. + +“Is there room for me to stretch myself in here tonight too?” + +“Of course there is. But don't you want to see grandma and aunt +Krin?” + +“Wait till morning. We'll all take an early start. Have they kept +well?” + +“Everybody's well,” replied Bobaday. “But how did you know we were +here?” + +“I'd have passed by,” said Pa Padgett, “if I hadn't seen all that +white strung along. Been washing clothes?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Then I made out the carriage, and something like a wagon back in +the bushes. So I came up to examine.” + +“We thought you'd be at the State line,” said Robert. + +“Oh, I intended to ride out till I met you,” replied his father. +“But I'd have missed you on the plain road; and gone by to the next +town to stop for you, if it hadn't been for the washing. You better +go to sleep again now. Have you had a nice trip?” + +“Oh, awful nice! There was a little girl lost, and we got her to her +mother again, and Zene and the wagon were separated from us once”-- + +“Zene has taken good care of you, has he?” + +“He didn't have to take care of us!” remonstrated Robert. “And last +night when there was a fair, I thought he stuck around more than he +was needed: There was the meanest boy that stuck up his hose at +movers' children.” + +Aunt Corinne's brother Tip laughed under his breath. + +“You'll not be movers' children much longer. The home is over +yonder, only half a day's ride or so.” + +“Is it a nice place?” + +“I think it's a nice place. There's prairie, but there's timber too. +And there's money to be made. You go to sleep now. You'll wake your +grandma, and I expect she's tired.” + +“Yes, sir, I'm going. Is there a garden?” + +“There's a good bit of ground for a garden; and there's a planting +of young catalpas. Far as the eye can see in one direction, it's +prairie. On the other side is woods. The house is better than the old +one. I had to build, and I built pretty substantial. Your grandma's +growing old. She'll need comforts in her old age, and we must put +them around her, my man.” + +Bobaday thought about this home to which he and his family were to +grow as trees grasp the soil. Already it seemed better to him than +the one he had left. There would be new playmates, new landscapes, +new meadows to run in, new neighbors, new prospects. The home, so +distant during the journey that he had scarcely thought about it at +all, now seemed to inclose him with its pleasant walls, which the +smell of new timbers made pleasant twice over. + +Boswell and Johnson, under the carriage, waked by the cautious talk +from that sound sleep a hard day's hunts after woods things induces, +and perhaps sniffing the presence of their master and the familiar +air of home, rose up to shake themselves, and one of them yawned +until his jaws creaked. + +“It's the dogs,” whispered Bobaday. + +“We mustn't set them to barking,” cautioned Pa Padgett. + +“Well, good-night,” said the boy, turning on his cushion. + +“Good-night. This caravan must move on early in the morning.” + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Old Caravan Days, by Mary Hartwell Catherwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD CARAVAN DAYS *** + +***** This file should be named 6909-0.txt or 6909-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/9/0/6909/ + +Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Juliet Sutherland, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team. This file was produced from images generously made +available by the Canadian Institute for Historical +Microreproductions. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Old Caravan Days + +Author: Mary Hartwell Catherwood + + +Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6909] +This file was first posted on February 10, 2003 +Last Updated: March 8, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD CARAVAN DAYS *** + + + + +Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Juliet Sutherland, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team. This file was produced from images generously made +available by the Canadian Institute for Historical +Microreproductions. + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + OLD CARAVAN DAYS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Mary Hartwell Catherwood + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> OLD CARAVAN DAYS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. THE START. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. THE LITTLE-OLD MAN WITH A BAG ON HIS + BACK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. THE TAVERN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. THE SUSAN HOUSE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. THE SUSAN HOUSE CELLAR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. MR. MATTHEWS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. ZENE'S MAN AND WOMAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. LITTLE ANT RED AND BIG ANT BLACK. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. THE GREAT CAMP MEETING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. THE CRY OF A CHILD IN THE NIGHT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. THE DARKENED WAGON. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. JONATHAN AND THRUSTY ELLEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. FAIRY CARRIE AND THE PIG-HEADED + MAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. SEARCHING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. THE SPROUTING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. THE MINSTREL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. THE HOUSE WITH LOG STEPS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. “COME TO MAMMA!” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. FAIRY CARRIE DEPARTS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. SUNDAY ON THE ROAD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. HER MOTHER ARRIVES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. A COUNTRY SUNDAY-SCHOOL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. FORWARD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. THE TOLL-WOMAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. ROBBERS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. THE FAIR AND THE FIERCE BANDIT. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. A NIGHT PICTURE OF HOME. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + OLD CARAVAN DAYS. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. THE START. + </h2> + <p> + In the year eighteen hundred and fifty-seven, on the fifth day of June, + the Padgett carriage-horses faced the west, and their mistress gathered + the lines into her mitted hands. + </p> + <p> + The moving-wagon was ready in front of the carriage. It was to be driven + by Zene, the lame hired man. Zene was taking a last drink from that well + at the edge of the garden, which lay so deep that your face looked like a + star in it. Robert Day Padgett, Mrs. Padgett's grandson, who sat on the + back seat of the carriage, decided that he must have one more drink, and + his aunt Corinne who sat beside him, was made thirsty by his decision. So + the two children let down the carriage steps and ran to the well. + </p> + <p> + It was like Sunday all over the farm, only the cattle were not straying + over the fields. The house was shut up, its new inhabitants not having + arrived. Some neighbor women had come to bid the family good-bye again, + though it was so early that the garden lay in heavy dew. These good + friends stood around the carriage; one of them held the front-door key in + trust for the new purchaser. They all called the straight old lady who + held the lines grandma Padgett. She was grandma Padgett to the entire + neighborhood, and they shook their heads sorrowfully in remembering that + her blue spectacles, her ancient Leghorn bonnet, her Quaker shoulder cape + and decided face might be vanishing from them forever. + </p> + <p> + “You'll come back to Ohio,” said one neighbor. “The wild Western prairie + country won't suit you at all.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not denying,” returned grandma Padgett, “that I could end my days in + peace on the farm here; but son Tip can do very little here, and he can do + well out there. I've lost my entire family except son Tip and the baby of + all, you know. And it's not my wish to be separated from son Tip in my + declining years.” + </p> + <p> + The neighbors murmured that they knew, and one of them inquired as she had + often inquired before, at what precise point grandma Padgett's son was to + meet the party; and she replied as if giving new information, that it was + at the Illinois State line. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have pretty weather,” said another woman, squinting-in the early + sun. + </p> + <p> + “Grandma Padgett won't care for weather,” observed the neighbor with the + key. “She moved out from Virginia in the dead o' winter.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I was but a child,” said grandma Padgett, “and this country one + unbroken wilderness. We came down the Ohio River by flatboat, and moved + into this section when the snow was so deep you could ride across + stake-and-rider fences on the drifts.” + </p> + <p> + “Folks can get around easier now, though,” said the squinting neighbor, + “since they got to going on these railroads.” + </p> + <p> + “I shipped part of my goods on the railroad,” remarked grandma Padgett + with—a laugh. “But I don't know; I ain't used to the things, and I + don't know whether I'd resk my bones for a long distance or not. Son Tip + went out on the cars.” + </p> + <p> + “The railroads charge so high,” murmured a woman near the back wheels. + “But they do say you can ride as far West as you're a goin' on the cars.” + </p> + <p> + “How long will you be gettin' through?” inquired another. + </p> + <p> + “Not more than two or three weeks,” replied grandma Padgett resolutely. + “It's a little better than three hundred and fifty miles, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a long distance,” sighed the neighbor at the wheels. + </p> + <p> + But aunt Corinne and her nephew, untroubled by the length of pilgrimage + before them, ran from the well into the garden. + </p> + <p> + “I wish the kerns were ripe,” said aunt Corinne. “Look out, Bobaday! + You're drabblin' the bottoms of your good pants.” + </p> + <p> + “'Twouldn't do any good if the kerns were ripe,” said Bobaday, turning his + pepper-and-salt trousers up until the linings showed. “This farm ain't + ours now, and we couldn't pull them.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne paused at the fennel bed: then she impulsively stretched + forth her hand and gathered it full. + </p> + <p> + “I set out these things,” said aunt Corinne, “and I ain't countin' them + sold till the wagon starts.” So she gathered sweetbrier, and a leaf of + sage and two or three pinks. + </p> + <p> + “O Bobaday,” said aunt Corinne—this name being a childish corruption + of Robert Day: for aunt Corinne two years younger than her nephew, and had + talked baby talk when he prided himself on distinct English—“you + s'pose brother Tip's got a garden like this at the new place? Oh, the + pretty little primroses! Who'll watch them pop open to-night? How you and + me have sat on the primrose bed and watched the t-e-e-nty buds swell and + swell till finally—pop! they smack their lips and burst wide open!” + </p> + <p> + “We'll have a primrose bed out West,” said Bobaday. “We'll plant sweet + anise too, and have caraway seeds to put in the cakes. Aunt Krin, did you + know grandma's goin' to have green kern pie when we stop for dinner + to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “I knew there was kern pie made,” said aunt Krin. “I guess we better get + into the carriage.” + </p> + <p> + She held her short dress away from the bushes, and scampered with Bobaday + into the yard. Here they could not help stopping on the warped floor of + the porch to look into the empty house. It looked lonesome already. A + mouse had ventured out of the closet by the tall sitting-room mantel; and + a faint outline of the clock's shape remained on the wall. + </p> + <p> + The house with its trees was soon fading into the past. The neighbors were + going home by the road or across fields. Zene's wagon, drawn by the old + white and gray, moved ahead at a good pace. It was covered with white + canvas drawn tight over hoops which were held by iron clamps to the + wagon-sides. At the front opening sat Zene, resting his feet on the + tongue. The rear opening was puckered to a round O by a drawing string. + Swinging to and fro from the hind axle, hung the tar-bucket. A feed box + was fitted across the hind end of the wagon. Such stores as might be piled + to the very canvas roof, were concealed from sight by a black oilcloth + apron hanging behind Zene. This sheet of oilcloth was designed for an + additional roof to keep the goods dry when it rained. + </p> + <p> + Under the wagon, keeping well away from the tar-bucket, trotted Boswell + and Johnson. Bobaday named them; he had read something of English + literature in his grandfather's old books. Johnson was a fat black and + white dog, who was obliged to keep his tongue out of his mouth to pant + during the greater part of his days. He had fits of meditation, when + Boswell galloped all over him without provoking a snap. Johnson was, + indeed, a most amiable fellow, and had gained a reputation as a good watch + dog, because on light nights he barked the shining hours away. + </p> + <p> + Boswell was a little short-legged dog, built like a clumsy weasel; for his + body was so long it seemed to plead for six legs instead of four, to + support it, and no one could blame his back for swaying a little in the + middle. Boswell was a brindled dog. He had yellow spots like pumpkin seeds + over his eyes. His affection for Johnson was extreme. He looked up to + Johnson. If he startled a bird at the roadside, or scratched at the roots + of a tree after his imagination, he came back to Johnson for approval, + wagging his tail until it made his whole body undulate. Johnson sometimes + condescended to rub a nose against his silly head, and this threw him into + such fire of delight that he was obliged to get out of the wagon-track, + and bark around himself in a circle until the carriage left him behind. + Then he came up to Johnson again, and panted along beside him, with a + smile as open and constant as sunshine. + </p> + <p> + No such caravan as the Padgett family has been seen moving West since + those days when all the States were in a ferment: when New York and the + New England States poured into Ohio, and Pennsylvania and Ohio, Kentucky + and Tennessee into Indiana, Illinois, and even—as a desperate + venture, Missouri. The Old National Turnpike was then a lively + thoroughfare. Sometimes a dozen white-covered wagons stretched along in + company. All classes of society were represented among the movers. There + were squalid lots to—be avoided as thieves: and there were carriages + full of families who would raise Senators, Presidents, and large + financiers in their new home. The forefathers of many a man and woman, now + abroad studying older civilization in Europe, came West as movers by the + wagon route. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne and her nephew were glad when Zene drove upon the 'pike, and + the carriage followed. The 'pike had a solid rumbling base to offer + wheels. You were comparatively in town while driving there, for every + little while you met somebody, and that body always appeared to feel more + important for driving on the 'pike. It was a glittering white highway the + ruts worn by wheels were literally worn in stone. Yet never were roadsides + as green as the sloping 'pike sides. No trees encroached very close upon + it, and it stretched in endless glare. But how smoothly you bowled along! + People living aside in fields, could hear your progress; the bass roar of + the 'pike was as distinct, though of course not as loud, as the rumble of + a train. + </p> + <p> + Going through Reynoldsburg however, was the great triumphal act of + leave-taking. The Padgetts went to church in Reynoldsburg. To-day it is a + decayed village, with many of its houses leaning wearily to one side, or + forward as if sinking to a nap. But then it was a lively coach town, the + first station out from the capital of the State. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: THE STAGE SWEPT BY LIKE A FLASH.} + </p> + <p> + The Reynoldsburgers looked forth indifferently. They saw movers every hour + of the day. But with recognition growing in their faces, many of them + hastened to this particular carriage for parting words with grandma + Padgett and the children. Robert Day set up against the high back, + accepting his tribute of envious glances from the boys he knew. He was + going off to meet adventures. They—had to stay at home and saw wood, + and some of them would even be obliged to split it when they had a tin box + full of bait and their fish-poles all ready for the afternoon's useful + employment. There had been a time when Robert thought he would not like to + be called “movers.” Some movers fell entirely below his ideas. But now he + saw how much finer it was to be travelling in a carriage than on the + swift-shooting cars. He felt sorry for the Reynoldsburg boys. One of them + hinted that he might be expected out West himself some day, and told + Robert to watch down the road for him. He appeared to think the West was a + large prairie full of benches, where folks sat down and told their + adventures in coming. + </p> + <p> + Bobaday considered his position in the carriage the only drawback to the + Reynoldsburg parade. He ought to be driving. In the course of the journey + he hoped grandma Padgett would give up the lines—which she had never + yet done. + </p> + <p> + They drove out of Reynoldsburg. The tin-covered steeple on the church + dazzled their eyes for perhaps the last time. + </p> + <p> + Then coming around a curve in the 'pike appeared that soul-stirring sight, + the morning stage from Columbus. Zene and grandma Padgett drew off to the + side of the road and gave it a wide passage, for the stage had the same + right of way that any regular train now has on its own track. It was drawn + by six of the proudest horses in the world, and the grand-looking driver + who guided them, gripped the complication of lines in his left hand while + he held a horn to his mouth with the right, and through this he blew a + mellow peal to let the Reynoldsburgers know the stage was coming. The + stage, billowing on springs, was paneled with glittering pictures, gilded + on every part, and evidently lined with velvet. Travellers inside looked + through the open windows with what aunt Corinne considered an air of + opulent pride. She had always longed to explore the interior of a stage, + and envied any child who had been shut in by the mysterious click and turn + of the door-handle. The top was crowded with gentlemen looking only less + important than the luxurious passengers inside: and behind on a vast rack + was such a mountain of-baggage swaying with the stage, but corded firmly + to place, and topped with bandboxes, that aunt Corinne believed their + moving wagon would not have contained it all. Yet the stage swept past + like a flash. All its details had to be gathered by a quick eye. The + leaders flew over the smooth thoroughfare, holding up their heads like + horse princes; and Bobaday knew what a bustle Reynoldsburg would be in + during the few minutes that the stage halted. + </p> + <p> + After viewing this sumptuous pageant the little caravan moved briskly on + toward Columbus. Zene kept some distance ahead, yet always in sight. And + in due time the city began to grow around them. The 'pike never lost its + individuality among the streets of the capital. They saw the great + penitentiary surrounded by stone walls as thick as the length of a short + boy. They saw trains of cars trailing in and out; manufactories, and + vistas of fine streets full of stores. They even saw the capitol building + standing high up on its shaded grounds, many steps and massive pillars + giving entrance to the structure which grandma Padgett said was one of the + finest in the United States. It was not very long before they reached the + western side of the city and were crossing the Scioto River in a long + bridge and entering what was then a shabby suburb called Frankfort. At + this point aunt Corinne and her nephew entered unbroken ground. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. THE LITTLE-OLD MAN WITH A BAG ON HIS BACK. + </h2> + <p> + Grandma Padgett had prepared the noon lunch that very day, but scarcely + expected to make use of it. On the western borders of Columbus lived a + cousin Padgett in such a country place as had long been the talk of the + entire family connection. Cousin Padgett was a mighty man in the city, and + his wife and daughters had unheard-of advantages. He had kept up a formal + but very pleasant intercourse with grandma's branch; and when he learned + at the State Fair, the year previous, her son Tip's design to cast their + future lots in the West, he said he should take it very ill if they did + not spend the first night of their journey with him. Grandma Padgett + decided that relationship must claim her for at least one meal. + </p> + <p> + Bobaday and Corinne saw Zene pause at the arched gates of this modern + castle, according to his morning's instructions. Corinne's. heart thumped + apprehensively. It was a formidable thing to be going to cousin Padgett's. + He lived in such overwhelming grandeur. She knew, although she had never + seen his grounds, that he kept two gardeners on purpose to take care of + them. His parlors were covered with carpets in which immense bouquets of + flowers were wrought, and he had furniture not only of horsehair, but of + flowered red velvet also. I suppose in these days cousin Padgett's house + would be considered the extreme of expensive ugliness, and a violation of + all laws of beauty. But it was the best money could buy then, and that was + considered enough. Robert was not affected by the fluttering care of his + young aunt. He wanted to see this seat of grandeur. And when Zene walked + back down the avenue from making inquiries, and announced that the entire + family were away from home, Bobaday felt a shock of disappointment. + </p> + <p> + Cousin Padgett did not know the exact date of the removal, and people + wrote few letters in those days. So he could not be blamed for his absence + when they came by. Zene limped up to his seat in front of the wagon, and + they moved forward along the 'pike. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” breathed aunt Corinne, settling back. + </p> + <p> + “'Tisn't good a bit!” said Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + And whom should they meet in a few miles but cousin Padgett himself, + riding horseback and leading a cream-colored horse which he had been into + the country to purchase. This was almost as trying as taking dinner at his + house. He insisted that the party should turn back. His wife and daughters + had only driven into the city that morning. Cousin Padgett was a charming, + hearty man, with a ring of black whiskers extending under his face from + ear to ear, and the more he talked the less Corinne feared him. When he + found that his kinspeople could not be prevailed upon to return with him, + he tied up his horses to the wagon in the wood-shed where Zene unhitched, + and took dinner with grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne sat on a log beside him and ate currant pie. He went himself + to the nearest house and brought water. And when a start was made, he told + the children he still expected a visit from them, and put as a parting + gift a gold dollar as delicate as an old three-cent piece, into the hand + of each. + </p> + <p> + Bobaday felt his loss when the cream-colored horse could no longer be + discerned in the growing distance. Grandma Padgett smiled pleasantly ahead + through her blue glasses: she had received the parting good wishes of a + kinsman; family ties had very strong significance when this country was + newer. Aunt Corinne gazed on the warm gold dollar in her palm, and wagged + her head affectionately over it for cousin Padgett's sake. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon sun sagged so low it stared into grandma's blue. spectacles + and made even Corinne shelter her eyes. Zene drove far ahead with his load + to secure lodgings for the night. Having left behind the last acquaintance + and entered upon the realities of the journey, grandma considered it time + to take off her Leghorn bonnet and replace it with the brown barege one + drawn over wire. So Bobaday drew out a bandbox from under the back seat + and helped grandma make the change. The seat-curtain dropped over the + Leghorn in its bandbox; and this reminded him that there were other things + beside millinery stowed away in the carriage. Playthings could be felt by + an appreciative hand thrust under the seat; and a pocket in the side + curtain was also stuffed. + </p> + <p> + “I think I'll put my gold money in the bottom of that pocket,” said aunt + Corinne, “just where I can find it easy every day.” + </p> + <p> + She drew out all the package and dropped it in, and, having stuffed the + pocket again, at once emptied it to see that her piece had not slipped + through some ambushed hole. Aunt Corinne was considered a flighty damsel + by all her immediate relatives and acquaintances. She had a piquant little + face containing investigating hazel eyes. Her brown hair was cut square + off and held back from her brow by a round comb. Her skin was of the most + delicate pink color, flushing to rosy bloom in her cheeks. She was a long, + rather than a tall girl, with slim fingers and slim feet, and any + excitement tingled over her visibly, so that aunt Corinne was frequently + all of a quiver about the most trivial circumstances. She had a deep + dimple in her chin and another at the right side of her mouth, and her + nose tipped just enough to give all the lines of her face a laughing look. + </p> + <p> + But this laughing look ran ludicrously into consternation when, twisting + away from the prospect ahead, she happened to look suddenly backward under + the looped-up curtain, and saw a head dodging down. Somebody was hanging + to the rear of the carriage. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne kneeled on the cushion and stretched her neck and eyes out + over a queer little old man, who seemed to carry a bunch of some kind on + his back. He had been running noiselessly behind the carriage, + occasionally hanging by his arms, and he was taking one of these swings + when his dodging eyes met hers, and he let go, rolling in the 'pike dust. + </p> + <p> + “You <i>better</i> let go!” scolded aunt Corinne. “Bob'day, there's a + beggar been hangin' on! Ma Padgett, a little old man with a bag on his + back was goin' to climb into this carriage!” + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: A QUEER LITTLE OLD MAN.} + </p> + <p> + “Tisn't a bag,” said Bobaday laughing, for the little old man looked funny + brushing the dust off his ragged knees. + </p> + <p> + “<i>'Tis</i> a bag,” said aunt Corinne, “and he ought to hurt himself for + scarin' us.” + </p> + <p> + “There's no danger of his doing us harm,” said grandma Padgett mildly, + after she had leaned out at the side and brought her blue glasses to bear + upon the lessening figure of the little old man. + </p> + <p> + Yet Corinne watched him when he sat down on a bank to rest; she watched + him grow a mere bunch and battered hat, and then fade to a speck. + </p> + <p> + The 'pike was the home of such creatures as he appeared to be. The advance + guard of what afterwards became an army of tramps, was then just beginning + to move. But they were few, and, whether they asked help or not, were + always known by the disreputable name of “beggars.” A beggar-man or + beggar-woman represented to the minds of aunt Corinne and her nephew such + possible enemies as chained lions or tigers. If an “old beggar” got a + chance at you there was no telling in what part of the world he would make + merchandise of you! They always suspected the beggar boys and girls were + kidnapped children. While it was desirable to avoid these people, it was + even more desirable that a little girl should not offend them. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne revolved in her mind the remark she had made to the little + old man with a bag on his back. She could take no more pleasure in the + views along the 'pike; for she almost expected to see him start out of a + culvert to give her cold shivers with his revengeful grimaces. The + culverts were solid arches of masonry which carried the 'pike unbroken in + even a line across the many runs and brooks. The tunnel of the culvert was + regarded by most children as the befitting lair of beggars, who perhaps + would not object to standing knee-deep in water with their heads against a + slimy arch. + </p> + <p> + “This is the very last culvert,” sighed Corinne, relieved, as they rumbled + across one and entered the village where they were to stop over night. + </p> + <p> + It was already dusk. The town dogs were beginning to bark, and the candles + to twinkle. Zene's wagon was unhitched in front of the tavern, and this + signified that the carriage-load might confidently expect entertainment. + The tavern was a sprawled-out house, with an arch of glass panes over the + entrance door. A fat post stood in front of it, upholding a swinging sign. + </p> + <p> + The tavern-keeper came out of the door to meet them when they stopped, and + helped his guests alight, while a hostler stood ready to lead the horses + away. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne sprung down the steps, glad of the change after the day's + ride, until, glancing down the 'pike over their late route, she saw + tramping toward the tavern that little old man with a bag on his back. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE TAVERN. + </h2> + <p> + But the little old man with a bag on his back was left out in the dusk, + and aunt Corinne and her party went into the tavern parlor. The landlady + brought a pair of candles in brass candlesticks, setting one on each end + of the mantel. Between them were snuffers on a snuffer-tray, and a tall + mass of paper roses under a glass case. The fireplace was covered by a + fireboard on which was pasted wallpaper like that adorning the room. + Grandma Padgett sat down in a rocking settee, and Corinne and Bobaday on + two of the chairs ranged in solemn rows along the wall. They felt it would + be presumption to pull those chairs an inch out of line. + </p> + <p> + It was a very depressing room. Two funeral urns hung side by side, done in + India ink, and framed in chipped-off mahogany. Weeping willows hung over + the urns, and a weeping woman leaned on each. There was also a picture of + Napoleon in scarlet standing on the green rock of St. Helena, holding a + yellow three-cornered hat under his elbow. The house had a fried-potato + odor, to which aunt Corinne did not object. She was hungry. But, besides + this, the parlor enclosed a dozen other scents; as if the essences of all + the dinners served in the house were sitting around invisible on the + chairs. There was not lacking even that stale cupboard smell which is the + spirit of hunger itself. + </p> + <p> + The landlady was very fat and red and also melancholy. She began talking + at once to Grandma Padgett about the loss of her children whom the funeral + urns commemorated, and Grandma Padgett sympathized with her and tried to + outdo her in sorrowful experiences. But this was impossible; for the + landlady had-lived through more ordeals than anybody else in town, and her + manner said plainly, that no passing stranger should carry off her + championship. + </p> + <p> + So she made the dismal room so doleful with her talk that aunt Corinne + began to feel terribly about life, and Robert Day wished he had gone to + the barn with Zene. + </p> + <p> + Then the supper-bell rung, and the landlady showed them into the big bare + dining-room where she forgot all her troubles in the clatter of plates and + cups. A company of men rushed from what was called the bar-room, though + its shelves and counter were empty of decanters and glasses. They had the + greater part of a long table to themselves, and Zene sat among them. These + men the landlady called the boarders: she placed Grandma Padgett's family + at the other end of the table; it seemed the decorous thing to her that a + strip of empty table should separate the boarders and women-folks. + </p> + <p> + There were stacks of eatables, including mango stuffed with cabbage and + eggs pickled red in beet vinegar. All sorts of fruit butters and preserves + stood about in glass and earthen dishes. One end of the table was an exact + counterpart of the other, even to the stacks of mighty bread-slices. + Boiled cabbage and onions and thick corn-pone with fried ham were there to + afford a strong support through the night's fast. Nothing was served in + order: you helped yourself from the dishes or let them alone at your + pleasure. The landlord appeared just as jolly as his wife was dismal. He + sat at the other end of the table and urged everybody with jokes to eat + heartily; yet all this profusion was not half so appetizing as some of + Grandma Padgett's fried chicken and toast would have been. + </p> + <p> + After supper Bobaday went out to the barn and saw a whole street of + horse-stalls, the farthest horse switching his tail in dim distance; and + such a mow of hay as impressed him with the advantages of travel. A + hostler was forking down hay for the evening's feeding, and Robert climbed + to his side, upon which the hostler good-naturedly took him by the + shoulders and let him slide down and alight upon the spongy pile below. + This would have been a delightful sensation had Bobaday not bitten his + tongue in the descent. But he liked it better than the house where his + aunt Corinne wandered uneasily up stairs which were hollowed in the middle + of each step, and along narrow passages where bits of plaster had fallen + off. + </p> + <p> + There was a dulcimer in the room aunt Corinne occupied with her mother. + She took the hammer and beat on its rusty wires some time before going to + bed. It tinkled a plea to her to let it alone, but what little girl could + look at the queer instrument and keep her hands off it? The landlady said + it was left there by a travelling showman who could not pay his board. He + hired the bar-room to give a concert in, and pasted up written + advertisements of his performance in various parts of the town. He sent + free tickets to the preacher and schoolmaster, and the landlord's family + went in for nothing. Nobody else came, though he played on the flute and + harmonium, besides the dulcimer, and sang <i>Lilly Dale</i>, and <i>Roll + on, Silver Moon</i>, so touchingly that the landlady wiped her eyes at + their mere memory. As he had no money to pay stage-fare further, and the + flute and harmonium—a small bellows organ without legs—were + easier to carry than the dulcimer, he left it and trudged eastward. And no + one at that tavern could tell whether he and his instruments had perished + piecemeal along the way, or whether he had found crowded houses and + forgotten the old dulcimer in the tide of prosperity. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett's party ate breakfast before day, by the light of a candle + covering its candlestick with a tallow glacier. It made only a hole of + shine in the general duskiness of the big dining-room. The landlady bade + them a pathetic good-by. She was sure there were dangers ahead of them. + The night stage had got in three hours late, owing to a breakdown, and one + calamity she said, is only the forerunner of another. + </p> + <p> + Zene had driven ahead with the load. It was a foggy morning, and drops of + moisture hung to the carriage curtains. There was the morning star yet + trembling over the town. Aunt Corinne hugged her wrap, and Bobaday stuck + his hands deep in his pockets. But Grandma sat erect and drove away + undaunted and undamped. She merely searched the inside of the carriage + with her glasses, inquiring as a last precaution: + </p> + <p> + “Have we left anything behind?” + </p> + <p> + “I got all my things,” said Robert. “And my gold dollar's in my pocket.” + </p> + <p> + At this aunt Corinne arose and plunged into the carriage pocket on her + side. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE SUSAN HOUSE. + </h2> + <p> + The contents of that pocket she piled upon her seat; she raked the + interior with her nails, then she looked at Robert Day with dilating eyes. + </p> + <p> + “<i>My</i> gold dollar's gone!” said aunt Corinne. “That little old man + with a bag on his back—I just know he got into the barn and took it + last night.” + </p> + <p> + “You put it in and took it out so many times yesterday,” said Bobaday, + “maybe it fell on the carriage floor.” So they unavailingly searched the + carriage floor. + </p> + <p> + The little old man with a bag on his back was now fixed in Corinne's + imagination as the evil genius of the journey. If he spirited out her gold + dollar, what harm could he not do them! He might throw stones at them from + sheltered places, and even shoot them with guns. He could jump out of any + culvert and scare them almost to death! This destroyed half her pleasure + as the day advanced, in watching boys fish with horse-hair snares in the + runs which trickled under culverts. But Robert felt so much interest in + the process that he was glad to have the noon halt made near such a small + fishing-place. He took his lunch and sat on the bank with the boys. They + were very dirty, and one of them had his shirtsleeve split to the + shoulder, revealing a sun-blistered elbow joint that still worked with a + right good will at snaring. But no boys were ever fuller of out-door + wisdom. They had been swimming, and knew the best diving-hole in the + world, only a couple of miles away. They had dined on berries, and + expected to catch it when they got home, but meant to attend a show in one + of their barns that afternoon, the admission price being ten pins. Bobaday + learned how to make a slip-knot with the horse-hair and hold it in silent + suspense just where the minnows moved: the moment a fish glided into the + open snare a dexterous jerk whipped him out of the water, held firmly + about the middle by the hair noose. It required skill and nice handling, + and the split-sleeved boy was the most accomplished snarer of all. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: BOBADAY LUNCHES WITH STRANGE BOYS.} + </p> + <p> + Robert shared his lunch with these youths, and parted from them + reluctantly when the horses were put in. But aunt Corinne who stood by in + a critical attitude, said she couldn't see any use in catching such little + fish. You never fried minnies. You used 'em for bait in deep water, + though, the split-sleeved boy condescended to inform her, and you <i>could</i> + put 'em into a glass jar, and they'd grow like everything. Aunt Corinne + was just becoming fired with anxiety to own such a jarful herself, when + the carriage turned toward the road and her mother obliged her to climb + in. + </p> + <p> + About the middle of the afternoon Zene halted and waited for the carriage + to come up. He left his seat and came to the rear of Old Hickory, the off + carriage horse, slapping a fly flat on Old Hickory's flank as he paused. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Zene?” inquired Grandma Padgett. “Has anything + happened?” + </p> + <p> + “No, marm,” replied Zene. He was a quiet, singular fellow, halting in his + walk on account of the unevenness of his legs; but faithful to the family + as either Boswell or Johnson. Grandma Padgett having brought him up from a + lone and forsaken child, relied upon all the good qualities she discovered + from time to time, and she saw nothing ludicrous in Zene. But aunt Corinne + and Bobaday never ceased to titter at Zene's “marm.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been inquirin' along, and we can turn off of the 'pike up here at + the first by-road, and then take the first cross-road west, and save + thirty mile o' toll gates. The road goes the same direction. It's a good + dirt road.” + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett puckered the brows above her glasses. She did not want to + pay unnecessary bounty to the toll-gate keepers. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's a good plan, Zene, if you're sure we won't lose the way, or + fall into any dif-fick-ulty.” + </p> + <p> + “I've asked nigh a dozen men, and they all tell the same tale,” said Zene. + </p> + <p> + “People ought to know the lay of the land in their own neighborhood,” + admitted Grandma Padgett. “Well, we'll try what virtue there is in the + dirt road.” + </p> + <p> + So she clucked to the carriage horses and Zene went back to his charge. + </p> + <p> + The last toll-gate they would see for thirty miles drew its pole down + before them. Zene paid according to the usual arrangement, and the + toll-man only stood in the door to see the carriage pass. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't like to live in a little bit of a house sticking out on the + 'pike like that,” said aunt Corinne to her nephew. “Folks could run + against it on dark nights. Does he stay there by himself? And if robbers + or old beggars came by they could nab him the minute he opened his door.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he has any boys,” suggested Robert looking back, “they can see + everybody pass, and it'd be just as good as going some place all the time. + And who's afraid of robbers!” + </p> + <p> + Zene beckoned to the carriage as he turned off the 'pike. For a distance + the wagon moved ahead of them, between tall stake fences which were + overrun with vines or had their corners crowded with bushes. Wheat and + cornfields and sweet-smelling buckwheat spread out on each side until the + woods met them, and not a bit of the afternoon heat touched the carriage + after that. Aunt Corinne clasped a leather-covered upright which hurt her + hand before, and leaned toward the trees on her side. Every new piece of + woodland is an unexplored country containing moss-lined stumps, dimples of + hollows full of mint, queer-shaped trees, and hickory saplings just the + right saddle-curve for bending down as “teeters,” such as are never + reproduced in any other piece of woodland. Nature does not make two trees + alike, and her cool breathing-halls under the woods' canopies are as + diverse as the faces of children wandering there. Moss or lichens grow + thicker in one spot; another particular enclosure you call the lily or the + bloodroot woods, and yet another the wild-grape woods. This is + distinguished for blackberries away up in the clearings, and that is a + fishing woods, where the limbs stretch down to clear holes, and you sit in + a root seat and hear springs trickling down the banks while you fish. + Though Corinne could possess these reaches of trees only with a brief + survey, she enjoyed them as a novelty. + </p> + <p> + “I would like to get lost in the woods,” she observed, “and have everybody + out hunting me while I had to eat berries and roots. I don't believe I'd + like roots, though: they look so big and tough. And I wouldn't touch a + persimmon! Nor Injun turnip. You's a bad boy that time you give me Injun + turnip to eat, Bobaday Padgett!” + </p> + <p> + She turned upon her nephew, fierce with the recollection, and he laughed, + saying he wished he'd some to fool somebody with now. + </p> + <p> + “It bit my mouth so a whole crock of milk wouldn't help it, and if brother + Tip'd been home, Ma Padgett wouldn't let you off so easy.” + </p> + <p> + “You wanted to taste it,” said Robert. “And you'd eat the green persimmons + if they'd puckered your mouth clear shut.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to see what the things that the little pig that lived in the + stone house filled his churn with, tasted like,” admitted aunt Corinne + lucidly; so she subsided. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see the wagon, children?” inquired Grandma Padgett, who felt the + necessity of following Zene's lead closely. She stopped Old Hickory and + Old Henry at cross-roads. + </p> + <p> + “No; but he said turn west on the first road we came to,” counseled + Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + “And this is the first, I counted,” said aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + “I wish we could see the cover ahead of us. We don't want to resk gettin' + separated,” said Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + Yet she turned the horses westward with a degree of confidence, and drove + up into a hilly country which soon hid the sun. The long shades crept past + and behind them. There was a country church, with a graveyard full of + white stones nearly smothered in grass and briers. And there was a + school-house in an open space, with a playground beaten bare and white in + the midst of a yellow mustard jungle. They saw some loiterers creeping + home, carrying dinner-pail and basket, and taking a languid last tag of + each other. The little girls looked up at the passing carriage from their + sunbonnet depths, but the boys had taken off their hats to slap each other + with: they looked at the strangers, round-eyed and ready to smile, and + Robert and Corinne nodded. Grandma Padgett bethought herself to ask if any + of them had seen a moving wagon pass that way. The girls stared bashfully + at each other and said “No, ma'am,” but the boys affirmed strongly that + they had seen two moving wagons go by, one just as school was out, and the + boldest boy of all made an effort to remember the white and gray horses. + </p> + <p> + The top of a hill soon stood between these children, and the travellers, + but in all the vista beyond there was no glimpse of Zene. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett felt anxious, and her anxiety increased as the dusk + thickened. + </p> + <p> + “There don't seem to be any taverns along this road,” she said; “and I + hate to ask at any farmer's for accommodations over night. We don't know + the neighborhood, and a body hates to be a bother.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's camp out,” volunteered Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + “We'd need the cover off of the wagon to do that, and kittles,” said + Grandma Padgett, “and dried meat and butter and cake and things <i>out</i> + of the wagon.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe Zene's back in the woods campin' somewhere,” exclaimed aunt + Corinne. “And he has his gun, and can shoot birds too.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he's goin' along the right road and expectin' us to follow. And as + like as not has found a place to put up,—while we're off on the + wrong road.” + </p> + <p> + “How'll we ever get to brother Tip's, then?” propounded aunt Corinne. + “Maybe we're in Missouri, or Iowa, and won't never get to the Illinois + line!” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” remarked Robert her nephew; “do you s'pose folks could go to Iowa + or Missouri as quick as this! Cars'd have to put on steam to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “And I forgot about the State lines,” murmured his aunt. “The' hasn't been + any ropes stretched along't <i>I</i> saw.” + </p> + <p> + “They don't bound States with ropes,” said Robert Day. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's lines,” insisted aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + “Do you make out a house off there?” questioned Grandma Padgett, + shortening the discussion. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am, and it's a tavern,” assured her grandson, kneeling upon the + cushion beside her to stretch his neck forward. + </p> + <p> + It was a tavern in a sandy valley. It was lighting a cautious candle or + two as they approached. A farmer was watering his team at the trough under + the pump spout. All the premises had a look of Holland, which Grandma + Padgett did not recognize: she only thought them very clean. There was a + side door cut across the centre like the doors of mills, so that the upper + part swung open while the lower part remained shut. A fat white woman + leaned her elbows upon this, scarcely observing the travellers. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett paused at the front of the house and waited for somebody + to come out. The last primrose color died slowly out of the sky. If the + tavern had any proprietor, he combined farming with tavern keeping. His + hay and wheat fields came close to the garden, and his corn stood rank on + rank up the hills. + </p> + <p> + “They must be all asleep in there,” fretted Grandma Padgett. The woman + with her arms over the half door had not stirred. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I run in?” said Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and ask if Zene stopped here. I don't see a sign of the wagon.” + </p> + <p> + Her grandson opened the carriage door and ran down the steps. The + white-scrubbed hall detained him several minutes before he returned with a + large man who smoked a crooked-stemmed pipe during the conference. The man + held the bowl of the pipe in his hand which was fat and red. So was his + face. He had a mighty tuft of hair on his upper lip. His shirt sleeves + shone like new snow through the dark. + </p> + <p> + “Goot efenins,” he said very kindly. + </p> + <p> + “I want to stop here over night,” said Grandma Padgett. “We're moving, and + our wagon is somewhere on this road. Have you seen anything of a wagon—and + a white and a gray horse?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said the tavern keeper, nodding his head. “Dere is lots of + wakkons on de road aheadt.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we can't go further ourselves. Can you take the lines?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nein,” said the tavern-keeper mildly. “I don't keep moofers mit my + house. Dey goes a little furter.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't keep movers!” said Grandma Padgett indignantly. “What's your + tavern for?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yah,” replied the host with undisturbed benevolence. “Dey goes a + little furter.” + </p> + <p> + “Why have you put out a sign to mislead folks?” + </p> + <p> + The tavern keeper took the pipe out of his mouth to look up at his sign. + It swayed back and forth in the valley breeze, as if itself expostulating + with him. + </p> + <p> + “Dot's a goot sign,” he pronounced. “Auf you go up te hill, tere ist te + house I put up mit te moofers. First house. All convenient. You sthay + tere. I coom along in te mornin'. Tere ist more as feefty famblies sthop + mit tat house. Oh, nien, I don't keep moofers mit te tafern.” + </p> + <p> + “This is a queer way to do,” said Grandma Padgett, fixing the full + severity of her glasses on him. “Turn a woman and two children away to + harbor as well as they can in some old barn! I'll not stop in your house + on the hill. Who'd 'tend to the horses?” + </p> + <p> + “Tare ist grass and water,” said the landlord as she turned from his door. + “And more as feefty famblies hast put up tere. I don't keep moofers mit te + tafern.” + </p> + <p> + Robert and Corinne felt very homeless as she drove at a rattling pace down + the valley. They were hungry, and upon an unknown road; and that + inhospitable tavern had turned them away like vagrants. + </p> + <p> + “We'll drive all night before we'll stop in his movers' pen,” said Grandma + Padgett with her well-known decision. “I suppose he calls every vagabond + that comes along a mover, and his own house is too clean for such gentry. + I've heard about the Swopes and the Dutch being stupid, but a body has to + travel before they know.” + </p> + <p> + But well did the Dutch landlord know the persuasion of his house on the + hill after luckless travellers had passed through a stream which drained + the valley. This was narrow enough, but the very banks had a caving, + treacherous look. Grandma Padgett drove in, and the carriage came down + with a plunge on the flanks of Old Hickory and Old Henry, and they + disappeared to their nostrils and the harness strips along the centre of + their backs. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: “HASN'T THE CREEK ANY BOTTOM?” CRIED GRANDMA PADGETT.} + </p> + <p> + “Hasn't the creek any bottom?” cried Grandma Padgett, while Corinne and + Robert clung to the settling carriage. The water poured across their feet + and rose up to their knees. Hickory and Henry were urged with whip and + cry. + </p> + <p> + “Hold fast, children! Don't get swept out!” Grandma Padgett exhorted. + “There's no danger if the horses can climb the bank.” + </p> + <p> + They were turned out of their course by the current, and Hickory and Henry + got their fore feet out, crumbling a steep place. Below the bank grew + steeper. If they did not get out here, all must go whirling and sinking + down stream. The landing was made, both horses leaping up as if from an + abyss. The carriage cracked, and when its wheels once more ground the dry + sand, Grandma Padgett trembled awhile, and moved her lips before replying + to the children's exclamations. + </p> + <p> + “We've been delivered from a great danger,” she said. “And that miserable + man let us drive into it without warning!” + </p> + <p> + “If I's big enough,” said Robert Day, “I'd go back and thrash him.” + </p> + <p> + “It ill becomes us,” rebuked Grandma Padgett, “to give place to wrath + after escaping from peril. But if this is the trap he sets for his house + on the hill, I hope he has been caught in it himself sometime!” + </p> + <p> + “Where'll we go now?” Corinne wailed, having considered it was time to + begin crying. “I'm drownded, and my teeth knock together, I'm gettin' so + cold!” + </p> + <p> + They paused at the top of the hill, Corinne still lamenting. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to stop here,” said Grandma Padgett, adding, “but I suppose + we must.” + </p> + <p> + The house was large and weather-beaten; its gable-end turned toward the + road. The “feefty famblies” had left no trace of domestic life. Grass and + weeds grew to the lower windows. The entrance was at one side through a + sea of rank growths. + </p> + <p> + “It looks like they's ghosts lived here,” pronounced Robert dismally. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let me hear such idle speeches!” said Grandma Padgett, shaking her + head. “Spooks and ghosts only live in people's imaginations.” + </p> + <p> + “If they got tired of that,” said Robert, “they'd come to live here.” + </p> + <p> + “The old house looks like its name was Susan,” wept Corinne. “Are we goin' + to stay all night in this Susan house, ma?” + </p> + <p> + Her parent stepped resolutely from the carriage, and Bobaday hastened to + let down some bars. He helped his grandmother lead the horses into a weedy + enclosure, and there unhitch them from the carriage. There was a shed + covered with straw which served for a stable. The horses were watered—Robert + wading to his neck among cherry sprouts to a curb well, and unhooking the + heavy bucket from its chain, after a search for something else available. + Then leaving the poor creatures to browse as best they could, the party + prepared to move upon the house. Aunt Corinne came out of the wet + carriage. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett picked up some sticks and chips. They attempted to unlock + the door; but the lock was broken. “Anybody can go in!” remarked the head + of the party. “But I don't know that we can even build a fire, and as to + provisions, I s'pose we'll have to starve this night.” + </p> + <p> + But stumbling into a dark front room, and feeling hopelessly along the + mantel, they actually found matches. The tenth one struck flame. + </p> + <p> + There were ashes and black brands in the fireplace, left there possibly, + by the landlord's last moofer. Grandma Padgett built a fire to which the + children huddled, casting fearful glances up the damp-stained walls. The + flame was something like a welcome. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Grandma with energy, “there are even provisions in the + house. I wouldn't grudge payin' that man a good price and cookin' them + myself, if I could give you something to eat.” + </p> + <p> + “We can look,” suggested Bobaday. “They'd be in the cellar, wouldn't + they?” + </p> + <p> + “It's lots lonesomer than our house was the morning we came away,” + chattered aunt Corinne, warming her long hands at the blaze. + </p> + <p> + And now beneath the floor began a noise which made even Grandma Padgett + stand erect, glaring through her glasses. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Something's</i> in the cellar!” whispered Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. THE SUSAN HOUSE CELLAR. + </h2> + <p> + It was not pleasant to stand in a strange house in an unknown + neighborhood, drenched, hungry and unprotected, hearing fearful sounds + like danger threatening under foot. + </p> + <p> + Corinne felt a speechless desire to be back in the creek again and on the + point of drowning; that would soon be over. But who could tell what might + occur after this groaning in the cellar? + </p> + <p> + “I heard a noise,” said Grandma Padgett, to bespeak their attention, as if + they could remember ever hearing anything else. + </p> + <p> + “It's cats, I think,” said Robert Day, husky with courage. + </p> + <p> + Cats could not groan in such short and painful catches. Conjectures of + many colors appeared and disappeared like flashes in Bobaday's mind. The + groaner was somebody that bad Dutch landlord had half murdered and put in + the cellar. Maybe the floor was built to give way and let every traveller + fall into a pit! Or it might be some boy or girl left behind by wicked + movers to starve. Or a beggarman, wanting the house to himself, could be + making that noise to frighten them away. + </p> + <p> + The sharp groans were regularly uttered. Corinne buried her head in her + mother's skirts and waited to be taken or left, as the Booggar pleased. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Grandma Padgett, “I suppose we'll have to go and see what + ails that Thing down there. It may be a human bein' in distress.” + </p> + <p> + Robert feared it was something else, but he would not have mentioned it to + his grandmother. + </p> + <p> + “What'll we carry to see with?” he eagerly inquired. It was easy to be + eager, because they had no lights except the brands in the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett, who in her early days had carried live coals from + neighbors' houses miles away, saw how to dispense with lamp or candle. She + took a shovel full of embers—and placed a burning chip on top. The + chip would have gone out by itself, but was kept blazing by the coals + underneath. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I go ahead?” inquired Robert. + </p> + <p> + “No, you walk behind. And you might carry a piece of stick,” replied his + grandmother, conveying a hint which made his shoulder blades feel chilly. + </p> + <p> + They moved toward the cellar entrance in a slow procession, to keep the + chip from flaring out. + </p> + <p> + “Don't hang to me so!” Grandma Padgett remonstrated with her daughter. “I + sh'll step on you, and down we'll all go and set the house afire.” + </p> + <p> + Garrets are cheerful, cobwebby places, always full of slits where long, + smoky sun-rays can poke in. An amber warmth cheers the darkness of + garrets; you feel certain there is nothing ugly hiding behind the remotest + and dustiest box. If rats or mice inhabit it, they are jovial fellows. But + how different is a cellar, and especially a cellar neglected. You plunge + down rough steps into a cavern. A mouldy air from dried-up and forgotten + vegetables meets you. The earth may not be moist underfoot, but it has not + the kind feeling of sun-warmed earth. And if big rats hide there, how bold + and hideous they are! There are cool farmhouse cellars floored with cement + and shelved with sweet-smelling pine, where apple-bins make incense, and + swinging-shelves of butter, tables of milk crocks, lines of fruit cans and + home-made catsup bottles, jars of pickles and chowder, and white covered + pastry and cake, promise abundant hospitality. But these are inverted + garrets, rather than cellars. They are refrigerators for pure air; and + they keep a mellow light of their own. When you go into one of them it + seems as if the house were standing on its head to express its joy and + comfort. + </p> + <p> + But the Susan House cellar was one of dread, aside from the noise + proceeding out of it. Bobaday knew this before they opened a door upon a + narrow-throated descent. + </p> + <p> + One of Zene's stories became vivid. It was a story of a house where nobody + could stay, though the landlord offered it rent-free. But along came two + good youths without any money, and for board and lodging, they undertook + to break the spell by sleeping there three nights. The first two nights + they were not disturbed, and sat with their candle, reading good books + until after midnight. But the third, just on the stroke of twelve, a noise + began in the cellar! So they took their candle, and, armed with nothing + except good books, went below, and in the furthest corner they saw a + little old man with a red nightcap on his head, sitting astride of a + barrel! In Zene's story the little old man only had it on his mind to tell + these good youths where to dig for his money; and when they had secured + the money, he amiably disappeared, and the house was pleasant to live in + ever afterward. + </p> + <p> + This tale, heard in the barn while Zene was greasing harnesses, and heard + without Grandma Padgett's sanction, now made her grandson shiver with + dread as his feet went down into the Susan House dungeon. It was trying + enough to be exploring a strange cellar full of groans, without straining + your eyes in expectation of seeing a little old man in a red nightcap, + sitting astride of a barrel! + </p> + <p> + “Who's there?” said Grandma Padgett with stern emphasis, as she held her + beacon stretched out into the cellar. + </p> + <p> + The groaning ceased for an awful space of time. Aunt Corinne was behind + her nephew, and she squatted on the step to peer with distended eyes, lest + some hand should reach up and grab her by the foot. + </p> + <p> + It was a small square cellar, having earthen sides, but piles of pine + boxes made ambushes everywhere. + </p> + <p> + “Come out!” Grandma Padgett spoke again. “We won't have any tricks played. + But if you're hurt, we can help you.” + </p> + <p> + It was like addressing solid darkness, for the chip was languishing upon + its coals, and cast but a dim red glare around the shovel. + </p> + <p> + Still some being crept toward them from the darkness, uttering a prolonged + and hearty groan, as if to explode at once the accumulations of silence. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. MR. MATTHEWS. + </h2> + <p> + Aunt Corinne realizing it was a man, rushed to the top of the steps and + hid her eyes behind the door. She knew her mother could deal with him, + and, if he offered any harm, pour coals of fire upon his head in a literal + sense. But she did not feel able to stand by. Robert, on the other hand, + seeing no red nightcap on the head thrust up toward them, supported his + grandmother strongly, and even helped to pull the man up-stairs. + </p> + <p> + One touch of his soft, foolish body was enough to convince any one that he + was a harmless creature. His foot was sprained. + </p> + <p> + Robert carried a backless chair and set it before the fire, and on this + the limping man was placed. Grandma Padgett emptied her coals on the + hearth and surveyed him. He had a red face and bashful eyes, and while the + top of his head was quite bald, he had a half-circle of fuzz extending + around his face from ear to ear. He wore a roundabout and trousers, and + shoes with copper toes. His hands were fat and dimpled as well as + freckled. Altogether, he had the appearance of a hugely overgrown boy, + ducking his head shyly while Grandma Padgett looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “For pity sake!” said Grandma Padgett. “What ails the creature? What's + your name, and who are you?” + </p> + <p> + At that the man chanted off in a nasal sing-song, as if he were accustomed + to repeating his rhyme: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + J. D. Matthews is my name, + Ohio-r is my nation, + Mud Creek is my dwellin' place, + And glory is my expectation. +</pre> + <p> + “Yes,” said Grandma Padgett, removing her glasses, as she did when very + much puzzled. + </p> + <p> + Corinne, in a distant corner of the lighted room, began to laugh aloud, + and after looking towards her, the man laughed also, as if they two were + enjoying a joke upon the mother. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it may be funny, but you gave us enough of a scare with your + gruntin' and your groanin',” said Grandma Padgett severely. + </p> + <p> + J. D. Matthews reminded of his recent tribulations, took up one of his + feet and began to groan over it again. He was as shapeless and clumsy as a + bear, and this motion seemed not unlike the tiltings of a bear forced to + dance. + </p> + <p> + “There you go,” said Grandma Padgett. “Can't you tell how you came in the + cellar, and what hurt you?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Matthews piped out readily, as if he had packed the stanza into shape + between the groans of his underground sojourn: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To the cellar for fuel I did go, + And there I met my overthrow; + I lost my footing and my candle, + And grazed my shin and sprained my ankle. +</pre> + <p> + “The man must be a poet,” pronounced Grandma Padgett with contempt. “He + has to say everything in rhyme.” + </p> + <p> + Chanted Mr. Matthews: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I was not born in a good time, + I cannot speak except in rhyme. +</pre> + <p> + “Ain't he funny?” said Bobaday, rubbing his own knees with enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “He's very daft,” said the grandmother. “And what to do for him I don't + know. We've nothing to eat ourselves. I might wet his foot and tie it up.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Matthews looked at her smilingly while he recited: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have a cart that does contain + A pana<i>seer</i> for ev'<i>ry</i> pain. + There's coffee, also there is <i>chee</i>, + Sugar and cakes, bread and hone-ee. + I have parch corn and liniment, + Which causes me to feel content. + There is some half a dozen kittles + To serve me when I cook my vittles. + Butter and eggs I do deal in; + To go without would be a sin. + When I sit down to cook my meals, + I know how good a king feels. +</pre> + <p> + “Well, if you had your cart handy it would be worth while,” said Grandma + Padgett indulgently. “But talkin' of such things when the children are + hungry only aggravates a body more.” + </p> + <p> + Producing a key from his roundabout pocket, Mr. Matthews lifted his voice + and actually sung: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + J. D. Matthews' cart stands at your door. + Lady, will you step out and see my store? + I've cally-co and Irish table linen, + Domestic gingham and the best o' flannen. + I take eggs and butter for these treasures, + I never cheat, but give good measures. +</pre> + <p> + “Let me see if there is a cart,” begged Bobaday, reaching for the key + which his grandmother reluctantly received. + </p> + <p> + He then went to the front door and groped in the weeds. The hand-cart was + there, and all of Mr. Matthews' statements were found to be true. He had + plenty of provisions, as well as a small stock of dry goods and patent + medicines, snugly packed in the vehicle which he was in the habit of + pushing before him. There were even candles. Grandma Padgett lighted one, + and stuck it in an empty liniment bottle. Then she dressed the silly + pedler's ankle, and put an abundant supper on the fire to cook in his + various kettles; the pedler smiling with pure joy all the time to find + himself the centre of such a family party. + </p> + <p> + Bobaday and Corinne came up, and stood leaning against the ends of the + mantel. No poached eggs and toast ever looked so nice; no honey ever had + such melting yellow comb; no tea smelled so delicious; no ginger cakes had + such a rich moistness. They sat on the carriage cushions and ate their + supper with Grandma Padgett. It was placed on the side of an empty box, + between them and the pedlerman. He divided his attention betwixt eating + and chanting rhymes, interspersing both with furtive laughs, into which he + tried to draw the children. Grandma Padgett overawed him; but he evidently + felt on a level with aunt Corinne and her nephew. In his foolish red face + there struggled a recollection of having gone fishing, or played marbles, + or hunted wild flowers with these children or children like them. He + nodded and twinkled his eyes at them, and they laughed at whatever he did. + His ankle was so relieved by a magic liniment, that he felt able to hobble + around the house when Grandma Padgett explored it, repeating under his + breath the burst he indulged in when she arrayed the supper on the box: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O, I went to a friend's house, + The friend says, 'Come in, + Have a hot cup of coffee; + And how have you been?' +</pre> + <p> + Grandma Padgett said she could not sleep until she knew what other + creatures were hidden in the house. + </p> + <p> + They all ascended the enclosed staircase, and searched echoing dusty rooms + where rats or mice whisked out of sight at their approach. + </p> + <p> + “This is a funny kind of an addition to a tavern,” remarked the head of + the party. “No beds: no anything. We'll build a fire in this upper + fireplace, and bring the cushions and shawls up, and see if we can get a + wink of sleep. It ain't a cold night, and we're dry now. You can sleep by + the fireplace down-stairs,” she said to the pedler, “and I'll settle with + you for our breakfast and supper before we leave in the morning. It's been + a providence that you were in the house.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Matthews smiled deferentially, and appeared to be pondering a new + rhyme about Grandma Padgett. But the subject was so weighty it kept him + shaking his head. + </p> + <p> + They came down-stairs for fuel and coals, and she requested the pedler to + take possession of the lower room and make himself comfortable, but not to + set the house on fire. + </p> + <p> + “What shall we give him to sleep on?” pondered the grandmother. “I can't + spare things from the children; it won't do to let him sleep on the + floor.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I have a cart, it has been said, + Which serves me both for cupboard and bed,” + </pre> + <p> + chanted Mr. Matthews. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's a good thing,” said Grandma Padgett. “If you could pull a + whole furnished house out of that cart 'twouldn't surprise me.” + </p> + <p> + The pedler opened the door and dragged his cart in over the low sill. They + then bolted the door with such rusty fastenings as remained to it. + </p> + <p> + As soon as he felt the familiar handle on his palms, J. D. Matthews forgot + that his ankle had been twisted. He was again upon the road, as free as + the small wild creatures that whisked along the fence. Grandma Padgett's + grown-up strength of mind failed to restrain him from acting the horse. He + neighed, and rattled the cart wildly over the empty room. Now he ran away + and pretended to kick everything to pieces; and now he put himself up at a + manger, and ground his feed. He broke out of his stable and careened + wildly around a pasture, refusing to be hitched, and expressing his + contempt for the cart by kicking up at it. + </p> + <p> + “I guess your sprain wasn't as bad as you let on,” observed Grandma + Padgett. + </p> + <p> + The observation, or a twinge, reminded Mr. Matthews to double himself down + and groan again. + </p> + <p> + With painful limps, and Robert Day's assistance, he got the cart before + the fireplace. It looked like a narrow, high green box on wheels. The + pedler blocked the wheels behind, and propped the handle level. Then he + crept with great contentment to the top, and stretched himself to sleep. + </p> + <p> + “He's a kind of a fowl of the air,” said Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I hope he's going our road!” said Bobaday, as they re-ascended + the stairs. “He's more fun than a drove of turkeys!” + </p> + <p> + “And I'm not a bit afraid of him,” said aunt Corinne. “He ain't like the + old man with a bag on his back.” + </p> + <p> + But J. D. Matthews was going in the opposite direction. + </p> + <p> + Before Grandma Padgett had completed her brief toilet next morning, and + while the daylight was yet uncertain, the Dutch landlord knocked at the + outer door for his fee. He seemed not at all surprised at finding the + pedler lodging there, but told him to stop at the tavern and trade with + the vrow. + </p> + <p> + “And a safe time the poor simple soul will have,” said Grandma Padgett, + making her spectacles glitter at the landlord, “gettin' through the creek + that nigh drowned us. I suppose, <i>you</i> have a ford that you don't + keep for movers.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yah!” said the landlord. “Te fort ist goot.” + </p> + <p> + “How dared you send a woman and two children to such an empty, miserable + shell as this?” + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: J. D. MATTHEWS RUNS AWAY.} + </p> + <p> + “I don't keep moofers to mine tafern,” said the landlord, putting his + abundant charge into his pocket. “Chay-Te, he always stops here. He coes + all ofer te countries, Chay-Te toes. His headt ist pat.” + </p> + <p> + “But his heart is good,” said the grandmother. “And that will count up + more to his credit than if he was an extortioner, and ill-treated the + stranger within his gate.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Chay-Te ist a goot feller!” said the Dutch landlord comfortably, + untouched by any reflections on his own conduct. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett could not feel placid in her mind until the weeds and hill + hid him from sight. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Matthews arose so sound from his night's slumber, that he was able + after pumping a prodigious lot of water over himself, and blowing with + enjoyment, to help her get the breakfast, and put the kettles in + travelling order afterwards. He had a great many housewifely ways, and his + tidiness was a satisfaction to Grandma Padgett. The breakfast was + excellent, but Corinne and Bobaday on one side of the box, and J. D. + Matthews on the other, exchanged glances of regret at parting. He helped + Robert put the horses to the carriage, making blunders at every stage of + the hitching up. + </p> + <p> + They all came out of the Susan House, and he pushed his cart into the + road. + </p> + <p> + “I almost hate to leave it,” said aunt Corinne, “because we did have a + good time after we were scared so bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Seems as if a body always hates to leave a place,” remarked Bobaday. “The + next people that come along will never know we lived here one night. But + <i>we'll</i> always remember it.” + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett before entering the carriage, was trying to make the + pedler take pay for the food her family ate. He smiled at her + deferentially, but backed away with his cart. + </p> + <p> + “What a man this is!” she exclaimed impatiently. “We owe you for two + meals' vittles.” + </p> + <p> + “I have some half a dozen kittles,” murmured Mr. Matthews. + </p> + <p> + “But won't you take the money? The landlord was keen enough for his.” + </p> + <p> + The pedler had got his rhyme about Grandma Padgett completed. He left her, + still stretching her hand out, and rattled his cart up to the children who + were leaning from the carriage towards him. + </p> + <p> + “She is a lady of renown,” chanted J. D. Matthews, indicating their + grandmother. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + She makes good butter by the pound, + Her hand is kind, so is her tongue; + But when she comes I want to run! +</pre> + <p> + He accordingly ran, rattling the cart like a hailstorm before him, + downhill; and out of their sight. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there he goes!” sighed aunt Corinne, “and he hardly limps a bit. I + hope we'll see him again some time.” + </p> + <p> + “I might 'a forced the money into his pocket,” reflected Grandma Padgett, + as she took up the lines. “But I'd rather feel in debt to that kind, + simple soul than to many another. Why didn't we ask him if he saw Zene's + wagon up the road? These poor horses want oats. They'll be glad to sight + the white cover once more.” + </p> + <p> + “I would almost rather have him come along,” decided Robert Day, “than to + find the wagon. For he could make a camp anywhere, and speak his poetry + all the time. What fun he must have if he wants to stay in the woods all + night. I expect if he wanted to hide he could creep into that cart and + stretch out, with his face where he could smell the honey and ginger + cakes. I'd like to have a cart and travel like that. Are we going on to + the 'pike again, Grandma?” + </p> + <p> + “Not till we find Zene,” she replied, driving resolutely forward on the + strange road. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. ZENE'S MAN AND WOMAN. + </h2> + <p> + A covered wagon appeared on the first crossroad, moving steadily between + rows of elder bushes. The carriage waited its approach. A figure like + Zene's sat resting his feet on the tongue behind the old gray and the old + white. + </p> + <p> + “It's our wagon,” said Robert Day. Presently Zene's countenance, and even + the cast in his eyes, became a certainty instead of a wavering + indistinctness, and he smiled with satisfaction while halting his vehicle + at right angles with the carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been?” inquired Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + “Over on t'other road,” replied Zene, indicating the direction with his + whip, “huntin' you folks. I knowed you hadn't made the right turn + somehow.” + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett mentioned her experience with the Dutch landlord and the + ford, both of which Zene had avoided by taking another cross-road that he + had neglected to indicate to them. He said he thought they would see the + wagon-track and foller, not bein' fur behind. When he discovered they were + not in his train, he was in a narrow road and could not turn; so he tied + the horses and walked back a piece. He got on a corn-field fence and + shouted to them; but by that time there was no carriage anywhere in the + landscape. + </p> + <p> + “Such things won't do,” said Grandma Padgett with some severity. + </p> + <p> + “No, marm,” responded Zene humbly. + </p> + <p> + “We must keep together,” said the head of the caravan. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, marm,” responded Zene earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, you may drive ahead and keep the carriage in sight till it's + dinner-time and we come to a good place to halt.” + </p> + <p> + Bobaday said he believed he would get in with Zene and try the wagon + awhile. Springs and cushions had become tiresome. He half-stood on the + tongue, to bring his legs down on a level with Zene's, and enjoyed the + jolting in every piece of his backbone. He had had a surfeit of + woman-society. Even the horsey smell of Zene's clothes was found + agreeable. And above all, he wanted to talk about J. D. Matthews, and tell + the terrors of a bottomless ford and a house with a strange-sounding + cellar. + </p> + <p> + “But the man was the funniest thing,” said Bobaday. “He just talked poetry + all the time, and Grandma said he was daft. I'd like to talk that way + myself, but I can't make it jee.” + </p> + <p> + Zene observed mysteriously, that there were some queer folks in this + section. + </p> + <p> + Yes, Bobaday admitted; the landlord was as Dutch as sour-krout. + </p> + <p> + Zene observed that all the queer folks wasn't Dutch. He shook his head and + looked so steadily at a black stump that Robert knew his eyes were fixedly + cast on the horizon. The boy speculated on the possibility of people with + crooked eyes seeing anything clearly. But Zene's hints were a stimulant to + curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Where did <i>you</i> stay last night?” inquired Robert, bracing himself + for pleasant revelations. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I thought at first I'd put up in the wagon.” replied Zene. + </p> + <p> + “But you didn't?” + </p> + <p> + “No: not <i>intirely</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “What <i>did</i> you do?” pressed Robert Day. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I thought I'd better git nigh some house, on account of givin' me a + chance to see if you folks come by. I thought you'd inquire at all the + houses.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you stop at one?” + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: ZENE EXCITES BOBADAY'S CURIOSITY.} + </p> + <p> + “I took the team out <i>by</i> a house. It was plum dark then.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd gone in to see what kind of folks they were first,” remarked Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; that's what I'd orto done. But I leads them round to their + feed-box after I watered 'em to a spring o' runnin' water. Then I doesn't + know but the woman o' the house will give me a supper if I pays for it. So + I slips to the side door and knocks. And a man opens the door.” + </p> + <p> + Robert Day drew in his breath quickly. + </p> + <p> + “How did the man look?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell you that,” replied Zene, “bekaze I was so struck with the + looks of the woman that I looked right past him.” + </p> + <p> + Robert considered the cast in Zene's eyes, and felt in doubt whether he + looked at the man and saw the woman, or looked at the woman and saw the + man. + </p> + <p> + “Was she pretty?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty!” replied Zene. “Is that flea-bit-gray, grazin' in the medder + there, pretty?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied Bobaday, shifting his feet, “that's about as good-looking + as one of our old grays.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know a horse,” said Zene indulgently. “Ourn's an iron gray. + There's a sight of difference in grays.” + </p> + <p> + “Was the woman ugly?” + </p> + <p> + “Is a spotted snake ugly?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Robert decidedly; “or it 'pears so to me.” + </p> + <p> + “That's how the woman 'peared to me. She was tousled, and looked wild out + of her eyes. The man says, says he, 'What do you want?' I s'ze, 'Can I git + a bite here?'” + </p> + <p> + Robert had frequently explained to Zene the utter nonsense of this + abbreviation, “I s'ze,” but Zene invariably returned to it, perhaps dimly + reasoning that he had a right to the dignity of third person when + repeating what he had said. If he said of another man, “says he,” why + could he not remark of himself, “I says he?” He considered it not only + correct, but ornamental. + </p> + <p> + “The man says, says he, 'We don't keep foot-pads.' And I s'ze—for I + was mad—'I ain't no more a foot-pad than you are,' I s'ze. 'I've got + a team and a wagon out here,' I s'ze, 'and pervisions too, but I've got + the means to pay for a warm bite,' I s'ze, 'and if you can't accommodate + me, I s'pose there's other neighbors that can.'” + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn't told him you had money and things!” exclaimed Robert, + bulging his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I see that, soon's I done it,” returned Zene, shaking a line over the + near horse. “The woman spoke up, and she says, says she, 'There ain't any + neighbor nigher than five miles.' Thinks I, this settlement looked thicker + than that. But I doesn't say yea or no to it. And they had me come in and + eat. I paid twenty-five cents for such a meal as your gran'marm wouldn't + have set down on her table.” + </p> + <p> + “What did they have?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't ask me,” urged Zene; “I'd like to forget it. There was vittles, but + they tasted so funny. And they kept inquirin' where I's goin' and who was + with me. They was the uneasiest people you ever see. And nothing would do + but I must sleep in the house. There was two rooms. I didn't see till I + was in bed, that the only door I could get out of let into the room where + the man and woman stayed.” + </p> + <p> + Robert Day began to consider the part of Ohio through which his caravan + was passing, a weird and unwholesome region, full of shivering delights. + While the landscape lay warm, glowing and natural around him, it was + luxury to turn cold at Zene's night-peril. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't go to sleep,” continued Zene, “and I kind of kept my eye on + the only window there was.” + </p> + <p> + Robert drew a sigh of relief as he reflected that an enemy watching at the + window would be sure Zene was looking just in the opposite direction. + </p> + <p> + “And the man and woman they whispered.” + </p> + <p> + “What did they whisper about?” + </p> + <p> + “How do I know?” said Zene mysteriously. “Whisper—whisper—whisper—z-z! + That's the way they kept on. Sometimes I thought he's threatenin' her, and + sometimes I thought she's threatenin' him. But along in the middle of the + night they hushed up whisperin'. And then I heard somebody open the + outside door and go out. I s'ze to myself, 'Nows the time to be up and + ready.' So I was puttin' on the clothes I'd took off, and right there on + the bed, like it had been there all the time, was two great big eyes + turnin' from green to red, and flame comin' out of them like it does out + of coals when the wind blows.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it a cat?” whispered Robert Day, hoping since Zene was safe, that it + was not. + </p> + <p> + Zene passed the insinuation with a derisive puff. He would not stoop to + parley about cats in a peril so extreme. + </p> + <p> + “'How do <i>I</i> know what it was?” he replied. “I left one of my socks + and took the boot in my hand. It was all the gun or anything o' that kind + I had. I left my neckhan'ketcher, too.” + </p> + <p> + “But you didn't get out of the window,” objected Bobaday eagerly. “They + always have a hole dug, you know, right under the window, to catch folks + in.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did,” responded Zene, leaping a possible hole in his account. “I + guess I cleared forty rod, and I come down on all-fours behind a + straw-pile right in the stable-lot.” + </p> + <p> + “Did the thing follow you?” + </p> + <p> + “Before I could turn around and look, I see that man and that woman + leadin' our horses away from the grove where I'd tied 'em to the + feed-box.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” inquired Robert Day. + </p> + <p> + Zene cast a compassionate glance at his small companion. + </p> + <p> + “What do folks ever lead critters away in the night for?” he hinted. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes to water and feed them.” + </p> + <p> + “I s'ze to myself,” continued Zene, ignoring this absurd supposition, + “'now, if they puts the horses in their stable, they means to keep the + wagon too, and make way with me so no one will ever know it. But,' I s'ze, + 'if they tries to lead the horses off somewhere for to hide 'em, then <i>that's</i> + all they want, and they'll pretend in the morning to have lost stock + themselves.'” + </p> + <p> + “And which did they do?” urged Robert after a thrilling pause. + </p> + <p> + “They marched straight for their stable.” + </p> + <p> + The encounter was now to take place. Robert Day braced himself by means of + the wagon-tongue. + </p> + <p> + “Then what did <i>you</i> do?” + </p> + <p> + “I rises up,” Zene recounted in a cautious whisper, “draws back the boot, + and throws with all my might.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at the woman?” urged Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to break her first,” apologized Zene. “She was worse than the + man. But I missed her and hit him.” + </p> + <p> + Robert was glad Zene aimed as he did. + </p> + <p> + “Then the man jumps and yells, and the woman jumps and yells, and the old + gray he rears up and breaks loose. He run right past the straw pile, and + before you could say Jack Robinson, I had him by the hitch-strap—it + was draggin'—and hoppin' against the straw, I jumped on him.” + </p> + <p> + “Jack Robinson,” Zene's hearer tried half-audibly. “Then what? Did the man + and woman run?” + </p> + <p> + “I makes old Gray jump the straw pile, and I comes at them just like I + rose out of the ground! Yes,” acknowledged Zene forbearingly, “they run. + Maybe they run toward the house, and maybe they run the other way. I got + a-holt of old White's hitch-strap and my boot; then I cantered out and + hitched up, and went along the road real lively. It wasn't till towards + mornin' that I turned off into the woods and tied up for a nap. Yes, I + slept <i>part</i> of the night in the wagon.” + </p> + <p> + Robert sifted all these harrowing circumstances. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Maybe</i> they weren't stealing the horses,” he hazarded. “Don't folks + ever unhitch other folks' horses to put 'em in their stable?” + </p> + <p> + Zene drew down the corners of his mouth to express impatience. + </p> + <p> + “But I'd hated to been there,” Robert hastened to add. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you would,” Zene observed in a lofty, but mollified way, “if + you'd seen the pile of bones I passed down the road a piece from that + house.” + </p> + <p> + “Bones?” + </p> + <p> + “Piled all in a heap at the edge of the woods.” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of bones, Zene?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn't get out to handle 'em. But I see one skull about the size + of yours, with a cap on about the size of yours.” + </p> + <p> + This was all that any boy could ask. Robert uttered a derisive “Ho!” but + he sat and meditated with pleasure on the pile of bones. It cast a + lime-white glitter on the man and woman who but for that might have been + harmless. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't git much rest,” concluded Zene. “I could drop off sound now if + I'd let myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll drive,” proposed Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + Zene reluctantly considered this offer. The road ahead looked smooth + enough. “I guess there's no danger unless you run into a fence corner,” he + remarked. + </p> + <p> + “I can drive as well as Grandma Padgett can,” said Robert indignantly. + </p> + <p> + Zene wagged his head as if unconvinced. He never intended to let Robert + Day be a big boy while he stayed with the family. + </p> + <p> + “Your gran'marm knows how to handle a horse. Now if I's to crawl back and + take a nap, and you's to run the team into any accident, I'd have to bear + all the blame.” + </p> + <p> + Robert protested: and when Zene had shifted his responsibility to his + satisfaction, he crept back and leaned against the goods, falling into a + sound sleep. + </p> + <p> + The boy drove slowly forward. It seemed that old gray and old white also + felt last night's vigils. They drowsed along with their heads down through + a landscape that shimmered sleepily. + </p> + <p> + Robert thought of gathering apples in the home orchard: of the big red + ones that used to fall and split asunder with their own weight, waking him + sometimes from a dream, with their thump against the sod. What boy + hereafter would gather the sheep-noses, and watch the early June's every + day until their green turned suddenly into gold, and one bite was enough + to make you sit down under the tree and ask for nothing better in life! He + used to keep the chest in his room floored with apples. They lay under his + best clothes and perfumed them. His nose knew the breath of a russet, and + in a dark cellar he could smell out the bell-flower bin. The real poor + people of the earth must be those who had no orchards; who could not clap + a particular comrade of a tree on the bark and look up to see it smiling + back red and yellow smiles; who could not walk down the slope and see + apples lying in ridges, or pairs, or dotting the grass everywhere. Robert + was half-asleep, dreaming of apples. He felt thirsty, and heard a humming + like the buzz of bees around the cider-press. He and aunt Corinne used to + sit down by the first tub of sweet cider, each with two straws apiece, and + watch their faces in the rosy juice while they drank Cider from the + barrels when snow was on the ground, poured out of a pitcher into a glass, + had not the ecstatic tang of cider through a straw. The Bees came to the + very edge of the tub, as if to dispute such hiving of diluted honey; and + more of them came, from hanging with bent bodies, around the dripping + press. + </p> + <p> + Their buzz increased to a roar. Robert Day woke keenly up to find the old + white and the old gray just creeping across a railroad track, and a + locomotive with its train whizzing at full speed towards them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. LITTLE ANT RED AND BIG ANT BLACK. + </h2> + <p> + A breath's delay must have been fatal. Robert had no whip, but doubling + the lines and shouting at the top of his voice, he braced himself and + lashed the gray. The respectable beast leaped with astonishment, dragging + its fellow along. The fore wheels cleared the track, and Bobaday's head + was filled with the prolonged cry of the locomotive. Zene sprang up, and + the hind part of the wagon received a crash which threw the boy out at the + side, and Zene quite across the gray's back. + </p> + <p> + The train came to a stop after running a few yards further. But finding + that no lives were lost, it put on steam and disappeared on its course, + and Zene and his trembling assistant were trying to prop up one corner of + the wagon when Grandma Padgett brought her spectacles to bear upon the + scene. + </p> + <p> + One hind wheel had been splintered by the train, the leap of the gray + turning the wagon from the road. Grandma Padgett preserved her composure + and asked few questions. Her lips moved at frequent intervals for a long + time after this accident. But aunt Corinne flew out of the carriage, and + felt her nephew's arms and wailed over the bump his cheek received, and + was sure his legs were broken, and that Zene limped more than ever, and + that the train had run straight across their prostrate forms. + </p> + <p> + Zene busied himself with shamefaced eagerness in getting the wagon off the + road and preparing to hunt a shop. He made piteous grimaces over every + strap he unfastened. + </p> + <p> + “We cannot leave the goods standing here in the wagon with nobody to watch + 'em,” said the head of the caravan. “It's nigh dinner-time, and we'll camp + in sight, and wait till we can all go on together. A merciful Providence + has brought us along safe so far. We mustn't git separated and run + ourselves into any more dangers than we can help.” + </p> + <p> + Zene lingered only to pitch the camp and find water at a spring running + down into a small creek. Then he bestrode one of the wagon horses, and, + carrying the broken wheel-hubs, trotted away. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett tucked up her dress, took provisions from the wagon, and + got dinner. Aunt Corinne and her nephew made use of this occasion to lay + in a supply of nuts for winter. The nuts were old ones, lying under last + autumn's leaves, and before a large heap had been gathered, aunt Corinne + bethought her to examine if they were fit to eat. They were not; for + besides an ancient flavor, the first kernel betrayed the fact that these + were pig-nuts instead of hickory. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: BOBADAY'S NARROW ESCAPE.} + </p> + <p> + “You would have 'em,” said Bobaday, kicking the pile. “I didn't think + they's good, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “They looked just like our little hickories,” said aunt Corinne, twisting + her mouth at the acrid kernel, “that used to lay under that tree in the + pasture. And their shells are as sound.” + </p> + <p> + But there was compensation in two saplings which submitted to be rode as + teeters part of the idle afternoon. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett had put away the tea things before Zene returned. He + brought with him a wagon-maker from one of the villages on the 'pike. The + wagon-maker, after examining the disabled vehicle, and getting the + dimensions of the other hind wheel which Zene had forgotten to take to + him, assured the party he would set them up all right in a day or two. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett was sitting on a log knitting. + </p> + <p> + “We'd better have kept to the 'pike,” she remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, marm,” responded Zene. + </p> + <p> + “The toll-gates would be a small expense compared to this.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed, marm,” responded Zene, grimacing piteously. + </p> + <p> + “Still,” said Grandma Padgett, “we have much to be thankful for, in that + our lives and health have been spared.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, marm! yes, marm!” responded Zene. + </p> + <p> + The wagon-maker hung by one careless leg to his horse before cantering + off, and inquired with neighborly interest: + </p> + <p> + “How far West you folks goin'?” + </p> + <p> + “We're goin' to Illinois,” replied Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pshaw, now!” said the wagon-maker. “Goin' to the Eeleenoy! that's a + good ways. Ain't you 'fraid you'll never git back?” + </p> + <p> + “We ain't expectin' to come back,” said Grandma Padgett. “My son's settled + there.” + </p> + <p> + “He has!” said the wagon-maker with an accent of surprise. “Well, well! + they say that's an awful country.” + </p> + <p> + “My son writes back it's as fine land as he ever saw,” said Grandma + Padgett with dignity and proper local pride. + </p> + <p> + “But the chills is so bad,” urged the wagon-maker, who looked as if he had + experienced them at their worst. “And the milk-sick, they say the + milk-sick is all over the Eeleenoy.” + </p> + <p> + “We're not borrowing any trouble about such things,” said Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + “Some of our townsfolks went out there,” continued the wagon-maker, “but + what was left of 'em come back. They had to buy their drinkin' water, and + the winters on them perrares froze the children in their beds! Oh, I + wouldn't go to the Eeleenoy,” said the wagon-maker coaxingly. “You're + better off here, if you only knew it.” + </p> + <p> + As Grandma Padgett heard this remonstrance with silent dignity, the + wagon-maker took himself off with a few additional remarks. + </p> + <p> + Then they began to make themselves snug for the night. The wagon-cover was + taken off and made into a tent for Grandma Padgett and aunt Corinne. + Robert Day was to sleep in the carriage, and Zene insisted on sleeping + with blankets on the wagon where he could watch the goods. He would be + within calling distance of the camp. + </p> + <p> + “We're full as comfortable as we were last night, anyhow,” observed the + head of the caravan. + </p> + <p> + Zene said it made no difference about his supper. He took thankfully what + was kept for him, and Robert Day felt certain Zene was trying to bestow on + him some conscience-stricken glances. + </p> + <p> + It was an occasion on which Zene could be made to tell a story. He was not + lavish with such curious ones as he knew. Robert sometimes suspected him + to be a mine of richness, but it took such hard mining to get a nugget out + that the results hardly compensated for the effort. + </p> + <p> + But when the boy climbed upon the wagon in starlight, and made a few + leading remarks, Zene really plunged into a story. He thereby relieved his + own feelings and turned the talk from late occurrences. + </p> + <p> + “I told you about Little Ant Red and Big Ant Black?” + </p> + <p> + “No, you never!” exclaimed Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + “Well, once there was Little Ant Red and Big Ant Black lived neighbors.” + </p> + <p> + “Whose aunts were they—each other's?” inquired the boy. + </p> + <p> + “They wasn't your father's or mother's sisters; they was <i>antymires</i>,” + explained Zene. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Robert Day. + </p> + <p> + “Ant Red, she was a little bit of a thing; you could just see her. But Ant + Black, she was a great big critter that went like a train of cars when she + was a mind to.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like either kind,” said Robert. “The little ones got into our + sugar once, and Grandma had to fight 'em out with camphor, and a big black + got into my mouth and I bit him in two. He pinched my tongue awful, and he + tasted sour.” + </p> + <p> + “Big Ant Black,” continued Zene, “she lived in a hill by a stump, but + Little Ant Red she lived on a leaf up a tree.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought they always crept into houses,” urged Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + “This one didn't. She lived on a leaf up a tree. And these two ants run + against each other in everything. When they met in the grass they'd stand + up on their hind feet and shake hands as friendly as you please, but as + soon as their backs was turned they'd talk! Big Ant Black said Little Ant + Red was always a meddling, and everybody knowed her son was drowned in + under the orchard cider-press where his mother sent him to snuff round. + And Little Ant Red she used to tell how Ant Black was so graspin' she + tried to carry that cider-press off and hide it in her hole. + </p> + <p> + “They had all the neighbors takin' sides. There was a yellow-back spider. + He took up for Ant Red; he hoped to get a taste of her, and Ant Black he + knowed was big enough to bite him unless he was mighty soople in wrappin' + the web around her. Every mornin' when the dew stood in beads on his net + he told Ant Red they was tears he shed about her troubles, and she run up + and down and all around, talkin' like a sawmill, but keepin' just off the + web. And there was Old Grasshopper, he sided with Ant Red, and so did Miss + Green Katydid. But all the beetles, and them bugs that lived under the + bark of the old stump, they took up for Ant Black, 'cause she was handy. + And the snake-feeder was on her side. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it run along, feelin's gittin' harder and harder, till Ant Black + she jumped up and kitched Ant Red fussin' round her cow pasture one night, + and then the cows began to give bloody milk, and then Ant Black she give + out that Ant Red was a witch. + </p> + <p> + “Now, these kind of critters, they're as smart as human bein's if you only + knowed it. And that was enough. The katydid, she said she felt pins and + needles in her back whenever Ant Red looked at her; and the snake-feeders + said she shot arries at 'em when they was flyin' over a craw-fish hole. + All the beetles and wood-bugs complained of bein' hit with witch-bells, + and the more Ant Red acted careful the more they had ag'in her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the spider he told her to come into his den and live, and she'd be + safe from hangin', but she wasn't sure in her mind about that. Even the + grasshopper jumped out of her way, and bunged his eyes out at her; as if + she could harm such a great big gray lubber as him! She was gittin' pretty + lonesome when she concluded to try a projic.” + </p> + <p> + “What's a projic?” inquired Robert Day. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's a—p'epperation, or—a plan of some kind,” explained + Zene. + </p> + <p> + “So she invites Big Ant Black and all her family, and the spider and all + his family, and the beetles and bugs and all their families, and the + snake-feeders and Miss Katydid for young folks, and don't leave out a + neighbor, to an apple-bee right inside the orchard fence. + </p> + <p> + “So it was pleasant weather, and they all come and brung the babies, the + old grasshopper skippin' along as nimble and steppin' on the shawl that + was wrapped round his young one. And the snake-feeders they helped Miss + Katydid over the lowest fence-rail, and here come Big Ant Black with such + a string behind her it looked like a funeral instead of a family + percession and she twisted her neck from side to side as soon as she see + the great big apple, kind of wonderin' if they couldn't carry it off. + </p> + <p> + “Little Ant Red had all her children's heads combed and the best cheers + set out, and she had on her good dress and white apron, and she says right + and left, 'Hoddy-do, sir? hoddy-do, marm? Come right in and take cheers. + And they all shook hands with her as if they'd never dreamt of callin' her + a witch, and fell right on to the apple and begun to eat. And they all e't + and e't, till they'd made holes in the rind and hollered it out. And Big + Ant Black she gits her family started, and they carries off chunk after + chunk of that apple till the road was black and white speckled between her + house and the apple-tree. + </p> + <p> + “Little Ant Red she walks around urgin' them all to help theirselves, and + that made them all feel pleasant to her. But Big Ant Black she got so + graspin' and eager, that what does she do but try to help her young ones + carry off the whole apple-shell. It did look jub'ous to see such a big + thing movin' off with such little critters tuggin' it. And then Ant Red + got on to a clover-head and showed the rest of the company what Ant Black + was a-doin'. Says Ant Red: 'You ain't e't more'n a mouthful, Mr. + Grasshopper.' + </p> + <p> + “'No, marm,' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'I s'ze to myself,' says Ant Red, 'here is this polite company, and the + snake-feeders don't touch nothin,' and everybedy knows Miss Katydid lives + on nothin' but rose-leaf butter, and the bugs and beetles will hardly take + enough, to keep 'em alive.' 'And I s'ze to myself,' says Ant Red, 'here's + this big apple walkin' off with nobody but Ant Black to move it. This + great big sound apple. And it looks to me like witchcraft. That's what it + looks like,' says Ant Red. + </p> + <p> + “They all declared it looked just like witchcraft. Ant Black tried to show + them how holler the apple was, and they declared if she'd hollered it that + way so quick, it was witchcraft certain. + </p> + <p> + “So what does they do but pen her and her young ones in the apple-shell + and stop it up with mud. Even the mud-wasps and tumble-bugs that hadn't + been bid come and took part when they see the dirt a-flyin'. Ant Red set + on the clover-head and teetered. + </p> + <p> + “Now, down to this present minute,” concluded Zene, “you never pick up an + apple and find a red ant walkin' out of it. If ants is there, it's one of + them poor black fellers that was shut up at the apple-bee, and they walk + out brisk; as if they's glad to find daylight once more.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. THE GREAT CAMP MEETING. + </h2> + <p> + Towards evening of the next day the broken wagon wheel was replaced. By + that time the children were not more anxious to move forward than was + Grandma Padgett. So just before sunset they broke up camp and moved along + the country road until the constellations were swinging overhead. Zene + took the first good crossway that led to the 'pike, and after waiting to + be sure that the noses of Old Hickory and Old Henry were following, he + jogged between dewy fence rows, and they came to the broad white ribbon of + high road, and in time to the village of Somerford, having progressed only + ten miles that day. + </p> + <p> + Bobaday and Corinne were so sleepy, and their departure from Somerford + next morning was taken at such an early hour, that they remembered it only + as a smell of tallow candles in the night, accompanied by a landlady's + head in a ruffled nightcap. + </p> + <p> + Very different was Springfield, the county seat of Clark County. That was + a town with people moving briskly about it, and long streets could be + seen, where pleasant houses were shaded with trees. + </p> + <p> + Zene inquired the names of all small places as soon as they entered the + main street, and then, obligingly halting the wagon at one side, he waited + until Grandma Padgett came up, and told her. He learned and announced the + cities long before any of them came into view. It was a pleasure to + Bobaday and aunt Corinne to ride into a town repeating its name to + themselves and trying to fasten its identity on their minds. First they + would pass a gang of laborers working on the road, or perhaps a man + walking up and down telegraph poles with sharp-shod heels; then appeared + humble houses with children playing thickly around them. Finer buildings + crowded on the sight, and where the signs of business flaunted, were women + and little children in pretty clothes, always going somewhere to buy + something nice. Once they met a long procession of carriages, and in the + first carriage aunt Corinne beheld and showed to her nephew a child's + coffin made of metal. It glittered in the sun. Grandma Padgett said it was + zinc. But aunt Corinne secretly suspected it was made of gold, to enclose + some dear little baby whose mother would not put it into anything else. + </p> + <p> + At New Carlisle, a sleepy little village where the dogfennel was + wonderfully advanced for June, Zene took the gray from the wagon and + hitched him to the carriage, substituting Old Hickory. The gray's shoulder + was rubbed by his collar, and Zene reasoned that the lighter weight of the + carriage would give him a better chance of healing his bruise. Thus paired + the horses looked comical. Hickory and Henry evidently considered the + change a disgrace to them. But they made the best of it and uttered no + protest, except keeping as wide a space as possible between themselves and + their new mates. But the gray and white, old yoke fellows at the plough, + who knew nothing of the dignity of carriage drawing, and cared less, who + had rubbed noses and shared feed-boxes ever since they were colts, both + lifted up their voices in mournful whinneys and refused comfort and + correction. The white turned his head back over his shoulder and would + have halted anywhere until his mate came up; while the gray strained + forward, shaking his head, and neighing as if his throat were full of + tears every time a tree or a turn in the road hid the wagon. + </p> + <p> + The caravan moving to this irregular and doleful music, passed through + another little town which Zene said was named Boston, late on a rainy + afternoon. Here they crossed the Miami River in a bridge through the + cracks of which Robert Day and Corinne looked at the full but not very + wide stream. It flowed beneath them in comparative silence. The rain + pricked the water's surface into innumerable puckers. + </p> + <p> + “Little boys dancing up,” said aunt Corinne, in time-honored phrase. + </p> + <p> + “No; it's bees stingin' the water,” said her nephew, “with long stingers + that reach clear out of the clouds.” + </p> + <p> + These sky-bees stung the dusty road until it lay first in dark dimples and + last in swollen mud rows and shallow pools. The 'pike kept its dignity + under the heaviest rains. Its very mud was light and plaster-like, + scarcely clinging to the wheels or soiling the horses' legs. Its flint + ribs rung more sharply under the horses' shoes. Through the damp dusk aunt + Corinne took pleasure in watching the fire struck by old Henry and the + gray, against the trickling stones. They pulled the carriage curtains + down, and Grandma Padgett had the oilcloth apron drawn up to her chin, + while she continued to drive the horses through a slit. The rear of the + wagon made a blur ahead of them. Now the 'pike sides faded from fresh + green to a general dulness, and trees whispering to the rain lost their + vistas and indentations of shade, and became a solid wall down which a + steady pour hissed with settled monotony. Boswell and Johnson no longer + foraged at the 'pike sides, or lagged behind or scampered ahead. They knew + it was a rainy October night without lightning and thunder, slipped by + mistake into the packet of June weather; and they trotted invisibly under + the carriage, carrying their tails down, and their lolling tongues close + to the puddles they were obliged to scamper through or skip. Boswell and + Johnson remembered their experiences at the lonesome Susan house, where + they lay in the deep weeds and were forgotten until morning by the + harassed family; and they rolled their eyes occasionally, with + apprehension lest the grinding of the wheels should cease, and some + ghostly wall loom up at one side of their way, unlighted by a single + glimmer and unperfumed by any whiff of supper. It was a fine thing to be + movers' dogs when the movers went into camp or put up in state at a + tavern. Around a camp were all sorts of woodsy creatures to be scratched + out of holes or chased up trees, or to be nosed and chewed at. There were + stray and half-wild pigs that had tails to be bitten, and what could be + more exhilarating than making a drove of grunting pigs canter like a + hailstorm away into deep woods! And in the towns and villages all resident + dogs came to call on Boswell and Johnson. At every tavern Boswell picked a + fight and Johnson fought it out; sometimes retiring with his tail to the + earth and a sad expression of being outnumbered, but oftener a victor to + have his wounds dressed and bandaged by Boswell's tongue. There was plenty + to eat at taverns and camps, and good hunting in the woods; but who could + tell what hungry milestone might stand at the end of this day's journey? + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett herself was beginning to feel anxious on this subject. She + drove faster in order to overtake Zene and consult with him, but before + his attention could be attracted, both carriage and wagon reached a broad + belt of shine stretching across the 'pike, and making trees in the meadow + opposite stand out as distinct individuals. + </p> + <p> + This illumination came from many camp-fires extending so far into the + woods that the last one showed like a spark. A great collection of moving + wagons were ranged in line along the extent of these fires, and tents + pitched under the dripping foliage revealed children playing within their + snug cover, or women spreading the evening meal. Kettles were hung above + the fires, and skillets hissed on the coals. The horses, tied to their + feed-boxes, were stamping and grinding their feed in content, and the gray + lifted up his voice to neigh at the whole collection as Grandma Padgett + stopped just behind Zene. All the camp dogs leaped up the 'pike together, + and Boswell and Johnson met them in a neutral way while showing the teeth + of defence. To Boswell and Johnson as well as to their betters, this big + and well-protected encampment had an inviting look, provided the campers + were not to be shunned. + </p> + <p> + A man came up the 'pike side through the rain and kicked some of the dogs + aside. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo,” said he most cheerfully. “Want to put up?” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” inquired Zene cautiously. He then craned his neck around to + look at Grandma Padgett, whose spectacles glared seriously at the man. + </p> + <p> + This hospitable traveller wore a red shirt and a slouched hat, and had his + trousers tucked in his boots. He pulled off his hat to shake the rain + away, and showed bushy hair and a smiling bearded face. No weather could + hurt him. He was ready for anything. + </p> + <p> + “Light down,” he exclaimed. “Plenty of room over there if you want it.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's over there?” inquired Zene. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's a big camp-meeting,” replied the man. “There's twenty or thirty + families, and lots of fun.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean,” inquired Grandma Padgett, “a camp-meeting for religious + purposes?” + </p> + <p> + “You can have that if you want it,” responded the man, “and have your + exhorters along. It's a family camp. Most of us going out to Californy. + Goin' to cross the plains. Some up in the woods there goin' to Missoury. + Don't care where they're goin' if they want to stop and camp with us. <i>We're</i> + from the Pan Handle of Virginia. There's a dozen families or more of us + goin' out to Californy together. The rest just happened along.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm a Virginian myself,” said Grandma Padgett, warming, “though Ohio's + been my State for many years.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now,” exclaimed the mover, “if you want to light right down, we'll + be all the gladder for that. I saw you stoppin' here uncertain; and + there's the ford over Little Miami ahead of you. I thought you'd not like + to try it in the dark.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not like a landlord back on the road that let us risk our necks!” + said Grandma Padgett with appreciation. “But if you take everybody into + camp ain't you afraid of getting the wrong sort?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” replied the Virginian. “There's enough of <i>us</i> to overpower + <i>them</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Zene,” said Grandma Padgett, “I guess we'd better stop here. We've + provisions in our wagon.” + </p> + <p> + “How far you goin'?” inquired the hospitable mover. + </p> + <p> + “Into Illinois,” replied the head of the small caravan. + </p> + <p> + “Your trip'll soon be done, then. Come on, now, and go to Californy, why + don't you! <i>That's</i> the country to get rich in! You'll see sights the + other side of the Mississippi!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm too old for such undertakings,” said Grandma Padgett, passing over + the mover's exuberance with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Why, we have a granny over ninety with us!” he declared. “Now's the time + to start if you want to see the great western country.” + </p> + <p> + Zene drove off the 'pike on the temporary track made by so many vehicles, + and Grandma Padgett followed, the Virginian showing them a good spot near + the liveliest part of the camp, upon which they might pitch. + </p> + <p> + The family sat in the-carriage while Zene took out the horses, sheltered + the wagon under thick foliage where rain scarcely penetrated, and + stretched the canvas for a tent. Then Grandma Padgett put on her rubber + overshoes, pinned a shawl about her and descended; and their fire was soon + burning, their kettle was soon boiling, in defiance of water streams which + frequently trickled from the leaves and fell on the coals with a hiss. The + firelight shone through slices of clear pink ham put down to broil. Aunt + Corinne laid the cloth on a box which Zene took out of the wagon for her, + and set the cups and saucers, the sugar and preserves, and little seed + cakes which grew tenderer the longer you kept them, all in tempting order. + They had baker's bread and gingercakes in the carriage. Since her + adventure at the Susan house, Grandma Padgett had taken care to put + provisions in the carriage pockets. Then aunt Corinne, assisted by her + nephew, got potatoes from the sack, wrapped them in wet wads of paper, and + roasted them in the ashes. A potato so roasted may be served up with a + scorched and hardened shell, but its heart is perfumed by all the odors of + the woods. It tastes better than any other potato, and while the butter + melts through it you wonder that people do not fire whole fields and bake + the crop in hot earth before digging it, to store for winter. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: BOBADAY'S CANOPIED THRONE.} + </p> + <p> + Zene had frequently assured Robert Day that an egg served this way was + better still. He said he used to roast eggs in the ashes when burning + stumps, and you only needed a little salt with them, to make them fit for + a king. But Robert Day scorned the egg and remained true to the potato. + </p> + <p> + While they were at supper the Virginian's wife came to see them, carrying + in her hand an offering of bird-pie. Grandma Padgett responded with a dish + of preserves. And they then talked about the old State, trying to discover + mutual interests there. + </p> + <p> + The Virginian's wife was a strong, handsome, cordial woman. Her family + came from the Pan Handle, but from the neighborhood of Wheeling, They were + not mountaineers. She had six children. They were going to California + because her husband had the mining fever. He wanted to go years before, + but she held out against it until she saw he would do no good unless he + went. So they sold their land, and started with a colony of neighbors. + </p> + <p> + The names of all her relatives were sifted, and Grandma Padgett made a + like search among her own kindred, and they discovered that an uncle of + one, and a grandfather of the other, had been acquainted, and served + together in the War of '12. This established a bond. Grandma Padgett was + gently excited, and told Bobaday and Corinne after the Virginia woman's + departure to her own wagons, that she should feel safe on account of being + an old neighbor in the camp. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. THE CRY OF A CHILD IN THE NIGHT. + </h2> + <p> + But the camp was too exciting to let the children fall asleep early. Fires + were kept briskly burning, and some of the wagoners feeling in a musical + humor, shouted songs or hummed melancholy tunes which sounded like a + droning accompaniment to the rain. The rain fell with a continuous murmur, + and evidently in slender threads, for it scarcely pattered on the tent. It + was no beating, boisterous, drenching tempest, but a lullaby rain, + bringing out the smell of barks, of pennyroyal and May-apple and wild + sweet-williams from the deep woods. + </p> + <p> + Robert Day crept out of the carriage, having with him the oil-cloth apron + and a plan. Four long sticks were not hard to find, or to sharpen with his + pocket knife, and a few knocks drove them into the soft earth, two on each + side of a log near the fire. He then stretched the oil-cloth over the + sticks, tying the corners, and had a canopied throne in the midst of this + lively camp. A chunk served for a footstool. Bobaday sat upon his log, + hearing the rain slide down, and feeling exceedingly snug. His delight + came from that wild instinct with which we all turn to arbors and caves, + and to unexpected grapevine bowers deep in the woods; the instinct which + makes us love to stand upright inside of hollow sycamore-trees, and + pretend that a green tunnel among the hazel or elderberry bushes is the + entrance hall of a noble castle. + </p> + <p> + Bobaday was very still, lest his grandmother in the tent, or Zene in the + remoter wagon, should insist on his retiring to his uneasy bed again. He + got enough of the carriage in daytime, having counted all its buttons up + and down and crosswise. The smell of the leather and lining cloth was + mixed with every odor of the journey. One can have too much of a very + easy, well-made carriage. + </p> + <p> + The firelight revealed him in his thoughtful mood: a very white boy with + glistening hair and expanding large eyes of a gray and velvet texture. + Some light eyes have a thin and sleepy surface like inferior qualities of + lining silk; and you cannot tell whether the expression or the humors of + the eye are at fault. But Nature, or his own meditations on what he read + and saw in this delicious world, had given to Bobaday's irises a softness + like the pile of gray velvet, varied sometimes by cinnamon-colored shades. + </p> + <p> + His eyes reflected the branches, the other campfires, and many wagons. It + gave him the sensation of again reading for the first time one of + grandfather's Peter Parley books about the Indians, or Mr. Irving's story + of Dolph Heyleger, where Dolph approaches Antony Vander Heyden's camp. He + saw the side of one wagon-cover dragged at and a little night-capped head + stuck out. + </p> + <p> + “Bobaday!” whispered aunt Corinne, creeping on tiptoe toward him, and + anxious to keep him from exclaiming when he saw her. + </p> + <p> + “What did you get up for?” he whispered back. + </p> + <p> + “What did <i>you</i> get up for?” retaliated aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + Robert Day made room for her on the log under the canopy, and she leaned + down and laced her shoes after being seated. “Ma Padgett's just as tight + asleep! What'd she say if she knew we wasn't in bed!” + </p> + <p> + It was so exciting and so nearly wicked to be out of bed and prowling when + their elders were asleep, they could not possibly enjoy the sin in + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't it nice?” whispered aunt Corinne. “I saw you fixin' this little + tent, and then I sl-ip-ped up and hooked some of my clothes on, and didn't + dast to breathe 'fear Ma Padgett'd hear me. There must be lots of children + in the camp.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I've heard the babies cryin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you s'pose there's any gipsy folks along?” + </p> + <p> + “Do 'now,” whispered Bobaday, his tone inclining to an admission that + gipsy folks might be along. + </p> + <p> + “The kind that would steal us,” explained aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + This mere suggestion was an added pleasure; it made them shiver and look + back in the bushes. + </p> + <p> + “There might be—away back yonder,” whispered Robert Day, emboldened + by remembering that his capable grandmother was just within the tent, and + Zene at easy waking distance. + </p> + <p> + “But all the people will hitch up and drive away in the morning,” he + added, “and we won't know anything about 'em.” + </p> + <p> + To aunt Corinne this seemed a great pity. “I'd like to see how everybody + looks,” she meditated. + </p> + <p> + “So'd I,” whispered her nephew. + </p> + <p> + “It's hardly rainin' a drizzle now,” whispered aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + “I get so tired ridin' all day long,” whispered Robert, “that I wish I was + a scout or something, like that old Indian that was named Trackless in the + book—that went through the woods and through the woods, and didn't + leave any mark and never seemed to wear out. You remember I read you a + piece of it?” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne fidgeted on the log. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't you like,” suggested her nephew, whose fancy the nighttime + stimulated, “to get on a flying carpet and fly from one place to another?” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne cast a glance back over her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “We could go a little piece from our camp-fire and not get lost,” she + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” whispered Robert boldly, “le's do it. Le's take a walk. It won't + do any harm. 'Tisn't late.” + </p> + <p> + “The's chickens crowin' away over there.” + </p> + <p> + “Chickens crow all times of the night. Don't you remember how our old + roosters used to act on Christmas night? I got out of bed four times once, + because I thought it was daylight, they would crow so!” + </p> + <p> + “Which way'll we take?” whispered aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + Robert slid cautiously from the log and mapped out the expedition. + </p> + <p> + “Off behind the wagon so's Zene won't see us. And then we'll slip along + towards that furthest fire. We can see the others as we go by. Follow me.” + </p> + <p> + It was easy to slip behind the wagon and lose themselves in the brush. But + there they stumbled on unseen snags and were caught or scratched by twigs, + and descended suddenly to a pig-wallow or other ugly spot, where Corinne + fell down. Bobaday then thought it expedient for his aunt to take hold of + his jacket behind and walk in his tracks, according to their life-long + custom when going down cellar for apples after dark. Grandma Padgett was + not a woman to pamper the fear of darkness in her family. She had been + known to take a child who recoiled from shapeless visions, and lead him + into the unlighted room where he fancied he saw them. + </p> + <p> + So after proceeding out of sight of their own wagon, aunt Corinne and her + nephew, toughened by this training, would not have owned to each other a + wish to go back and sit in safety and peace of nerve again upon the log. + Robert plodded carefully ahead, parting the bushes, and she passed through + the gaps with his own figure, clinching his jacket with fingers that + tightened or relaxed with her tremors. + </p> + <p> + They had not counted on being smelled out by dogs at the various + watch-fires. One lolling yellow beast sprang up and chased them. Aunt + Corinne would have flown with screams, but her nephew hushed her up and + put her valiantly on a very high stump behind himself. The dog took no + trouble to trace them. He was too comfortable before the brands, too + mud-splashed and stiff from a long day's journey, to care about chasing + any mystery of the wood to its hole. But this warned them not to venture + too near other fires where other possible dogs lay sentry. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't we fetch old Johnson?” whispered aunt Corinne, after they slid + down the tree stump. + </p> + <p> + “'Cause Boswell'd been at his heels, and the whole camp'd been in a + fight,” replied Bobaday. “Old Johnson was under our wagon; I don't know + where Bos was. I was careful not to wake him.” + </p> + <p> + Through gaps in foliage and undergrowth they saw many an individual part + of the general camp; the wagon-cover in some cases being as dun as the + hide of an elephant. When a curtain was dropped over the front opening of + the wagon, Bobaday and Corinne knew that women and children were sleeping + within on their chattels. Here a tent was made of sheets and stretched + down with the branch of an overhanging tree for a ridge-pole; and there + horse-blankets were made into a canopy and supported by upright poles. + Within such covers men were asleep, having sacks or comforters for + bedding. + </p> + <p> + On a few wagon tongues, or stretched easily before fires, men lingered, + talking in steady, monotonous voices as if telling stories, or in + indifferent tones as if tempting each other to trades. + </p> + <p> + The rain had entirely ceased, though the spongy wet wood sod was not + pleasant to walk upon. “I guess,” said-aunt Corinne, “we'd better go + back.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we've seen consider'ble,” assented her nephew. “I guess we'd + better.” + </p> + <p> + So he faced about. But quite near them arose the piercing scream of a + child in mortal fear. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. THE DARKENED WAGON. + </h2> + <p> + Aunt Corinne and her nephew felt pierced by the cry. Her hands gripped his + jacket with a shock. Robert Day turning took hold of his aunt's wrist to + pinch her silent, but his efforts were too zealous and turned her fright + to indignation. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want my hand pinched off, Bobaday Padgett!” whispered aunt + Corinne, jerking away and thus breaking the circuit of comfort and + protection which was supposed to flow from his jacket. + </p> + <p> + “But listen,” hissed Robert. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to listen,” whispered aunt Corinne; “I want to go back to + our camp-fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody can hurt us,” whispered her nephew, gathering boldness. “You stay + here and let me creep through the bushes to that wagon. I want to see what + it was.” + </p> + <p> + “If you stay a minute I'll go and leave you,” remonstrated aunt Corinne. + “Ma Padgett don't want us off here by ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + But Robert's hearing was concentrated upon the object toward which he + moved. He used Indian-like caution. The balls of his large eyes became so + prominent that they shone with some of the lustre of a cat's in the dark. + </p> + <p> + Corinne took hold of the bushes in his absence. + </p> + <p> + The wind was breathing sadly through the trees far off. What if some poor + little child, lost in the woods, should come patting to her, with all the + wildness of its experience hanging around it? Oh, the woods was a good + play-house, on sunshiny days, but not the best of homes, after all. That + must be why people built houses. When the snow lay in a deep cake, showing + only the two thumb-like marks at long intervals made by the rabbit in its + leaping flight, and when the air was so tense and cold you could hear the + bark of a dog far off, Bobaday used to say he would love to live in the + woods all the time. He would chop to keep himself warm. He loved to drag + the air into his lungs when it seemed frozen to a solid. Corinne + remembered how his cheeks burned and his eyes glittered during any winter + exertion. And what could be prettier, he said, than the woods after it + sleeted all night, and hoar frost finished the job! Every tree would stand + glittering in white powder, as if dressed for the grandest occasion, the + twigs tipped with lace-work, and the limbs done in tracery and all sorts + of beautiful designs. Still this white dress was deadly cold to handle. + Aunt Corinne had often pressed her fingers into the velvet crust upon the + trunks. She did not like the winter woods, and hardly more did she like + this rain-soaked place, and these broad, treacherous leaves that poured + water down her neck in the humid dark. + </p> + <p> + Bobaday pounced upon her with such force when he appeared once more, that + she was startled into trying to climb a bush no higher than herself. + </p> + <p> + He had not a word to say, but hitched his aunt to his jacket and drew her + away with considerable haste. They floundered over logs and ran against + stumps. Their own smouldering fire, and wagon with the hoops standing up + like huge uncovered ribs, and the tents wherein their guardian slept after + the fatigue of the day, all appeared wonderfully soon, considering the + time it had taken them to reach their exploring limit. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne huddled by the coals, and Bobaday sat down on the foot-chunk + he had placed for his awning throne. + </p> + <p> + “You better go to bed quick as ever you can,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I ain't goin',” said aunt Corinne with indignant surprise, “till + you tell me somethin' about what was up in the bushes. I stayed still and + let you look, and now you won't tell me!” + </p> + <p> + “You heard the sound,” remonstrated Robert. + </p> + <p> + “But I didn't see anything,” argued aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't want to,” said Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + They were talking in cautious tones, but no longer whispering. It had + become too tiresome. Aunt Corinne would now have burst out with an + exclamation, but checked herself and tilted her nose, talking to the coals + which twinkled back to her between her slim fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Boys think they are so smart! They want to have all the good times and + see all the great shows, and go slidin' in winter time, when girls have to + stay in the house and knit, and then talk like they's grown up, and we's + little babies!” + </p> + <p> + Robert Day fixed his eyes on his aunt with superior compassion. + </p> + <p> + “Grandma Padgett wouldn't want me to scare you,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + Corinne edged several inches closer to him. She felt that she must know + what her nephew had seen if she had to thread all the dark mazes again and + look at it by herself. + </p> + <p> + “Ma Padgett never 'lows me to act scared,” she reminded him. “I always + have to go up to what I'm 'fraid of.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't go up to this.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I will. Tisn't so far back to that wagon.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't stir it up for considerable,” said Robert. + </p> + <p> + “Was it a lion or a bear? Was it goin' to eat anything? Is that what made + the little child cry?” + </p> + <p> + “The little child hollered 'cause 'twas afraid of it. I was glad you + didn't look in at the end of the wagon with me.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne edged some inches nearer her protector. + </p> + <p> + “How could you see what was in a dark wagon?” + </p> + <p> + “There was a candle lighted inside. Aunt Krin, there was a little pretty + girl in that wagon that I do believe the folks stole!” + </p> + <p> + This was like a story. The luxury of a real stolen child had never before + come in aunt Corinne's way. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Bobaday?” she inquired affectionately. + </p> + <p> + “Because the little girl seemed like she was dead till all at once she + opened her eyes, and then her mouth as if she was going to scream again, + and they stopped her mouth up, and covered her in clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “What did the wagon look like?” + </p> + <p> + “Like a little room. And they slept on the floor. They had tin things + hangin' around the sides, and a stove in one corner with the pipe stickin' + up through the cover. And the cover was so thick you couldn't see a light + through it. You could only see through the pucker-hole where it comes + together over the feed-box.” + </p> + <p> + “And how many folks were there?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I saw them fussing with the little girl, and I saw it, and + then I didn't stay any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it, Bobaday?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” he solemnly replied. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but what did it look like?” + </p> + <p> + Her nephew stared doubtingly upon her. + </p> + <p> + “Will you holler if I tell you?” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne went through an impressive pantomime of deeding and + double-deeding herself not to holler. + </p> + <p> + “Will you be afraid all the rest of the night?” + </p> + <p> + No; aunt Corinne intimated that her courage would be revived and + strengthened by knowing the worst about that wagon. + </p> + <p> + He pierced her with his dilating eyes, and beckoned her to put up her ear + for the information. + </p> + <p> + “You ain't goin' to play any trick,” remonstrated his relative, “like you + did when you got me to say grandmother, grandmother, thith—thith—thith, + and then hit my chin and made me bite my tongue?” + </p> + <p> + Robert was forced to chuckle at the recollection, but he assured aunt + Corinne that grandmother, grandmother, thith—thith—thith was + far from his thoughts. He hesitated, with aunt Corinne's ear jogging + against his chin. Then in a loud whisper he communicated: + </p> + <p> + “<i>It</i> was a man with a pig's <i>head on</i> him!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. JONATHAN AND THRUSTY ELLEN. + </h2> + <p> + Aunt Corinne drew back into a rigid attitude. “I don't believe it!” she + said. + </p> + <p> + Robert Day passed over her incredulity with a flickering smile. + </p> + <p> + “People don't have pigs' heads on them!” argued aunt Corinne. “Did he + grunt?” + </p> + <p> + “And he had a tush stickin' out from his lower jaw,” added Robert. + </p> + <p> + They gazed at each other in silent horror. While this awful pantomime was + going on, the flap of Grandma Padgett's tent was lifted, and a voice of + command, expressing besides astonishment and alarm, startled their ears + with— + </p> + <p> + “Children!” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne leaped up and turned at bay, half-expecting to find the man + with the pig's head gnashing at her ear. But what she saw in the sinking + light was a fine old head in a night-cap, staring at them from the tent. + Bobaday and his aunt were so rapid in retiring that their guardian was + unable to make them explain their conduct as fully as she desired. They + slept so long in the morning that the camp was broken up when Grandma + Padgett called them out to breakfast. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: THE VIRGINIAN AND HIS CHILDREN.} + </p> + <p> + Zene wanted the tent of aunt Corinne to stretch over the wagon-hoops. He + had already hitched the horses, restoring the gray and the white to their + former condition of yoke-fellows, and these two rubbed noses + affectionately and had almost as much to whisper to each other as had + Robert and Corinne over their breakfast. + </p> + <p> + The darkened wagon was nowhere to be seen. Corinne climbed a tall stump as + an observatory, and Bobaday went a piece into the bushes, only to find + that all that end of the camp was gone. The colony of Virginians was also + partly under way. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne felt a certain sadness steal over her. She had brought + herself to admit the pig-headed man, with limitations. He might have a + pig's head on him, but it wasn't fast. He did it to frighten children. She + had fully intended to see him and be frightened by him at any cost. Now he + was gone like a bad dream in the night. And she should not know if the + little girl was stolen. She could only revenge herself on Robert Day for + having seen into that darkened wagon, with the stove-pipe sticking out + when she had not, by sniffing doubtfully at every mysterious allusion to + it. They did not mention the pigheaded man to Grandma Padgett, though both + longed to know if such a specimen of natural history had ever come under + her eyes. She would have questioned then about the walk that led to this + discovery. Her prejudices against children's prowling away from their + elders after dark were very strong. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne thought the pig-headed man might have come to their carriage + when they were ready to start, instead of the Virginian. + </p> + <p> + “Right along the pike?” he inquired cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “I believe so,” said Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + “You'll be in our company then as far as you go. It'll be better for you + to keep in a big company.” + </p> + <p> + “It will indeed,” said Grandma Padgett sincerely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll keep along to Californy,” said the Virginian. + </p> + <p> + “To the Illinois line,” amended Grandma Padgett, at which he laughed, + adding: + </p> + <p> + “Well, we'll neighbor for a while, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “Let your little boy and girl ride in our carriage,” begged Robert Day, + seizing on this relief from monotony. + </p> + <p> + “Yes do,” said his grandmother, turning her glasses upon the little boy + and girl. Aunt Corinne had been inspecting them as they stood at their + father's heels, and bestowing experimental smiles on them. The boy was a + clear brown-eyed fellow with butternut trousers up to his arm-pits, and a + wool hat all out of shape. The little girl looked red-faced and precise, + the color from her lips having evidently become diluted through her skin. + Over a linsey petticoat she wore a calico belted apron. The belt was as + broad as the length of aunt Corinne's hand, for in the course of the + morning aunt Corinne furtively measured it. Although it was June weather, + this little girl also wore stout shoes and yarn stockings. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they might get in if they won't crowd you,” assented their father. + “You're all to take dinner with us, my wife says.” + </p> + <p> + The children were hoisted up the steps, which they climbed with agile + feet, as if accustomed to scaling high cart wheels. Bobaday sat by his + grandmother, and the back seat received this addition to the party without + at all crowding aunt Corinne. She looked the boy and girl over with great + satisfaction. They were near her own age. + </p> + <p> + “Do you play teeter in the woods?” she inquired with a fidget, by way of + opening the conversation. + </p> + <p> + The boy rolled his eyes towards her and replied in a slow drawl, sometimes + they did. + </p> + <p> + Robert Day then put it to him whether he liked moving. + </p> + <p> + “I like to ride the leaders for fawther,” replied the boy. + </p> + <p> + “What's your name?” inquired aunt Corinne, directing her inquiry to both. + </p> + <p> + The little girl turned redder, answering in a broad drawl like her + brother, “His name's Jonathan and mine's Clar'sy Ellen.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne looked down at the hind wheel revolving at her side of the + carriage, and her lips unconsciously moved in meditation. + </p> + <p> + “Thrusty Ellen!” she repeated aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Clar'sy Ellen,” corrected the little girl, her broad drawl still + confusing the sound. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne's lips continued to move. She whispered to the hind wheel, + “Mercy! If I was named Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen, I'd wish my folks'd + forgot to name me at all!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. FAIRY CARRIE AND THE PIG-HEADED MAN. + </h2> + <p> + Little Miami river was crossed without mishap, and the Padgetts and + Breakaways took dinner together. + </p> + <p> + Robert Day could not help noticing the difference between his + grandmother's wagon and the wagons of the Virginians. Their wagon-beds + were built almost in the shape of the crescent moon, bending down in the + centre and standing high at the ends, and they appeared half as long again + as the Ohio vehicle. The covers were full of innumerable ribs, and the + puckered end was drawn into innumerable puckers. + </p> + <p> + The children took their dinners to the yellow top of a brand-new stump + which, looked as if somebody had smoothed every sweet-smelling ring clean + on purpose for a picnic table. Some branches of the felled tree were near + enough to make teeter seats for Corinne and Thrusty Ellen. Jonathan and + Robert stood up or kneeled against the arching roots. Dinner taken from + the top of a stump has the sap of out-door enjoyment in it; and if you + have to scare away an ant, or a pop-eyed grasshopper thuds into the middle + of a plate, you still feel kindly towards these wild things for dropping + in so sociably. + </p> + <p> + Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen were rather silent, but such remarks as they + made were solid information. + </p> + <p> + “You don't know wher' my fawther's got his money,” said Jonathan. + </p> + <p> + This was stated so much like a dare that Robert yearned to retort that he + did know, too. As he did not know, the next best thing was to pretend it + was no consequence anyhow, and find out as quickly as possible; therefore + Robert Day said: + </p> + <p> + “Ho! Maybe he hasn't any.” + </p> + <p> + “He has more gold pieces 'n ever you seen,” proceeded Jonathan weightily. + </p> + <p> + “Then why don't he give you some?” exclaimed aunt Corinne with a wriggle. + “I had a gold dollar, but I b'lieve that little old man with a bag on his + back stole it.” + </p> + <p> + Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen made round eyes at a young damsel who had been + trusted with gold. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration} + </p> + <p> + “My fawther calls 'em yeller boys,” said Jonathan. “He carries 'em and his + paper money in a belt fastened round his waist under all his clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't ought to tell,” said Thrusty Ellen. “Father said we shouldn't + talk about it.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>He</i> won't steal it,” said Jonathan, indicating Robert with his + thumb. “<i>She</i> won't neither,” indicating aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne with some sharpness assured the Virginia children that her + nephew and herself were indeed above such suspicion; that Ma Padgett and + brother Tip had the most money, and even Zene was well provided with + dollars; while they had silver spoons among their goods that Ma-Padgett + said had been in the family more than fifty years! + </p> + <p> + Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen accepted this information with much stolidity. + The grandeur of having old silver made no impression on them. They saw + that Grandma Padgett had one pair of horses hitched to her moving-wagon + instead of three pairs, and they secretly rated her resources by this + fact. + </p> + <p> + It was very cheerful moving in this long caravan. When there was a bend in + the 'pike, and the line of vehicles curved around it, the sight was + exhilarating. + </p> + <p> + Some of the Virginians sat on their horses to drive. There was singing, + and calling back and forth. And when they passed a toll-gate, all the + tollkeeper's family and neighbors came out to see the array. Jonathan and + Robert rode in his father's easiest wagon, while Thrusty Ellen, and her + mother enjoyed Grandma Padgett's company in the carriage. As they neared + Richmond, which lay just within the Indiana line, men went ahead like + scouts to secure accommodations for the caravan. At Louisburg, the last of + the Ohio villages, aunt Corinne was watching for the boundary of the + State. She fancied it stretched like a telegraph wire from pole to pole, + only near the ground, so the cattle of one State could not stray into the + other, and so little children could have it to talk across, resting their + chins on the cord. But when they came to the line and crossed it there was + not even a mark on the ground; not so much as a furrow such as Zene made + planting corn. And at first Indiana looked just like Ohio. Later, however, + aunt Corinne felt a difference in the States. Ohio had many ups and downs; + many hillsides full of grain basking in the sun. The woods of Indiana ran + to moss, and sometimes descended to bogginess, and broad-leaved paw-paw + bushes crowded the shade; mighty sycamores blotched with white, leaned + over the streams: there was a dreamy influence in the June air, and pale + blue curtains of mist hung over distances. + </p> + <p> + But at Richmond aunt Corinne and her nephew, both felt particularly wide + awake. They considered it the finest place they had seen since the capital + of Ohio. The people wore quaint, but handsome clothes. They saw Quaker + bonnets and broad-brimmed hats. Richmond is yet called the Quaker city of + Indiana. But what Robert Day and Corinne noticed particularly was the + array of wagons moved from street to street, was an open square such as + most Western towns had at that date for farmers to unhitch their teams in, + and in that open square a closely covered wagon connected with a tent. It + was nearly dark. But at the tent entrance a tin torch stuck in the ground + showed letters and pictures on the tent, proclaiming that the only + pig-headed man in America was therein exhibiting himself and his + accomplishments, attended by Fairy Carrie, the wonderful child vocalist. + </p> + <p> + Before Bobaday had made out half the words, he telegraphed a message to + aunt Corinne, by leaning far out of the Brockaway wagon and lifting his + finger. Aunt Corinne was leaning out of the carriage, and saw him, and she + not only lifted her finger, but violently wagged her head. + </p> + <p> + The caravan scouts had not been able to find lodging for all the troops, + and there was a great deal of dissatisfaction about the rates asked by the + taverns. So many of the wagons wound on to camp at the other side of the + town, the Brockaways among them. But the neighborly Virginian, in + exchanging Robert for his wife and daughter at the carriage door, assured + Grandma Padgett he would ride back to her lodging-place next morning and + pilot her into the party again. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you kindly,” said Grandma Padgett in old-fashioned phrase. “It's + growing risky for me to sleep too much in the open night air. At my age + folks must favor themselves, and I'd like a bed to-night, if it is a + tavern bed, and a set, table, if the vittles are tavern vittles. And we + can stir out early.” + </p> + <p> + So Thrusty Ellen and Jonathan rode away with their father, unconscious of + Robert and Corinne's superior feeling in stopping at a tavern. + </p> + <p> + In the tavern parlor were a lot of sumptuous paper flowers under a glass + case. There were a great many stairs to climb, and a gong was sounded for + supper. + </p> + <p> + After supper Grandma Padgett made Zene take her into the stable-yard, that + she might carry from the wagon some valuables which thieves in a town + would be tempted to steal. + </p> + <p> + It was about this time that Corinne and Robert Day strayed down the front + steps, consulted together and ventured down the street, came back, and + ventured again to the next corner. + </p> + <p> + “He gave us the slip before,” said Robert, “but I'd like to get a good + look at him for once.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you da'st to spend your gold dollar, though,” said aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's better than losin' it,” he responded. + </p> + <p> + It seemed very much better in aunt Corinne's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “We can just run down there, and run right back after we go in, while Ma + Padgett is busy.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we'll have to be spry,” said Robert Day. + </p> + <p> + Having passed the first corner they were spry, springing along the streets + with their hands locked. It was not hard to find one's way about in + Richmond then, and the tavern was not far from the open square. They came + upon the tent, the smoky tin torch, the crowd of idlers, and a loud-voiced + youth who now stood at the entrance shouting the attractions within. + </p> + <p> + Robert dragged his aunt impetuously to the tent door and offered his gold + dollar to the shouter. + </p> + <p> + “Pass right in, gentlemen and ladies,” said the ill-looking youth in his + monotonous yell, bustling as if he had a rush of business, “and make room + for the crowd, all anxious to see the only pig-headed man in America, and + to hear the wonderful warblings of Fairy Carrie, the child vocalist. + Admission fixed at the low figure of fifteen cents per head,” said the + ill-looking youth, dropping change into Robert's hand and hustling him + upon the heels of Corinne who craned her neck toward the inner canvas. + “Only fifteen cents, gentlemen, and the last opportunity to see the + pig-headed man who alone is worth the price of admission, and has been + exhibited to all the crowned heads of Europe. Fifteen cents. Five three + cent pieces only. Fairy Carrie, the wonderful child vocalist, and the only + living pig-headed man standing between the heavens and earth to-day.” + </p> + <p> + But when aunt Corinne had reached the interior of the tent, she turned + like a flash, clutched Robert Day, and hid her eyes against him. A number + of people standing, or seated on benches, were watching the performances + on a platform at one end of the tent. + </p> + <p> + “He won't hurt you,” whispered Robert. + </p> + <p> + “Go 'way!” whispered aunt Corinne, trembling as if she would drive the + mere image from her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “It's the very thing I saw at the camp,” whispered Robert. + </p> + <p> + “Le's go out again.” + </p> + <p> + “I want my money's worth,” remonstrated Robert in an injured tone. “And + now he's pickin' up his things and going behind a curtain. Ain't he ugly! + I wonder how it feels to look that way? Why don't you stand up straight + and act right! Folks'll notice you. I thought you wanted to see him so + bad!” + </p> + <p> + “I got enough,” responded aunt Corinne. “But there comes the little girl. + And it's the little girl I saw in the wagon. Ain't she pretty!” + </p> + <p> + {Illustration} + </p> + <p> + “She ain't got a pig's head, has she?” demanded aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + “She's the prettiest little girl I ever saw,” responded Robert + impatiently. “I guess if she sees you she'll think, you're sheep-headed. + You catch me spendin' gold dollars to take you to shows any more!” + </p> + <p> + The shrill treble of a little child began a ballad at that time very + popular, and called “Lilly Dale.” Aunt Corinne faced about and saw a tiny + creature, waxen-faced and with small white hands, and feet in bits of + slippers, standing in a dirty spangled dress which was made to fluff out + from her and give her an airy look. Her long brown curls hung about her + shoulders. But her black eyes were surrounded with brownish rings which + gave her a look of singing in her sleep, or in a half-conscious state. She + was a delicate little being, and as she sung before the staring people, + her chin creased and the corners of her mouth quivered as if she would + break into sobs if she only dared. Her song was accompanied by a + hand-organ ground behind the scenes; and when she had finished and run + behind the curtain, she was pushed out again in response to the + hand-clapping. + </p> + <p> + Robert Day hung entranced on this performance. But when Fairy Carrie had + sung her second song and disappeared, he took hold of his aunt's ear and + whispered cautiously therein: + </p> + <p> + “I know the pig-headed man stole that little girl.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne looked at him with solemn assent. Then there were signs of + the pig-headed man's returning to the gaze of the public. Aunt Corinne at + once grasped her nephew's elbow and pushed him from the sight. They went + outside where the ill-looking youth was still shouting, and were crowded + back against the wagon by a group now beginning to struggle in. + </p> + <p> + Robert proposed that they walk all around the outside, and try to catch + another glimpse of Fairy Carrie. + </p> + <p> + They walked behind the wagon. A surly dog chained under it snapped out at + them. Aunt Corinne said she should like to see Fairy Carrie again, but Ma + Padgett would be looking for them. + </p> + <p> + At this instant the little creature appeared back of the tent. Whether she + had crept under the canvas or knew some outlet to the air, she stood there + fanning herself with her hands, and looking up and about with an + expression which was sad through all the dusk. + </p> + <p> + Corinne and Robert Day approached on tiptoe. Fairy Carrie continued to fan + herself with her fingers, and looked at them with a dull gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Say!” whispered aunt Corinne, indicating the interior of the tent, “is he + your pa?” + </p> + <p> + Fairy Carrie shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Is your ma in there?” + </p> + <p> + Fairy Carrie again shook her head, and her face creased as if she were now + determined in this open air and childish company to cry and be relieved. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you talk?” whispered aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the child. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you can, too! Did the show folks steal you?” + </p> + <p> + Fairy Carrie's eyes widened. Tears gathered and dropped slowly down her + cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne seized her hand. “Why, Bobaday, Padgett! You just feel how + cold her fingers are!” + </p> + <p> + Robert did so, and shook his head to indicate that he found even her + fingers in a pitiable condition. + </p> + <p> + “You come with us to Ma Padgett,” exhorted aunt Corinne in an excited + whisper. “I wouldn't stay where that pig-man is for the world.” + </p> + <p> + The dog under the wagon was growling. + </p> + <p> + “If the pig-man stole you, Ma Padgett will have him put in jail.” + </p> + <p> + “Le's go back this way, so they won't catch her,” cautioned Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + The dog began to bark. + </p> + <p> + Robert and Corinne moved away with the docile little child between them. + At the barking of the dog one or two other figures appeared behind the + tent. Fairy Carrie in her spangled dress was running between Robert and + Corinne into the dark. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. SEARCHING. + </h2> + <p> + But Grandma Padgett did not enjoy the tavern bed or the tavern breakfast. + She passed the evening until midnight searching the streets of Richmond, + accompanied by Zene and his limp. Some of the tavern people had seen her + children in front of the house, but the longest search failed to bring to + light any trace of them in or about that building. The tavern-keeper + interested himself; the chamber maids were sympathetic. Two hostlers and a + bartender went different ways through the town making inquiries. The + landlady thought the children might have wandered off to the movers' + encampment, where there were other children to play with. Grandma Padgett + bade Zene put himself on one of the carriage horses and post to camp. When + he came back he reported that Thrusty Ellen and Jonathan were asleep in + the tents, and nobody had seen Robert and Corinne. + </p> + <p> + While searching the streets earlier in the evening, Grandma Padgett + observed the pig-headed man's pavilion, and this she also explored with + Zene. A crowd was making the canvas stifling, and the pig-headed man's + performances were being varied by an untidy woman who screamed and played + on a portable bellows which had ivory keys, after explaining that Fairy + Carrie, the Wonderful Musical Child, had been taken suddenly ill and could + appear no more that night. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett remained only long enough to scan twice over every face in + the tent. She went out, telling Zene she was at her wits' end. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they ain't gone far, marm,” reassured Zene. “You'll find out they'll + come back to the tavern all right; mebby before we get there.” + </p> + <p> + But every such hopeful return to base disheartened the searchers more. At + last the grandmother was obliged to lie down. + </p> + <p> + Early in the morning the Virginian came, full of concern. His party was + breaking camp, but he would stay behind and help search for the children. + </p> + <p> + “That I won't allow,” said Grandma Padgett. “You're on a long road, and + you don't want to risk separating from the colony. Besides no one can do + more than we can—unless it was Son Tip. As I laid awake, I wished in + my heart Son Tip was here.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you send him a lightnin' message?” said the Virginian. “By the + telegraphic wire,” he explained, quoting a line of a popular song. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could,” said Grandma Padgett, “but there's no telegraph office + in miles of where he's located. I thought of it last night. There's no way + to reach him that I can see, but by letter, and sometimes <i>they</i> lay + over on the road. And I don't allow to stop at this place. I'm goin' to + set out and hunt in all directions till I find the children.” + </p> + <p> + The Virginian agreed that her plan was best. He also made arrangements to + ride back and tell her if the caravan overtook them on the 'pike during + that day's journey. Then he and Grandma Padgett shook hands with each + other and reluctantly separated. + </p> + <p> + She made inquiries about all the other roads leading out of Richmond. Zene + drove the carriage out of the barnyard, and Grandma Padgett, having closed + her account with the tavern, took the lines, an object of interest and + solicitude to all who saw her depart, and turned Old Hickory and Old Henry + on a southward track. Zene followed with the wagon; he was on no account + to loiter out of speaking distance. The usual order of the march being + thus reversed, both vehicles moved along lonesomely. Even Boswell and + Johnson scented misfortune in the air. Johnson ran in an undeviating line + under the carriage, as if he wished his mistress to know he was right + there where she could depend on him. His countenance expressed not only + gravity, but real concern. Boswell, on the other hand, was in a state of + nerves. If he saw a bank at the roadside he ran ahead and mounted it, + looking back into the carriage, demanding to know, with a yelping howl, + where Bobaday and Corinne were. When his feelings became too strong for + him he jumped at the step, and Grandma Padgett shook her head at him. + </p> + <p> + “Use your nose, you silly little fice, and track them, why don't you?” + </p> + <p> + As soon as Boswell understood this reproach he jumped a fence and smelt + every stump or tuft of grass, every bush and hummock, until the carriage + dwindled in the distance. Then he made the dust smoke under his feet as a + sudden June shower will do for a few seconds, and usually overtook the + carriage with all of his tongue unfurled and his lungs working like a + furnace. Johnson reproved him with a glance, and he at once dropped his + tail and trotted beside Johnson, as if throwing himself on that superior + dog for support in the hour of affliction. + </p> + <p> + At noon no trace of Robert and Corinne had been seen. Grandma Padgett + halted, and when Zene came up she said: + </p> + <p> + “We'll eat a cold bite right here by the road, and then go on until + sunset. If we don't find them, we'll turn back to town and take another + direction.” + </p> + <p> + They ate a cold bite, brought ready packed from the Richmond tavern. The + horses were given scant time for feeding, and drank wherever they could + find water along the road. + </p> + <p> + Cloudless as the day was, Grandma Padgett's spectacles had never made any + landscape look as blue as this one which she followed until sunset. + Sometimes it was blurred by a mist, but she wiped it off the glasses. + </p> + <p> + At sunset they had not seen a track which might be taken for Robert or + Corinne's. The grasshoppers were lonesome. There was a great void in the + air, and the most tuneful birds complained from the fence-rails. Grandma + Padgett constantly polished her glasses on the backward road. + </p> + <p> + Nothing was said about making a halt for supper or any kind of cold bite. + The carriage was silently turned as one half the sun stood above the + tree-tops, I and it passed the wagon without other sign. The wagon turned + as silently. The shrill meadow insects became more and more audible. Some + young calves in a field, remembering that it was milking time, began to + call their mothers, and to remonstrate at the bars in voices full of sad + cadences. The very farmhouse dogs, full-fed, and almost too lazy to come + out of the gates to interview Boswell and Johnson, barked as if there was + sickness in their respective families and it was all they could do to keep + up their spirits and refrain from howling. + </p> + <p> + The carriage and wagon jogged along until the horizon rim was all of that + indescribable tint that evening mixes with saffron, purple and pink. + Grandma Padgett became anxious to reach Richmond again. The Virginian + might have returned over the road with news of her children. Or the + children themselves might be at the tavern waiting for her. Zene drove + close behind her, and when they were about to recross a shallow creek, + scooped between two easy swells and floating a good deal of wild grapevine + and darkly reflecting many sycamores, he came forward and loosened the + check-reins of Hickory and Henry to let them drink. Grandma Padgett felt + impatient at any delay. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think they want water, Zene,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “They'd better cool their mouths, marm.” he said. But still he fingered + the check reins, uncertain how to state what had sent him forward. + </p> + <p> + “Seems like I heard somebody laugh, marm,” said Zene. + </p> + <p> + “Well, suppose you did,” said Grandma Padgett. “The whole world won't + mourn just because we're in trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “But it sounded like Corinne,” said Zene uncertainly. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett's glasses glared upon him. + </p> + <p> + “You'd' be more apt to hear her crying,” she exclaimed. “When did you hear + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Just now. I jumped right off the load.” + </p> + <p> + Hickory and Henry, anxious to taste the creek, would have moved forward, + but were checked by both pairs of hands. + </p> + <p> + “What direction?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't feel certain, marm,” said Zene, “but it come like it was from + that way through the woods.” + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett stretched her neck out of the carriage toward the right. + </p> + <p> + “Is that a sled track?” she inquired. “It's gittin' so dim I can't see.”. + </p> + <p> + Zene said there was a sled track, pointing out what looked like a double + footpath with a growth of grass and shrubs along the centre. + </p> + <p> + “We'll drive in that way,” she at once decided, “and if we get wedged + among the trees, we'll have to get out the best way we can.” + </p> + <p> + Zene turned the gray and white, and led on this new march. Hickory and + Henry, backed from the creek without being allowed to dip their mouths, + reluctantly thumped the sled track with their shoes, and pretended to + distrust every tall stump and every glaring sycamore limb which rose + before their sight. Scrubby bushes scraped the bottom of the carriage bed. + Now one front wheel rose high over a chunk, and the vehicle rolled and + creaked. Zene's wagon cover, like a big white blur, moved steadily in + front, and presently Hickory and Henry ran their noses against it, and + seemed to relish the knock which the carriage-pole gave the feed-box. Zene + had halted to listen. + </p> + <p> + It was dark in the woods. A rustle could be heard now and then as of some + tiny four-footed creature moving the stiff grass; or a twig cracked. The + frogs in the creek were tuning their bass-viols. A tree-toad rattled on + some unseen trunk, and the whole woods heaved its great lungs in the + steady breathing which it never leaves off, but which becomes a roar and a + wheeze in stormy or winter weather. + </p> + <p> + “There isn't anything”—began Grandma Padgett, but between thing and + “here” came the distinct laugh of a child. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: “WHERE'S BOBADAY?"} + </p> + <p> + Zene cracked his whip over the gray and the white, and the wagon rumbled + ahead rapidly, jarring against roots, and ends of decayed logs, turning + short in one direction, and dipping through a long sheltered mud-hole to + the very wheel-hubs, brushing against trees and under low branches until + guttural remonstrances were scraped out of the cover, and finally + descending into an abrupt hollow, with the carriage rattling at its hind + wheels. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett had been through many experiences, but she felt she could + truly say to her descendants that she never gave up so entirely for pure + joy in her life as when she saw Robert and Corinne sitting in front of a + fire built against a great stump, and talking with a fat, silly-looking + man who leaned against a cart-wheel. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. THE SPROUTING. + </h2> + <p> + “Why, Bobaday Padgett,” exclaimed aunt Corinne, “if there isn't our wagon—and + Ma Padgett.” + </p> + <p> + Both children came running to the carriage steps, and their guardian got + down, trembling. She put her arms around them, and after a silent hug, + shook one in each hand. + </p> + <p> + The fire illuminated wagon and carriage, J. D. Matthew's cart, and the + logs and bushes surrounding them. It flickered on the blue spectacles and + gave Grandma Padgett a piercing expression while she examined her + culprits. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been, while Zene and I hunted up and down in such + distress?” + </p> + <p> + “We's going right back to the tavern soon's he could get us there,” Robert + hastened to explain. “It's that funny fellow, J. D., Grandma. But he + thought we better go roundabout, so they wouldn't catch us.” + </p> + <p> + Zene, limping down from his wagon, listened to this lucid statement. + </p> + <p> + “O Zene,” exclaimed aunt Corinne, “I'm so glad you and Ma Padgett have + come! But we knew you wouldn't go on to Brother Tip's without us. Bobaday + said you'd wait till we got back, and we ran right straight out of town.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be well sprouted, both of you,” said Grandma Padgett, still + trembling as she advanced toward the fire. “Robert Day, break me a switch; + break me a good one, and peel the leaves off. So you came across this man + again, and he persuaded you to run away with him, did he?” + </p> + <p> + J. D. Matthews, who had stood up smiling his widest, now moved around to + the other side of his cart and crouched in alarm. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett now saw that the cart was standing level and open, and + within it there appeared a nest of brown curls and one slim, babyish hand. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Why, don't you see, Grandma?” exclaimed Robert, “that's Fairy Carrie that + we ran away with. They made her sing at the show. We just went in a minute + to see the pig-headed man. I had my gold dollar. And she felt so awful. + And we saw her behind the tent.” + </p> + <p> + “She cried, Ma Padgett,” burst in aunt Corinne, “like her heart was broke, + and she couldn't talk at all. Then they were coming out to make her go in + again, and we said didn't she want to go to you? You wouldn't let her live + with a pig-headed man and have to sing. And she wanted to go, so they came + out. And we took hold of her hands and ran. And they chased us. And we + couldn't go to the tavern 'cause they chased us the other way: it got + dark, and when Bobaday hid us under a house, they chased past us, and we + waited, oh! the longest time.” + </p> + <p> + “And then,” continued Robert, “when we came out, we didn't know which way + to go to the tavern, but started roundabout, through fields and over + fences, and all, so the show people wouldn't see us. Aunt Corinne was + scared. And we stumbled over cows, and dogs barked at us. But we went on + till after 'while just as we's slippin' up a back street we met J. D. and + the cart, and he was so good! He put the poor little girl in the cart and + pushed her. She was so weak she fell down every little bit when we's + runnin'. Aunt Corinne and me had to nearly carry her.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why didn't he bring you back to the tavern?” + </p> + <p> + “Grandma, if he had, the show people would been sure to get her! We + thought they'd travel on this morning. And we were so tired! He took us to + a cabin house, and the woman was real good. The man was real good, too. + They had lots of dogs. We got our breakfast and stayed all night. They + knew we'd strayed off, but they said J. D. would get us back safe. I gave + them the rest of my dollar. Then this morning we all started to town, but + J. D. had to go away down the road first, for some eggs and things. And it + took us so long we only got this far when it came dusk.” + </p> + <p> + “J. D. took good care of us,” said aunt Corinne. “Everybody knows him, and + he is so funny. The folks say he travels along the pike all through + Indiana and Ohio.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm obliged to him,” said Grandma Padgett, still severely; “we owe + him, too, for a good supper and breakfast he gave us the other time we saw + him. But I can't make out how he can foot it faster than we can ride, and + so git into this State ahead of us.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Matthews now came forward, and straightening his bear-like figure, + proceeded to smile without apprehension. He cleared his voice and chanted: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sometimes I take the wings of steam, + And on the cars my cart I wheel. + And so I came to Richmond town + Two days ago in fair renown. +</pre> + <p> + “Oh,” said Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + “What's that he's givin' out, marm?” inquired Zene. + </p> + <p> + “It's a way he has,” she explained. “He talks in verses. This is the + pedler that stayed over in that old house with us, near by the Dutch + landlord and the deep creek. Were you going to camp here all night?” she + inquired of J. D. + </p> + <p> + “We wanted him to,” coaxed aunt Corinne, “my feet ached so bad. Then we + could walk right into town in the morning, and he'd hide Fairy Carrie in + his cart till we got to the tavern.” + </p> + <p> + “Zene,” said Grandma Padgett, “you might as well take out the horses and + feed them. They haven't had much chance to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Will we stay here, marm?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll see,” said Grandma Padgett. “Anyhow, I can't stand it in the + carriage again right away.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's camp here,” urged Robert. “J. D.'s got chicken all dressed to broil + on the coals, and lots of good things to eat.” + </p> + <p> + “He wouldn't have any money the last time, and I can't have such doings + again. I'm hungry, for I haven't enjoyed a meal since yesterday. Mister, + see here,” said Grandma Padgett, approaching the cart. + </p> + <p> + J. D. moved backwards as she came as if pushed by an invisible pole + carried in the brisk grandmother's hands. + </p> + <p> + “Stand still, do,” she urged, laying a bank bill on his cart. She, snapped + her steel purse shut again, put it in her dress pocket, and indicated the + bill with one finger. “I don't lay this here for your kindness to the + children, you understand. You've got feelings, and know I'm more than + obliged. But here are a lot of us, and you buy your provisions, so if + you'll let us pay you for some, we'll eat and be thankful. Take the money + and put it away.” + </p> + <p> + Thus commanded, J. D. returned cautiously to the other side of the cart, + took the money and thrust it into his vest pocket without looking at it. + He then smiled again at Grandma Padgett, as if the thought of propitiating + her was uppermost in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Now go on with your chicken-broiling,” she concluded, and he went on with + it, keeping at a distance from her while she stood by the cart or when she + sat down on a log by the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Here's your stick, Grandma,” said Robert Day, offering her a limb of paw + paw, stripped of all its leaves. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett took it in her hands, reduced its length and tried its + limberness. + </p> + <p> + “If I had given my family such trouble when I's your age,” she said to + Corinne and Robert, “I should have been sprouted as I deserved.” + </p> + <p> + They listened respectfully. + </p> + <p> + “Folks didn't allow their children to run wild then. They whipped them and + kept them in bounds. I remember once father whipped brother Thomas for + telling a falsehood, and made welts on his body.” + </p> + <p> + Corinne and Robert had heard this tale before, but their countenances, put + on a piteous expression. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have a sprouting,” concluded their guardian as if she did + not know how to compromise with her conscience, “but since you meant to do + a good turn instead of a bad one”— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we never intended to run away, Grandma, and worry you so,” insisted + Robert. + </p> + <p> + “We's just sorry for the little girl,” murmured aunt Corinne.—“Why, + I'll let it pass this time. Only never let me know you to do such a thing + again.” The paw paw sprout fell to the ground, unwarped by use. Corinne + and Robert were hearty in promising never to run away with Fairy Carrie or + any other party again. + </p> + <p> + This serious business completed, the grandmother turned her attention to + the child in the cart. + </p> + <p> + “How sound asleep the little thing is,” she observed, smoothing Fairy + Carrie's cheek from dark eye-circle to chin, “and her flesh so cold!” + </p> + <p> + “She's just slept that way ever since J. D. put her in his cart!” + exclaimed aunt Corinne. “We made her open her eyes and take some breakfast + in her mouth, but she went to sleep again while she's eatin'.” + </p> + <p> + “And we let her sleep ever since,” added Bobaday. “It didn't make a bit of + difference whether the cart went jolt-erty-jolt over stones or run smooth + in the dust. And we shaded her face with bushes.” + </p> + <p> + “She's not well,” said their experienced elder. “The poor little thing may + have some catching disease! It's a pretty face. I wonder whose child she + is? You oughtn't to set up your judgment and carry a little child off with + you from her friends. I hardly know what we'll do about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but they wern't her friends, Ma Padgett,” asserted aunt Corinne + solemnly. “She isn't the pig-headed man's little girl. Nor any of them + ain't her folks. Bobaday thinks they stole her away.” + </p> + <p> + “If she'd only wake up and talk,” said Robert, “maybe she could tell us + where she lives. But she was afraid of the show people.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think that was likely,” said Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + In the heat of his sympathy, he confided to his grandmother what he had + seen of the darkened wagon the night they met the Virginians at the large + camp. + </p> + <p> + The paw paw stick had been laid upon the fire. It blackened frowningly. + But Robert and Corinne had known many an apple sprout to preach them such + a discourse as it had done, without enforcing the subject matter more + heavily. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett reported that she had searched for her missing family in + the show tent, though she could not see why any sensible boy or girl would + want to enter such a place. And it was clear to her the child might be + afraid of such creatures, and very probable that she did not belong to + them by ties of blood. But they might prove her lawful guardians and cause + a small moving party a great deal of trouble. “But we won't let them find + her again,” said aunt Corinne. “Ma, mayn't I keep her for my little + sister?—and Bobaday would like to have another aunt.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we'd be stealing her,” said Grandma Padgett. “If she's a lost child + she ought to be restored to her people, and travelling along the 'pike we + can't keep the showmen from finding her.” + </p> + <p> + Bobaday and Corinne gazed pensively at the stump fire, wondering how grown + folks always saw the difficulties in doing what you want to do. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. THE MINSTREL. + </h2> + <p> + J. D. Matthews spread his supper upon a log. He had delicacies which + created a very cheerful feeling in the party, such as always rises around + the thanksgiving board. + </p> + <p> + Zene sat at one side of the log by J. D. Matthews. Opposite them the + grandmother and her children, camped on chunks covered with shawls and + horse-blankets Seeing what an accomplished cook this singular pedler was, + how much at home he appeared in the woods, and what a museum he could make + of his cart, Zene respectfully kept from laughing at him, except in an + indulgent way as the children did. + </p> + <p> + “I guess we'll stay just where we are until morning,” said Grandma + Padgett. “The night's pleasant and warm, and there are just as few + mosquitoes here as in the tavern. I didn't sleep last night.” She felt + stimulated by the tea, and sufficiently recovered from the languor which + follows extreme anxiety, to linger up watching the fire, allowing the + children to linger also, while J. D. Matthews put his cupboard to rights + after supper. + </p> + <p> + It was funny to see his fat hands dabbling in dishwater; he laughed as + much about—it as aunt Corinne did. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett removed the sleeping child from his cart, and after trying + vainly to make her eat or arouse herself, put her in the bed in the tent, + attired in one of aunt Corinne's gowns. + </p> + <p> + “She was just as helpless as a young baby,” said Grandma Padgett, sitting + down again by the fire. “I'll have a doctor look at that child when we go + through Richmond. She acts like she'd been drugged.” + </p> + <p> + J. D. Matthews having finished—his dishwashing, sat down in the + shadow some distance from the outspoken woman in spectacles, and her + family. + </p> + <p> + “Now come up here,” urged aunt Corinne, “and sing it all over—what + you was singing before Ma Padgett came.” + </p> + <p> + J. D. ducked his head and chuckled, but remained in his shadow. + </p> + <p> + “Awh-come on,” urged Robert Day “Zene'll sing 'Barb'ry Allen' if you'll + sing your song again.” + </p> + <p> + Zene glanced uneasily at Grandma Padgett, and said he must look at the + horses. “Barb'ry Allen” was a ballad he had indulged the children with + when at a distance from her ears. + </p> + <p> + But the tea and the hour, and her Virginia memories through which that old + sing-song ran like the murmur of bees, made Grandma Padgett propitious, + and she laid her gracious commands on Zene first, and J. D. Matthews + afterwards. So that not only “Barb'ry Allen” was sung, but J. D.'s ditty, + into which he plunged with nasal twanging and much personal enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “It's why he didn't ever get married,” explained aunt Corinne, + constituting herself prologue. + </p> + <p> + “I should think he needn't make any excuses for that,” remarked Grandma + Padgett, smiling. + </p> + <p> + J. D. sawed back and forth on a log, his silly face rosy with pleasure + over the tale of his own woes: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O, I went to a friend's house, + The friend says “Come in. + Take a hot cup of coffee, + O where have you been?” + + It's down to the Squi-er's + With a license I went, + And my good Sunday clothes on, + To marry intent. + + “O where is the lady?” + The good Squi-er, says he. + “O she's gone with a wed'wer + That is not poor J. D.” + + “It's now you surprise me,” + The friend says a-sigh'n, + “J. D. Matthews not married, + The sun will not shine!” + </pre> + <p> + “Well, I think she was simple!” exclaimed aunt Corinne in epilogue, “when + she might have had a man that washed the dishes and talked poetry all the + time.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. THE HOUSE WITH LOG STEPS. + </h2> + <p> + Richmond must soon have seemed far behind Grandma Padgett's little + caravan, had not Fairy Carrie still drowsed in the carriage, keeping the + Richmond adventures always present. + </p> + <p> + They had parted from J. D. Matthews and the Virginian and his troop. + Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen were somewhere on the road ahead, but at a + point unknown to Robert and Corinne. They might turn off towards the + southwest if all the emigrants agreed to forsake the St. Louis route. No + one could tell where J. D. might be rattling his cart. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon which finally placed Richmond in diminishing perspective, + Robert rode with Zene and lived his campaign over again. This was partly + necessary because little Carrie lay on the back carriage-seat. But it was + entirely agreeable, for Zene wanted to know all the particulars, and + showed a flattering, not to say a stimulating anxiety to get a good + straight look at Bobaday's prowess in rescuing the distressed. Said Zene: + </p> + <p> + “But what if her folks never turn up?” + </p> + <p> + “Then my pa will take her to live with us,” said Robert Day, “and Grandma + Padgett will do by her just as she does by aunt Krin and me. She isn't a + very lively little girl. I'd hate to play Blind Man with her to be + blinded; for seems as if she'd just stand against the wall and go to + sleep. But it'll be a good thing to have one still child about the house: + aunt Corinne fidgets so. I believe, though, her folks are hunting her. + Look what a fuss there was about us I When people's children get lost or + stolen, they hunt and hunt, and don't give it up.” + </p> + <p> + In the carriage, aunt Corinne sitting by her mother, turned her head at + every fifth revolution of the wheels, to see how the strange little girl + fared. + </p> + <p> + “Do you s'pose she will ever be clear awake, Ma Padgett?” inquired, aunt + Corinne. + </p> + <p> + “She'll drowse it off by and by,” replied Ma Padgett. “The rubbing I give + her this morning, and the stuff the Richmond doctor made her swallow, will + bring her out right.” + </p> + <p> + “She's so pretty,” mused aunt Corinne. “I'd like to have her hair if she + never wanted it any more.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a covetous spirit. But it puts me in mind,” said Grandma Padgett, + smiling, “of my sister Adeline and the way she took to get doll's hair.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne had often heard of sister Adeline and the doll's hair, but + she was glad to hear the brief tale told again in the pleasant drowsing + afternoon. + </p> + <p> + The Indiana landscape was beautiful in tones of green and stretches of + foliage. Whoever calls it monotonous has never watched its varying + complexions or the visible breath of Indian summer which never departs + from it at any season. + </p> + <p> + “Mother came in from meeting one day,” said Grandma Padgett, “and went + into her bedroom and threw her shawl on the bed. She had company to dinner + and was in a hurry. It was a fine silk shawl with fringe longer than my + hand. Uncle Henry brought it over the mountains as a present. But Adeline + come in and saw the fringe and thought what nice doll hair it would make. + So by and by mother has an errand in the bedroom, and she sees her shawl + travelling down behind the bed, and doesn't know what to think. Then she + hears something snip, snip, and lifts up the valance and looks under the + bed, and there sets Adeline cutting the fringe off her shawl! She had it + half cut off.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did Grandma do then?” aunt Corinne omitted not to ask. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she punished Adeline. But that never had any effect on her. Adeline + was a funny child,” said Grandma Padgett, retrospective tenderness showing + through her blue glasses. “I remember once she got to eatin' brown paper, + and mother told her it would kill her if she didn't quit it. Adeline—made + up her mind she was going to eat brown paper if it did kill her. She never + doubted that it would come true as mother said. But she prepared to die, + and made her will and divided her things. Mother found it out and put a + stop to the business. I remember,” said Grandma Padgett, laughing, “that I + was disappointed, because I had to give back what she willed to me! yet I + didn't want Adeline to die. She was a lively child. She jumped out of + windows and tom-boyed around, but everybody liked her. Once I had some + candy and divided fair enough, I thought, but Adeline after she ate up + what she had, said I'd be sorry if I didn't give her more, because she was + going, to die. It worked so well on my feelings that next time I tried + that plan on Adeline's feelings, and told her if she didn't do something I + wanted her to do <i>she'd</i> be sorry; for I was going to die. She said + she knew it; everybody was going to die some day, and she couldn't help it + and wasn't going to be sorry for any such thing! Poor Adeline: many a year + she's been gone, and I'm movin' further away from the old home.” + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett lifted the lines and slapped them on the backs of old + Hickory and Henry. Rousing themselves from coltish recollections of their + own, perhaps, the horses began to trot. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: THE LAWYER.} + </p> + <p> + In Indiana, some reaches of the 'pike were built on planks instead of + broken stone, and gave out a hollow rumble instead of a flinty roar. The + shape and firmness of the road-bed were the same, but the ends of boards + sometimes cropped out along the sides. In this day, branches of the old + national thoroughfare penetrate to every part of the Hoosier State. The + people build 'pikes instead of what are called dirt roads. There are, of + course, many muddy lanes and by-ways. But they have some of the best + drives which have been lifted out of the Mississippi Valley. + </p> + <p> + Though the small caravan had lost time, and Son Tip might be waiting at + the Illinois line before they reached that point, Grandma Padgett said + they would all go to morning meeting in the town where they stopped + Saturday night, and only drive a short piece on Sunday afternoon. She + hated to be on expense, but they had much to return thanks for; and the + Israelites made Sabbath day's journeys when they were moving. + </p> + <p> + The first Sunday—which seemed so remote now—had been partially + spent in a grove where they camped for dinner, and Grandma Padgett read + the Bible, and made Bobaday and Corinne answer their catechism. But this + June Sunday was to be of a thanksgiving character. And they spent it in + Greenfield. + </p> + <p> + At Cambridge City little Carrie roused sufficiently to eat with evident + relish. But no such recollection of Dublin, Jamestown called Jimtown for + short, by some inhabitants, and only distinguished by its location from + another Jamestown in the State—-Knightstown and Charlottesville, + remained to her as remained to Bobaday and Corinne. The Indiana village + did not differ greatly from the Ohio village situated on the 'pike. There + were always the church with a bonny little belfry, and the schoolhouse + more or less mutilated as to its weather boarding. The 'pike was the + principal street, and such houses as sat at right angles to it, looked + lonesome, and the dirt roads weedy or dusty. + </p> + <p> + Greenfield was a country seat and had a court house surrounded by trees. + It looked long and straggling in the summer dusk. Zene, riding ahead to + secure lodgings, came back as far as the culvert to tell Grandma Padgett + there was no room at the tavern Court, was session, and the lawyers on the + circuit filled the house. But there was another place, near where they now + halted, that sometimes took in travellers for accommodation's sake. He + pointed it out, a roomy building with a broad flight of leg steps leading + up to the front doors. Zene said it was not a tavern, but rather nicer + than a tavern. He had already prevailed on the man and woman keeping it to + take in his party. + </p> + <p> + Robert and aunt Corinne scampered up the log steps and Grandma Padgett led + Fairy Carrie; after them. A plain tidy woman met them at the door and took + them into a square room. There were the homemade carpet, the centre-table + with daguerreotypes standing open and glaring such light as they had yet + to reflect, samplers and colored prints upon the walls, but there was also + a strange man busy with some papers at the table. + </p> + <p> + His hat stood beside him on the floor, and he dropped the sorted papers + into it. He was, as Grandma Padgett supposed, one of the lawyers on the + circuit. After looking up, he kept on sorting and folding his papers. + </p> + <p> + The woman went out to continue her supper-getting. In a remote part of the + house bacon could be heard hissing over the fire. Robert and Corinne sat + upright on black chairs, but their guardian put Carrie on a padded lounge. + </p> + <p> + The little creature was dressed in aunt Corinne's clothing, giving it a + graceful shape in spite of the broad tucks in sleeve, skirt and pantalet, + which kept it from draggling over her hands or on the floor, She leaned + against the wall, gazing around her with half-awakened interest. The dark + circles were still about her eyes, but her pallor was flushed with a + warmer color, Grandma Padgett pushed the damp curls off her forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hungry, Sissy?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am,” replied Carrie. “Yes, ma'am,” she added, after a moment's + reflection. + </p> + <p> + “She actually doesn't know,” said Bobaday, sitting down on the lounge near + Carrie. Upon this, aunt Corinne forsook her own black chair and sat on the + other side of their charge. + </p> + <p> + “Do you begin to remember, now?” inquired Robert Day, smoothing the + listless hands on Carrie's lap. + </p> + <p> + “How we run off with you—you know,” prompted aunt Corinne, dressing + a curl over her finger. + </p> + <p> + The child looked at each of them, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Don't pester her,” said Grandma Padgett, taking some work out of her + dress pocket and settling herself by a window to make use of the last + primrose light in the sky. + </p> + <p> + “If we don't begin to make her talk, she'll forget how,” exclaimed aunt + Corinne. “Can't you 'member anything about your father and mother now, + Carrie?” + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: THE “YOUNG MAN WHO SOLD TICKETS” APPEARS AT THE DOOR.} + </p> + <p> + The man who was sorting his papers at the table, turned an attentive eye + and ear toward the children. But neither Bobaday nor Corinne considered + that he broke up the family privacy. They scarcely noticed him. + </p> + <p> + “Grandma,” murmured Carrie vaguely, turning her eyes toward their guardian + by the window. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's Grandma,” said Bobaday. “But don't you know where your own pa + and ma are?” + </p> + <p> + “Papa,” whispered Carrie, like a baby trying the words. “Mamma. Papa—mamma.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” exclaimed aunt Corinne. “Where do they live? She's big enough + to know that if she knows anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's get her to sing a song,” suggested Bobaday. “If she can remember a + song, she can remember what happened before they made her sing.” + </p> + <p> + “That papa?” said Carrie, looking at the stranger by the table. + </p> + <p> + “No,” returned aunt Corinne, deigning a glance his way. “That's only a + gentleman goin' to eat supper here. Sing, Carrie. Now, Bobaday Padgett,” + warned aunt Corinne, shooting her whisper behind the curled head, “don't + you go and scare her by sayin' anything about that pig-man.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you scare her yourself,” returned Robert with a touch of + indignation. “You've got her eyes to stickin' out now. Sing a pretty tune, + Carrie. Come on, now.” + </p> + <p> + The docile child slid off the lounge and stood against it, piping directly + one of her songs. Yet while her trembling treble arose, she had a troubled + expression, and twisted her fingers about each other. + </p> + <p> + In an instant this expression became one of helpless terror. She crowded + back against the lounge and tried to hide herself behind Bobaday and + Corinne. + </p> + <p> + They looked toward the door, and saw standing there the young man who sold + tickets at the entrance of the pig-headed individual's show. His hands + were in his pockets, but he appeared ready to intone forth: + </p> + <p> + “Walk right in, ladies and gentlemen, and hear Fairy Carrie, the child + vocalist!” And the smoky torch was not needed to reveal his satisfaction + in standing just where he did. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. “COME TO MAMMA!” + </h2> + <p> + Though the dissipated looking young man only stood at the door a moment, + and then walked out on the log steps at a sauntering pace, he left dismay + behind him. Aunt Corinne flew to her mother, imploring that Carrie be hid. + Robert Day stood up before the child, frowning and shaking his head. + </p> + <p> + “All the pig-headed folks will be after her,” exclaimed aunt Corinne. + “They'll come right into this room so soon as that fellow tells them. Le's + run out the back way, Ma Padgett!” + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett, who had been giving the full strength of her spectacles + to the failing light and her knitting, beheld this excitement with + disapproval. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have my needles out,” she objected. “What pig-headed folks are + after what? Robert, have you hurt Sissy?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Grandma Padgett, didn't you see the doorkeeper looking into the + room?” + </p> + <p> + “Some person just looked in—person they appear to object to,” said + the strange man, giving keen attention to what was going forward. “Are + these your own children, ma'am?” + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett rolled up her knitting, and tipped her head slightly back + to bring the stranger well under her view. + </p> + <p> + “This girl and the boy belong to my family,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “But whose is the little girl on the lounge?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” replied Grandma Padgett, somewhat despondently. “I wish I + did. She's a child that seems to be lost from her friends.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can't take her away and give her to the show people again,” + exclaimed aunt Corinne, turning on this stranger with nervous defiance. + “She's more ours than she is yours, and that ugly man scared her so she + couldn't do anything but cry or go to sleep. If brother Tip was here he + wouldn't let them have her.” + </p> + <p> + “That man that just went out, is a showman,” explained Robert Day, relying + somewhat on the stranger for aid and re-inforcement. “She was in the show + that he tended door for. They were awful people. Aunt Krin and I slipped + her off with us.” + </p> + <p> + “That's kidnapping. Stealing, you know,” commented the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “<i>They'd</i> stolen her,” declared Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Look how 'fraid she was! I peeped into their wagon in the woods, and as + soon as she opened her eyes and saw the man with the pig's head, she began + to scream, and they smothered her up.” + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett was now sitting on the lounge with Carrie lifted into her + lap. Her voice was steady, but rather sharp. “This child's in a fit! + Robert Day, run to the woman of the house and tell her to bring hot water + as soon as she can.” + </p> + <p> + During the confusion which followed, and while Carrie was partially + undressed, rubbed, dipped, and dosed between her set teeth, the stranger + himself went out to the log steps and stood looking from one end of the + street to the other. The dissipated young man appeared nowhere in the + twilight. + </p> + <p> + Returning, the lawyer found Grandma Padgett holding her patient wrapped in + shawls. The landlady stood by, much concerned, and talking about a great + many remedies beside such as she held in her hands. Aunt Corinne and + Robert Day maintained the attitude of guards, one on each side of the + door. + </p> + <p> + Carrie was not only conscious again, but wide awake and tingling through + all her little body. Her eyes had a different expression. They saw + everything, from the candle the landlady held over her, to the stranger + entering: they searched the walls piteously, and passed the faces of + Bobaday and aunt Corinne as if they by no means recognized these larger + children. + </p> + <p> + “I want my mamma!” she wailed. Tears ran down her face and Grandma Padgett + wiped them away. But Carrie resisted her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Go away!” she exclaimed. “You aren't my mamma!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor little love!” sighed the landlady, who had picked up some + information about the child. + </p> + <p> + “And you aren't my mamma!” resented Carrie. “I want my mamma to come to + her little Rose.” + </p> + <p> + “Says her name's Rose,” said Grandma Padgett, exchanging a flare of her + glasses for a startled look from the landlady. + </p> + <p> + “She says her name's Rose,” repeated the landlady, turning to the lawyer + as a general public who ought to be informed. Robert and Corinne began to + hover between the door and the lounge, vigilant at both extremes of their + beat. + </p> + <p> + “Rose,” repeated the lawyer, bending forward to inspect the child. “Rose + what? Have you any other name, my little girl?” + </p> + <p> + “I not your little girl,” wept their excited patient. “I'm my mamma's + little girl. Go away! you're an ugly papa.” + </p> + <p> + Bobaday and Corinne chuckled at this accusation. Aunt Corinne could not + bring herself to regard the lawyer as an ally. If he wished to play a + proper part he should have gone out and driven the doorkeeper and all the + rest of those show-people from Greenfield. Instead of that, he stood + about, listening. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't even seen such people,” murmured the landlady in reply to a + whispered question from Grandma Padgett. “There was a young man came in to + ask if we had more room, but I didn't like his looks and told him no, we + had no more. Court-times we can fill our house if we want to. But I'm + always particular. We don't take shows at all. The shows that come through + here are often rough. There was a magic-lantern man we let put up with us. + But circuses and such things can go to the regular tavern, says I. And if + the regular tavern can't accommodate them, it's only twenty mile to + Injunop'lis.” + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid they might have got into the house,” said Grandma Padgett. + “And I wouldn't know what to do. I couldn't give her up to them again, + when the bare sight throws her into spasms, unless I was made to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't prove any right to her,” observed the lawyer. + </p> + <p> + “No, I couldn't,” replied Grandma Padgett, expressing some injury in her + tone. “But on that account ought I to let her go to them that would + mistreat her?” + </p> + <p> + “She may be their child,” said the lawyer. “People have been known to + maltreat their children before. You only infer that they stole her.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne told her nephew in a slightly guarded whisper, that she never + had seen such a mean man as that one was. + </p> + <p> + “They ought to prove it before they get her, then,” said Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he assented. “They ought to prove it.” + </p> + <p> + “And they must be right here in the place,” she continued. “I'm afraid + I'll have trouble with them.” + </p> + <p> + “We could go on to-night,” exclaimed Robert Day. “We could go on to + Indianapolis, and that's where the governor lives, Zene says; and when we + told the governor, he'd put the pig-headed folks in jail.” Small notice + being taken of this suggestion by the elders, Robert and Corinne bobbed + their heads in unison and discussed it in whispers together. + </p> + <p> + The woman of the house locked up that part which let out upon the log + steps, before she conducted her guests to supper. She was a partisan of + Grandma Padgett's. + </p> + <p> + At table the brown-eyed child whom Grandma Padgett still held upon her + lap, refused food and continued to demand her mother. She leaned against + the old lady's shoulder seeing every crack in the walls, every dish upon + the cloth, the lawyer who sat opposite, and the concerned faces of Bobaday + and Corinne. Supper was too good to be slighted, in spite of Carrie's + dangerous position. The man of the house was a Quaker, and while his wife + stood up to wait on the table, he repeatedly asked her in a thee-and-thou + language highly edifying to aunt Corinne, for certain pickles and jams and + stuffed mangoes; and as she brought them one after the other, he helped + the children plentifully, twinkling his eyes at them. He was a delicious + old fellow; as good in his way as the jams. + </p> + <p> + “And won't thee have some-in a sasser?” he inquired tenderly of Carrie, + “and set up and feed thyself? Thee ought to give thy grandame a chance to + eat her bite—don't thee be a selfish little dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I want my mamma,” responded Carrie, at once taking this twinkle-eyed + childless father into her confidence. “I'm waiting for my mamma. When she + comes she'll give me my supper and put me to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Thee's a big enough girl to wait ort thyself,” said the Quaker, not + understanding the signs his wife made to him. + </p> + <p> + “She doesn't live at your house,” pursued the child. “She lives at papa's + house.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is papa's house?” inquired the lawyer helping himself to bread as + if that were the chief object of his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “It's away off. Away over the woods.” + </p> + <p> + “And what's papa's name?” + </p> + <p> + Carrie appeared to consider the questioner rather than the question, and + for some unexpressed reason, remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” said the Quaker from the abundant goodness of his heart, + “doesn't thee mind that damson p'serve thee never let's me have unless I + take the ag'y and shake for it? Some of that would limber a little girl's + tongue, doesn't thee think?” + </p> + <p> + “It's in the far pantry on a high shelf,” said the woman of the house, + demurring slightly. + </p> + <p> + “I can reach it down.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'll bring it myself. The jars are too crowded on that shelf for a + man's hands to be turned loose among 'em.” + </p> + <p> + The Quaker smiled, sparkling considerably under his gray eyebrows while + his wife took another light and went after the damson preserve. She had + been gone but a moment when knocking began at the front door, and the + Quaker rose at once from his place to answer it. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: “COME TO MAMMA."} + </p> + <p> + Robert Day and Corinne looked at each other in apprehension. They pictured + a fearful procession coming in. Even their guardian gave an anxious start. + She parted her lips to beg the Quaker not to admit any one, but the + request was absurd. + </p> + <p> + Their innocent host piloted straight to the dining-room a woman whom + Robert and Corinne knew directly. They had seen her in the show, and + recalled her appearance many a time afterwards when speculating about + Carrie's parents. + </p> + <p> + “Here you are!” she exclaimed to the child in a high key. “My poor little + pet! Come to mamma!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. FAIRY CARRIE DEPARTS. + </h2> + <p> + Neither William Sebastian, the Quaker landlord, nor his wife, returning + with the damson preserves in her hand—not even Grandma Padgett and + her family, looked at Fairy Carrie more anxiously than the lawyer. + </p> + <p> + “Is this your mother, Sissy?” inquired Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied the child; A blank, stupid expression replacing her + excitement. “Yes. Mamma?” + </p> + <p> + The woman sat down and took Carrie upon her lap, twisting her curls and + caressing her. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been, frightening us all to death!” she exclaimed. “The + child is sick; she must have some drugs to quiet her.” + </p> + <p> + “She's just come out of a spasm,” said Grandma Padgett distantly. “Seems + as if a young man scared her.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that was Jarvey,” said the woman. “'E found her here. Carrie was + always afraid of Jarvey after he-tried to teach her wire-walking, and let + her fall. Jarvey would've fetched her right away with him, But 'e knows I + don't like to 'ave 'im meddle with her now.” + </p> + <p> + “She says her name's Rose,” observed the wife of William Sebastian, taking + no care to veil her suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis Rose,” replied the woman indifferently, passing her hand in repeated + strokes down the child's face as it was pressed to her shoulder. “The + h'other's professional—Fairy Carrie. We started 'igher. I never + expected to come down with my child to such a miserable little + combination. But we've 'ad misfortunes. Her father died coming over. We're + English. We 'ad good engagements in the Provinces, and sometimes played in + London. The manager as fetched us over, failed to keep his promises, and I + had no friends 'ere. I had to do what I could.” + </p> + <p> + An actual resemblance to Carrie appeared in the woman's face. She wiped + tears from, the dark rings under her eyes. + </p> + <p> + William Sebastian's wife rested her knuckles on the table, still regarding + Carrie's mother with perplexed distrust. + </p> + <p> + While returning none of the caresses she received, the child lay quite + docile and submissive. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Grandma Padgett, still distantly “folks bring up their + children different. There's gypsies always live in tents, and I suppose + show-people always expect to travel with shows. I don't know anything + about it. But I do know when that child came to me she'd been dosed nearly + to death with laudanum, or some sleepin' drug, and didn't really come to + her senses till after her spasm.” + </p> + <p> + The woman cast a piteous expression at her judge. + </p> + <p> + “She's so nervous, poor pet! Perhaps I'm in the 'abit of giving her too + much. But she lives in terror of the company we 'ave to associate with, + and I can't see her nerves be racked.” + </p> + <p> + “Thee ought to stop such wrong doings,” pronounced William Sebastian, + laying his palm decidedly on the table. “Set theeself to some honest work + and put the child to school. Her face is a rebuke to us that likes to feel + at peace.” + </p> + <p> + The woman glanced resentfully at him. + </p> + <p> + “The child is gifted,” she maintained. “I'm going to make a hartist of + her.” + </p> + <p> + She smoothed Carrie's wan hands, and, as if noticing her borrowed clothing + for the first time, looked about the room for the tinsel and gauze. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: THE CHILD LAY QUITE DOCILE AND SUBMISSIVE.} + </p> + <p> + “The things she had on her when she come to us,” said Grandma Padgett, + “were literally gone to nothing. The children had run so far and rubbed + over fences and sat in the grass. I didn't even think it was worth while + to save the pieces; and I put my least one's clothes on her for some kind + of a covering. + </p> + <p> + “It was her concert dress,” said the woman, regarding aunt Corinne's + pantalets with some contempt. “I suppose I hought to thank you, but since + she was hinticed away, I can't. When one 'as her feelings 'arrowed up for + nearly a week as mine have been 'arrowed, one can't feel thankful. I will + send these 'ere things back by Jarvey. Well, ladies and gentlemen, let me + bid you good evening. The performance 'as already begun and we + professionals cannot shirk business.” + </p> + <p> + “You give an exhibition in Greenfield to-night, do you?” inquired the + lawyer. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” replied the woman, standing with Carrie in arms. She had some + difficulty in getting at her pocket, but threw him a handbill. + </p> + <p> + Then passing out through the hall, she shut the front door behind her. + </p> + <p> + There were two other front doors to the house, though only the central one + was in constant use, being left open in the summer weather, excepting on + occasions such as the present, when William Sebastian's wife thought it + should be locked. One of the other front doors opened into the + sitting-room, but was barred with a tall bureau. The third let into a + square room devoted to the lumber accumulations of the house. A bar and + shelves for decanters remained there, but these William Sebastian had + never permitted to be used since his name was painted on the sign. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sebastian felt a desire to confuse the outgoing woman by the three + doors and imprison her in the old store room. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think the child's hers,” exclaimed Mrs. Sebastian. + </p> + <p> + “Thee isn't Solomon,” observed the Quaker, twinkling at his wife. “Thee + cannot judge who the true mother may be.” + </p> + <p> + “She shouldn't got in here if I'd had the keeping of the door,” continued + Mrs. Sebastian. “I may not be Solomon, but I think I could keep the + varmints out of my own chicken house.” + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett set her glasses in a perplexed stare at the door. + </p> + <p> + “She didn't let us say good-by to Fairy Carrie,” exclaimed aunt Corinne + indignantly, “and kept her face hid away all the time so she couldn't look + at us. I'd hate to have such a ma!” + </p> + <p> + “She'll whip the poor little thing for running off with us, when she gets + her away,” said Robert Day, listening for doleful sounds. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what does thee think of this business?” inquired William Sebastian + of the lawyer who was busying himself drawing squares on the tablecloth + with a steel fork. “It ought to come in thy line. Thee deals with + criminals and knows the deceitfulness of our human hearts. What does thee + say to the woman?” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer smiled as he laid down his fork, and barely mentioned the + conflicting facts: + </p> + <p> + “She took considerable pains to tell something about herself: more than + was necessary. But if they kidnapped the child, they are dangerously bold + and confident in exhibiting and claiming her.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. SUNDAY ON THE ROAD. + </h2> + <p> + Aunt Corinne occupied with her mother a huge apartment over the + sitting-room, in which was duplicated the fireplace below. At this season + the fireplace was closed with a black board on which paraded + balloon-skirted women cut out of fashion plates. + </p> + <p> + The chimneys were built in two huge stacks at the gable-ends of the house, + outside the weather boarding: a plan the architects of this day utterly + condemn. The outside chimney was, however, as far beyond the + stick-and-clay stacks of the cabin, as our fire-stone flues are now beyond + it. This house with log steps no longer stands as an old landmark by the + 'pike side in Greenfield. But on that June morning it looked very + pleasant, and the locust-trees in front of it made the air heavy with + perfume. There is no flower like the locust for feeding honey to the sense + of smell. Half the bees from William Sebastian's hives were buzzing + overhead, when Bobaday and aunt Corinne sat down by Zene on the log steps + to unload their troubles. All three were in their Sunday clothes. Zene had + even greased his boots, and looked with satisfaction on the moist surfaces + which he stretched forth to dry in the sun. + </p> + <p> + He had not seen Carrie borne away, but he had been to the show afterwards, + and heard her sing one of her songs. He told the children she acted like + she never see a thing before her, and would go dead asleep if they didn't + stick pins in her like they did in a woman he seen walkin' for money once. + Robert was fain to wander aside on the subject of this walking woman, but + aunt Corinne kept to Fairy Carrie, and made Zene tell every scrap of + information he had about her. + </p> + <p> + “After I rubbed the horses this mornin',” he proceeded, “I took a stroll + around the burg, and their tent and wagon's gone!” + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” exclaimed aunt Corinne. “Clear out of town?” + </p> + <p> + Zene said he allowed so. He could show the children where the tent and + wagon stood, and it was bare ground now. He had also discovered the + time-honored circus-ring, where every summer the tinseled host rode and + tumbled. But under the circumstances, a circus-ring had no charms. + </p> + <p> + “Then they've got her,” said Bobaday. “We'll never see the pretty little + thing again. If I'd been a man I wouldn't let that woman have her, like + Grandma Padgett did. Grown folks are so funny. I did wish some grand + people would come in the night and say she was their child, and make the + show give her up.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne arose to fly to her mother and Mrs. Sebastian with the news. + But the central door opening on the instant and Mrs. Sebastian, her + husband and guest coming out, aunt Corinne had not far to fly. + </p> + <p> + “The woman is a stealer,” she added to her breathless recital. “She didn't + even send my things back.” + </p> + <p> + “She's welcome to them,” said Grandma Padgett, shaking her head, “but I + feel for that child, whether the rightful owners has her or not.” + </p> + <p> + “This is Lord's Day,” said William Sebastian to the children, “along the + whole length of the pike, and across the whole breadth of the country. Thy + little friend will get her First Day blessing.” + </p> + <p> + He wore a gray hat, half-high in the crown, and a gray coat which flapped + his calves when he walked. His trousers were of a cut which reached nearly + to his armpits, but this fact was kept from the public by a vest crawling + well toward his knees. Yet he looked beautifully tidy and well-dressed. + His wife, who was not a Quaker, had by no means such an air of simple + grandeur. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett and aunt Corinne, somewhat reluctantly followed by Zene, + were going to the Methodist church. Already its bell was filling the air. + But Robert hung back and asked if he might not go to Quaker meeting. + </p> + <p> + “Thee couldn't sit and meditate,” said William Sebastian. + </p> + <p> + Bobaday assured William Sebastian he could sit very still, and he always + meditated. When he ran after his grandmother to get her consent, it + occurred to him to find out from Zene how the pig-headed man was, and if + he looked as ugly as ever. But aunt Corinne scorned the question, and + quite flew af him for asking it. + </p> + <p> + The Methodist services Robert knew by heart: the open windows, the high + pulpit where the preacher silently knelt first thing, hymn books rustling + cheerfully, the hymn given out two lines at a time to be sung by the + congregation, then the kneeling of everybody and the prayer, more singing, + and the sermon, perhaps followed by an exhortation, when the preacher + talked loud enough for the boys sitting out on the fence to hear every + word. Perhaps a few children whispered, or a baby cried and its mother + took it out. Everybody seemed happy and astir. After church there was so + much handshaking that the house emptied very slowly. + </p> + <p> + But on his return he described the Quaker meeting to aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + “They all sat and sat,” said Bobaday. “It was a little bit of a house and + not half so many folks could get in it as sit in the corners by the pulpit + in Methodist meeting. And they sat and sat, and nobody said a word or gave + out a hymn. The women looked at the cracks in the floor. You could hear + everything outdoors. After a long time they all got up and shook hands. + Mrs. Sebastian said to Mr. Sebastian when we came away, 'The spirit didn't + appear to move anybody this morning.' And he said, 'No: but it was a + blessed meeting.'” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't your legs cramp?” inquired aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and my nose tickled and I wanted to sneeze.” + </p> + <p> + “But you dursn't move your thumb even. That lawyer that ate supper here + last night would like such a meeting, wouldn't he?” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer was coming up the log steps while Robert spoke of him. And with + him was a lady who looked agitated, and whom he had to assist. + </p> + <p> + Robert and Corinne, at the open sitting-room window, looked at each other + with quick apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Krin, <i>that's</i> her mother,” said aunt Krin's nephew. His young + relative grasped his arm and exclaimed in an awe-struck whisper: + </p> + <p> + “Bobaday Padgett!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. HER MOTHER ARRIVES. + </h2> + <p> + Both children regarded the strange lady with breathless interest when the + lawyer seated her in the room. They silently classed her among the rich, + handsome and powerful people of the earth. She had what in later years + they learned to call refinement, but at that date they could give it no + name except niceness. When Grandma Padgett and the landlord's wife were + summoned to the room, she grew even younger and more elegant in + appearance, though her face was anxious and her eyes were darkened by + crying. + </p> + <p> + “This is Mrs. Tracy from Baltimore,” said the lawyer. “She was in Chicago + yesterday, and I telegraphed for her a half-hour or so before the child + was taken out of the house. She came as far as Indianapolis, and found no + Pan Handle train, this morning, so she was obliged to get a carriage and + drive over. Mrs. Sebastian, will you be kind enough to set out something + for her to eat as soon as you can? She has not thought of eating since she + started. And Mrs.—what did I understand your name to be?” + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: “THIS IS LORD'S DAY,” SAID WILLIAM SEBASTIAN.} + </p> + <p> + “Padgett,” replied the children's guardian. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Mrs. Padgett. Mrs. Padgett, my client is hunting a lost child, and + hearing this little girl was with you some days, she would like to make + some inquiries.” + </p> + <p> + “But the child's taken clear away!” exclaimed Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + “If you drove out from Injunop'lis,” said the Quaker's wife, “you must + have met the show-wagon on the 'pike.” + </p> + <p> + “The show-wagon took to a by-road,” observed the lawyer. “We have men + tracking it now.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it wasn't right for them to carry off that child,” said the + Quaker's wife, “and if I'd tended the door they wouldn't carried her off.” + </p> + <p> + “It was best not to arouse their suspicions before she could be + identified,” said the lawyer. “It's easy enough to take her when we know + she is the child we want.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe so,” said the Quaker's wife. + </p> + <p> + “Easy enough. The vagabonds can't put themselves beyond arrest before we + can reach them, and on the other hand, they could make a case against us + if we meddle with them unnecessarily. Since Mrs. Tracy came West a couple + of weeks ago, and since she engaged me in her cause, we have had a dozen + wrong parties drawn up for examination; children of all ages and sizes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she,” inquired Mrs. Tracy, bringing her chair close to Grandma + Padgett and resting appealing eyes on the blue glasses, “have hair that + curled? Rather long hair for a child of her years.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm,” replied Grandma Padgett with dignified tenderness. “Long for a + child about five or six, as I took her to be. But she was babyish for all + that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—oh, yes!” said Mrs. Tracy. + </p> + <p> + “And curly. How long since you lost her?” + </p> + <p> + The lady from Baltimore sobbed on her handkerchief, but recovered with a + resolute effort, and replied: + </p> + <p> + “It was nearly three months ago. She was on the street with her nurse, and + was taken away almost miraculously. We could not find a trace. Her papa is + dead, but I have always kept his memory alive to her. My friends have + helped me search, but it has seemed day after day as if I could not bear + the strain any longer.” + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett took off her glasses and polished them. + </p> + <p> + “I know how you feel,” she observed, glancing at Robert Day and Corinne. + “I had a scare at Richmond, in this State.” + </p> + <p> + “Are these your children?” + </p> + <p> + “My youngest and my grandson. It was their notion of running away with the + little girl, and their gettin' lost, that put me to such a worry:” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tracy extended her hands to Bobaday and aunt Corinne, drawing one to + each side of her, and made the most minute inquiries about Fairy Carrie. + She knew that the child had called herself Rose, and that she had been in + a partially stupified state during her stay with the little caravan. But + when Robert mentioned the dark circles in the child's face, and her crying + behind the tent, the lady turned white and leaned back, closing her eyes + and groping for a small yellow bottle in her pocket. Having smelled of + this, she recovered herself. + </p> + <p> + But aunt Corinne, in spite of her passionate sympathy, could barely keep + from tittering at the latter action. Though the smelling bottle was + yellow, instead of a dull blue, like the one Ma Padgett kept in the top + bureau drawer at home, aunt Corinne recognized her enemy and remembered + the time she hunted out that treasure and took a long, strong, tremendous + snuff at it, expecting to revel in odors of delight. Her head tingled + again while she thought about it; she felt a thousand needles running + through her nose, and saw herself sitting on the floor shedding tears. How + anybody could sniff at a hartshorn bottle and find it a consolation or + restorative under any circumstances, she could not understand. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sebastian, in her First Day clothes, and unwilling to lose a word of + what was going on in the sitting-room, had left the early dinner to her + assistant. But she brought in a cup of strong tea, and some cream toast, + begging the bereaved mother to stay her stomach with that until the meal's + victuals was ready. Mrs. Tracy appeared to have forgotten that her stomach + needed staying, but she thanked the landlady and drank the tea as if + thirsty, between her further inquiries about the child. + </p> + <p> + “Are you not sure,” she asked the lawyer, “that we are on the right track + this time?” + </p> + <p> + He said he was not sure, but indications were better than they had been + before. + </p> + <p> + “I don't wish to reproach you,” said Mrs. Tracy, “but it is a fearful + thought to me, that they may be poisoning my child with opiates again and + injuring her perhaps for life. You might have detained her.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I've said right along,” exclaimed Mrs. Sebastian. + </p> + <p> + “But there was that woman who pretended to be her rightful mother,” + observed Grandma Padget, who, though not obliged to set up any defence, + wanted the case seen in all its bearings. “There <i>she</i> set, easy and + deliberate, telling <i>her</i> story, how the little thing's father died + comin' over the water, and how hard, it was for her to do the right thing + by the child. She maintained she only dosed the child to keep her from + sufferin'. I didn't believe her, but we had nothing to set up against + her.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tracy became as erect and fierce in aspect as such a delicate + creature could become. The long veil of crape which hung from her bonnet + and swept the floor, emphasizing the blackness of all her other garments, + trembled as she rose. + </p> + <p> + “Why am I sitting here and waiting for anything, when that woman is + claiming my child for her own? The idea of anybody's daring to own my + child! It is more cruel than abuse. I never thought of their being able to + teach her to forget me—that they could confuse her mamma with + another person in her mind!” + </p> + <p> + “You're tired out,” said the lawyer, “and matters are moving just as + rapidly as if you were chasing over all the roads in Hancock County. You + must quiet yourself, ma'am, or you'll break down.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tracy made apparent effort to quiet herself. She took hold of Grandma + Padgett's arm when they were called out to dinner. Robert walked on the + other side of her, having her hand on his shoulder and aunt Corinne went + behind, carrying the end of the crape veil as if Fairy Carrie's real + mother could thus receive support and consolation through the back of the + head. + </p> + <p> + Nobody was more concerned about her trouble than William Sebastian. And he + remembered more tempting pickles and jellies than had ever been on the + table before at once. Yet the dinner was soon over. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett said she had intended to go a piece on the road that + afternoon anyhow, but she could not feel easy in her mind to go very far + until the child was found. Virginia folks and Marylanders were the same as + neighbors. If Mrs. Tracy would take a seat in the carriage, they would + make it their business to dally along the road and meet the word the men + out searching were to bring in. Mrs. Tracy clung to Grandma Padgett's arm + as if she knew what a stay the Ohio neighbors had always found this + vigorous old lady. The conveyance which brought her from Indianapolis had + been sent back. She was glad to be with, the Padgetts. No railroad trains + would pass through until next day. William Sebastian helped her up the + carriage steps, and aunt Corinne set down reverently on the back seat + beside her. Zene was already rumbling ahead with the wagon. Mrs. Sebastian + came down the steps of log and put a hearty lunch in. It was particularly + for the child they hoped to find. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: MRS. TRACY MAKES INQUIRIES.} + </p> + <p> + “Make her eat something,” she counselled the mother. “She hardly tasted a + bite of supper last night, and according to all accounts, she ain't in + hands that understands feedin' children now.” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord prosper all thy undertakings,” said William Sebastian, “and + don't thee forget to let us know what hour we may begin to rejoice with + thee.” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer touched his hat as Hickory and Henry stepped away on the plank + 'pike. He remained in Greenfield, and was to ride after them if any news + came in about Fairy Carrie. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. A COUNTRY SUNDAY-SCHOOL. + </h2> + <p> + However we may spend our Sabbath, it is different from the other days of + the week. I have often thought the little creatures of field and woods + knew the difference. They run or sing with more gladness and a less + business-like air. The friskiest lambs, measuring strength with each other + by stiff-legged jumps, are followed by gentle bleats from their mothers, + and come back after a frolic to meditate and switch their tails. The + fleecy roll of a lamb's tail, and the dimples which seem to dint its first + coat, the pinkness of its nose, and the drollery of its eye, are all worth + watching under a cloudless Sunday sky. + </p> + <p> + As the carriage and wagon rolled along the 'pike, they met other vehicles + full of people driving for an outing, or going to afternoon Sunday-school + held in schoolhouses along the various by-roads. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tracy leaned forward every time a buggy passed the wagon, and scanned + its occupants until they turned towards the right to pass Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + The first messenger they met entered on the 'pike from a cross-road some + distance ahead of them, but was checked in his canter toward Greenfield by + Zene, who stopped the wagon for a parley. Mrs. Tracy was half irritated by + such officiousness, and Grandma Padgett herself intended to call Zene to + account, when he left the white and gray and came limping to the carriage + at the rider's side. However, the news he helped to bring, and the + interest he took in it, at once excused him. This man, scouring the + country north and south since early morning, had heard nothing of the + show-wagon. + </p> + <p> + It might be somewhere in the woods, or jogging innocently along a dirt + road. It was no longer an object to the searchers. He believed the woman + and child had left it, intending to rejoin it at some appointed place when + all excitement was over. He said he thought he had the very woman and + child back here a piece, though they might give him the slip before he + could bring anybody to certainly identify them. + </p> + <p> + “My little one 'give me the slip'!” exclaimed Mrs. Tracy indignantly. + </p> + <p> + The man said his meaning was, she might be slipped off by her keeper. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you got them?” inquired Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + “He saw 'em goin' into Sunday-school, marm,” explained Zene. “There's a + meetin'-house over yonder three or four mile,” pointing with his whip. + </p> + <p> + “It's the unlikeliest place that ever was,” said the messenger, polishing + his horse's wet neck. “And I suppose that's what the woman thought when + she slipped in there. If I hadn't happened by in the nick of time I + wouldn't mistrusted. She didn't see me. She was goin' up the steps, with + her back to the road, and the meetin'-house sets a considerable piece from + the fence. They was all singin' loud enough to drown a horse's feet in the + dust.” + </p> + <p> + “And both were like the descriptions you had?” said Mrs. Tracy. + </p> + <p> + “So nigh like that I half-pulled up and had a notion to go in and see for + myself. Then, thinks I, you better wait and bring-the ones that would know + for sure. There ain't no harm in that.” + </p> + <p> + Before the mother could speak again, Grandma Padgett told the man to turn + back and direct them, and Zene to fall behind the carriage with his load. + He could jog leisurely in the wake of the carriage, to avoid getting + separated from it: that would be all he need attempt. She took up her whip + to touch Hickory and Henry. + </p> + <p> + After turning off on the by-road, Grandma Padgett heard Zene leisurely + jogging in the wake of the carriage, and remembered for a moment, with + dismay, the number of breakable things in his load. He drove all the way + to the meeting-house with the white and gray constantly rearing their + noses from contact with the hind carriage curtains; up swells, when the + road wound through stump-bordered sward, and down into sudden gullies, + when all his movables clanged and rumbled, as if protesting against the + unusual speed they had to endure. Zene was as anxious to reach the + meeting-house as the man who cantered ahead. + </p> + <p> + They drew up to where it basked on the rising ground, an old brown frame + with lichens crusting the roof. There were two front doors, a flight of + wooden steps leading up to each, and three high windows along the visible + side. All these stood open letting out a pleasant hum, through which the + cracked voice of an old man occasionally broke. No hump of belfry stood + upon its back. The afternoon sun was the bell which called that + neighborhood together for Sunday-school. And this unconscious duty + performed, the afternoon sun now brightened the graves which crowded to + the very fence, brought out the glint and polish of the new marble + headstones, or showed the grooved names in the old and leaning slate ones. + Some graves were enclosed by rails, and others barely lifted their tops + above the long grass. There were baby-nests hollowing into the turf, and + clay-colored piles set head and foot with fresh boards. And on all these + aunt Corinne looked with an interest which graves never failed to rouse in + her, no matter what the occasion might be. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: THE FIRST MESSENGER.} + </p> + <p> + The horses switched their tails along the outside of the fence. One backed + his vehicle as far as his hitching-strap would let him, against the wheels + of another's buggy, that other immediately responding by a similar + movement. Some of them turned their heads and challenged Hickory and Henry + and the saddle-horse with speaking whinneys. “Whe-hee-hee-hee! You going + to be tied up here for the grass-flies to bite too? Where do you come + from, and why don't you kick your folks for going to afternoon meeting in + hot June time?” + </p> + <p> + The pilot of the caravan had helped take horse-thieves in his time, and he + considered this a similar excursion. He dismounted swiftly, but with an + air of caution, and as he let down the carriage steps, said he thought + they better surround the house. + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Tracy reached the ground as if she did not see him, and ran + through the open gate with her black draperies flowing in a rush behind + her. Robert Day and aunt Corinne were anxious to follow, and the man tied + Grandma Padgett's horses to a rail fence across the road, while some + protest was made among the fly-bitten row against the white cover of + Zene's moving-wagon. + </p> + <p> + Although Bobaday felt excited and eager as he trotted up the grass path + after Mrs. Tracy, the spirit of the country Sunday-school came out of + doors to meet him. + </p> + <p> + There were the class of old men and the class of old women in the corner + seats each side of the pulpit, and their lesson was in the Old Testament. + The young ladies listened to the instruction of the smart young man of the + neighborhood, and his sonorous words rolled against the echoing walls. He + usually taught the winter district and singing schools. The young girl who + did for summer schoolmiss, had a class of rosebud children in the middle + of the meetinghouse, and they crowded to Her lap and crawled up on her + shoulders, though their mothers, in the mothers' class, shook warning + heads at them. Scent of cloves, roses and sweetbrier mingled with the + woody smell of a building shut close six days out of seven. Two rascals in + the boys' class, who, evading their teacher's count, had been down under + the seats kicking each other with stiff new shoes, emerged just as the + librarian came around with a pile of books, ready to fight good-naturedly + over the one with the brightest cover. The boy who got possession would + never read the book, but he could pull it out of his jacket pocket and + tantalize the other boy going home. + </p> + <p> + The Sunday-school was a wholesome, happy place, even for these young + heathen who were enjoying their bodies too much to care particularly about + their souls. And when the superintendent stood up to rap the school to + order for the close of the session, and line out one of Watts's sober + hymns, there was a pleasant flutter of getting ready, and the smart young + man of the neighborhood took his tuning-fork from his vest pocket to hit + against his teeth so he could set the tune. He wore a very short-tailed + coat, and had his hair brushed up in a high roach from his forehead, and + these two facts conspired to give him a brisk and wide awake appearance as + he stepped into the aisle holding a singing book in his hand. + </p> + <p> + But no peaceful, long-drawn hymn floated through the windows and wandered + into the woods. The twang of the tuning-fork was drowned by a succession + of cries. The smart young man's eyebrows went up to meet his roach while + he stood in the aisle astonished to see a lady in trailing black clothes + pounce upon a child strange to the neighborhood, and exclaim over, and + cover it with kisses. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. FORWARD. + </h2> + <p> + Some of the boys climbed upon seats to look, and there was confusion. A + baby or two in the mothers' class began to cry, but the mothers themselves + soon understood what was taking place, and forgot the decorum of + Sunday-school, to crowd up to Mrs. Tracy. + </p> + <p> + “The child is hers,” one said to another. “It must have been lost. Who + brought it in here?” + </p> + <p> + The fortunate messenger who had been successful in his undertaking, talked + in undertones to the superintendent, telling the whole story with an air + of playing the most important part in it. In return, the superintendent + mentioned the notice he had taken of those two strangers, his attempt to + induce the woman to go to the mothers' class, her restlessness and the + child's lassitude. + </p> + <p> + The smart young man stood close by, receiving the correct version of the + affair, and holding his tuning-fork and book behind him; and all the + children, following their elders, flocked to seats around Mrs. Tracy, + gazing over one another's shoulders, until she looked up abashed at the + chaos her excitement had made. + </p> + <p> + “It's really your child?” said Grandma Padgett, sitting down beside the + mother with a satisfied and benevolent expression. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed, yes! Don't you know mamma, darling?” + </p> + <p> + For reply, the little girl was clinging mutely to her mother's neck. Her + curls were damp and her eyes very dark-ringed. But there was recognition + in her face very different from the puzzled and crouching obedience she + had yielded to the one who claimed her before. + </p> + <p> + “They've been dosing her again,” pronounced Grandma Padgett severely. + </p> + <p> + “And she's all beat out tramping, poor little thing!” said one of the + neighborhood mothers. “Look at them dusty feet!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tracy gathered the dusty feet into her lap and wiped them with her + lace handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + Word went forth to the edge of the crowd that the little girl needed water + to revive her, and half a dozen boys raced to the nearest house for a tin + pailful. + </p> + <p> + With love-feast tenderness the neighborhood mothers administered the + dripping cup to little Rose Tracy when the boys returned. Her face and + head were bathed, and hands and feet cooled. The old women all prescribed + for her, and her mother listened to everybody with distended eyes, but + fell into such frequent paroxysms of kissing her little girl that some of + the boys ducked their heads to chuckle. This extravagant affection was + more than they could endure. + </p> + <p> + “But where's that woman?” inquired Robert Day. He stood up on the seat + behind his grandmother and Mrs. Tracy, and could see all over the house, + but his eyes roamed unsuccessfully after the English player. The people + having their interest diverted by that question, turned their heads and + began to ask each other where she was. Nobody had noticed her leave the + church, but it was a common thing to be passing in and out during Sunday + school. She had made her escape. Half the assembly would have pursued her + on the instant; she could not be far away. But Mrs. Tracy begged them to + let her go; she did not want the woman, could not endure the sight of her, + and never wished to hear of her again. Whatever harm was done to her + child, was done. Her child was what she had come in search of, and she had + it. + </p> + <p> + So the group eager to track a kidnapper across fields and along + fence-corners, calmed their zeal and contented themselves with going + outdoors and betting on what direction the fugitive from punishment had + taken. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps she had grown to love little Rose, and was punished in having to + give her up. In any case, the Pig-headed man and the various people + attached to his show, no more appeared on the track followed by Grandma + Padgett's caravan. Mrs. Tracy would not have him sought out and arrested, + and he only remained in the minds of Robert and aunt Corinne as a type of + monster. + </p> + <p> + When they left the meeting-house, the weather had changed. People + dismissed from Sunday-school with scanter ceremony than usual, got into + their conveyances to hurry home, for thunder sounded in the west, and the + hot air was already cooled by a rush of wet fragrance from the advancing + rain. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: THEY BADE FAIRY CARRIE GOOD-BY.} + </p> + <p> + It proved to be a quick shower, white and violent while it lasted, making + the fields smoke, and walling out distant views. Spouts of water ran off + the carriage top down the oil cloth apron which protected Robert and his + grandmother. Mrs. Tracy held her little girl in her lap, and leaned back + with an expression of perfect happiness. The rain came just as her comfort + had come, after so much parching suspense. Aunt Corinne wondered in + silence if anything could be nicer than riding under a snug cover on which + the sky-streams pelted, through a wonderland of fragrance. Every grateful + shrub and bit of sod, the pawpaw leaves and spicewood stems, the + half-formed hazel-nuts in fluted sheaths, and even new hay-stacks in the + meadows, breathed out their best to the rain. The world never seems so + fresh and lovable as after a June shower. + </p> + <p> + Presently the sun was shining, and the ground-incense steaming with + stronger sweetness, and they came to the wet 'pike stretching like a + russet-colored ribbon east and west, and turned west toward Indianapolis. + </p> + <p> + On the 'pike they met another of the men sent out by Mrs. Tracy and the + lawyer. His horse's coat was smoking. Mrs. Tracy took up a gold pencil + attached to her watch, and wrote a note to the lawyer. She was going on to + the city, and would return directly home with her child. The note she sent + by the men, after thanking them, and paying them in what Robert and his + aunt considered a prodigal and wealthy manner. + </p> + <p> + So large a slice out of the afternoon had their trip to the meeting-house + taken, that it was quite dark when the party drove briskly into + Indianapolis. + </p> + <p> + It was a little city at that date. Still, Bobaday felt exalted by clanging + car-bells and railroad crossings. It being Sunday evening, the freights + were making up. The main street, called Washington, was but an extension + of the 'pike, stretching broad and straight through the city. He noticed + houses with balconies, set back on sloping lawns. Here a light disclosed a + broad hall with dim stairs at the back. And in another place children were + playing under trees; he could hear their calls, and by straining his eyes, + barely discern that they wore sumptuous white city raiment. The tide of + home-makers and beautifiers had not then rolled so far north of East + Washington street as to leave it a mere boundary line. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett and her party stopped at a tavern on Illinois street. Late + in the night they were to separate, Mrs. Tracy taking the first train for + Baltimore. So aunt Corinne and Robert, before going to bed, bade good-by + to the child who had scarcely been a playmate to them, but more like a + delicate plaything in whose helplessness they had felt such interest. + </p> + <p> + Rose, obeying her mamma, put her arms around their necks and kissed them, + telling them to come and see her at home. She looked brighter than + hitherto, and remembered a dollhouse and her birds at mamma's house; yet, + her long course of opiates left her little recognition of the boy and girl + she had so dimly seen. + </p> + <p> + Her mamma hugged them warmly, and Bobaday endured his share of the hugging + with a very good grace, though he was so old. Then it seemed but a breath + until morning, and but another breath until they were under way, the wagon + creaking along the dewy 'pike ahead of them, an opal clearness growing + through the morning twilight, and no Fairy Carrie asleep, like some tiny + enchanted princess, on the back seat. + </p> + <p> + “The rest of the way,” observed Robert Day to his aunt, “there won't be + anything happening—you see if there will. Zene says we're half + across the State now. And I know we'll never see J. D. Matthews again. And + nobody will be lost and have to be found, and there's no tellin' where + that great big crowd Jonathan and his folks moved with, are.” + </p> + <p> + “I feel lonesome,” observed aunt Corinne somewhat pensively. “When Mrs. + Tracy was sending back word to the Quaker tavern man, I wished we's going + back to stay awhile longer. Some places are so nice!” + </p> + <p> + “Now it's a pretty thing for you to begin at your time of life,” said + Grandma Padgett, “to set your faces backward and wish for what's behind. + That's a silly notion. Folks that encourage themselves in doin' it don't + show sound sense. The One that made us knew better than to let us stand + still in our experience, and I've always found them that go forward + cheerfully will pretty generally keep the land of Beulah right around + them. Git up, Hickory!” + </p> + <p> + Thus admonished, the children entered the lone bridge over White River, or + that branch of White River on which Indianapolis is situated. The stream, + seen between chinks in the floor, appeared deep, but not particularly + limpid. How the horses' feet thundered on the boards, and how long they + trod before the little star at the other end grew to an opening quite + large enough to let any vehicle out of the bridge! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. THE TOLL-WOMAN. + </h2> + <p> + Still, as crossing the Sciota at Columbus, had been entering a land of + adventure, crossing the White River at Indianapolis, seemed at first + entering a land of commonplace. + </p> + <p> + The children were very tired of the wagon. Even aunt Corinne got + permission to ride stretches of the road with Robert Day and Zene in the + wagon. It gave out a different creak and jolted her until she was grateful + for springs and cushions when obliged to go back to them. The landscape + was still hazy, the woods grew more beautiful. But neither of the children + cared for the little towns along the route: Bellville, Stilesville, + Meridian, Manhattan, Pleasant Garden. Hills appeared and ledges of rock + cropped out in them. Yet even hills may be observed with indifference by + eyes weary of an endless panorama. + </p> + <p> + They drove more rapidly now to make up for lost time. Both children dived + into the carriage pockets for amusement, and aunt Corinne dressed her rag + doll a number of times each day. They talked of Rose Tracy, still calling + her Fairy Carrie. Of the wonderful clothes her mother laid out to put upon + her the night of her departure, in place of aunt Corinne's over-grown + things, and the show woman's tawdry additions. They wondered about her + home and the colored people who waited on her, and if she would be quite + well and cured of her stupor by the time she reached Baltimore. Grandma + Padgett told them Baltimore was an old city down in Maryland, and the + National 'Pike started in its main street. From Baltimore over the + mountains to Wheeling, in the Pan Handle of Virginia, was a grand route. + There used to be a great deal of wagoning and stage-coaching, and driving + droves of horses and cattle by that road. Perhaps, suggested aunt Corinne, + Fairy Carrie would watch the 'pike for the Padgett family, but Bobaday + ridiculed the idea. When he grew up a man he meant to go to Baltimore but + the railroad would be his choice of routes. + </p> + <p> + Both Robert and his aunt were glad the day they stopped for dinner near a + toll-house, and the woman came and invited them to dine with her. + </p> + <p> + The house stood on the edge of the 'pike, with its gate-pole ready to be + lowered by a rope, looking like any other toll place. But the woman was + very brisk and Yankee-like, and different from the many slatternly persons + who had before taken toll. She said her people came from “down East,” but + she herself was born in Ohio. She thought the old lady would like a cup of + strong tea, and her dinner was just ready, and it did get lonesome eating + by a body's self day after day. + </p> + <p> + The Padgetts added their store to the square table set in a back room, and + the toll-woman poured her steaming tea into cups covered with flower + sprigs. Everything about her was neat and compact as a ship's cabin. Her + bed stood in one corner, curtained with white dimity. There were two rooms + to the toll-house, the front one being a kind of shop containing a + counter, candy jars set in the windows, shoestrings and boxes of thread on + shelves, and a codfish or two sprawled upon nails and covered with + netting. From the back door you could descend into a garden, and at the + end of the garden was a pig-sty, occupied by a white pig almost as tidy + and precise as his owner. In the toll-woman's living room there was a + cupboard fringed with tissue paper, a rocking-chair cushioned in red + calico, curtains to match, a cooking-stove so small it seemed made for a + play-thing, and yellow chairs having gold-leaf ornaments on their backs. + She herself was a straight, flat woman, looking much broader in a front or + back view than when she stood sidewise toward you. Her face was very + good-natured. Altogether she seemed just the ready and capable wife for + whom the man went to London after the rats and the mice led him such a + life. Though in her case it is probable the wheelbarrow would not have + broken, nor would any other mishap have marred the journey. + </p> + <p> + “You don't live here by yourself, do you?” inquired Grandma Padgett as the + tea and the meal in common warmed an acquaintance which the fact of their + being from one State had readily begun. + </p> + <p> + “Since father died I have,” replied the toll-woman. “Father moved in here + when about everything else failed him, and he'd lost ambition, and laws! + now I am used to it. I might gone back to Ohio, but when you fit me into a + place I never want to pull up out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “And don't you ever get afraid, nights or any time, without men folks + about?” + </p> + <p> + “Before I got used to being alone, I did. And there's reason yet every + little while. But I only got one bad scare.” + </p> + <p> + A wagon paused at the front door, so near the horses might have put their + heads in and sniffed up the merchandise, and the woman went to take toll, + before telling about her bad scare. + </p> + <p> + “How do you manage in the nights?” inquired her guest. + </p> + <p> + “That's bad about fair-times, when the wild young men get to racin' late + along. The pole's been cut when I tied it down, and sometimes they've + tried to jump it. But generally the travellers are peaceable enough. I've + got a box in the front door like a letter-box, with a slit outside for + them to drop change into, and the pole rope pulls down through the + window-frame. There ain't so much travel by night as there used to be, and + a body learns to be wakeful anyhow if they've ever had the care of sick + old people.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't say how you got scared,” remarked aunt Corinne, sitting + straight in one of the yellow chairs to impress upon her mind the image of + this heroine of the road. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it was robbers,” confessed the toll-woman, “breakin' into the + house, that scared me.” + </p> + <p> + Robbers! Aunt Corinne's nephew mentally saw a cavern in one of the + neighboring hills, and men in scarlet cloaks and feathers lurking among + the bushes. If there is any word sweeter to the young male ear than Indian + or Tagger, it is robbers. + </p> + <p> + “Are there many robbers around here?” he inquired, fixing intent eyes on + the toll-woman. + </p> + <p> + “There used to be plenty of horse-thieves, and is, yet,” she replied. + “They've come huntin' them from away over in Illinois. I remember that + year the milk-sick was so bad there was more horse-thieves than we've ever + heard of since.” + </p> + <p> + “But they ain't true robbers, are they?” said aunt Corinne's nephew in + some disgust, his scarlet bandits paling. + </p> + <p> + “Not the kind that come tryin' the house when I got scared,” admitted the + toll-woman. + </p> + <p> + “And did they get in?” exclaimed Robert Day's aunt. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like to think about it yet,” remarked the toll-woman, cooling her + tea and intent on enjoying her own story. “'Twasn't so very long ago, + either. First comes word from this direction that a toll-gate keeper and + his wife was tied and robbed at the dead o' night. And then comes word + from the other direction of an old man bein' knocked on the head when he + opened his door. It wouldn't seem to you there'd be enough money at a + toll-gate to make it an object,” said the woman, looking at Zene's cross + eyes with unconcealed disfavor. “But folks of that kind don't want much of + an object.” + </p> + <p> + “They love to rob,” suggested Bobaday, enjoying himself. + </p> + <p> + “They're a desp'rate, evil set,” said the toll-woman sternly. “Why, I + could tell things that would make your hair all stand on end, about + robberies I've known.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne felt a warning stir in her scalp-lock. But her nephew began + to desire permanent encampment in the neighborhood of this toll-gate. + Robber-stories which his grandmother not only allowed recited, but drank + in with her tea, were luxuries of the road not to be left behind. + </p> + <p> + “Tell some of them,” he urged. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you about their comin' <i>here</i>,” said the toll-woman. + “'Twas soon after father's death. They must known there was a lone woman + here, and calculated on findin' it an easy job. He'd kept me awake a good + deal, for father suffered constant in his last sickness, and though I was + done out, I still had the habit of wakin' regular at his medicine-hours. + The time was along in the fall, and there was a high wind that night. Fair + time, too, so there was more travel on the 'pike of people comin' and + goin' to the Fair and from it, in one day, than in a whole week ordinary + times.” + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: THE TOLL-WOMAN.} + </p> + <p> + “I opened my eyes just as the clock struck two and seemed like I heard + something at the front door. I listened and listened. It wasn't the wind + singin' along the telegraph wires as it does when there's a strong draught + east and west. And it wasn't anybody tryin' to wake me up. Some of our + farmers that buys stock and has to be out early and late in a droviete + way, often tells me beforehand what time o' night they'll be likely to + come by, and I set the pole so it'll be easy for them that knows how to + tip up. Then they put their money in the box, and tip the pole back after + they drive through, to save wakin' me, for the neighbors are real + accommodating and they knew father took a heap of care. But the noise I + heard wasn't anybody droppin' coppers in the box, nor raisin' or lowerin' + the pole. The rope rasps against the hole when the gate goes up or down. + It was just like a lock was bein' picked, or a rattly old window bein' + slid up by inches. + </p> + <p> + “I mistrusted right away. It wouldn't do any good for me to holler. The + nearest neighbor was two miles off. I hadn't any gun, and never shot off a + gun in my life. I would hate to hurt a human bein' that way. Still, I was + excited and afraid of gettin' killed myself; so if I'd <i>had</i> a gun I + <i>might</i> have shot it off, for by the time I got my dress and + stockin's on, that window was up, and somethin' was in that front room. I + could hear him step, still as a cat. + </p> + <p> + “I thought about the toll-money. Everybody knew the box's inside the door, + so I was far from leavin' it there till the collector came. I always took + the money out and tied it in a canvas sack and hid it. A body would never + think of lookin' where I hid that money.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you hide it?” inquired aunt Corinne. + </p> + <p> + The toll-woman rose up and went to collect from a carriage at the door. + The merry face of a girl in the carriage peeped through the house, and + some pleasant jokes were exchanged. + </p> + <p> + “That's the daughter of the biggest stock man around here,” said the + toll-woman, returning, and passing over aunt Corinne's question. “She goes + to college, but it don't make a simpleton of <i>her</i>. She always has a + smile and a pleasant word. Her folks are real good friends of mine. They + knew our folks in Ohio.” + </p> + <p> + “And did he come right in and grab you?” urged Bobaday, keeping to the + main narrative. + </p> + <p> + “I was that scared for a minute,” resumed the toll-woman, “that I hadn't + any strength. The middle door never is locked. I leave it on the latch + like, so I can hear wheels better. What to do I didn't know, but a body + thinks fast at such times. First thing I knew I was on the back doorstep, + hookin' the door on the outside. Then a gust of wind like, came around the + corner of the house, and voices came with it, and I felt sure there were + more men waitin' there to ketch me, if I tried to run.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. ROBBERS. + </h2> + <p> + It was a light night, but the new moon looked just like it was blowed + through the sky by the high wind. I noticed that, because I remembered it + afterwards. + </p> + <p> + “Now I was outside, I didn't know which way to turn. If I run to either + side, there were the men, and if I took toward the pig-pen they'd see me. + And they'd be comin' around and 'd ketch me where I was.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do?” exclaimed aunt Corinne, preserving a rigid attitude. + </p> + <p> + The toll-woman laughed cheerfully as she poured out more tea for herself, + Grandma Padgett having waved back the teapot spout. + </p> + <p> + “I took the only chance I saw and jumped for that there cave.” + </p> + <p> + Both Robert and his aunt arose from their chairs to look out of the back + door. + </p> + <p> + The cave was a structure which I believe is peculiar to the West, being in + reality a kind of dug-out. It flourished before people built substantial + houses with cellars under them, and held the same relation to the family's + summer economy as the potato, apple, and turnip holes did to its winter + comfort. Milk, butter, perishable fruit, lard, meats, and even preserves + were kept in the cave. It was intended for summer coolness and winter + warmth. To make a cave, you lifted the sod and dug out a foot of earth. + The bottom was covered with straw. Over this you made boards meet and + brace each other with the slope of the roof. The ends were boarded up, + leaving room for a door, and the whole outside sodded thickly, so that a + cave looked like a sharp-printed bulge in the sward, excepting at that end + where the heavy padlocked door closed it. It was a temptation to bad boys + and active girls; they always wanted to run over it and hear the hollow + sound of the boards under their feet. I once saw a cave break through and + swallow one out of such a galloping troup, to his great dismay, for he was + running over an imaginary volcano, and when he sat down to his shoulders + in an apple-butter jar, the hot lava seemed ready made to his hand. + </p> + <p> + From the toll-woman's cave-roof, spikes of yellow mustard were shooting up + into the air. The door looked as stout as the opening to a bank vault, + though this comparison did not occur to the children, and was secure with + staple and padlock and three huge hinges. Evidently, no mischievous feet + had cantered over the ridge of this cave. + </p> + <p> + It stood a few yards from the back door. + </p> + <p> + “I had the key in my pocket,” said the toll-woman, “and ever since then + I've never carried it anywhere else. I clapped, it into the padlock and + turned, but just as I pulled the door I heard feet comin' around the house + full drive. Instead of jumpin' into the cave I jumped behind it. I thought + they had me, but I wasn't goin' to be crunched to death in a hole, like a + mouse. My stocking-feet slipped, and I came down flat, but right where the + shadow of the house and the shadow of the cave fell all over me. If I + hadn't slipped I'd been runnin' across that field, and they'd seen me + sure. Folks around here made a good deal of fuss over the way things + turned out, but I don't, take any more credit than's my due, so I say it + just happened that I didn't try to run further. + </p> + <p> + “The two men outside unlocked the back door and the one inside came on to + the step. + </p> + <p> + “'There's nothin' in the box and nobody in here,' says he. 'She's jumped + out o' bed and run and carried the cash with her.' + </p> + <p> + “'Did you look under the bed?' says one of the outsiders. And he ran and + looked himself; anyway, he went in the house and came out again. I was + glad I hadn't got under the bed. + </p> + <p> + “'This job has to be done quick,' says the first one. 'And the best way is + to ketch the woman and make her give up or tell where the stuff is hid. + She ain't got far, because I heard her open this door.' + </p> + <p> + “Then they must have seen the cave door stannin' open. I heard them say + something about 'cave,' and come runnin' up. + </p> + <p> + “'Hold on,' says one, and he fires a pistol-shot right into the cave. I + was down with my mouth to the ground, flat as I could lay, but the sound + of a gun always made me holler out, and holler I did as the ball seemed to + come thud! right at me; but it stuck in the back of the cave. + </p> + <p> + “'All right. Here she is!' says the foremost man, and in they all went. I + heard them stumble as they stepped down, and one began to blame the others + for crowdin' after him when they ought to stopped at the mouth to ketch me + if I slipped through his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know to this hour how I did it,” exclaimed the toll-woman, + fanning herself, “nor when I thought of it. But the first thing I felt + sure of I had that door slammed to, and the key turned in the padlock, and + them three robbers was ketched like mice in a trap, instead of it's bein' + me!” + </p> + <p> + Robert Day gave a chuckle of satisfaction, but aunt Corinne braced herself + against the door-frame and gazed upon the magic cave with still wider + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Did they yell?” inquired Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + “It ain't fit to tell,” resumed the toll-woman, “what awful language them + men used; and they kicked the door and the boards until I thought break + through they would if they had to heave the whole weight, of dirt and sod + out of the top. Then I heard somebody comin' along the 'pike, and for a + minute I felt real discouraged; for, thinks I, if there's more engaged to + help them, what's a poor body to do? + </p> + <p> + “But 'twas a couple of stock-men, riding home, and they stopped at the + gate, and I run through the open house to tell my story, and it didn't + take long for them with pistols in their pockets and big black whips + loaded with lead in the handles, to get the fellows out and tie 'em up + firm. I hunted all the new rope in the house, and they took the firearms + away from the robbers, and drove 'em off to jail, and the robbers turned + out to be three of the most desp'rate characters in the State, and they're + in prison now for a long term of years.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do the rest of the night?” inquired Grandma Padgett. + </p> + <p> + “O, I locked everything tight again, and laid down till daylight,” replied + the toll-woman, with somewhat boastful indifference. “Folks haven't got + done talkin' yet about that little jail in my back yard,” she added, + laughing. “They came from miles around to look into it and see where the + men pretty nigh kicked the boards loose.” + </p> + <p> + This narrative was turned over and over by the children after they resumed + their journey, and the toll-woman and her cave had faded out in distance. + If they saw a deserted cabin among the hollows of the woods, it became the + meeting place of robbers. Now that aunt Corinne's nephew turned his mind + to the subject, he began to think the whole expedition out West would be a + failure—an experience not worth alluding to in future times—unless + the family were well robbed on the way. Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen, in the + great overland colony, would have Indians to shudder at, a desert and + mountains to cross, besides the tremendous Mississippi River. Robert would + hate to meet Jonathan in coming days—and he had a boy's faith that + he should be constantly repassing old acquaintances in this world—and + have no peril to put in the balance against Jonathan's adventures. Of + course he wanted to come out on the right side of the peril, it does not + tell well otherwise. + </p> + <p> + But while aunt Corinne's mind ran as constantly on robbers, they had no + charms for her. She did not want to be robbed, and was glad her lines had + not fallen in the lonely toll-house. Being robbed appeared to her like the + measles, mumps, or whooping-cough; more interesting in a neighboring + family than in your own. She would avoid it if possible, yet the + conviction grew upon her that it was not to be escaped. The strange + passers-by who once pleasantly varied the road, now became objects of + dread. Though Zene got past them in safety, and though they gave the + carriage a wide road, aunt Corinne never failed to turn and watch them to + a safe distance, lest they should make a treacherous charge in the rear. + </p> + <p> + Had they been riding through some dismal swamp, the landscape's influence + would have accounted for all these terrors. But it was the pretty region + of Western Indiana, containing hills and bird-songs enough to swallow up a + thousand stories of toll-gate robberies in happy sight and sound. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett, indeed, soon put her ban upon the subject of caves and + night-attacks. But she could not prevent the children thinking. Nor was + she able to drive the carriage and at the same time sit in the wagon when + they rode with Zene and stop the flow of recollection to which they + stimulated him. While sward, sky, and trees became violet-tinted to her + through her glasses, and she calmly meditated and chewed a bit of calamus + or a fennel seed, Bobaday and aunt Corinne huddled at the wagon's mouth, + and Zene indulgently harrowed up their souls with what he heard from a + gentleman who had been in the Mexican war. + </p> + <p> + “The very gentleman used to visit at your grand-marm's house,” said Zene + to Robert, “and your marm always said he was much of a gentleman,” added + Zene to aunt Corinne. “Down in the Mexican country when they didn't fight + they stayed in camp, and sometimes they'd go out and hunt. Man that'd been + huntin', come runnin' in one day scared nigh to death. He said he'd seen + the old Bad Man. So this gentleman and some more of the fine officers, + they went to take a look for themselves. They hunted around a good spell. + Most of them gave it up and went back: all but four. The four got right up + to him.” + </p> + <p> + “O don't, Zene!” begged aunt Corinne, feeling that she could not bear the + description. + </p> + <p> + But to Robert Day's mind arose the picture of Apollyon, in <i>Pilgrim's + Progress</i>, and he uttered something like a snort of enjoyment, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Zene.” + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: ZENE'S WILD MAN.} + </p> + <p> + “I guess it was a crazy darkey or Mexican,” Zene was careful to explain. + “He was covered with oxhide all over, so he looked red and white hairy, + and the horns and ears were on his head. He had a long knife, and cut + weeds and bark, and muttered and chuckled to himself. He was ugly,” + acknowledged Zene. “The gentleman said he never saw anything better + calkilated to look scary, and the four men followed him to his den. They + wouldn't shoot him, but they wanted to see what he was, and he never + mistrusted. After a long round-about, they watched him crawl on all-fours + into a hole in a hill, and round the mouth of the hole he'd built up a + tunnel of bones. The bones smelt awful,” said Zene. “And he crawled in + with his weeds and bark in his hand, and they didn't see any more of him. + That's a true story,” vouched Zene, snapping his whip-lash at Johnson, + “but your grandmarm wouldn't like for me to tell it to you. Such things + ain't fit for children to hear.” + </p> + <p> + Robert Day felt glad that Zene's qualms of repentance always came after + the offence instead of before, and in time to prevent the forbidden tale. + </p> + <p> + Yet, having made such ardent preparation for robbers, and tuned their + minds to the subject by every possible influence, the children found they + were approaching the last large town on the journey without encountering + any. + </p> + <p> + This was Terre Haute. One farmer on the road, being asked the distance, + said, it was so many miles to Tarry Hoot. Another, a little later met, + pronounced the place Turry Hut; and a very trim, smooth-looking man whom + Zene classed as a banker or judge, called it Tare Hote. So the inhabitants + and neighbors of Terra Haute were not at all unanimous in the sound they + gave her French name; nor are they so to this day. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. THE FAIR AND THE FIERCE BANDIT. + </h2> + <p> + At Terra Haute, where they halted for the night, Robert Day was made to + feel the only sting which the caravan mode of removal ever caused him. + </p> + <p> + The tavern shone resplendent with lights. When Grandma Padgett's party + went by the double doors of the dining-room, to ascend the stairs, they + glanced into what appeared a bower or a bazaar of wonderful sights. They + had supper in a temporary eating-room, and the waiter said there was a + fair in the house. Not an agricultural display, but something got up by a + ladies' sewing-society to raise money for poor people. + </p> + <p> + Now Robert Day and Corinne knew all about an agricultural display. They + had been to the State Fair at Columbus, and seen cattle standing in long + lines of booths, quilts, and plows, and chickens, pies, bread, and fancy + knitting, horses, cake stands, and crowds of people. They considered it + the finest sight in the world, except, perhaps, a fabulous crystal palace + which was or had been somewhere a great ways off, and which everybody + talked about a great deal, and some folks had pictured on their window + blinds. But a fair got up by a ladies' sewing-society to raise money for + the poor, was so entirely new and tantalizing to them that they begged + their guardian to take them in. + </p> + <p> + Grandma Padgett said she had no money to spare for foolishness, and her + expenses during the trip footed up to a high figure. Neither could she + undertake to have the trunks in from the wagon and get out their Sunday + clothes. But in the end, as both children were neatly dressed, and the + fair was to help the poor, she gave them a five-cent piece each, over and + above admission money, which was a fip'ney-bit, for children, the waiter + said. Zene concluded he would black his boots and look into the fair + awhile also, and as he could keep a protecting eye on her young family, + and had authority to send them up-stairs in one hour and a half by the + bar-room time, Grandma Padgett went to bed. She was glad the journey was + so nearly over, for every night found her quite tired out. + </p> + <p> + Zene, magnifying his own importance and authority, ushered aunt Corinne + and Robert into the fair, and limped after them whenever he thought they + needed admonition or advice. The landlord's pert young son noticed this + and made his intimates laugh at it. Besides, he was gorgeously attired in + blue velvet jacket and ruffles and white trousers, and among the crowds of + grown people coming and going, other children shone in resplendent attire. + Aunt Corinne felt the commonness of her calico dress. She had a “white” + herself, if Ma Padgett had only let her put it on, but this could not be + explained to all the people at the fair. And there were so many things to + look at, she soon forgot the white. Dolls of pink and pearly wax, with + actual hair, candy or wooden dogs, cats, and all domestic animals, tables + of cakes, and lines of made-up clothing which represented the sewing + society's labors. There was too much crowding for comfort, and too much + pastry trodden into the floor; and aunt Corinne and her nephew felt keen + anxiety to spend their five-cent pieces to the best advantage. She was + near investing in candy kisses, when yellow and scarlet-backed books + containing the history of “Mother Hubbard,” or the “Babes in the Woods,” + or “Little Red Riding Hood,” attracted her eye, and she realized what + life-long regret she must have suffered for spending five cents on candy + kisses, when one such volume might be hers for the same money. + </p> + <p> + Just as aunt Corinne laid her silver on the book counter, however, and + gave her trembling preference to the “History of Old Dame Trot and her + Cat,” Bobaday seized her wrist and excitedly told her there was a + magic-lantern show connected with the fair, which could be seen at five + cents per pair of eyes. Dame Trot remained unpurchased, and the coin + returned to aunt Corinne's warm palm. But she inquired with caution, + </p> + <p> + “What's a magic-lantern show?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the man, you know,” explained Robert, “has pitctures in a lantern, + and throws light through 'em, and they spread out on a wet sheet on the + wall. The room's all dark except the place on the wall. A Chinese man + eatin' mice in his sleep: he works his jaws! And about Saul in the Bible, + when he was goin' to kill the good people, and it says, 'Saul, Saul, why + persecutest thou me?' And when they let him down in a basket. And there's + a big star like grandma's star quilt, only it keeps turning all kinds of + colors and working in and out on itself. And a good many more. Zene went + in. He said he wanted to see if we ought to look at it. And he'll stand by + the door and pay our money to the man if we want to go. There's such a + crowd to get in.” + </p> + <p> + Robert Day's aunt caught the fire of his enthusiasm and went straight with + him to the door wherein the magic lantern performed. A crowd of children + were pushing up, but Zene, more energetic than courteous pushed his + charges ahead so that they gained chairs before the landlord's son could + make his choice. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: AT THE SEWING SOCIETY FAIR.} + </p> + <p> + He sat down directly behind Robert and aunt Corinne, and at once began to + annoy them with impertinent remarks. + </p> + <p> + “Movers' young ones are spry,” said the landlord's son, who had been + petted on account of his pretty face until he was the nuisance of the + house. “I wouldn't be a movers' young one.” + </p> + <p> + Robert felt a stinging throb in his blood, but sat still, looking at the + wall. Aunt Corinne, however, turned her head and looked witheringly at the + blue-jacketed boy. + </p> + <p> + “Movers' young ones have to wear calico,” he continued, “and their lame + pap goes lippity-clink around after them.” + </p> + <p> + “He thinks Zene's our father!” exclaimed aunt Corinne, blazing at the + affront she received. + </p> + <p> + “Don't mind him,” said Robert, slowly. “He's the hostler's boy, and used + to staying in the stable. He doesn't know how to behave when they let him + into the house.” + </p> + <p> + This bitter skirmishing might have become an open engagement at the next + exchange of fires, for the landlord's son stood up in rage while his chums + giggled, and Robert felt terribly equal to the occasion. He told Zene next + day he had his fist already doubled, and he didn't care if the landlord + put them all in jail. But just then the magic light was turned upon the + wall, the landlord's son was told by twenty voices to sit down out of the + way, the lantern man himself sternly commanding it. So he sunk into his + seat feeling much less important, and the wonders proceeded though Aunt + Corinne felt she should always regret turning her back on the Dame Trot + book and coming in there to have Zene called her lame pap, while Robert + wondered gloomily if any stigma did attach to movers' children. He had + supposed them a class to be envied. + </p> + <p> + This grievance put the robbers out of his mind when they trotted ahead + next day. The Wabash River could scarcely soothe his ruffled complacence. + And never an inch of the Wabash River have I seen that was not beautiful + and restful to the eye. It flows limpidly between varying banks, and has a + trick of throwing up bars and islands, wooded to the very edges—captivating + places for any tiny Crusoe to be wrecked upon. Skiffs lay along the shore, + and small steamers felt their way in the channel. It was a river full of + all sorts of promises; so shallow here that the pebbles shone in broad + sheets like a floor of opals wherever you might wade in delight, so deep + and shady with sycamore canopies there, that a good swimmer would want to + lie in ambush like a trout, at the bottom of the swimming hole, half a + June day. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was the sight of the Wabash River which suggested washing + clothes to Grandma Padgett. She said they were now near the Illinois State + line, and she would not like to reach the place with everything dirty. + There was always plenty to do when a body first got home, without hurrying + up wash-day. + </p> + <p> + So when they passed a small place called Macksville, and came to Sugar + Creek, she called a halt, and they spent the day in the woods. Sugar + Creek, though not sweet, was clear. Zene carried pails full of it to fill + the great copper kettle, and slung this over a fire. The horses munched at + their feed-box or cropped grass, wandering with their heads tied to their + forefeet to prevent their cantering off. Grandma Padgett at the creek's + brink, set up her tubs and buried herself to the elbows in suds, and aunt + Corinne with a matronly countenance, assisted. All that day Robert went + barelegged, and splashed water, wading out far to dip up a gourdful; and + he thought it was fun to help stretch the clothes-line among saplings, and + lift the scalded linen on a paddle into the tub, losing himself in the + stream. Ordinary washdays as he remembered them, were rather disagreeable. + Everybody had to wake early, and a great deal of fine-split wood was + needed. The kitchen smelt of suds, and the school-lunch was scraps left + from Sunday instead of new cake, turnovers and gingerbread. + </p> + <p> + {Illustration: GRANDMA PADGETT'S WASHING-DAY IN THE WOODS.} + </p> + <p> + But this woods wash-day was an experience to delight in, like sailing on a + log in the water, and pretending you are a bold navigator, or lashing the + rocking-chair to a sled for a sleighride. It was something out of the + common. It was turning labor into fantastic tricks. + </p> + <p> + They had an excellent supper, too, and after dusk the clothes stood in + glintly array on the line, the camp-fire shone ruddy in a place where its + smoke could not offend them, and they were really like white stones + encircling an unusual day. + </p> + <p> + But when Robert awoke in the night they gave him a pang of fright, and he + was sorry his grandma had decided to let them bleach in the dew of the + June woods. From his bed in the carriage he could see both the road and + the lines of clothes. A horseman came along the road and halted. He was + not attracted by the camp-fire, because that had died to ashes. He + probably would not have heard the horses stamp in their sleep, for his own + horse's feet made a noise. And the wagon cover was hid by foliage. But + woods and sight were not dark enough to keep the glint of the washing out + of his eyes. Robert saw this rider dismount and heard him walking + cautiously into their camp. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. A NIGHT PICTURE OF HOME. + </h2> + <p> + Here at last was the robber. After you have given over expecting a robber, + and even feel that you can do without him, to find him stealing up in the + night when you are camped in a lonely place and not near enough either + tent or wagon to wake the other sleepers for reinforcements, is trying to + the nerves. + </p> + <p> + Bobaday sat up in the carriage, bracing his courage for the emergency. He + could take a cushion, jump out and attack the man with that. It was not a + deadly weapon, and would require considerable force back of it to do + damage. The whip might be better. He reached for the whip and turned the + handle uppermost. There was no cave at hand to trap this robber in, but a + toll-woman should not show more spirit than Robert Day Padgett in the + moment of peril. + </p> + <p> + Though the robber advanced cautiously, he struck his foot against a root + or two, and stumbled, making the horse take irregular steps also, for he + was leading his horse with the bridle over his arm. + </p> + <p> + And he came directly up to the carriage. Robert grasped the whip around + the middle with both hands, but some familiar attitude in the stranger's + dim outline made him lower it. + </p> + <p> + “Bobby,” said the robber, speaking guardedly, “are you in here?” + </p> + <p> + “Pa Padgett,” exclaimed Robert Day, “is that you?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! Yes. It's me, of course. Don't wake your grandma. Old folks are + always light sleepers.” + </p> + <p> + Pa Padgett reached into the carriage, shook hands with his boy, and kissed + him. How good the bushy beard felt against Bobaday's face. + </p> + <p> + He said nothing about robbers, while his father unsaddled his horse and + tied the animal snugly to a limb. + </p> + <p> + Then Pa Padgett put his foot on the hub and sprang into the carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Is there room for me to stretch myself in here tonight too?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course there is. But don't you want to see grandma and aunt Krin?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till morning. We'll all take an early start. Have they kept well?” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody's well,” replied Bobaday. “But how did you know we were here?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd have passed by,” said Pa Padgett, “if I hadn't seen all that white + strung along. Been washing clothes?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I made out the carriage, and something like a wagon back in the + bushes. So I came up to examine.” + </p> + <p> + “We thought you'd be at the State line,” said Robert. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I intended to ride out till I met you,” replied his father. “But I'd + have missed you on the plain road; and gone by to the next town to stop + for you, if it hadn't been for the washing. You better go to sleep again + now. Have you had a nice trip?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, awful nice! There was a little girl lost, and we got her to her + mother again, and Zene and the wagon were separated from us once”— + </p> + <p> + “Zene has taken good care of you, has he?” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't have to take care of us!” remonstrated Robert. “And last night + when there was a fair, I thought he stuck around more than he was needed: + There was the meanest boy that stuck up his hose at movers' children.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Corinne's brother Tip laughed under his breath. + </p> + <p> + “You'll not be movers' children much longer. The home is over yonder, only + half a day's ride or so.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it a nice place?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it's a nice place. There's prairie, but there's timber too. And + there's money to be made. You go to sleep now. You'll wake your grandma, + and I expect she's tired.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, I'm going. Is there a garden?” + </p> + <p> + “There's a good bit of ground for a garden; and there's a planting of + young catalpas. Far as the eye can see in one direction, it's prairie. On + the other side is woods. The house is better than the old one. I had to + build, and I built pretty substantial. Your grandma's growing old. She'll + need comforts in her old age, and we must put them around her, my man.” + </p> + <p> + Bobaday thought about this home to which he and his family were to grow as + trees grasp the soil. Already it seemed better to him than the one he had + left. There would be new playmates, new landscapes, new meadows to run in, + new neighbors, new prospects. The home, so distant during the journey that + he had scarcely thought about it at all, now seemed to inclose him with + its pleasant walls, which the smell of new timbers made pleasant twice + over. + </p> + <p> + Boswell and Johnson, under the carriage, waked by the cautious talk from + that sound sleep a hard day's hunts after woods things induces, and + perhaps sniffing the presence of their master and the familiar air of + home, rose up to shake themselves, and one of them yawned until his jaws + creaked. + </p> + <p> + “It's the dogs,” whispered Bobaday. + </p> + <p> + “We mustn't set them to barking,” cautioned Pa Padgett. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-night,” said the boy, turning on his cushion. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night. This caravan must move on early in the morning.” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Old Caravan Days, by Mary Hartwell Catherwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD CARAVAN DAYS *** + +***** This file should be named 6909-h.htm or 6909-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/9/0/6909/ + +Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Juliet Sutherland, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Old Caravan Days + +Author: Mary Hartwell Catherwood + + +Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6909] +This file was first posted on February 10, 2003 +Last Updated: April 14, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD CARAVAN DAYS *** + + + + +Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Juliet Sutherland, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team. This file was produced from images generously made +available by the Canadian Institute for Historical +Microreproductions. + + + + + + + + +OLD CARAVAN DAYS + + +By Mary Hartwell Catherwood + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + I. THE START + + II. THE LITTLE OLD MAN WITH A BAG ON HIS BACK + + III. THE TAVERN + + IV. THE SUSAN HOUSE + + V. THE SUSAN HOUSE CELLAR + + VI. MR. MATTHEWS + + VII. ZENE'S MAN AND WOMAN + + VIII. LITTLE ANT RED AND BIG ANT BLACK + + IX. THE GREAT CAMP MEETING + + X. THE CRY OF A CHILD IN THE NIGHT + + XI. THE DARKENED WAGON + + XII. JONATHAN AND THRUSTY ELLEN + + XIII. FAIRY CARRIE AND THE PIG-HEADED MAN + + XIV. SEARCHING + + XV. THE SPROUTING + + XVI. THE MINSTREL + + XVII. THE HOUSE WITH LOG STEPS + +XVIII. "COME TO MAMMA!" + + XIX. FAIRY CARRIE DEPARTS + + XX. SUNDAY ON THE ROAD + + XXI. HER MOTHER ARRIVES + + XXII. A COUNTRY SUNDAY-SCHOOL + +XXIII. FORWARD + + XXIV. THE TOLL-WOMAN + + XXV. THE ROBBERS + + XXVI. THE FAIR AND THE FIERCE BANDIT + +XXVII. A NIGHT PICTURE OF HOME + + + + +OLD CARAVAN DAYS. + + + + +CHAPTER I. THE START. + + +In the year eighteen hundred and fifty-seven, on the fifth day of +June, the Padgett carriage-horses faced the west, and their mistress +gathered the lines into her mitted hands. + +The moving-wagon was ready in front of the carriage. It was to be +driven by Zene, the lame hired man. Zene was taking a last drink from +that well at the edge of the garden, which lay so deep that your face +looked like a star in it. Robert Day Padgett, Mrs. Padgett's +grandson, who sat on the back seat of the carriage, decided that he +must have one more drink, and his aunt Corinne who sat beside him, +was made thirsty by his decision. So the two children let down the +carriage steps and ran to the well. + +It was like Sunday all over the farm, only the cattle were not +straying over the fields. The house was shut up, its new inhabitants +not having arrived. Some neighbor women had come to bid the family +good-bye again, though it was so early that the garden lay in heavy +dew. These good friends stood around the carriage; one of them held +the front-door key in trust for the new purchaser. They all called +the straight old lady who held the lines grandma Padgett. She was +grandma Padgett to the entire neighborhood, and they shook their +heads sorrowfully in remembering that her blue spectacles, her +ancient Leghorn bonnet, her Quaker shoulder cape and decided face +might be vanishing from them forever. + +"You'll come back to Ohio," said one neighbor. "The wild Western +prairie country won't suit you at all." + +"I'm not denying," returned grandma Padgett, "that I could end my +days in peace on the farm here; but son Tip can do very little here, +and he can do well out there. I've lost my entire family except son +Tip and the baby of all, you know. And it's not my wish to be +separated from son Tip in my declining years." + +The neighbors murmured that they knew, and one of them inquired as +she had often inquired before, at what precise point grandma +Padgett's son was to meet the party; and she replied as if giving new +information, that it was at the Illinois State line. + +"You'll have pretty weather," said another woman, squinting-in the +early sun. + +"Grandma Padgett won't care for weather," observed the neighbor with +the key. "She moved out from Virginia in the dead o' winter." + +"Yes; I was but a child," said grandma Padgett, "and this country +one unbroken wilderness. We came down the Ohio River by flatboat, and +moved into this section when the snow was so deep you could ride +across stake-and-rider fences on the drifts." + +"Folks can get around easier now, though," said the squinting +neighbor, "since they got to going on these railroads." + +"I shipped part of my goods on the railroad," remarked grandma +Padgett with--a laugh. "But I don't know; I ain't used to the things, +and I don't know whether I'd resk my bones for a long distance or +not. Son Tip went out on the cars." + +"The railroads charge so high," murmured a woman near the back +wheels. "But they do say you can ride as far West as you're a goin' +on the cars." + +"How long will you be gettin' through?" inquired another. + +"Not more than two or three weeks," replied grandma Padgett +resolutely. "It's a little better than three hundred and fifty miles, +I believe." + +"That's a long distance," sighed the neighbor at the wheels. + +But aunt Corinne and her nephew, untroubled by the length of +pilgrimage before them, ran from the well into the garden. + +"I wish the kerns were ripe," said aunt Corinne. "Look out, Bobaday! +You're drabblin' the bottoms of your good pants." + +"'Twouldn't do any good if the kerns were ripe," said Bobaday, +turning his pepper-and-salt trousers up until the linings showed. +"This farm ain't ours now, and we couldn't pull them." + +Aunt Corinne paused at the fennel bed: then she impulsively +stretched forth her hand and gathered it full. + +"I set out these things," said aunt Corinne, "and I ain't countin' +them sold till the wagon starts." So she gathered sweetbrier, and a +leaf of sage and two or three pinks. + +"O Bobaday," said aunt Corinne--this name being a childish +corruption of Robert Day: for aunt Corinne two years younger than her +nephew, and had talked baby talk when he prided himself on distinct +English--"you s'pose brother Tip's got a garden like this at the new +place? Oh, the pretty little primroses! Who'll watch them pop open +to-night? How you and me have sat on the primrose bed and watched the +t-e-e-nty buds swell and swell till finally--pop! they smack their lips +and burst wide open!" + +"We'll have a primrose bed out West," said Bobaday. "We'll plant +sweet anise too, and have caraway seeds to put in the cakes. Aunt +Krin, did you know grandma's goin' to have green kern pie when we +stop for dinner to-day?" + +"I knew there was kern pie made," said aunt Krin. "I guess we better +get into the carriage." + +She held her short dress away from the bushes, and scampered with +Bobaday into the yard. Here they could not help stopping on the +warped floor of the porch to look into the empty house. It looked +lonesome already. A mouse had ventured out of the closet by the tall +sitting-room mantel; and a faint outline of the clock's shape +remained on the wall. + +The house with its trees was soon fading into the past. The +neighbors were going home by the road or across fields. Zene's wagon, +drawn by the old white and gray, moved ahead at a good pace. It was +covered with white canvas drawn tight over hoops which were held by +iron clamps to the wagon-sides. At the front opening sat Zene, +resting his feet on the tongue. The rear opening was puckered to a +round O by a drawing string. Swinging to and fro from the hind axle, +hung the tar-bucket. A feed box was fitted across the hind end of the +wagon. Such stores as might be piled to the very canvas roof, were +concealed from sight by a black oilcloth apron hanging behind Zene. +This sheet of oilcloth was designed for an additional roof to keep +the goods dry when it rained. + +Under the wagon, keeping well away from the tar-bucket, trotted +Boswell and Johnson. Bobaday named them; he had read something of +English literature in his grandfather's old books. Johnson was a fat +black and white dog, who was obliged to keep his tongue out of his +mouth to pant during the greater part of his days. He had fits of +meditation, when Boswell galloped all over him without provoking a +snap. Johnson was, indeed, a most amiable fellow, and had gained a +reputation as a good watch dog, because on light nights he barked the +shining hours away. + +Boswell was a little short-legged dog, built like a clumsy weasel; +for his body was so long it seemed to plead for six legs instead of +four, to support it, and no one could blame his back for swaying a +little in the middle. Boswell was a brindled dog. He had yellow spots +like pumpkin seeds over his eyes. His affection for Johnson was +extreme. He looked up to Johnson. If he startled a bird at the +roadside, or scratched at the roots of a tree after his imagination, +he came back to Johnson for approval, wagging his tail until it made +his whole body undulate. Johnson sometimes condescended to rub a nose +against his silly head, and this threw him into such fire of delight +that he was obliged to get out of the wagon-track, and bark around +himself in a circle until the carriage left him behind. Then he came +up to Johnson again, and panted along beside him, with a smile as +open and constant as sunshine. + +No such caravan as the Padgett family has been seen moving West +since those days when all the States were in a ferment: when New York +and the New England States poured into Ohio, and Pennsylvania and +Ohio, Kentucky and Tennessee into Indiana, Illinois, and even--as a +desperate venture, Missouri. The Old National Turnpike was then a +lively thoroughfare. Sometimes a dozen white-covered wagons stretched +along in company. All classes of society were represented among the +movers. There were squalid lots to--be avoided as thieves: and there +were carriages full of families who would raise Senators, Presidents, +and large financiers in their new home. The forefathers of many a man +and woman, now abroad studying older civilization in Europe, came +West as movers by the wagon route. + +Aunt Corinne and her nephew were glad when Zene drove upon the +'pike, and the carriage followed. The 'pike had a solid rumbling base +to offer wheels. You were comparatively in town while driving there, +for every little while you met somebody, and that body always +appeared to feel more important for driving on the 'pike. It was a +glittering white highway the ruts worn by wheels were literally worn +in stone. Yet never were roadsides as green as the sloping 'pike +sides. No trees encroached very close upon it, and it stretched in +endless glare. But how smoothly you bowled along! People living aside +in fields, could hear your progress; the bass roar of the 'pike was +as distinct, though of course not as loud, as the rumble of a train. + +Going through Reynoldsburg however, was the great triumphal act of +leave-taking. The Padgetts went to church in Reynoldsburg. To-day it +is a decayed village, with many of its houses leaning wearily to one +side, or forward as if sinking to a nap. But then it was a lively +coach town, the first station out from the capital of the State. + +[Illustration: THE STAGE SWEPT BY LIKE A FLASH.] + +The Reynoldsburgers looked forth indifferently. They saw movers +every hour of the day. But with recognition growing in their faces, +many of them hastened to this particular carriage for parting words +with grandma Padgett and the children. Robert Day set up against the +high back, accepting his tribute of envious glances from the boys he +knew. He was going off to meet adventures. They--had to stay at home +and saw wood, and some of them would even be obliged to split it when +they had a tin box full of bait and their fish-poles all ready for +the afternoon's useful employment. There had been a time when Robert +thought he would not like to be called "movers." Some movers fell +entirely below his ideas. But now he saw how much finer it was to be +travelling in a carriage than on the swift-shooting cars. He felt +sorry for the Reynoldsburg boys. One of them hinted that he might be +expected out West himself some day, and told Robert to watch down the +road for him. He appeared to think the West was a large prairie full +of benches, where folks sat down and told their adventures in coming. + +Bobaday considered his position in the carriage the only drawback to +the Reynoldsburg parade. He ought to be driving. In the course of the +journey he hoped grandma Padgett would give up the lines--which she +had never yet done. + +They drove out of Reynoldsburg. The tin-covered steeple on the +church dazzled their eyes for perhaps the last time. + +Then coming around a curve in the 'pike appeared that soul-stirring +sight, the morning stage from Columbus. Zene and grandma Padgett drew +off to the side of the road and gave it a wide passage, for the stage +had the same right of way that any regular train now has on its own +track. It was drawn by six of the proudest horses in the world, and +the grand-looking driver who guided them, gripped the complication of +lines in his left hand while he held a horn to his mouth with the +right, and through this he blew a mellow peal to let the +Reynoldsburgers know the stage was coming. The stage, billowing on +springs, was paneled with glittering pictures, gilded on every part, +and evidently lined with velvet. Travellers inside looked through the +open windows with what aunt Corinne considered an air of opulent +pride. She had always longed to explore the interior of a stage, and +envied any child who had been shut in by the mysterious click and +turn of the door-handle. The top was crowded with gentlemen looking +only less important than the luxurious passengers inside: and behind +on a vast rack was such a mountain of-baggage swaying with the stage, +but corded firmly to place, and topped with bandboxes, that aunt +Corinne believed their moving wagon would not have contained it all. +Yet the stage swept past like a flash. All its details had to be +gathered by a quick eye. The leaders flew over the smooth +thoroughfare, holding up their heads like horse princes; and Bobaday +knew what a bustle Reynoldsburg would be in during the few minutes +that the stage halted. + +After viewing this sumptuous pageant the little caravan moved +briskly on toward Columbus. Zene kept some distance ahead, yet always +in sight. And in due time the city began to grow around them. The +'pike never lost its individuality among the streets of the capital. +They saw the great penitentiary surrounded by stone walls as thick as +the length of a short boy. They saw trains of cars trailing in and +out; manufactories, and vistas of fine streets full of stores. They +even saw the capitol building standing high up on its shaded grounds, +many steps and massive pillars giving entrance to the structure which +grandma Padgett said was one of the finest in the United States. It +was not very long before they reached the western side of the city +and were crossing the Scioto River in a long bridge and entering what +was then a shabby suburb called Frankfort. At this point aunt Corinne +and her nephew entered unbroken ground. + + + + +CHAPTER II. THE LITTLE-OLD MAN WITH A BAG ON HIS BACK. + + +Grandma Padgett had prepared the noon lunch that very day, but +scarcely expected to make use of it. On the western borders of +Columbus lived a cousin Padgett in such a country place as had long +been the talk of the entire family connection. Cousin Padgett was a +mighty man in the city, and his wife and daughters had unheard-of +advantages. He had kept up a formal but very pleasant intercourse +with grandma's branch; and when he learned at the State Fair, the +year previous, her son Tip's design to cast their future lots in the +West, he said he should take it very ill if they did not spend the +first night of their journey with him. Grandma Padgett decided that +relationship must claim her for at least one meal. + +Bobaday and Corinne saw Zene pause at the arched gates of this +modern castle, according to his morning's instructions. Corinne's. +heart thumped apprehensively. It was a formidable thing to be going +to cousin Padgett's. He lived in such overwhelming grandeur. She +knew, although she had never seen his grounds, that he kept two +gardeners on purpose to take care of them. His parlors were covered +with carpets in which immense bouquets of flowers were wrought, and +he had furniture not only of horsehair, but of flowered red velvet +also. I suppose in these days cousin Padgett's house would be +considered the extreme of expensive ugliness, and a violation of all +laws of beauty. But it was the best money could buy then, and that +was considered enough. Robert was not affected by the fluttering care +of his young aunt. He wanted to see this seat of grandeur. And when +Zene walked back down the avenue from making inquiries, and announced +that the entire family were away from home, Bobaday felt a shock of +disappointment. + +Cousin Padgett did not know the exact date of the removal, and +people wrote few letters in those days. So he could not be blamed for +his absence when they came by. Zene limped up to his seat in front of +the wagon, and they moved forward along the 'pike. + +"Good!" breathed aunt Corinne, settling back. + +"'Tisn't good a bit!" said Bobaday. + +And whom should they meet in a few miles but cousin Padgett himself, +riding horseback and leading a cream-colored horse which he had been +into the country to purchase. This was almost as trying as taking +dinner at his house. He insisted that the party should turn back. His +wife and daughters had only driven into the city that morning. Cousin +Padgett was a charming, hearty man, with a ring of black whiskers +extending under his face from ear to ear, and the more he talked the +less Corinne feared him. When he found that his kinspeople could not +be prevailed upon to return with him, he tied up his horses to the +wagon in the wood-shed where Zene unhitched, and took dinner with +grandma Padgett. + +Aunt Corinne sat on a log beside him and ate currant pie. He went +himself to the nearest house and brought water. And when a start was +made, he told the children he still expected a visit from them, and +put as a parting gift a gold dollar as delicate as an old three-cent +piece, into the hand of each. + +Bobaday felt his loss when the cream-colored horse could no longer +be discerned in the growing distance. Grandma Padgett smiled +pleasantly ahead through her blue glasses: she had received the +parting good wishes of a kinsman; family ties had very strong +significance when this country was newer. Aunt Corinne gazed on the +warm gold dollar in her palm, and wagged her head affectionately over +it for cousin Padgett's sake. + +The afternoon sun sagged so low it stared into grandma's blue. +spectacles and made even Corinne shelter her eyes. Zene drove far +ahead with his load to secure lodgings for the night. Having left +behind the last acquaintance and entered upon the realities of the +journey, grandma considered it time to take off her Leghorn bonnet +and replace it with the brown barege one drawn over wire. So Bobaday +drew out a bandbox from under the back seat and helped grandma make +the change. The seat-curtain dropped over the Leghorn in its bandbox; +and this reminded him that there were other things beside millinery +stowed away in the carriage. Playthings could be felt by an +appreciative hand thrust under the seat; and a pocket in the side +curtain was also stuffed. + +"I think I'll put my gold money in the bottom of that pocket," said +aunt Corinne, "just where I can find it easy every day." + +She drew out all the package and dropped it in, and, having stuffed +the pocket again, at once emptied it to see that her piece had not +slipped through some ambushed hole. Aunt Corinne was considered a +flighty damsel by all her immediate relatives and acquaintances. She +had a piquant little face containing investigating hazel eyes. Her +brown hair was cut square off and held back from her brow by a round +comb. Her skin was of the most delicate pink color, flushing to rosy +bloom in her cheeks. She was a long, rather than a tall girl, with +slim fingers and slim feet, and any excitement tingled over her +visibly, so that aunt Corinne was frequently all of a quiver about +the most trivial circumstances. She had a deep dimple in her chin and +another at the right side of her mouth, and her nose tipped just +enough to give all the lines of her face a laughing look. + +But this laughing look ran ludicrously into consternation when, +twisting away from the prospect ahead, she happened to look suddenly +backward under the looped-up curtain, and saw a head dodging down. +Somebody was hanging to the rear of the carriage. + +Aunt Corinne kneeled on the cushion and stretched her neck and eyes +out over a queer little old man, who seemed to carry a bunch of some +kind on his back. He had been running noiselessly behind the +carriage, occasionally hanging by his arms, and he was taking one of +these swings when his dodging eyes met hers, and he let go, rolling +in the 'pike dust. + +"You _better_ let go!" scolded aunt Corinne. "Bob'day, there's +a beggar been hangin' on! Ma Padgett, a little old man with a bag on +his back was goin' to climb into this carriage!" + +[Illustration: A QUEER LITTLE OLD MAN.] + +"Tisn't a bag," said Bobaday laughing, for the little old man looked +funny brushing the dust off his ragged knees. + +"_'Tis_ a bag," said aunt Corinne, "and he ought to hurt himself +for scarin' us." + +"There's no danger of his doing us harm," said grandma Padgett +mildly, after she had leaned out at the side and brought her blue +glasses to bear upon the lessening figure of the little old man. + +Yet Corinne watched him when he sat down on a bank to rest; she +watched him grow a mere bunch and battered hat, and then fade to a +speck. + +The 'pike was the home of such creatures as he appeared to be. The +advance guard of what afterwards became an army of tramps, was then +just beginning to move. But they were few, and, whether they asked +help or not, were always known by the disreputable name of "beggars." +A beggar-man or beggar-woman represented to the minds of aunt Corinne +and her nephew such possible enemies as chained lions or tigers. If +an "old beggar" got a chance at you there was no telling in what part +of the world he would make merchandise of you! They always suspected +the beggar boys and girls were kidnapped children. While it was +desirable to avoid these people, it was even more desirable that a +little girl should not offend them. + +Aunt Corinne revolved in her mind the remark she had made to the +little old man with a bag on his back. She could take no more +pleasure in the views along the 'pike; for she almost expected to see +him start out of a culvert to give her cold shivers with his +revengeful grimaces. The culverts were solid arches of masonry which +carried the 'pike unbroken in even a line across the many runs and +brooks. The tunnel of the culvert was regarded by most children as +the befitting lair of beggars, who perhaps would not object to +standing knee-deep in water with their heads against a slimy arch. + +"This is the very last culvert," sighed Corinne, relieved, as they +rumbled across one and entered the village where they were to stop +over night. + +It was already dusk. The town dogs were beginning to bark, and the +candles to twinkle. Zene's wagon was unhitched in front of the +tavern, and this signified that the carriage-load might confidently +expect entertainment. The tavern was a sprawled-out house, with an +arch of glass panes over the entrance door. A fat post stood in front +of it, upholding a swinging sign. + +The tavern-keeper came out of the door to meet them when they +stopped, and helped his guests alight, while a hostler stood ready to +lead the horses away. + +Aunt Corinne sprung down the steps, glad of the change after the +day's ride, until, glancing down the 'pike over their late route, she +saw tramping toward the tavern that little old man with a bag on his +back. + + + + +CHAPTER III. THE TAVERN. + + +But the little old man with a bag on his back was left out in the +dusk, and aunt Corinne and her party went into the tavern parlor. The +landlady brought a pair of candles in brass candlesticks, setting one +on each end of the mantel. Between them were snuffers on a snuffer-tray, +and a tall mass of paper roses under a glass case. The fireplace +was covered by a fireboard on which was pasted wallpaper like that +adorning the room. Grandma Padgett sat down in a rocking settee, and +Corinne and Bobaday on two of the chairs ranged in solemn rows along +the wall. They felt it would be presumption to pull those chairs an +inch out of line. + +It was a very depressing room. Two funeral urns hung side by side, +done in India ink, and framed in chipped-off mahogany. Weeping +willows hung over the urns, and a weeping woman leaned on each. There +was also a picture of Napoleon in scarlet standing on the green rock +of St. Helena, holding a yellow three-cornered hat under his elbow. +The house had a fried-potato odor, to which aunt Corinne did not +object. She was hungry. But, besides this, the parlor enclosed a +dozen other scents; as if the essences of all the dinners served in +the house were sitting around invisible on the chairs. There was not +lacking even that stale cupboard smell which is the spirit of hunger +itself. + +The landlady was very fat and red and also melancholy. She began +talking at once to Grandma Padgett about the loss of her children +whom the funeral urns commemorated, and Grandma Padgett sympathized +with her and tried to outdo her in sorrowful experiences. But this +was impossible; for the landlady had-lived through more ordeals than +anybody else in town, and her manner said plainly, that no passing +stranger should carry off her championship. + +So she made the dismal room so doleful with her talk that aunt +Corinne began to feel terribly about life, and Robert Day wished he +had gone to the barn with Zene. + +Then the supper-bell rung, and the landlady showed them into the big +bare dining-room where she forgot all her troubles in the clatter of +plates and cups. A company of men rushed from what was called the bar-room, +though its shelves and counter were empty of decanters and glasses. +They had the greater part of a long table to themselves, and Zene sat +among them. These men the landlady called the boarders: she placed +Grandma Padgett's family at the other end of the table; it seemed the +decorous thing to her that a strip of empty table should separate the +boarders and women-folks. + +There were stacks of eatables, including mango stuffed with cabbage +and eggs pickled red in beet vinegar. All sorts of fruit butters and +preserves stood about in glass and earthen dishes. One end of the +table was an exact counterpart of the other, even to the stacks of +mighty bread-slices. Boiled cabbage and onions and thick corn-pone +with fried ham were there to afford a strong support through the +night's fast. Nothing was served in order: you helped yourself from +the dishes or let them alone at your pleasure. The landlord appeared +just as jolly as his wife was dismal. He sat at the other end of the +table and urged everybody with jokes to eat heartily; yet all this +profusion was not half so appetizing as some of Grandma Padgett's +fried chicken and toast would have been. + +After supper Bobaday went out to the barn and saw a whole street of +horse-stalls, the farthest horse switching his tail in dim distance; +and such a mow of hay as impressed him with the advantages of travel. +A hostler was forking down hay for the evening's feeding, and Robert +climbed to his side, upon which the hostler good-naturedly took him +by the shoulders and let him slide down and alight upon the spongy +pile below. This would have been a delightful sensation had Bobaday +not bitten his tongue in the descent. But he liked it better than the +house where his aunt Corinne wandered uneasily up stairs which were +hollowed in the middle of each step, and along narrow passages where +bits of plaster had fallen off. + +There was a dulcimer in the room aunt Corinne occupied with her +mother. She took the hammer and beat on its rusty wires some time +before going to bed. It tinkled a plea to her to let it alone, but +what little girl could look at the queer instrument and keep her +hands off it? The landlady said it was left there by a travelling +showman who could not pay his board. He hired the bar-room to give a +concert in, and pasted up written advertisements of his performance +in various parts of the town. He sent free tickets to the preacher +and schoolmaster, and the landlord's family went in for nothing. +Nobody else came, though he played on the flute and harmonium, +besides the dulcimer, and sang _Lilly Dale_, and _Roll on, +Silver Moon_, so touchingly that the landlady wiped her eyes at +their mere memory. As he had no money to pay stage-fare further, and +the flute and harmonium--a small bellows organ without legs--were +easier to carry than the dulcimer, he left it and trudged eastward. +And no one at that tavern could tell whether he and his instruments +had perished piecemeal along the way, or whether he had found crowded +houses and forgotten the old dulcimer in the tide of prosperity. + +Grandma Padgett's party ate breakfast before day, by the light of a +candle covering its candlestick with a tallow glacier. It made only a +hole of shine in the general duskiness of the big dining-room. The +landlady bade them a pathetic good-by. She was sure there were +dangers ahead of them. The night stage had got in three hours late, +owing to a breakdown, and one calamity she said, is only the +forerunner of another. + +Zene had driven ahead with the load. It was a foggy morning, and +drops of moisture hung to the carriage curtains. There was the +morning star yet trembling over the town. Aunt Corinne hugged her +wrap, and Bobaday stuck his hands deep in his pockets. But Grandma +sat erect and drove away undaunted and undamped. She merely searched +the inside of the carriage with her glasses, inquiring as a last +precaution: + +"Have we left anything behind?" + +"I got all my things," said Robert. "And my gold dollar's in my +pocket." + +At this aunt Corinne arose and plunged into the carriage pocket on +her side. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE SUSAN HOUSE. + + +The contents of that pocket she piled upon her seat; she raked the +interior with her nails, then she looked at Robert Day with dilating +eyes. + +"_My_ gold dollar's gone!" said aunt Corinne. "That little old +man with a bag on his back--I just know he got into the barn and took +it last night." + +"You put it in and took it out so many times yesterday," said +Bobaday, "maybe it fell on the carriage floor." So they unavailingly +searched the carriage floor. + +The little old man with a bag on his back was now fixed in Corinne's +imagination as the evil genius of the journey. If he spirited out her +gold dollar, what harm could he not do them! He might throw stones at +them from sheltered places, and even shoot them with guns. He could +jump out of any culvert and scare them almost to death! This +destroyed half her pleasure as the day advanced, in watching boys +fish with horse-hair snares in the runs which trickled under +culverts. But Robert felt so much interest in the process that he was +glad to have the noon halt made near such a small fishing-place. He +took his lunch and sat on the bank with the boys. They were very +dirty, and one of them had his shirtsleeve split to the shoulder, +revealing a sun-blistered elbow joint that still worked with a right +good will at snaring. But no boys were ever fuller of out-door +wisdom. They had been swimming, and knew the best diving-hole in the +world, only a couple of miles away. They had dined on berries, and +expected to catch it when they got home, but meant to attend a show +in one of their barns that afternoon, the admission price being ten +pins. Bobaday learned how to make a slip-knot with the horse-hair and +hold it in silent suspense just where the minnows moved: the moment a +fish glided into the open snare a dexterous jerk whipped him out of +the water, held firmly about the middle by the hair noose. It +required skill and nice handling, and the split-sleeved boy was the +most accomplished snarer of all. + +[Illustration: BOBADAY LUNCHES WITH STRANGE BOYS.] + +Robert shared his lunch with these youths, and parted from them +reluctantly when the horses were put in. But aunt Corinne who stood +by in a critical attitude, said she couldn't see any use in catching +such little fish. You never fried minnies. You used 'em for bait in +deep water, though, the split-sleeved boy condescended to inform her, +and you _could_ put 'em into a glass jar, and they'd grow like +everything. Aunt Corinne was just becoming fired with anxiety to own +such a jarful herself, when the carriage turned toward the road and +her mother obliged her to climb in. + +About the middle of the afternoon Zene halted and waited for the +carriage to come up. He left his seat and came to the rear of Old +Hickory, the off carriage horse, slapping a fly flat on Old Hickory's +flank as he paused. + +"What's the matter, Zene?" inquired Grandma Padgett. "Has anything +happened?" + +"No, marm," replied Zene. He was a quiet, singular fellow, halting +in his walk on account of the unevenness of his legs; but faithful to +the family as either Boswell or Johnson. Grandma Padgett having +brought him up from a lone and forsaken child, relied upon all the +good qualities she discovered from time to time, and she saw nothing +ludicrous in Zene. But aunt Corinne and Bobaday never ceased to +titter at Zene's "marm." + +"I've been inquirin' along, and we can turn off of the 'pike up here +at the first by-road, and then take the first cross-road west, and +save thirty mile o' toll gates. The road goes the same direction. +It's a good dirt road." + +Grandma Padgett puckered the brows above her glasses. She did not +want to pay unnecessary bounty to the toll-gate keepers. + +"Well, that's a good plan, Zene, if you're sure we won't lose the +way, or fall into any dif-fick-ulty." + +"I've asked nigh a dozen men, and they all tell the same tale," said +Zene. + +"People ought to know the lay of the land in their own neighborhood," +admitted Grandma Padgett. "Well, we'll try what virtue there is in the +dirt road." + +So she clucked to the carriage horses and Zene went back to his +charge. + +The last toll-gate they would see for thirty miles drew its pole +down before them. Zene paid according to the usual arrangement, and +the toll-man only stood in the door to see the carriage pass. + +"I wouldn't like to live in a little bit of a house sticking out on +the 'pike like that," said aunt Corinne to her nephew. "Folks could +run against it on dark nights. Does he stay there by himself? And if +robbers or old beggars came by they could nab him the minute he +opened his door." + +"But if he has any boys," suggested Robert looking back, "they can +see everybody pass, and it'd be just as good as going some place all +the time. And who's afraid of robbers!" + +Zene beckoned to the carriage as he turned off the 'pike. For a +distance the wagon moved ahead of them, between tall stake fences +which were overrun with vines or had their corners crowded with bushes. +Wheat and cornfields and sweet-smelling buckwheat spread out on each +side until the woods met them, and not a bit of the afternoon heat +touched the carriage after that. Aunt Corinne clasped a leather-covered +upright which hurt her hand before, and leaned toward the trees on +her side. Every new piece of woodland is an unexplored country containing +moss-lined stumps, dimples of hollows full of mint, queer-shaped trees, +and hickory saplings just the right saddle-curve for bending down as +"teeters," such as are never reproduced in any other piece of woodland. +Nature does not make two trees alike, and her cool breathing-halls under +the woods' canopies are as diverse as the faces of children wandering +there. Moss or lichens grow thicker in one spot; another particular +enclosure you call the lily or the bloodroot woods, and yet another +the wild-grape woods. This is distinguished for blackberries away up +in the clearings, and that is a fishing woods, where the limbs stretch +down to clear holes, and you sit in a root seat and hear springs +trickling down the banks while you fish. Though Corinne could possess +these reaches of trees only with a brief survey, she enjoyed them as a +novelty. + +"I would like to get lost in the woods," she observed, "and have +everybody out hunting me while I had to eat berries and roots. I +don't believe I'd like roots, though: they look so big and tough. And +I wouldn't touch a persimmon! Nor Injun turnip. You's a bad boy that +time you give me Injun turnip to eat, Bobaday Padgett!" + +She turned upon her nephew, fierce with the recollection, and he +laughed, saying he wished he'd some to fool somebody with now. + +"It bit my mouth so a whole crock of milk wouldn't help it, and if +brother Tip'd been home, Ma Padgett wouldn't let you off so easy." + +"You wanted to taste it," said Robert. "And you'd eat the green +persimmons if they'd puckered your mouth clear shut." + +"I wanted to see what the things that the little pig that lived in +the stone house filled his churn with, tasted like," admitted aunt +Corinne lucidly; so she subsided. + +"Do you see the wagon, children?" inquired Grandma Padgett, who felt +the necessity of following Zene's lead closely. She stopped Old +Hickory and Old Henry at cross-roads. + +"No; but he said turn west on the first road we came to," counseled +Bobaday. + +"And this is the first, I counted," said aunt Corinne. + +"I wish we could see the cover ahead of us. We don't want to resk +gettin' separated," said Grandma Padgett. + +Yet she turned the horses westward with a degree of confidence, and +drove up into a hilly country which soon hid the sun. The long shades +crept past and behind them. There was a country church, with a +graveyard full of white stones nearly smothered in grass and briers. +And there was a school-house in an open space, with a playground +beaten bare and white in the midst of a yellow mustard jungle. They +saw some loiterers creeping home, carrying dinner-pail and basket, +and taking a languid last tag of each other. The little girls looked +up at the passing carriage from their sunbonnet depths, but the boys +had taken off their hats to slap each other with: they looked at the +strangers, round-eyed and ready to smile, and Robert and Corinne +nodded. Grandma Padgett bethought herself to ask if any of them had +seen a moving wagon pass that way. The girls stared bashfully at each +other and said "No, ma'am," but the boys affirmed strongly that they +had seen two moving wagons go by, one just as school was out, and the +boldest boy of all made an effort to remember the white and gray +horses. + +The top of a hill soon stood between these children, and the +travellers, but in all the vista beyond there was no glimpse of Zene. + +Grandma Padgett felt anxious, and her anxiety increased as the dusk +thickened. + +"There don't seem to be any taverns along this road," she said; "and +I hate to ask at any farmer's for accommodations over night. We don't +know the neighborhood, and a body hates to be a bother." + +"Let's camp out," volunteered Bobaday. + +"We'd need the cover off of the wagon to do that, and kittles," said +Grandma Padgett, "and dried meat and butter and cake and things +_out_ of the wagon." + +"Maybe Zene's back in the woods campin' somewhere," exclaimed aunt +Corinne. "And he has his gun, and can shoot birds too." + +"No, he's goin' along the right road and expectin' us to follow. And +as like as not has found a place to put up,--while we're off on the +wrong road." + +"How'll we ever get to brother Tip's, then?" propounded aunt +Corinne. "Maybe we're in Missouri, or Iowa, and won't never get to +the Illinois line!" + +"Humph!" remarked Robert her nephew; "do you s'pose folks could go +to Iowa or Missouri as quick as this! Cars'd have to put on steam to +do it." + +"And I forgot about the State lines," murmured his aunt. "The' +hasn't been any ropes stretched along't _I_ saw." + +"They don't bound States with ropes," said Robert Day. + +"Well, it's lines," insisted aunt Corinne. + +"Do you make out a house off there?" questioned Grandma Padgett, +shortening the discussion. + +"Yes, ma'am, and it's a tavern," assured her grandson, kneeling upon +the cushion beside her to stretch his neck forward. + +It was a tavern in a sandy valley. It was lighting a cautious candle +or two as they approached. A farmer was watering his team at the +trough under the pump spout. All the premises had a look of Holland, +which Grandma Padgett did not recognize: she only thought them very +clean. There was a side door cut across the centre like the doors of +mills, so that the upper part swung open while the lower part +remained shut. A fat white woman leaned her elbows upon this, +scarcely observing the travellers. + +Grandma Padgett paused at the front of the house and waited for +somebody to come out. The last primrose color died slowly out of the +sky. If the tavern had any proprietor, he combined farming with +tavern keeping. His hay and wheat fields came close to the garden, +and his corn stood rank on rank up the hills. + +"They must be all asleep in there," fretted Grandma Padgett. The +woman with her arms over the half door had not stirred. + +"Shall I run in?" said Bobaday. + +"Yes, and ask if Zene stopped here. I don't see a sign of the wagon." + +Her grandson opened the carriage door and ran down the steps. The +white-scrubbed hall detained him several minutes before he returned +with a large man who smoked a crooked-stemmed pipe during the +conference. The man held the bowl of the pipe in his hand which was +fat and red. So was his face. He had a mighty tuft of hair on his +upper lip. His shirt sleeves shone like new snow through the dark. + +"Goot efenins," he said very kindly. + +"I want to stop here over night," said Grandma Padgett. "We're +moving, and our wagon is somewhere on this road. Have you seen +anything of a wagon--and a white and a gray horse?" + +"Oh, yes," said the tavern keeper, nodding his head. "Dere is lots +of wakkons on de road aheadt." + +"Well, we can't go further ourselves. Can you take the lines?" + +"Oh, nein," said the tavern-keeper mildly. "I don't keep moofers mit +my house. Dey goes a little furter." + +"You don't keep movers!" said Grandma Padgett indignantly. "What's +your tavern for?" + +"Oh, yah," replied the host with undisturbed benevolence. "Dey goes +a little furter." + +"Why have you put out a sign to mislead folks?" + +The tavern keeper took the pipe out of his mouth to look up at his +sign. It swayed back and forth in the valley breeze, as if itself +expostulating with him. + +"Dot's a goot sign," he pronounced. "Auf you go up te hill, tere ist +te house I put up mit te moofers. First house. All convenient. You +sthay tere. I coom along in te mornin'. Tere ist more as feefty +famblies sthop mit tat house. Oh, nien, I don't keep moofers mit te +tafern." + +"This is a queer way to do," said Grandma Padgett, fixing the full +severity of her glasses on him. "Turn a woman and two children away +to harbor as well as they can in some old barn! I'll not stop in your +house on the hill. Who'd 'tend to the horses?" + +"Tare ist grass and water," said the landlord as she turned from his +door. "And more as feefty famblies hast put up tere. I don't keep +moofers mit te tafern." + +Robert and Corinne felt very homeless as she drove at a rattling +pace down the valley. They were hungry, and upon an unknown road; and +that inhospitable tavern had turned them away like vagrants. + +"We'll drive all night before we'll stop in his movers' pen," said +Grandma Padgett with her well-known decision. "I suppose he calls +every vagabond that comes along a mover, and his own house is too +clean for such gentry. I've heard about the Swopes and the Dutch +being stupid, but a body has to travel before they know." + +But well did the Dutch landlord know the persuasion of his house on +the hill after luckless travellers had passed through a stream which +drained the valley. This was narrow enough, but the very banks had a +caving, treacherous look. Grandma Padgett drove in, and the carriage +came down with a plunge on the flanks of Old Hickory and Old Henry, +and they disappeared to their nostrils and the harness strips along +the centre of their backs. + +[Illustration: "HASN'T THE CREEK ANY BOTTOM?" CRIED GRANDMA PADGETT.] + +"Hasn't the creek any bottom?" cried Grandma Padgett, while Corinne +and Robert clung to the settling carriage. The water poured across +their feet and rose up to their knees. Hickory and Henry were urged +with whip and cry. + +"Hold fast, children! Don't get swept out!" Grandma Padgett +exhorted. "There's no danger if the horses can climb the bank." + +They were turned out of their course by the current, and Hickory and +Henry got their fore feet out, crumbling a steep place. Below the +bank grew steeper. If they did not get out here, all must go whirling +and sinking down stream. The landing was made, both horses leaping up +as if from an abyss. The carriage cracked, and when its wheels once +more ground the dry sand, Grandma Padgett trembled awhile, and moved +her lips before replying to the children's exclamations. + +"We've been delivered from a great danger," she said. "And that +miserable man let us drive into it without warning!" + +"If I's big enough," said Robert Day, "I'd go back and thrash him." + +"It ill becomes us," rebuked Grandma Padgett, "to give place to +wrath after escaping from peril. But if this is the trap he sets for +his house on the hill, I hope he has been caught in it himself +sometime!" + +"Where'll we go now?" Corinne wailed, having considered it was time +to begin crying. "I'm drownded, and my teeth knock together, I'm +gettin' so cold!" + +They paused at the top of the hill, Corinne still lamenting. + +"I don't want to stop here," said Grandma Padgett, adding, "but I +suppose we must." + +The house was large and weather-beaten; its gable-end turned toward +the road. The "feefty famblies" had left no trace of domestic life. +Grass and weeds grew to the lower windows. The entrance was at one +side through a sea of rank growths. + +"It looks like they's ghosts lived here," pronounced Robert dismally. + +"Don't let me hear such idle speeches!" said Grandma Padgett, +shaking her head. "Spooks and ghosts only live in people's +imaginations." + +"If they got tired of that," said Robert, "they'd come to live here." + +"The old house looks like its name was Susan," wept Corinne. "Are we +goin' to stay all night in this Susan house, ma?" + +Her parent stepped resolutely from the carriage, and Bobaday +hastened to let down some bars. He helped his grandmother lead the +horses into a weedy enclosure, and there unhitch them from the +carriage. There was a shed covered with straw which served for a +stable. The horses were watered--Robert wading to his neck among +cherry sprouts to a curb well, and unhooking the heavy bucket from +its chain, after a search for something else available. Then leaving +the poor creatures to browse as best they could, the party prepared +to move upon the house. Aunt Corinne came out of the wet carriage. + +Grandma Padgett picked up some sticks and chips. They attempted to +unlock the door; but the lock was broken. "Anybody can go in!" +remarked the head of the party. "But I don't know that we can even +build a fire, and as to provisions, I s'pose we'll have to starve +this night." + +But stumbling into a dark front room, and feeling hopelessly along +the mantel, they actually found matches. The tenth one struck flame. + +There were ashes and black brands in the fireplace, left there possibly, +by the landlord's last moofer. Grandma Padgett built a fire to which the +children huddled, casting fearful glances up the damp-stained walls. +The flame was something like a welcome. + +"Perhaps," said Grandma with energy, "there are even provisions in +the house. I wouldn't grudge payin' that man a good price and cookin' +them myself, if I could give you something to eat." + +"We can look," suggested Bobaday. "They'd be in the cellar, wouldn't +they?" + +"It's lots lonesomer than our house was the morning we came away," +chattered aunt Corinne, warming her long hands at the blaze. + +And now beneath the floor began a noise which made even Grandma +Padgett stand erect, glaring through her glasses. + +"_Something's_ in the cellar!" whispered Bobaday. + + + + +CHAPTER V. THE SUSAN HOUSE CELLAR. + + +It was not pleasant to stand in a strange house in an unknown +neighborhood, drenched, hungry and unprotected, hearing fearful +sounds like danger threatening under foot. + +Corinne felt a speechless desire to be back in the creek again and +on the point of drowning; that would soon be over. But who could tell +what might occur after this groaning in the cellar? + +"I heard a noise," said Grandma Padgett, to bespeak their attention, +as if they could remember ever hearing anything else. + +"It's cats, I think," said Robert Day, husky with courage. + +Cats could not groan in such short and painful catches. Conjectures +of many colors appeared and disappeared like flashes in Bobaday's +mind. The groaner was somebody that bad Dutch landlord had half +murdered and put in the cellar. Maybe the floor was built to give way +and let every traveller fall into a pit! Or it might be some boy or +girl left behind by wicked movers to starve. Or a beggarman, wanting +the house to himself, could be making that noise to frighten them +away. + +The sharp groans were regularly uttered. Corinne buried her head in +her mother's skirts and waited to be taken or left, as the Booggar +pleased. + +"Well," said Grandma Padgett, "I suppose we'll have to go and see +what ails that Thing down there. It may be a human bein' in distress." + +Robert feared it was something else, but he would not have mentioned +it to his grandmother. + +"What'll we carry to see with?" he eagerly inquired. It was easy to +be eager, because they had no lights except the brands in the +fireplace. + +Grandma Padgett, who in her early days had carried live coals from +neighbors' houses miles away, saw how to dispense with lamp or +candle. She took a shovel full of embers--and placed a burning chip +on top. The chip would have gone out by itself, but was kept blazing +by the coals underneath. + +"Shall I go ahead?" inquired Robert. + +"No, you walk behind. And you might carry a piece of stick," replied +his grandmother, conveying a hint which made his shoulder blades feel +chilly. + +They moved toward the cellar entrance in a slow procession, to keep +the chip from flaring out. + +"Don't hang to me so!" Grandma Padgett remonstrated with her +daughter. "I sh'll step on you, and down we'll all go and set the +house afire." + +Garrets are cheerful, cobwebby places, always full of slits where +long, smoky sun-rays can poke in. An amber warmth cheers the darkness +of garrets; you feel certain there is nothing ugly hiding behind the +remotest and dustiest box. If rats or mice inhabit it, they are +jovial fellows. But how different is a cellar, and especially a +cellar neglected. You plunge down rough steps into a cavern. A mouldy +air from dried-up and forgotten vegetables meets you. The earth may +not be moist underfoot, but it has not the kind feeling of sun-warmed +earth. And if big rats hide there, how bold and hideous they are! +There are cool farmhouse cellars floored with cement and shelved with +sweet-smelling pine, where apple-bins make incense, and swinging-shelves +of butter, tables of milk crocks, lines of fruit cans and home-made +catsup bottles, jars of pickles and chowder, and white covered pastry +and cake, promise abundant hospitality. But these are inverted garrets, +rather than cellars. They are refrigerators for pure air; and they keep +a mellow light of their own. When you go into one of them it seems as +if the house were standing on its head to express its joy and comfort. + +But the Susan House cellar was one of dread, aside from the noise +proceeding out of it. Bobaday knew this before they opened a door +upon a narrow-throated descent. + +One of Zene's stories became vivid. It was a story of a house where +nobody could stay, though the landlord offered it rent-free. But +along came two good youths without any money, and for board and +lodging, they undertook to break the spell by sleeping there three +nights. The first two nights they were not disturbed, and sat with +their candle, reading good books until after midnight. But the third, +just on the stroke of twelve, a noise began in the cellar! So they +took their candle, and, armed with nothing except good books, went +below, and in the furthest corner they saw a little old man with a +red nightcap on his head, sitting astride of a barrel! In Zene's +story the little old man only had it on his mind to tell these good +youths where to dig for his money; and when they had secured the +money, he amiably disappeared, and the house was pleasant to live in +ever afterward. + +This tale, heard in the barn while Zene was greasing harnesses, and +heard without Grandma Padgett's sanction, now made her grandson +shiver with dread as his feet went down into the Susan House dungeon. +It was trying enough to be exploring a strange cellar full of groans, +without straining your eyes in expectation of seeing a little old man +in a red nightcap, sitting astride of a barrel! + +"Who's there?" said Grandma Padgett with stern emphasis, as she held +her beacon stretched out into the cellar. + +The groaning ceased for an awful space of time. Aunt Corinne was +behind her nephew, and she squatted on the step to peer with +distended eyes, lest some hand should reach up and grab her by the +foot. + +It was a small square cellar, having earthen sides, but piles of +pine boxes made ambushes everywhere. + +"Come out!" Grandma Padgett spoke again. "We won't have any tricks +played. But if you're hurt, we can help you." + +It was like addressing solid darkness, for the chip was languishing +upon its coals, and cast but a dim red glare around the shovel. + +Still some being crept toward them from the darkness, uttering a +prolonged and hearty groan, as if to explode at once the +accumulations of silence. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. MR. MATTHEWS. + + +Aunt Corinne realizing it was a man, rushed to the top of the steps +and hid her eyes behind the door. She knew her mother could deal with +him, and, if he offered any harm, pour coals of fire upon his head in +a literal sense. But she did not feel able to stand by. Robert, on +the other hand, seeing no red nightcap on the head thrust up toward +them, supported his grandmother strongly, and even helped to pull the +man up-stairs. + +One touch of his soft, foolish body was enough to convince any one +that he was a harmless creature. His foot was sprained. + +Robert carried a backless chair and set it before the fire, and on +this the limping man was placed. Grandma Padgett emptied her coals on +the hearth and surveyed him. He had a red face and bashful eyes, and +while the top of his head was quite bald, he had a half-circle of +fuzz extending around his face from ear to ear. He wore a roundabout +and trousers, and shoes with copper toes. His hands were fat and +dimpled as well as freckled. Altogether, he had the appearance of a +hugely overgrown boy, ducking his head shyly while Grandma Padgett +looked at him. + +"For pity sake!" said Grandma Padgett. "What ails the creature? +What's your name, and who are you?" + +At that the man chanted off in a nasal sing-song, as if he were +accustomed to repeating his rhyme: + + J. D. Matthews is my name, + Ohio-r is my nation, + Mud Creek is my dwellin' place, + And glory is my expectation. + +"Yes," said Grandma Padgett, removing her glasses, as she did when +very much puzzled. + +Corinne, in a distant corner of the lighted room, began to laugh +aloud, and after looking towards her, the man laughed also, as if +they two were enjoying a joke upon the mother. + +"Well, it may be funny, but you gave us enough of a scare with your +gruntin' and your groanin'," said Grandma Padgett severely. + +J. D. Matthews reminded of his recent tribulations, took up one of +his feet and began to groan over it again. He was as shapeless and +clumsy as a bear, and this motion seemed not unlike the tiltings of a +bear forced to dance. + +"There you go," said Grandma Padgett. "Can't you tell how you came +in the cellar, and what hurt you?" + +Mr. Matthews piped out readily, as if he had packed the stanza into +shape between the groans of his underground sojourn: + + To the cellar for fuel I did go, + And there I met my overthrow; + I lost my footing and my candle, + And grazed my shin and sprained my ankle. + +"The man must be a poet," pronounced Grandma Padgett with contempt. +"He has to say everything in rhyme." + +Chanted Mr. Matthews: + + I was not born in a good time, + I cannot speak except in rhyme. + +"Ain't he funny?" said Bobaday, rubbing his own knees with enjoyment. + +"He's very daft," said the grandmother. "And what to do for him I +don't know. We've nothing to eat ourselves. I might wet his foot and +tie it up." + +Mr. Matthews looked at her smilingly while he recited: + + I have a cart that does contain + A pana_seer_ for ev'_ry_ pain. + There's coffee, also there is _chee_, + Sugar and cakes, bread and hone-ee. + I have parch corn and liniment, + Which causes me to feel content. + There is some half a dozen kittles + To serve me when I cook my vittles. + Butter and eggs I do deal in; + To go without would be a sin. + When I sit down to cook my meals, + I know how good a king feels. + +"Well, if you had your cart handy it would be worth while," said +Grandma Padgett indulgently. "But talkin' of such things when the +children are hungry only aggravates a body more." + +Producing a key from his roundabout pocket, Mr. Matthews lifted his +voice and actually sung: + + J. D. Matthews' cart stands at your door. + Lady, will you step out and see my store? + I've cally-co and Irish table linen, + Domestic gingham and the best o' flannen. + I take eggs and butter for these treasures, + I never cheat, but give good measures. + +"Let me see if there is a cart," begged Bobaday, reaching for the +key which his grandmother reluctantly received. + +He then went to the front door and groped in the weeds. The hand-cart +was there, and all of Mr. Matthews' statements were found to be +true. He had plenty of provisions, as well as a small stock of dry +goods and patent medicines, snugly packed in the vehicle which he was +in the habit of pushing before him. There were even candles. Grandma +Padgett lighted one, and stuck it in an empty liniment bottle. Then +she dressed the silly pedler's ankle, and put an abundant supper on +the fire to cook in his various kettles; the pedler smiling with pure +joy all the time to find himself the centre of such a family party. + +Bobaday and Corinne came up, and stood leaning against the ends of +the mantel. No poached eggs and toast ever looked so nice; no honey +ever had such melting yellow comb; no tea smelled so delicious; no +ginger cakes had such a rich moistness. They sat on the carriage +cushions and ate their supper with Grandma Padgett. It was placed on +the side of an empty box, between them and the pedlerman. He divided +his attention betwixt eating and chanting rhymes, interspersing both +with furtive laughs, into which he tried to draw the children. +Grandma Padgett overawed him; but he evidently felt on a level with +aunt Corinne and her nephew. In his foolish red face there struggled +a recollection of having gone fishing, or played marbles, or hunted +wild flowers with these children or children like them. He nodded and +twinkled his eyes at them, and they laughed at whatever he did. His +ankle was so relieved by a magic liniment, that he felt able to +hobble around the house when Grandma Padgett explored it, repeating +under his breath the burst he indulged in when she arrayed the supper +on the box: + + O, I went to a friend's house, + The friend says, 'Come in, + Have a hot cup of coffee; + And how have you been?' + +Grandma Padgett said she could not sleep until she knew what other +creatures were hidden in the house. + +They all ascended the enclosed staircase, and searched echoing dusty +rooms where rats or mice whisked out of sight at their approach. + +"This is a funny kind of an addition to a tavern," remarked the head +of the party. "No beds: no anything. We'll build a fire in this upper +fireplace, and bring the cushions and shawls up, and see if we can +get a wink of sleep. It ain't a cold night, and we're dry now. You +can sleep by the fireplace down-stairs," she said to the pedler, "and +I'll settle with you for our breakfast and supper before we leave in +the morning. It's been a providence that you were in the house." + +Mr. Matthews smiled deferentially, and appeared to be pondering a +new rhyme about Grandma Padgett. But the subject was so weighty it +kept him shaking his head. + +They came down-stairs for fuel and coals, and she requested the +pedler to take possession of the lower room and make himself +comfortable, but not to set the house on fire. + +"What shall we give him to sleep on?" pondered the grandmother. "I +can't spare things from the children; it won't do to let him sleep on +the floor." + + "I have a cart, it has been said, + Which serves me both for cupboard and bed," + +chanted Mr. Matthews. + +"Well, that's a good thing," said Grandma Padgett. "If you could +pull a whole furnished house out of that cart 'twouldn't surprise me." + +The pedler opened the door and dragged his cart in over the low +sill. They then bolted the door with such rusty fastenings as +remained to it. + +As soon as he felt the familiar handle on his palms, J. D. Matthews +forgot that his ankle had been twisted. He was again upon the road, +as free as the small wild creatures that whisked along the fence. +Grandma Padgett's grown-up strength of mind failed to restrain him +from acting the horse. He neighed, and rattled the cart wildly over +the empty room. Now he ran away and pretended to kick everything to +pieces; and now he put himself up at a manger, and ground his feed. +He broke out of his stable and careened wildly around a pasture, +refusing to be hitched, and expressing his contempt for the cart by +kicking up at it. + +"I guess your sprain wasn't as bad as you let on," observed Grandma +Padgett. + +The observation, or a twinge, reminded Mr. Matthews to double +himself down and groan again. + +With painful limps, and Robert Day's assistance, he got the cart +before the fireplace. It looked like a narrow, high green box on +wheels. The pedler blocked the wheels behind, and propped the handle +level. Then he crept with great contentment to the top, and stretched +himself to sleep. + +"He's a kind of a fowl of the air," said Grandma Padgett. + +"Oh, but I hope he's going our road!" said Bobaday, as they re-ascended +the stairs. "He's more fun than a drove of turkeys!" + +"And I'm not a bit afraid of him," said aunt Corinne. "He ain't like +the old man with a bag on his back." + +But J. D. Matthews was going in the opposite direction. + +Before Grandma Padgett had completed her brief toilet next morning, +and while the daylight was yet uncertain, the Dutch landlord knocked +at the outer door for his fee. He seemed not at all surprised at +finding the pedler lodging there, but told him to stop at the tavern +and trade with the vrow. + +"And a safe time the poor simple soul will have," said Grandma +Padgett, making her spectacles glitter at the landlord, "gettin' +through the creek that nigh drowned us. I suppose, _you_ have a +ford that you don't keep for movers." + +"Oh, yah!" said the landlord. "Te fort ist goot." + +"How dared you send a woman and two children to such an empty, +miserable shell as this?" + +[Illustration: J. D. MATTHEWS RUNS AWAY.] + +"I don't keep moofers to mine tafern," said the landlord, putting +his abundant charge into his pocket. "Chay-Te, he always stops here. +He coes all ofer te countries, Chay-Te toes. His headt ist pat." + +"But his heart is good," said the grandmother. "And that will count +up more to his credit than if he was an extortioner, and ill-treated +the stranger within his gate." + +"Oh, Chay-Te ist a goot feller!" said the Dutch landlord +comfortably, untouched by any reflections on his own conduct. + +Grandma Padgett could not feel placid in her mind until the weeds +and hill hid him from sight. + +Mr. Matthews arose so sound from his night's slumber, that he was +able after pumping a prodigious lot of water over himself, and +blowing with enjoyment, to help her get the breakfast, and put the +kettles in travelling order afterwards. He had a great many +housewifely ways, and his tidiness was a satisfaction to Grandma +Padgett. The breakfast was excellent, but Corinne and Bobaday on one +side of the box, and J. D. Matthews on the other, exchanged glances +of regret at parting. He helped Robert put the horses to the +carriage, making blunders at every stage of the hitching up. + +They all came out of the Susan House, and he pushed his cart into +the road. + +"I almost hate to leave it," said aunt Corinne, "because we did have +a good time after we were scared so bad." + +"Seems as if a body always hates to leave a place," remarked +Bobaday. "The next people that come along will never know we lived +here one night. But _we'll_ always remember it." + +Grandma Padgett before entering the carriage, was trying to make the +pedler take pay for the food her family ate. He smiled at her +deferentially, but backed away with his cart. + +"What a man this is!" she exclaimed impatiently. "We owe you for two +meals' vittles." + +"I have some half a dozen kittles," murmured Mr. Matthews. + +"But won't you take the money? The landlord was keen enough for his." + +The pedler had got his rhyme about Grandma Padgett completed. He +left her, still stretching her hand out, and rattled his cart up to +the children who were leaning from the carriage towards him. + +"She is a lady of renown," chanted J. D. Matthews, indicating their +grandmother. + + She makes good butter by the pound, + Her hand is kind, so is her tongue; + But when she comes I want to run! + +He accordingly ran, rattling the cart like a hailstorm before him, +downhill; and out of their sight. + +"Ah, there he goes!" sighed aunt Corinne, "and he hardly limps a +bit. I hope we'll see him again some time." + +"I might 'a forced the money into his pocket," reflected Grandma +Padgett, as she took up the lines. "But I'd rather feel in debt to +that kind, simple soul than to many another. Why didn't we ask him if +he saw Zene's wagon up the road? These poor horses want oats. They'll +be glad to sight the white cover once more." + +"I would almost rather have him come along," decided Robert Day, +"than to find the wagon. For he could make a camp anywhere, and speak +his poetry all the time. What fun he must have if he wants to stay in +the woods all night. I expect if he wanted to hide he could creep +into that cart and stretch out, with his face where he could smell +the honey and ginger cakes. I'd like to have a cart and travel like +that. Are we going on to the 'pike again, Grandma?" + +"Not till we find Zene," she replied, driving resolutely forward on +the strange road. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. ZENE'S MAN AND WOMAN. + + +A covered wagon appeared on the first crossroad, moving steadily +between rows of elder bushes. The carriage waited its approach. A +figure like Zene's sat resting his feet on the tongue behind the old +gray and the old white. + +"It's our wagon," said Robert Day. Presently Zene's countenance, and +even the cast in his eyes, became a certainty instead of a wavering +indistinctness, and he smiled with satisfaction while halting his +vehicle at right angles with the carriage. + +"Where have you been?" inquired Grandma Padgett. + +"Over on t'other road," replied Zene, indicating the direction with +his whip, "huntin' you folks. I knowed you hadn't made the right turn +somehow." + +Grandma Padgett mentioned her experience with the Dutch landlord and +the ford, both of which Zene had avoided by taking another cross-road +that he had neglected to indicate to them. He said he thought they +would see the wagon-track and foller, not bein' fur behind. When he +discovered they were not in his train, he was in a narrow road and +could not turn; so he tied the horses and walked back a piece. He got +on a corn-field fence and shouted to them; but by that time there was +no carriage anywhere in the landscape. + +"Such things won't do," said Grandma Padgett with some severity. + +"No, marm," responded Zene humbly. + +"We must keep together," said the head of the caravan. + +"Yes, marm," responded Zene earnestly. + +"Well, now, you may drive ahead and keep the carriage in sight till +it's dinner-time and we come to a good place to halt." + +Bobaday said he believed he would get in with Zene and try the wagon +awhile. Springs and cushions had become tiresome. He half-stood on +the tongue, to bring his legs down on a level with Zene's, and +enjoyed the jolting in every piece of his backbone. He had had a +surfeit of woman-society. Even the horsey smell of Zene's clothes was +found agreeable. And above all, he wanted to talk about J. D. +Matthews, and tell the terrors of a bottomless ford and a house with +a strange-sounding cellar. + +"But the man was the funniest thing," said Bobaday. "He just talked +poetry all the time, and Grandma said he was daft. I'd like to talk +that way myself, but I can't make it jee." + +Zene observed mysteriously, that there were some queer folks in this +section. + +Yes, Bobaday admitted; the landlord was as Dutch as sour-krout. + +Zene observed that all the queer folks wasn't Dutch. He shook his +head and looked so steadily at a black stump that Robert knew his +eyes were fixedly cast on the horizon. The boy speculated on the +possibility of people with crooked eyes seeing anything clearly. But +Zene's hints were a stimulant to curiosity. + +"Where did _you_ stay last night?" inquired Robert, bracing +himself for pleasant revelations. + +"Oh, I thought at first I'd put up in the wagon." replied Zene. + +"But you didn't?" + +"No: not _intirely_." + +"What _did_ you do?" pressed Robert Day. + +"Well, I thought I'd better git nigh some house, on account of +givin' me a chance to see if you folks come by. I thought you'd +inquire at all the houses." + +"Did you stop at one?" + +[Illustration: ZENE EXCITES BOBADAY'S CURIOSITY.] + +"I took the team out _by_ a house. It was plum dark then." + +"I'd gone in to see what kind of folks they were first," remarked +Bobaday. + +"Yes, sir; that's what I'd orto done. But I leads them round to +their feed-box after I watered 'em to a spring o' runnin' water. Then +I doesn't know but the woman o' the house will give me a supper if I +pays for it. So I slips to the side door and knocks. And a man opens +the door." + +Robert Day drew in his breath quickly. + +"How did the man look?" he inquired. + +"I can't tell you that," replied Zene, "bekaze I was so struck with +the looks of the woman that I looked right past him." + +Robert considered the cast in Zene's eyes, and felt in doubt whether +he looked at the man and saw the woman, or looked at the woman and +saw the man. + +"Was she pretty?" + +"Pretty!" replied Zene. "Is that flea-bit-gray, grazin' in the +medder there, pretty?" + +"Well," replied Bobaday, shifting his feet, "that's about as good-looking +as one of our old grays." + +"You don't know a horse," said Zene indulgently. "Ourn's an iron +gray. There's a sight of difference in grays." + +"Was the woman ugly?" + +"Is a spotted snake ugly?" + +"Yes," replied Robert decidedly; "or it 'pears so to me." + +"That's how the woman 'peared to me. She was tousled, and looked +wild out of her eyes. The man says, says he, 'What do you want?' I +s'ze, 'Can I git a bite here?'" + +Robert had frequently explained to Zene the utter nonsense of this +abbreviation, "I s'ze," but Zene invariably returned to it, perhaps +dimly reasoning that he had a right to the dignity of third person +when repeating what he had said. If he said of another man, "says +he," why could he not remark of himself, "I says he?" He considered +it not only correct, but ornamental. + +"The man says, says he, 'We don't keep foot-pads.' And I s'ze--for I +was mad--'I ain't no more a foot-pad than you are,' I s'ze. 'I've got +a team and a wagon out here,' I s'ze, 'and pervisions too, but I've +got the means to pay for a warm bite,' I s'ze, 'and if you can't +accommodate me, I s'pose there's other neighbors that can.'" + +"You shouldn't told him you had money and things!" exclaimed Robert, +bulging his eyes. + +"I see that, soon's I done it," returned Zene, shaking a line over +the near horse. "The woman spoke up, and she says, says she, 'There +ain't any neighbor nigher than five miles.' Thinks I, this settlement +looked thicker than that. But I doesn't say yea or no to it. And they +had me come in and eat. I paid twenty-five cents for such a meal as +your gran'marm wouldn't have set down on her table." + +"What did they have?" + +"Don't ask me," urged Zene; "I'd like to forget it. There was +vittles, but they tasted so funny. And they kept inquirin' where I's +goin' and who was with me. They was the uneasiest people you ever +see. And nothing would do but I must sleep in the house. There was +two rooms. I didn't see till I was in bed, that the only door I could +get out of let into the room where the man and woman stayed." + +Robert Day began to consider the part of Ohio through which his +caravan was passing, a weird and unwholesome region, full of +shivering delights. While the landscape lay warm, glowing and natural +around him, it was luxury to turn cold at Zene's night-peril. + +"I couldn't go to sleep," continued Zene, "and I kind of kept my eye +on the only window there was." + +Robert drew a sigh of relief as he reflected that an enemy watching +at the window would be sure Zene was looking just in the opposite +direction. + +"And the man and woman they whispered." + +"What did they whisper about?" + +"How do I know?" said Zene mysteriously. "Whisper--whisper--whisper--z-z! +That's the way they kept on. Sometimes I thought he's threatenin' her, +and sometimes I thought she's threatenin' him. But along in the middle +of the night they hushed up whisperin'. And then I heard somebody open +the outside door and go out. I s'ze to myself, 'Nows the time to be up +and ready.' So I was puttin' on the clothes I'd took off, and right +there on the bed, like it had been there all the time, was two great +big eyes turnin' from green to red, and flame comin' out of them like +it does out of coals when the wind blows." + +"Was it a cat?" whispered Robert Day, hoping since Zene was safe, +that it was not. + +Zene passed the insinuation with a derisive puff. He would not stoop +to parley about cats in a peril so extreme. + +"'How do _I_ know what it was?" he replied. "I left one of my +socks and took the boot in my hand. It was all the gun or anything o' +that kind I had. I left my neckhan'ketcher, too." + +"But you didn't get out of the window," objected Bobaday eagerly. +"They always have a hole dug, you know, right under the window, to +catch folks in." + +"Yes, I did," responded Zene, leaping a possible hole in his +account. "I guess I cleared forty rod, and I come down on all-fours +behind a straw-pile right in the stable-lot." + +"Did the thing follow you?" + +"Before I could turn around and look, I see that man and that woman +leadin' our horses away from the grove where I'd tied 'em to the +feed-box." + +"What for?" inquired Robert Day. + +Zene cast a compassionate glance at his small companion. + +"What do folks ever lead critters away in the night for?" he hinted. + +"Sometimes to water and feed them." + +"I s'ze to myself," continued Zene, ignoring this absurd +supposition, "'now, if they puts the horses in their stable, they +means to keep the wagon too, and make way with me so no one will ever +know it. But,' I s'ze, 'if they tries to lead the horses off +somewhere for to hide 'em, then _that's_ all they want, and +they'll pretend in the morning to have lost stock themselves.'" + +"And which did they do?" urged Robert after a thrilling pause. + +"They marched straight for their stable." + +The encounter was now to take place. Robert Day braced himself by +means of the wagon-tongue. + +"Then what did _you_ do?" + +"I rises up," Zene recounted in a cautious whisper, "draws back the +boot, and throws with all my might." + +"Not at the woman?" urged Bobaday. + +"I wanted to break her first," apologized Zene. "She was worse than +the man. But I missed her and hit him." + +Robert was glad Zene aimed as he did. + +"Then the man jumps and yells, and the woman jumps and yells, and +the old gray he rears up and breaks loose. He run right past the +straw pile, and before you could say Jack Robinson, I had him by the +hitch-strap--it was draggin'--and hoppin' against the straw, I jumped +on him." + +"Jack Robinson," Zene's hearer tried half-audibly. "Then what? Did +the man and woman run?" + +"I makes old Gray jump the straw pile, and I comes at them just like +I rose out of the ground! Yes," acknowledged Zene forbearingly, "they +run. Maybe they run toward the house, and maybe they run the other +way. I got a-holt of old White's hitch-strap and my boot; then I +cantered out and hitched up, and went along the road real lively. It +wasn't till towards mornin' that I turned off into the woods and tied +up for a nap. Yes, I slept _part_ of the night in the wagon." + +Robert sifted all these harrowing circumstances. + +"_Maybe_ they weren't stealing the horses," he hazarded. "Don't +folks ever unhitch other folks' horses to put 'em in their stable?" + +Zene drew down the corners of his mouth to express impatience. + +"But I'd hated to been there," Robert hastened to add. + +"I guess you would," Zene observed in a lofty, but mollified way, +"if you'd seen the pile of bones I passed down the road a piece from +that house." + +"Bones?" + +"Piled all in a heap at the edge of the woods." + +"What kind of bones, Zene?" + +"Well, I didn't get out to handle 'em. But I see one skull about the +size of yours, with a cap on about the size of yours." + +This was all that any boy could ask. Robert uttered a derisive "Ho!" +but he sat and meditated with pleasure on the pile of bones. It cast +a lime-white glitter on the man and woman who but for that might have +been harmless. + +"I didn't git much rest," concluded Zene. "I could drop off sound +now if I'd let myself." + +"I'll drive," proposed Bobaday. + +Zene reluctantly considered this offer. The road ahead looked smooth +enough. "I guess there's no danger unless you run into a fence +corner," he remarked. + +"I can drive as well as Grandma Padgett can," said Robert indignantly. + +Zene wagged his head as if unconvinced. He never intended to let +Robert Day be a big boy while he stayed with the family. + +"Your gran'marm knows how to handle a horse. Now if I's to crawl +back and take a nap, and you's to run the team into any accident, I'd +have to bear all the blame." + +Robert protested: and when Zene had shifted his responsibility to +his satisfaction, he crept back and leaned against the goods, falling +into a sound sleep. + +The boy drove slowly forward. It seemed that old gray and old white +also felt last night's vigils. They drowsed along with their heads +down through a landscape that shimmered sleepily. + +Robert thought of gathering apples in the home orchard: of the big +red ones that used to fall and split asunder with their own weight, +waking him sometimes from a dream, with their thump against the sod. +What boy hereafter would gather the sheep-noses, and watch the early +June's every day until their green turned suddenly into gold, and one +bite was enough to make you sit down under the tree and ask for +nothing better in life! He used to keep the chest in his room floored +with apples. They lay under his best clothes and perfumed them. His +nose knew the breath of a russet, and in a dark cellar he could smell +out the bell-flower bin. The real poor people of the earth must be +those who had no orchards; who could not clap a particular comrade of +a tree on the bark and look up to see it smiling back red and yellow +smiles; who could not walk down the slope and see apples lying in +ridges, or pairs, or dotting the grass everywhere. Robert was half-asleep, +dreaming of apples. He felt thirsty, and heard a humming like the +buzz of bees around the cider-press. He and aunt Corinne used to sit +down by the first tub of sweet cider, each with two straws apiece, +and watch their faces in the rosy juice while they drank Cider from +the barrels when snow was on the ground, poured out of a pitcher into +a glass, had not the ecstatic tang of cider through a straw. The Bees +came to the very edge of the tub, as if to dispute such hiving of +diluted honey; and more of them came, from hanging with bent bodies, +around the dripping press. + +Their buzz increased to a roar. Robert Day woke keenly up to find +the old white and the old gray just creeping across a railroad track, +and a locomotive with its train whizzing at full speed towards them. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. LITTLE ANT RED AND BIG ANT BLACK. + + +A breath's delay must have been fatal. Robert had no whip, but +doubling the lines and shouting at the top of his voice, he braced +himself and lashed the gray. The respectable beast leaped with +astonishment, dragging its fellow along. The fore wheels cleared the +track, and Bobaday's head was filled with the prolonged cry of the +locomotive. Zene sprang up, and the hind part of the wagon received a +crash which threw the boy out at the side, and Zene quite across the +gray's back. + +The train came to a stop after running a few yards further. But +finding that no lives were lost, it put on steam and disappeared on +its course, and Zene and his trembling assistant were trying to prop +up one corner of the wagon when Grandma Padgett brought her +spectacles to bear upon the scene. + +One hind wheel had been splintered by the train, the leap of the +gray turning the wagon from the road. Grandma Padgett preserved her +composure and asked few questions. Her lips moved at frequent +intervals for a long time after this accident. But aunt Corinne flew +out of the carriage, and felt her nephew's arms and wailed over the +bump his cheek received, and was sure his legs were broken, and that +Zene limped more than ever, and that the train had run straight +across their prostrate forms. + +Zene busied himself with shamefaced eagerness in getting the wagon +off the road and preparing to hunt a shop. He made piteous grimaces +over every strap he unfastened. + +"We cannot leave the goods standing here in the wagon with nobody to +watch 'em," said the head of the caravan. "It's nigh dinner-time, and +we'll camp in sight, and wait till we can all go on together. A +merciful Providence has brought us along safe so far. We mustn't git +separated and run ourselves into any more dangers than we can help." + +Zene lingered only to pitch the camp and find water at a spring +running down into a small creek. Then he bestrode one of the wagon +horses, and, carrying the broken wheel-hubs, trotted away. + +Grandma Padgett tucked up her dress, took provisions from the wagon, +and got dinner. Aunt Corinne and her nephew made use of this occasion +to lay in a supply of nuts for winter. The nuts were old ones, lying +under last autumn's leaves, and before a large heap had been +gathered, aunt Corinne bethought her to examine if they were fit to +eat. They were not; for besides an ancient flavor, the first kernel +betrayed the fact that these were pig-nuts instead of hickory. + +[Illustration: BOBADAY'S NARROW ESCAPE.] + +"You would have 'em," said Bobaday, kicking the pile. "I didn't +think they's good, anyhow." + +"They looked just like our little hickories," said aunt Corinne, +twisting her mouth at the acrid kernel, "that used to lay under that +tree in the pasture. And their shells are as sound." + +But there was compensation in two saplings which submitted to be +rode as teeters part of the idle afternoon. + +Grandma Padgett had put away the tea things before Zene returned. He +brought with him a wagon-maker from one of the villages on the 'pike. +The wagon-maker, after examining the disabled vehicle, and getting +the dimensions of the other hind wheel which Zene had forgotten to +take to him, assured the party he would set them up all right in a +day or two. + +Grandma Padgett was sitting on a log knitting. + +"We'd better have kept to the 'pike," she remarked. + +"Yes, marm," responded Zene. + +"The toll-gates would be a small expense compared to this." + +"Yes, indeed, marm," responded Zene, grimacing piteously. + +"Still," said Grandma Padgett, "we have much to be thankful for, in +that our lives and health have been spared." + +"Oh, yes, marm! yes, marm!" responded Zene. + +The wagon-maker hung by one careless leg to his horse before +cantering off, and inquired with neighborly interest: + +"How far West you folks goin'?" + +"We're goin' to Illinois," replied Grandma Padgett. + +"Oh, pshaw, now!" said the wagon-maker. "Goin' to the Eeleenoy! +that's a good ways. Ain't you 'fraid you'll never git back?" + +"We ain't expectin' to come back," said Grandma Padgett. "My son's +settled there." + +"He has!" said the wagon-maker with an accent of surprise. "Well, +well! they say that's an awful country." + +"My son writes back it's as fine land as he ever saw," said Grandma +Padgett with dignity and proper local pride. + +"But the chills is so bad," urged the wagon-maker, who looked as if +he had experienced them at their worst. "And the milk-sick, they say +the milk-sick is all over the Eeleenoy." + +"We're not borrowing any trouble about such things," said Grandma +Padgett. + +"Some of our townsfolks went out there," continued the wagon-maker, +"but what was left of 'em come back. They had to buy their drinkin' +water, and the winters on them perrares froze the children in their +beds! Oh, I wouldn't go to the Eeleenoy," said the wagon-maker +coaxingly. "You're better off here, if you only knew it." + +As Grandma Padgett heard this remonstrance with silent dignity, the +wagon-maker took himself off with a few additional remarks. + +Then they began to make themselves snug for the night. The wagon-cover +was taken off and made into a tent for Grandma Padgett and aunt Corinne. +Robert Day was to sleep in the carriage, and Zene insisted on sleeping +with blankets on the wagon where he could watch the goods. He would be +within calling distance of the camp. + +"We're full as comfortable as we were last night, anyhow," observed +the head of the caravan. + +Zene said it made no difference about his supper. He took thankfully +what was kept for him, and Robert Day felt certain Zene was trying to +bestow on him some conscience-stricken glances. + +It was an occasion on which Zene could be made to tell a story. He +was not lavish with such curious ones as he knew. Robert sometimes +suspected him to be a mine of richness, but it took such hard mining +to get a nugget out that the results hardly compensated for the +effort. + +But when the boy climbed upon the wagon in starlight, and made a few +leading remarks, Zene really plunged into a story. He thereby +relieved his own feelings and turned the talk from late occurrences. + +"I told you about Little Ant Red and Big Ant Black?" + +"No, you never!" exclaimed Bobaday. + +"Well, once there was Little Ant Red and Big Ant Black lived +neighbors." + +"Whose aunts were they--each other's?" inquired the boy. + +"They wasn't your father's or mother's sisters; they was +_antymires_," explained Zene. + +"Oh," said Robert Day. + +"Ant Red, she was a little bit of a thing; you could just see her. +But Ant Black, she was a great big critter that went like a train of +cars when she was a mind to." + +"I don't like either kind," said Robert. "The little ones got into +our sugar once, and Grandma had to fight 'em out with camphor, and a +big black got into my mouth and I bit him in two. He pinched my +tongue awful, and he tasted sour." + +"Big Ant Black," continued Zene, "she lived in a hill by a stump, +but Little Ant Red she lived on a leaf up a tree." + +"I thought they always crept into houses," urged Bobaday. + +"This one didn't. She lived on a leaf up a tree. And these two ants +run against each other in everything. When they met in the grass +they'd stand up on their hind feet and shake hands as friendly as you +please, but as soon as their backs was turned they'd talk! Big Ant +Black said Little Ant Red was always a meddling, and everybody knowed +her son was drowned in under the orchard cider-press where his mother +sent him to snuff round. And Little Ant Red she used to tell how Ant +Black was so graspin' she tried to carry that cider-press off and +hide it in her hole. + +"They had all the neighbors takin' sides. There was a yellow-back +spider. He took up for Ant Red; he hoped to get a taste of her, and +Ant Black he knowed was big enough to bite him unless he was mighty +soople in wrappin' the web around her. Every mornin' when the dew +stood in beads on his net he told Ant Red they was tears he shed +about her troubles, and she run up and down and all around, talkin' +like a sawmill, but keepin' just off the web. And there was Old +Grasshopper, he sided with Ant Red, and so did Miss Green Katydid. +But all the beetles, and them bugs that lived under the bark of the +old stump, they took up for Ant Black, 'cause she was handy. And the +snake-feeder was on her side. + +"Well, it run along, feelin's gittin' harder and harder, till Ant +Black she jumped up and kitched Ant Red fussin' round her cow pasture +one night, and then the cows began to give bloody milk, and then Ant +Black she give out that Ant Red was a witch. + +"Now, these kind of critters, they're as smart as human bein's if +you only knowed it. And that was enough. The katydid, she said she +felt pins and needles in her back whenever Ant Red looked at her; and +the snake-feeders said she shot arries at 'em when they was flyin' +over a craw-fish hole. All the beetles and wood-bugs complained of +bein' hit with witch-bells, and the more Ant Red acted careful the +more they had ag'in her. + +"Well, the spider he told her to come into his den and live, and +she'd be safe from hangin', but she wasn't sure in her mind about +that. Even the grasshopper jumped out of her way, and bunged his eyes +out at her; as if she could harm such a great big gray lubber as him! +She was gittin' pretty lonesome when she concluded to try a projic." + +"What's a projic?" inquired Robert Day. + +"Why, it's a--p'epperation, or--a plan of some kind," explained Zene. + +"So she invites Big Ant Black and all her family, and the spider and +all his family, and the beetles and bugs and all their families, and +the snake-feeders and Miss Katydid for young folks, and don't leave +out a neighbor, to an apple-bee right inside the orchard fence. + +"So it was pleasant weather, and they all come and brung the babies, +the old grasshopper skippin' along as nimble and steppin' on the +shawl that was wrapped round his young one. And the snake-feeders +they helped Miss Katydid over the lowest fence-rail, and here come +Big Ant Black with such a string behind her it looked like a funeral +instead of a family percession and she twisted her neck from side to +side as soon as she see the great big apple, kind of wonderin' if +they couldn't carry it off. + +"Little Ant Red had all her children's heads combed and the best +cheers set out, and she had on her good dress and white apron, and +she says right and left, 'Hoddy-do, sir? hoddy-do, marm? Come right +in and take cheers. And they all shook hands with her as if they'd +never dreamt of callin' her a witch, and fell right on to the apple +and begun to eat. And they all e't and e't, till they'd made holes in +the rind and hollered it out. And Big Ant Black she gits her family +started, and they carries off chunk after chunk of that apple till +the road was black and white speckled between her house and the +apple-tree. + +"Little Ant Red she walks around urgin' them all to help +theirselves, and that made them all feel pleasant to her. But Big Ant +Black she got so graspin' and eager, that what does she do but try to +help her young ones carry off the whole apple-shell. It did look +jub'ous to see such a big thing movin' off with such little critters +tuggin' it. And then Ant Red got on to a clover-head and showed the +rest of the company what Ant Black was a-doin'. Says Ant Red: 'You +ain't e't more'n a mouthful, Mr. Grasshopper.' + +"'No, marm,' says he. + +"'I s'ze to myself,' says Ant Red, 'here is this polite company, and +the snake-feeders don't touch nothin,' and everybedy knows Miss +Katydid lives on nothin' but rose-leaf butter, and the bugs and +beetles will hardly take enough, to keep 'em alive.' 'And I s'ze to +myself,' says Ant Red, 'here's this big apple walkin' off with nobody +but Ant Black to move it. This great big sound apple. And it looks to +me like witchcraft. That's what it looks like,' says Ant Red. + +"They all declared it looked just like witchcraft. Ant Black tried +to show them how holler the apple was, and they declared if she'd +hollered it that way so quick, it was witchcraft certain. + +"So what does they do but pen her and her young ones in the apple-shell +and stop it up with mud. Even the mud-wasps and tumble-bugs that hadn't +been bid come and took part when they see the dirt a-flyin'. Ant Red +set on the clover-head and teetered. + +"Now, down to this present minute," concluded Zene, "you never pick +up an apple and find a red ant walkin' out of it. If ants is there, +it's one of them poor black fellers that was shut up at the apple-bee, +and they walk out brisk; as if they's glad to find daylight once more." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE GREAT CAMP MEETING. + + +Towards evening of the next day the broken wagon wheel was replaced. +By that time the children were not more anxious to move forward than +was Grandma Padgett. So just before sunset they broke up camp and +moved along the country road until the constellations were swinging +overhead. Zene took the first good crossway that led to the 'pike, +and after waiting to be sure that the noses of Old Hickory and Old +Henry were following, he jogged between dewy fence rows, and they +came to the broad white ribbon of high road, and in time to the +village of Somerford, having progressed only ten miles that day. + +Bobaday and Corinne were so sleepy, and their departure from +Somerford next morning was taken at such an early hour, that they +remembered it only as a smell of tallow candles in the night, +accompanied by a landlady's head in a ruffled nightcap. + +Very different was Springfield, the county seat of Clark County. +That was a town with people moving briskly about it, and long streets +could be seen, where pleasant houses were shaded with trees. + +Zene inquired the names of all small places as soon as they entered +the main street, and then, obligingly halting the wagon at one side, +he waited until Grandma Padgett came up, and told her. He learned and +announced the cities long before any of them came into view. It was a +pleasure to Bobaday and aunt Corinne to ride into a town repeating +its name to themselves and trying to fasten its identity on their +minds. First they would pass a gang of laborers working on the road, +or perhaps a man walking up and down telegraph poles with sharp-shod +heels; then appeared humble houses with children playing thickly +around them. Finer buildings crowded on the sight, and where the +signs of business flaunted, were women and little children in pretty +clothes, always going somewhere to buy something nice. Once they met +a long procession of carriages, and in the first carriage aunt +Corinne beheld and showed to her nephew a child's coffin made of +metal. It glittered in the sun. Grandma Padgett said it was zinc. But +aunt Corinne secretly suspected it was made of gold, to enclose some +dear little baby whose mother would not put it into anything else. + +At New Carlisle, a sleepy little village where the dogfennel was +wonderfully advanced for June, Zene took the gray from the wagon and +hitched him to the carriage, substituting Old Hickory. The gray's +shoulder was rubbed by his collar, and Zene reasoned that the lighter +weight of the carriage would give him a better chance of healing his +bruise. Thus paired the horses looked comical. Hickory and Henry +evidently considered the change a disgrace to them. But they made the +best of it and uttered no protest, except keeping as wide a space as +possible between themselves and their new mates. But the gray and +white, old yoke fellows at the plough, who knew nothing of the +dignity of carriage drawing, and cared less, who had rubbed noses and +shared feed-boxes ever since they were colts, both lifted up their +voices in mournful whinneys and refused comfort and correction. The +white turned his head back over his shoulder and would have halted +anywhere until his mate came up; while the gray strained forward, +shaking his head, and neighing as if his throat were full of tears +every time a tree or a turn in the road hid the wagon. + +The caravan moving to this irregular and doleful music, passed +through another little town which Zene said was named Boston, late on +a rainy afternoon. Here they crossed the Miami River in a bridge +through the cracks of which Robert Day and Corinne looked at the full +but not very wide stream. It flowed beneath them in comparative +silence. The rain pricked the water's surface into innumerable +puckers. + +"Little boys dancing up," said aunt Corinne, in time-honored phrase. + +"No; it's bees stingin' the water," said her nephew, "with long +stingers that reach clear out of the clouds." + +These sky-bees stung the dusty road until it lay first in dark +dimples and last in swollen mud rows and shallow pools. The 'pike +kept its dignity under the heaviest rains. Its very mud was light and +plaster-like, scarcely clinging to the wheels or soiling the horses' +legs. Its flint ribs rung more sharply under the horses' shoes. +Through the damp dusk aunt Corinne took pleasure in watching the fire +struck by old Henry and the gray, against the trickling stones. They +pulled the carriage curtains down, and Grandma Padgett had the +oilcloth apron drawn up to her chin, while she continued to drive the +horses through a slit. The rear of the wagon made a blur ahead of +them. Now the 'pike sides faded from fresh green to a general +dulness, and trees whispering to the rain lost their vistas and +indentations of shade, and became a solid wall down which a steady +pour hissed with settled monotony. Boswell and Johnson no longer +foraged at the 'pike sides, or lagged behind or scampered ahead. They +knew it was a rainy October night without lightning and thunder, +slipped by mistake into the packet of June weather; and they trotted +invisibly under the carriage, carrying their tails down, and their +lolling tongues close to the puddles they were obliged to scamper +through or skip. Boswell and Johnson remembered their experiences at +the lonesome Susan house, where they lay in the deep weeds and were +forgotten until morning by the harassed family; and they rolled their +eyes occasionally, with apprehension lest the grinding of the wheels +should cease, and some ghostly wall loom up at one side of their way, +unlighted by a single glimmer and unperfumed by any whiff of supper. +It was a fine thing to be movers' dogs when the movers went into camp +or put up in state at a tavern. Around a camp were all sorts of +woodsy creatures to be scratched out of holes or chased up trees, or +to be nosed and chewed at. There were stray and half-wild pigs that +had tails to be bitten, and what could be more exhilarating than +making a drove of grunting pigs canter like a hailstorm away into +deep woods! And in the towns and villages all resident dogs came to +call on Boswell and Johnson. At every tavern Boswell picked a fight +and Johnson fought it out; sometimes retiring with his tail to the +earth and a sad expression of being outnumbered, but oftener a victor +to have his wounds dressed and bandaged by Boswell's tongue. There +was plenty to eat at taverns and camps, and good hunting in the +woods; but who could tell what hungry milestone might stand at the +end of this day's journey? + +Grandma Padgett herself was beginning to feel anxious on this +subject. She drove faster in order to overtake Zene and consult with +him, but before his attention could be attracted, both carriage and +wagon reached a broad belt of shine stretching across the 'pike, and +making trees in the meadow opposite stand out as distinct individuals. + +This illumination came from many camp-fires extending so far into +the woods that the last one showed like a spark. A great collection +of moving wagons were ranged in line along the extent of these fires, +and tents pitched under the dripping foliage revealed children +playing within their snug cover, or women spreading the evening meal. +Kettles were hung above the fires, and skillets hissed on the coals. +The horses, tied to their feed-boxes, were stamping and grinding +their feed in content, and the gray lifted up his voice to neigh at +the whole collection as Grandma Padgett stopped just behind Zene. All +the camp dogs leaped up the 'pike together, and Boswell and Johnson +met them in a neutral way while showing the teeth of defence. To Boswell +and Johnson as well as to their betters, this big and well-protected +encampment had an inviting look, provided the campers were not to be +shunned. + +A man came up the 'pike side through the rain and kicked some of the +dogs aside. + +"Hullo," said he most cheerfully. "Want to put up?" + +"What is it?" inquired Zene cautiously. He then craned his neck +around to look at Grandma Padgett, whose spectacles glared seriously +at the man. + +This hospitable traveller wore a red shirt and a slouched hat, and +had his trousers tucked in his boots. He pulled off his hat to shake +the rain away, and showed bushy hair and a smiling bearded face. No +weather could hurt him. He was ready for anything. + +"Light down," he exclaimed. "Plenty of room over there if you want +it." + +"Who's over there?" inquired Zene. + +"Oh, it's a big camp-meeting," replied the man. "There's twenty or +thirty families, and lots of fun." + +"Do you mean," inquired Grandma Padgett, "a camp-meeting for +religious purposes?" + +"You can have that if you want it," responded the man, "and have +your exhorters along. It's a family camp. Most of us going out to +Californy. Goin' to cross the plains. Some up in the woods there +goin' to Missoury. Don't care where they're goin' if they want to +stop and camp with us. _We're_ from the Pan Handle of Virginia. +There's a dozen families or more of us goin' out to Californy +together. The rest just happened along." + +"I'm a Virginian myself," said Grandma Padgett, warming, "though +Ohio's been my State for many years." + +"Well, now," exclaimed the mover, "if you want to light right down, +we'll be all the gladder for that. I saw you stoppin' here uncertain; +and there's the ford over Little Miami ahead of you. I thought you'd +not like to try it in the dark." + +"You're not like a landlord back on the road that let us risk our +necks!" said Grandma Padgett with appreciation. "But if you take +everybody into camp ain't you afraid of getting the wrong sort?" + +"Oh, no," replied the Virginian. "There's enough of _us_ to +overpower _them_." + +"Well, Zene," said Grandma Padgett, "I guess we'd better stop here. +We've provisions in our wagon." + +"How far you goin'?" inquired the hospitable mover. + +"Into Illinois," replied the head of the small caravan. + +"Your trip'll soon be done, then. Come on, now, and go to Californy, +why don't you! _That's_ the country to get rich in! You'll see +sights the other side of the Mississippi!" + +"I'm too old for such undertakings," said Grandma Padgett, passing +over the mover's exuberance with a smile. + +"Why, we have a granny over ninety with us!" he declared. "Now's the +time to start if you want to see the great western country." + +Zene drove off the 'pike on the temporary track made by so many +vehicles, and Grandma Padgett followed, the Virginian showing them a +good spot near the liveliest part of the camp, upon which they might +pitch. + +The family sat in the-carriage while Zene took out the horses, +sheltered the wagon under thick foliage where rain scarcely +penetrated, and stretched the canvas for a tent. Then Grandma Padgett +put on her rubber overshoes, pinned a shawl about her and descended; +and their fire was soon burning, their kettle was soon boiling, in +defiance of water streams which frequently trickled from the leaves +and fell on the coals with a hiss. The firelight shone through slices +of clear pink ham put down to broil. Aunt Corinne laid the cloth on a +box which Zene took out of the wagon for her, and set the cups and +saucers, the sugar and preserves, and little seed cakes which grew +tenderer the longer you kept them, all in tempting order. They had +baker's bread and gingercakes in the carriage. Since her adventure at +the Susan house, Grandma Padgett had taken care to put provisions in +the carriage pockets. Then aunt Corinne, assisted by her nephew, got +potatoes from the sack, wrapped them in wet wads of paper, and +roasted them in the ashes. A potato so roasted may be served up with +a scorched and hardened shell, but its heart is perfumed by all the +odors of the woods. It tastes better than any other potato, and while +the butter melts through it you wonder that people do not fire whole +fields and bake the crop in hot earth before digging it, to store for +winter. + +[Illustration: BOBADAY'S CANOPIED THRONE.] + +Zene had frequently assured Robert Day that an egg served this way +was better still. He said he used to roast eggs in the ashes when +burning stumps, and you only needed a little salt with them, to make +them fit for a king. But Robert Day scorned the egg and remained true +to the potato. + +While they were at supper the Virginian's wife came to see them, +carrying in her hand an offering of bird-pie. Grandma Padgett +responded with a dish of preserves. And they then talked about the +old State, trying to discover mutual interests there. + +The Virginian's wife was a strong, handsome, cordial woman. Her +family came from the Pan Handle, but from the neighborhood of +Wheeling, They were not mountaineers. She had six children. They were +going to California because her husband had the mining fever. He +wanted to go years before, but she held out against it until she saw +he would do no good unless he went. So they sold their land, and +started with a colony of neighbors. + +The names of all her relatives were sifted, and Grandma Padgett made +a like search among her own kindred, and they discovered that an +uncle of one, and a grandfather of the other, had been acquainted, +and served together in the War of '12. This established a bond. +Grandma Padgett was gently excited, and told Bobaday and Corinne +after the Virginia woman's departure to her own wagons, that she +should feel safe on account of being an old neighbor in the camp. + + + + +CHAPTER X. THE CRY OF A CHILD IN THE NIGHT. + + +But the camp was too exciting to let the children fall asleep early. +Fires were kept briskly burning, and some of the wagoners feeling in +a musical humor, shouted songs or hummed melancholy tunes which +sounded like a droning accompaniment to the rain. The rain fell with +a continuous murmur, and evidently in slender threads, for it +scarcely pattered on the tent. It was no beating, boisterous, +drenching tempest, but a lullaby rain, bringing out the smell of +barks, of pennyroyal and May-apple and wild sweet-williams from the +deep woods. + +Robert Day crept out of the carriage, having with him the oil-cloth +apron and a plan. Four long sticks were not hard to find, or to +sharpen with his pocket knife, and a few knocks drove them into the +soft earth, two on each side of a log near the fire. He then +stretched the oil-cloth over the sticks, tying the corners, and had a +canopied throne in the midst of this lively camp. A chunk served for +a footstool. Bobaday sat upon his log, hearing the rain slide down, +and feeling exceedingly snug. His delight came from that wild +instinct with which we all turn to arbors and caves, and to +unexpected grapevine bowers deep in the woods; the instinct which +makes us love to stand upright inside of hollow sycamore-trees, and +pretend that a green tunnel among the hazel or elderberry bushes is +the entrance hall of a noble castle. + +Bobaday was very still, lest his grandmother in the tent, or Zene in +the remoter wagon, should insist on his retiring to his uneasy bed +again. He got enough of the carriage in daytime, having counted all +its buttons up and down and crosswise. The smell of the leather and +lining cloth was mixed with every odor of the journey. One can have +too much of a very easy, well-made carriage. + +The firelight revealed him in his thoughtful mood: a very white boy +with glistening hair and expanding large eyes of a gray and velvet +texture. Some light eyes have a thin and sleepy surface like inferior +qualities of lining silk; and you cannot tell whether the expression +or the humors of the eye are at fault. But Nature, or his own +meditations on what he read and saw in this delicious world, had +given to Bobaday's irises a softness like the pile of gray velvet, +varied sometimes by cinnamon-colored shades. + +His eyes reflected the branches, the other campfires, and many +wagons. It gave him the sensation of again reading for the first time +one of grandfather's Peter Parley books about the Indians, or Mr. +Irving's story of Dolph Heyleger, where Dolph approaches Antony +Vander Heyden's camp. He saw the side of one wagon-cover dragged at +and a little night-capped head stuck out. + +"Bobaday!" whispered aunt Corinne, creeping on tiptoe toward him, +and anxious to keep him from exclaiming when he saw her. + +"What did you get up for?" he whispered back. + +"What did _you_ get up for?" retaliated aunt Corinne. + +Robert Day made room for her on the log under the canopy, and she +leaned down and laced her shoes after being seated. "Ma Padgett's +just as tight asleep! What'd she say if she knew we wasn't in bed!" + +It was so exciting and so nearly wicked to be out of bed and +prowling when their elders were asleep, they could not possibly enjoy +the sin in silence. + +"Ain't it nice?" whispered aunt Corinne. "I saw you fixin' this +little tent, and then I sl-ip-ped up and hooked some of my clothes +on, and didn't dast to breathe 'fear Ma Padgett'd hear me. There must +be lots of children in the camp." + +"Yes; I've heard the babies cryin'." + +"Do you s'pose there's any gipsy folks along?" + +"Do 'now," whispered Bobaday, his tone inclining to an admission +that gipsy folks might be along. + +"The kind that would steal us," explained aunt Corinne. + +This mere suggestion was an added pleasure; it made them shiver and +look back in the bushes. + +"There might be--away back yonder," whispered Robert Day, emboldened +by remembering that his capable grandmother was just within the tent, +and Zene at easy waking distance. + +"But all the people will hitch up and drive away in the morning," he +added, "and we won't know anything about 'em." + +To aunt Corinne this seemed a great pity. "I'd like to see how +everybody looks," she meditated. + +"So'd I," whispered her nephew. + +"It's hardly rainin' a drizzle now," whispered aunt Corinne. + +"I get so tired ridin' all day long," whispered Robert, "that I wish +I was a scout or something, like that old Indian that was named +Trackless in the book--that went through the woods and through the +woods, and didn't leave any mark and never seemed to wear out. You +remember I read you a piece of it?" + +Aunt Corinne fidgeted on the log. + +"Wouldn't you like," suggested her nephew, whose fancy the nighttime +stimulated, "to get on a flying carpet and fly from one place to +another?" + +Aunt Corinne cast a glance back over her shoulder. + +"We could go a little piece from our camp-fire and not get lost," +she suggested. + +"Well," whispered Robert boldly, "le's do it. Le's take a walk. It +won't do any harm. 'Tisn't late." + +"The's chickens crowin' away over there." + +"Chickens crow all times of the night. Don't you remember how our +old roosters used to act on Christmas night? I got out of bed four +times once, because I thought it was daylight, they would crow so!" + +"Which way'll we take?" whispered aunt Corinne. + +Robert slid cautiously from the log and mapped out the expedition. + +"Off behind the wagon so's Zene won't see us. And then we'll slip +along towards that furthest fire. We can see the others as we go by. +Follow me." + +It was easy to slip behind the wagon and lose themselves in the +brush. But there they stumbled on unseen snags and were caught or +scratched by twigs, and descended suddenly to a pig-wallow or other +ugly spot, where Corinne fell down. Bobaday then thought it expedient +for his aunt to take hold of his jacket behind and walk in his +tracks, according to their life-long custom when going down cellar +for apples after dark. Grandma Padgett was not a woman to pamper the +fear of darkness in her family. She had been known to take a child +who recoiled from shapeless visions, and lead him into the unlighted +room where he fancied he saw them. + +So after proceeding out of sight of their own wagon, aunt Corinne +and her nephew, toughened by this training, would not have owned to +each other a wish to go back and sit in safety and peace of nerve +again upon the log. Robert plodded carefully ahead, parting the +bushes, and she passed through the gaps with his own figure, +clinching his jacket with fingers that tightened or relaxed with her +tremors. + +They had not counted on being smelled out by dogs at the various +watch-fires. One lolling yellow beast sprang up and chased them. Aunt +Corinne would have flown with screams, but her nephew hushed her up +and put her valiantly on a very high stump behind himself. The dog +took no trouble to trace them. He was too comfortable before the +brands, too mud-splashed and stiff from a long day's journey, to care +about chasing any mystery of the wood to its hole. But this warned +them not to venture too near other fires where other possible dogs +lay sentry. + +"Why didn't we fetch old Johnson?" whispered aunt Corinne, after +they slid down the tree stump. + +"'Cause Boswell'd been at his heels, and the whole camp'd been in a +fight," replied Bobaday. "Old Johnson was under our wagon; I don't +know where Bos was. I was careful not to wake him." + +Through gaps in foliage and undergrowth they saw many an individual +part of the general camp; the wagon-cover in some cases being as dun +as the hide of an elephant. When a curtain was dropped over the front +opening of the wagon, Bobaday and Corinne knew that women and +children were sleeping within on their chattels. Here a tent was made +of sheets and stretched down with the branch of an overhanging tree +for a ridge-pole; and there horse-blankets were made into a canopy +and supported by upright poles. Within such covers men were asleep, +having sacks or comforters for bedding. + +On a few wagon tongues, or stretched easily before fires, men +lingered, talking in steady, monotonous voices as if telling stories, +or in indifferent tones as if tempting each other to trades. + +The rain had entirely ceased, though the spongy wet wood sod was not +pleasant to walk upon. "I guess," said-aunt Corinne, "we'd better go +back." + +"Well, we've seen consider'ble," assented her nephew. "I guess we'd +better." + +So he faced about. But quite near them arose the piercing scream of +a child in mortal fear. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE DARKENED WAGON. + + +Aunt Corinne and her nephew felt pierced by the cry. Her hands +gripped his jacket with a shock. Robert Day turning took hold of his +aunt's wrist to pinch her silent, but his efforts were too zealous +and turned her fright to indignation. + +"I don't want my hand pinched off, Bobaday Padgett!" whispered aunt +Corinne, jerking away and thus breaking the circuit of comfort and +protection which was supposed to flow from his jacket. + +"But listen," hissed Robert. + +"I don't want to listen," whispered aunt Corinne; "I want to go back +to our camp-fire." + +"Nobody can hurt us," whispered her nephew, gathering boldness. "You +stay here and let me creep through the bushes to that wagon. I want +to see what it was." + +"If you stay a minute I'll go and leave you," remonstrated aunt +Corinne. "Ma Padgett don't want us off here by ourselves." + +But Robert's hearing was concentrated upon the object toward which +he moved. He used Indian-like caution. The balls of his large eyes +became so prominent that they shone with some of the lustre of a +cat's in the dark. + +Corinne took hold of the bushes in his absence. + +The wind was breathing sadly through the trees far off. What if some +poor little child, lost in the woods, should come patting to her, +with all the wildness of its experience hanging around it? Oh, the +woods was a good play-house, on sunshiny days, but not the best of +homes, after all. That must be why people built houses. When the snow +lay in a deep cake, showing only the two thumb-like marks at long +intervals made by the rabbit in its leaping flight, and when the air +was so tense and cold you could hear the bark of a dog far off, +Bobaday used to say he would love to live in the woods all the time. +He would chop to keep himself warm. He loved to drag the air into his +lungs when it seemed frozen to a solid. Corinne remembered how his +cheeks burned and his eyes glittered during any winter exertion. And +what could be prettier, he said, than the woods after it sleeted all +night, and hoar frost finished the job! Every tree would stand +glittering in white powder, as if dressed for the grandest occasion, +the twigs tipped with lace-work, and the limbs done in tracery and +all sorts of beautiful designs. Still this white dress was deadly +cold to handle. Aunt Corinne had often pressed her fingers into the +velvet crust upon the trunks. She did not like the winter woods, and +hardly more did she like this rain-soaked place, and these broad, +treacherous leaves that poured water down her neck in the humid dark. + +Bobaday pounced upon her with such force when he appeared once more, +that she was startled into trying to climb a bush no higher than +herself. + +He had not a word to say, but hitched his aunt to his jacket and +drew her away with considerable haste. They floundered over logs and +ran against stumps. Their own smouldering fire, and wagon with the +hoops standing up like huge uncovered ribs, and the tents wherein +their guardian slept after the fatigue of the day, all appeared +wonderfully soon, considering the time it had taken them to reach +their exploring limit. + +Aunt Corinne huddled by the coals, and Bobaday sat down on the foot-chunk +he had placed for his awning throne. + +"You better go to bed quick as ever you can," he said. + +"I guess I ain't goin'," said aunt Corinne with indignant surprise, +"till you tell me somethin' about what was up in the bushes. I stayed +still and let you look, and now you won't tell me!" + +"You heard the sound," remonstrated Robert. + +"But I didn't see anything," argued aunt Corinne. + +"You wouldn't want to," said Bobaday. + +They were talking in cautious tones, but no longer whispering. It +had become too tiresome. Aunt Corinne would now have burst out with +an exclamation, but checked herself and tilted her nose, talking to +the coals which twinkled back to her between her slim fingers. + +"Boys think they are so smart! They want to have all the good times +and see all the great shows, and go slidin' in winter time, when +girls have to stay in the house and knit, and then talk like they's +grown up, and we's little babies!" + +Robert Day fixed his eyes on his aunt with superior compassion. + +"Grandma Padgett wouldn't want me to scare you," he observed. + +Corinne edged several inches closer to him. She felt that she must +know what her nephew had seen if she had to thread all the dark mazes +again and look at it by herself. + +"Ma Padgett never 'lows me to act scared," she reminded him. "I +always have to go up to what I'm 'fraid of." + +"You won't go up to this." + +"Maybe I will. Tisn't so far back to that wagon." + +"I wouldn't stir it up for considerable," said Robert. + +"Was it a lion or a bear? Was it goin' to eat anything? Is that what +made the little child cry?" + +"The little child hollered 'cause 'twas afraid of it. I was glad you +didn't look in at the end of the wagon with me." + +Aunt Corinne edged some inches nearer her protector. + +"How could you see what was in a dark wagon?" + +"There was a candle lighted inside. Aunt Krin, there was a little +pretty girl in that wagon that I do believe the folks stole!" + +This was like a story. The luxury of a real stolen child had never +before come in aunt Corinne's way. + +"Why, Bobaday?" she inquired affectionately. + +"Because the little girl seemed like she was dead till all at once +she opened her eyes, and then her mouth as if she was going to scream +again, and they stopped her mouth up, and covered her in clothes." + +"What did the wagon look like?" + +"Like a little room. And they slept on the floor. They had tin +things hangin' around the sides, and a stove in one corner with the +pipe stickin' up through the cover. And the cover was so thick you +couldn't see a light through it. You could only see through the +pucker-hole where it comes together over the feed-box." + +"And how many folks were there?" + +"I don't know. I saw them fussing with the little girl, and I saw +it, and then I didn't stay any longer." + +"What was it, Bobaday?" + +"I don't know," he solemnly replied. + +"Yes, but what did it look like?" + +Her nephew stared doubtingly upon her. + +"Will you holler if I tell you?" + +Aunt Corinne went through an impressive pantomime of deeding and +double-deeding herself not to holler. + +"Will you be afraid all the rest of the night?" + +No; aunt Corinne intimated that her courage would be revived and +strengthened by knowing the worst about that wagon. + +He pierced her with his dilating eyes, and beckoned her to put up +her ear for the information. + +"You ain't goin' to play any trick," remonstrated his relative, "like +you did when you got me to say grandmother, grandmother, +thith--thith--thith, and then hit my chin and made me bite my tongue?" + +Robert was forced to chuckle at the recollection, but he assured +aunt Corinne that grandmother, grandmother, thith--thith--thith was +far from his thoughts. He hesitated, with aunt Corinne's ear jogging +against his chin. Then in a loud whisper he communicated: + +"_It_ was a man with a pig's _head on_ him!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII. JONATHAN AND THRUSTY ELLEN. + + +Aunt Corinne drew back into a rigid attitude. "I don't believe it!" +she said. + +Robert Day passed over her incredulity with a flickering smile. + +"People don't have pigs' heads on them!" argued aunt Corinne. "Did +he grunt?" + +"And he had a tush stickin' out from his lower jaw," added Robert. + +They gazed at each other in silent horror. While this awful +pantomime was going on, the flap of Grandma Padgett's tent was +lifted, and a voice of command, expressing besides astonishment and +alarm, startled their ears with-- + +"Children!" + +Aunt Corinne leaped up and turned at bay, half-expecting to find the +man with the pig's head gnashing at her ear. But what she saw in the +sinking light was a fine old head in a night-cap, staring at them +from the tent. Bobaday and his aunt were so rapid in retiring that +their guardian was unable to make them explain their conduct as fully +as she desired. They slept so long in the morning that the camp was +broken up when Grandma Padgett called them out to breakfast. + +[Illustration: THE VIRGINIAN AND HIS CHILDREN.] + +Zene wanted the tent of aunt Corinne to stretch over the wagon-hoops. +He had already hitched the horses, restoring the gray and the white to +their former condition of yoke-fellows, and these two rubbed noses +affectionately and had almost as much to whisper to each other as had +Robert and Corinne over their breakfast. + +The darkened wagon was nowhere to be seen. Corinne climbed a tall +stump as an observatory, and Bobaday went a piece into the bushes, +only to find that all that end of the camp was gone. The colony of +Virginians was also partly under way. + +Aunt Corinne felt a certain sadness steal over her. She had brought +herself to admit the pig-headed man, with limitations. He might have +a pig's head on him, but it wasn't fast. He did it to frighten +children. She had fully intended to see him and be frightened by him +at any cost. Now he was gone like a bad dream in the night. And she +should not know if the little girl was stolen. She could only revenge +herself on Robert Day for having seen into that darkened wagon, with +the stove-pipe sticking out when she had not, by sniffing doubtfully +at every mysterious allusion to it. They did not mention the +pigheaded man to Grandma Padgett, though both longed to know if such +a specimen of natural history had ever come under her eyes. She would +have questioned then about the walk that led to this discovery. Her +prejudices against children's prowling away from their elders after +dark were very strong. + +Aunt Corinne thought the pig-headed man might have come to their +carriage when they were ready to start, instead of the Virginian. + +"Right along the pike?" he inquired cheerfully. + +"I believe so," said Grandma Padgett. + +"You'll be in our company then as far as you go. It'll be better for +you to keep in a big company." + +"It will indeed," said Grandma Padgett sincerely. + +"Oh, you'll keep along to Californy," said the Virginian. + +"To the Illinois line," amended Grandma Padgett, at which he +laughed, adding: + +"Well, we'll neighbor for a while, anyhow." + +"Let your little boy and girl ride in our carriage," begged Robert +Day, seizing on this relief from monotony. + +"Yes do," said his grandmother, turning her glasses upon the little +boy and girl. Aunt Corinne had been inspecting them as they stood at +their father's heels, and bestowing experimental smiles on them. The +boy was a clear brown-eyed fellow with butternut trousers up to his +arm-pits, and a wool hat all out of shape. The little girl looked +red-faced and precise, the color from her lips having evidently become +diluted through her skin. Over a linsey petticoat she wore a calico +belted apron. The belt was as broad as the length of aunt Corinne's +hand, for in the course of the morning aunt Corinne furtively +measured it. Although it was June weather, this little girl also wore +stout shoes and yarn stockings. + +"Well, they might get in if they won't crowd you," assented their +father. "You're all to take dinner with us, my wife says." + +The children were hoisted up the steps, which they climbed with +agile feet, as if accustomed to scaling high cart wheels. Bobaday sat +by his grandmother, and the back seat received this addition to the +party without at all crowding aunt Corinne. She looked the boy and +girl over with great satisfaction. They were near her own age. + +"Do you play teeter in the woods?" she inquired with a fidget, by +way of opening the conversation. + +The boy rolled his eyes towards her and replied in a slow drawl, +sometimes they did. + +Robert Day then put it to him whether he liked moving. + +"I like to ride the leaders for fawther," replied the boy. + +"What's your name?" inquired aunt Corinne, directing her inquiry to +both. + +The little girl turned redder, answering in a broad drawl like her +brother, "His name's Jonathan and mine's Clar'sy Ellen." + +Aunt Corinne looked down at the hind wheel revolving at her side of +the carriage, and her lips unconsciously moved in meditation. + +"Thrusty Ellen!" she repeated aloud. + +"Clar'sy Ellen," corrected the little girl, her broad drawl still +confusing the sound. + +Aunt Corinne's lips continued to move. She whispered to the hind +wheel, "Mercy! If I was named Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen, I'd wish my +folks'd forgot to name me at all!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. FAIRY CARRIE AND THE PIG-HEADED MAN. + + +Little Miami river was crossed without mishap, and the Padgetts and +Breakaways took dinner together. + +Robert Day could not help noticing the difference between his +grandmother's wagon and the wagons of the Virginians. Their wagon-beds +were built almost in the shape of the crescent moon, bending down +in the centre and standing high at the ends, and they appeared half +as long again as the Ohio vehicle. The covers were full of innumerable +ribs, and the puckered end was drawn into innumerable puckers. + +The children took their dinners to the yellow top of a brand-new +stump which, looked as if somebody had smoothed every sweet-smelling +ring clean on purpose for a picnic table. Some branches of the felled +tree were near enough to make teeter seats for Corinne and Thrusty +Ellen. Jonathan and Robert stood up or kneeled against the arching +roots. Dinner taken from the top of a stump has the sap of out-door +enjoyment in it; and if you have to scare away an ant, or a pop-eyed +grasshopper thuds into the middle of a plate, you still feel kindly +towards these wild things for dropping in so sociably. + +Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen were rather silent, but such remarks as +they made were solid information. + +"You don't know wher' my fawther's got his money," said Jonathan. + +This was stated so much like a dare that Robert yearned to retort +that he did know, too. As he did not know, the next best thing was to +pretend it was no consequence anyhow, and find out as quickly as +possible; therefore Robert Day said: + +"Ho! Maybe he hasn't any." + +"He has more gold pieces 'n ever you seen," proceeded Jonathan +weightily. + +"Then why don't he give you some?" exclaimed aunt Corinne with a +wriggle. "I had a gold dollar, but I b'lieve that little old man with +a bag on his back stole it." + +Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen made round eyes at a young damsel who had +been trusted with gold. + +[Illustration] + +"My fawther calls 'em yeller boys," said Jonathan. "He carries 'em +and his paper money in a belt fastened round his waist under all his +clothes." + +"You don't ought to tell," said Thrusty Ellen. "Father said we +shouldn't talk about it." + +"_He_ won't steal it," said Jonathan, indicating Robert with +his thumb. "_She_ won't neither," indicating aunt Corinne. + +Aunt Corinne with some sharpness assured the Virginia children that +her nephew and herself were indeed above such suspicion; that Ma +Padgett and brother Tip had the most money, and even Zene was well +provided with dollars; while they had silver spoons among their goods +that Ma-Padgett said had been in the family more than fifty years! + +Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen accepted this information with much +stolidity. The grandeur of having old silver made no impression on +them. They saw that Grandma Padgett had one pair of horses hitched to +her moving-wagon instead of three pairs, and they secretly rated her +resources by this fact. + +It was very cheerful moving in this long caravan. When there was a +bend in the 'pike, and the line of vehicles curved around it, the +sight was exhilarating. + +Some of the Virginians sat on their horses to drive. There was singing, +and calling back and forth. And when they passed a toll-gate, all the +tollkeeper's family and neighbors came out to see the array. Jonathan +and Robert rode in his father's easiest wagon, while Thrusty Ellen, and +her mother enjoyed Grandma Padgett's company in the carriage. As they +neared Richmond, which lay just within the Indiana line, men went ahead +like scouts to secure accommodations for the caravan. At Louisburg, +the last of the Ohio villages, aunt Corinne was watching for the boundary +of the State. She fancied it stretched like a telegraph wire from pole +to pole, only near the ground, so the cattle of one State could not stray +into the other, and so little children could have it to talk across, +resting their chins on the cord. But when they came to the line and +crossed it there was not even a mark on the ground; not so much as a +furrow such as Zene made planting corn. And at first Indiana looked +just like Ohio. Later, however, aunt Corinne felt a difference in the +States. Ohio had many ups and downs; many hillsides full of grain basking +in the sun. The woods of Indiana ran to moss, and sometimes descended to +bogginess, and broad-leaved paw-paw bushes crowded the shade; mighty +sycamores blotched with white, leaned over the streams: there was a +dreamy influence in the June air, and pale blue curtains of mist hung +over distances. + +But at Richmond aunt Corinne and her nephew, both felt particularly +wide awake. They considered it the finest place they had seen since +the capital of Ohio. The people wore quaint, but handsome clothes. +They saw Quaker bonnets and broad-brimmed hats. Richmond is yet +called the Quaker city of Indiana. But what Robert Day and Corinne +noticed particularly was the array of wagons moved from street to +street, was an open square such as most Western towns had at that +date for farmers to unhitch their teams in, and in that open square a +closely covered wagon connected with a tent. It was nearly dark. But +at the tent entrance a tin torch stuck in the ground showed letters +and pictures on the tent, proclaiming that the only pig-headed man in +America was therein exhibiting himself and his accomplishments, +attended by Fairy Carrie, the wonderful child vocalist. + +Before Bobaday had made out half the words, he telegraphed a message +to aunt Corinne, by leaning far out of the Brockaway wagon and +lifting his finger. Aunt Corinne was leaning out of the carriage, and +saw him, and she not only lifted her finger, but violently wagged her +head. + +The caravan scouts had not been able to find lodging for all the +troops, and there was a great deal of dissatisfaction about the rates +asked by the taverns. So many of the wagons wound on to camp at the +other side of the town, the Brockaways among them. But the neighborly +Virginian, in exchanging Robert for his wife and daughter at the +carriage door, assured Grandma Padgett he would ride back to her +lodging-place next morning and pilot her into the party again. + +"I thank you kindly," said Grandma Padgett in old-fashioned phrase. +"It's growing risky for me to sleep too much in the open night air. +At my age folks must favor themselves, and I'd like a bed to-night, +if it is a tavern bed, and a set, table, if the vittles are tavern +vittles. And we can stir out early." + +So Thrusty Ellen and Jonathan rode away with their father, +unconscious of Robert and Corinne's superior feeling in stopping at a +tavern. + +In the tavern parlor were a lot of sumptuous paper flowers under a +glass case. There were a great many stairs to climb, and a gong was +sounded for supper. + +After supper Grandma Padgett made Zene take her into the stable-yard, +that she might carry from the wagon some valuables which thieves in +a town would be tempted to steal. + +It was about this time that Corinne and Robert Day strayed down the +front steps, consulted together and ventured down the street, came +back, and ventured again to the next corner. + +"He gave us the slip before," said Robert, "but I'd like to get a +good look at him for once." + +"Would you da'st to spend your gold dollar, though," said aunt +Corinne. + +"Well, that's better than losin' it," he responded. + +It seemed very much better in aunt Corinne's eyes. + +"We can just run down there, and run right back after we go in, +while Ma Padgett is busy." + +"Then we'll have to be spry," said Robert Day. + +Having passed the first corner they were spry, springing along the +streets with their hands locked. It was not hard to find one's way +about in Richmond then, and the tavern was not far from the open +square. They came upon the tent, the smoky tin torch, the crowd of +idlers, and a loud-voiced youth who now stood at the entrance +shouting the attractions within. + +Robert dragged his aunt impetuously to the tent door and offered his +gold dollar to the shouter. + +"Pass right in, gentlemen and ladies," said the ill-looking youth in +his monotonous yell, bustling as if he had a rush of business, "and +make room for the crowd, all anxious to see the only pig-headed man +in America, and to hear the wonderful warblings of Fairy Carrie, the +child vocalist. Admission fixed at the low figure of fifteen cents +per head," said the ill-looking youth, dropping change into Robert's +hand and hustling him upon the heels of Corinne who craned her neck +toward the inner canvas. "Only fifteen cents, gentlemen, and the last +opportunity to see the pig-headed man who alone is worth the price of +admission, and has been exhibited to all the crowned heads of Europe. +Fifteen cents. Five three cent pieces only. Fairy Carrie, the +wonderful child vocalist, and the only living pig-headed man standing +between the heavens and earth to-day." + +But when aunt Corinne had reached the interior of the tent, she +turned like a flash, clutched Robert Day, and hid her eyes against +him. A number of people standing, or seated on benches, were watching +the performances on a platform at one end of the tent. + +"He won't hurt you," whispered Robert. + +"Go 'way!" whispered aunt Corinne, trembling as if she would drive +the mere image from her thoughts. + +"It's the very thing I saw at the camp," whispered Robert. + +"Le's go out again." + +"I want my money's worth," remonstrated Robert in an injured tone. +"And now he's pickin' up his things and going behind a curtain. Ain't +he ugly! I wonder how it feels to look that way? Why don't you stand +up straight and act right! Folks'll notice you. I thought you wanted +to see him so bad!" + +"I got enough," responded aunt Corinne. "But there comes the little +girl. And it's the little girl I saw in the wagon. Ain't she pretty!" + +[Illustration] + +"She ain't got a pig's head, has she?" demanded aunt Corinne. + +"She's the prettiest little girl I ever saw," responded Robert +impatiently. "I guess if she sees you she'll think, you're sheep-headed. +You catch me spendin' gold dollars to take you to shows any more!" + +The shrill treble of a little child began a ballad at that time very +popular, and called "Lilly Dale." Aunt Corinne faced about and saw a +tiny creature, waxen-faced and with small white hands, and feet in +bits of slippers, standing in a dirty spangled dress which was made +to fluff out from her and give her an airy look. Her long brown curls +hung about her shoulders. But her black eyes were surrounded with +brownish rings which gave her a look of singing in her sleep, or in a +half-conscious state. She was a delicate little being, and as she +sung before the staring people, her chin creased and the corners of +her mouth quivered as if she would break into sobs if she only dared. +Her song was accompanied by a hand-organ ground behind the scenes; +and when she had finished and run behind the curtain, she was pushed +out again in response to the hand-clapping. + +Robert Day hung entranced on this performance. But when Fairy Carrie +had sung her second song and disappeared, he took hold of his aunt's +ear and whispered cautiously therein: + +"I know the pig-headed man stole that little girl." + +Aunt Corinne looked at him with solemn assent. Then there were signs +of the pig-headed man's returning to the gaze of the public. Aunt +Corinne at once grasped her nephew's elbow and pushed him from the +sight. They went outside where the ill-looking youth was still +shouting, and were crowded back against the wagon by a group now +beginning to struggle in. + +Robert proposed that they walk all around the outside, and try to +catch another glimpse of Fairy Carrie. + +They walked behind the wagon. A surly dog chained under it snapped +out at them. Aunt Corinne said she should like to see Fairy Carrie +again, but Ma Padgett would be looking for them. + +At this instant the little creature appeared back of the tent. +Whether she had crept under the canvas or knew some outlet to the +air, she stood there fanning herself with her hands, and looking up +and about with an expression which was sad through all the dusk. + +Corinne and Robert Day approached on tiptoe. Fairy Carrie continued +to fan herself with her fingers, and looked at them with a dull gaze. + +"Say!" whispered aunt Corinne, indicating the interior of the tent, +"is he your pa?" + +Fairy Carrie shook her head. + +"Is your ma in there?" + +Fairy Carrie again shook her head, and her face creased as if she +were now determined in this open air and childish company to cry and +be relieved. + +"Can't you talk?" whispered aunt Corinne. + +"No," said the child. + +"Yes, you can, too! Did the show folks steal you?" + +Fairy Carrie's eyes widened. Tears gathered and dropped slowly down +her cheeks. + +Aunt Corinne seized her hand. "Why, Bobaday, Padgett! You just feel +how cold her fingers are!" + +Robert did so, and shook his head to indicate that he found even her +fingers in a pitiable condition. + +"You come with us to Ma Padgett," exhorted aunt Corinne in an +excited whisper. "I wouldn't stay where that pig-man is for the world." + +The dog under the wagon was growling. + +"If the pig-man stole you, Ma Padgett will have him put in jail." + +"Le's go back this way, so they won't catch her," cautioned Bobaday. + +The dog began to bark. + +Robert and Corinne moved away with the docile little child between +them. At the barking of the dog one or two other figures appeared +behind the tent. Fairy Carrie in her spangled dress was running +between Robert and Corinne into the dark. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. SEARCHING. + + +But Grandma Padgett did not enjoy the tavern bed or the tavern +breakfast. She passed the evening until midnight searching the +streets of Richmond, accompanied by Zene and his limp. Some of the +tavern people had seen her children in front of the house, but the +longest search failed to bring to light any trace of them in or about +that building. The tavern-keeper interested himself; the chamber +maids were sympathetic. Two hostlers and a bartender went different +ways through the town making inquiries. The landlady thought the +children might have wandered off to the movers' encampment, where +there were other children to play with. Grandma Padgett bade Zene put +himself on one of the carriage horses and post to camp. When he came +back he reported that Thrusty Ellen and Jonathan were asleep in the +tents, and nobody had seen Robert and Corinne. + +While searching the streets earlier in the evening, Grandma Padgett +observed the pig-headed man's pavilion, and this she also explored +with Zene. A crowd was making the canvas stifling, and the pig-headed +man's performances were being varied by an untidy woman who screamed +and played on a portable bellows which had ivory keys, after +explaining that Fairy Carrie, the Wonderful Musical Child, had been +taken suddenly ill and could appear no more that night. + +Grandma Padgett remained only long enough to scan twice over every +face in the tent. She went out, telling Zene she was at her wits' end. + +"Oh, they ain't gone far, marm," reassured Zene. "You'll find out +they'll come back to the tavern all right; mebby before we get there." + +But every such hopeful return to base disheartened the searchers +more. At last the grandmother was obliged to lie down. + +Early in the morning the Virginian came, full of concern. His party +was breaking camp, but he would stay behind and help search for the +children. + +"That I won't allow," said Grandma Padgett. "You're on a long road, +and you don't want to risk separating from the colony. Besides no one +can do more than we can--unless it was Son Tip. As I laid awake, I +wished in my heart Son Tip was here." + +"Can't you send him a lightnin' message?" said the Virginian. "By +the telegraphic wire," he explained, quoting a line of a popular song. + +"I wish I could," said Grandma Padgett, "but there's no telegraph +office in miles of where he's located. I thought of it last night. +There's no way to reach him that I can see, but by letter, and +sometimes _they_ lay over on the road. And I don't allow to stop +at this place. I'm goin' to set out and hunt in all directions till I +find the children." + +The Virginian agreed that her plan was best. He also made +arrangements to ride back and tell her if the caravan overtook them +on the 'pike during that day's journey. Then he and Grandma Padgett +shook hands with each other and reluctantly separated. + +She made inquiries about all the other roads leading out of +Richmond. Zene drove the carriage out of the barnyard, and Grandma +Padgett, having closed her account with the tavern, took the lines, +an object of interest and solicitude to all who saw her depart, and +turned Old Hickory and Old Henry on a southward track. Zene followed +with the wagon; he was on no account to loiter out of speaking +distance. The usual order of the march being thus reversed, both +vehicles moved along lonesomely. Even Boswell and Johnson scented +misfortune in the air. Johnson ran in an undeviating line under the +carriage, as if he wished his mistress to know he was right there +where she could depend on him. His countenance expressed not only +gravity, but real concern. Boswell, on the other hand, was in a state +of nerves. If he saw a bank at the roadside he ran ahead and mounted +it, looking back into the carriage, demanding to know, with a yelping +howl, where Bobaday and Corinne were. When his feelings became too +strong for him he jumped at the step, and Grandma Padgett shook her +head at him. + +"Use your nose, you silly little fice, and track them, why don't you?" + +As soon as Boswell understood this reproach he jumped a fence and +smelt every stump or tuft of grass, every bush and hummock, until the +carriage dwindled in the distance. Then he made the dust smoke under +his feet as a sudden June shower will do for a few seconds, and +usually overtook the carriage with all of his tongue unfurled and his +lungs working like a furnace. Johnson reproved him with a glance, and +he at once dropped his tail and trotted beside Johnson, as if +throwing himself on that superior dog for support in the hour of +affliction. + +At noon no trace of Robert and Corinne had been seen. Grandma +Padgett halted, and when Zene came up she said: + +"We'll eat a cold bite right here by the road, and then go on until +sunset. If we don't find them, we'll turn back to town and take +another direction." + +They ate a cold bite, brought ready packed from the Richmond tavern. +The horses were given scant time for feeding, and drank wherever they +could find water along the road. + +Cloudless as the day was, Grandma Padgett's spectacles had never +made any landscape look as blue as this one which she followed until +sunset. Sometimes it was blurred by a mist, but she wiped it off the +glasses. + +At sunset they had not seen a track which might be taken for Robert +or Corinne's. The grasshoppers were lonesome. There was a great void +in the air, and the most tuneful birds complained from the fence-rails. +Grandma Padgett constantly polished her glasses on the backward road. + +Nothing was said about making a halt for supper or any kind of cold +bite. The carriage was silently turned as one half the sun stood +above the tree-tops, I and it passed the wagon without other sign. +The wagon turned as silently. The shrill meadow insects became more +and more audible. Some young calves in a field, remembering that it +was milking time, began to call their mothers, and to remonstrate at +the bars in voices full of sad cadences. The very farmhouse dogs, +full-fed, and almost too lazy to come out of the gates to interview +Boswell and Johnson, barked as if there was sickness in their +respective families and it was all they could do to keep up their +spirits and refrain from howling. + +The carriage and wagon jogged along until the horizon rim was all of +that indescribable tint that evening mixes with saffron, purple and +pink. Grandma Padgett became anxious to reach Richmond again. The +Virginian might have returned over the road with news of her +children. Or the children themselves might be at the tavern waiting +for her. Zene drove close behind her, and when they were about to +recross a shallow creek, scooped between two easy swells and floating +a good deal of wild grapevine and darkly reflecting many sycamores, +he came forward and loosened the check-reins of Hickory and Henry to +let them drink. Grandma Padgett felt impatient at any delay. + +"I don't think they want water, Zene," said she. + +"They'd better cool their mouths, marm." he said. But still he +fingered the check reins, uncertain how to state what had sent him +forward. + +"Seems like I heard somebody laugh, marm," said Zene. + +"Well, suppose you did," said Grandma Padgett. "The whole world +won't mourn just because we're in trouble." + +"But it sounded like Corinne," said Zene uncertainly. + +Grandma Padgett's glasses glared upon him. + +"You'd' be more apt to hear her crying," she exclaimed. "When did +you hear it?" + +"Just now. I jumped right off the load." + +Hickory and Henry, anxious to taste the creek, would have moved +forward, but were checked by both pairs of hands. + +"What direction?" + +"I don't feel certain, marm," said Zene, "but it come like it was +from that way through the woods." + +Grandma Padgett stretched her neck out of the carriage toward the +right. + +"Is that a sled track?" she inquired. "It's gittin' so dim I can't +see.". + +Zene said there was a sled track, pointing out what looked like a +double footpath with a growth of grass and shrubs along the centre. + +"We'll drive in that way," she at once decided, "and if we get +wedged among the trees, we'll have to get out the best way we can." + +Zene turned the gray and white, and led on this new march. Hickory +and Henry, backed from the creek without being allowed to dip their +mouths, reluctantly thumped the sled track with their shoes, and +pretended to distrust every tall stump and every glaring sycamore +limb which rose before their sight. Scrubby bushes scraped the bottom +of the carriage bed. Now one front wheel rose high over a chunk, and +the vehicle rolled and creaked. Zene's wagon cover, like a big white +blur, moved steadily in front, and presently Hickory and Henry ran +their noses against it, and seemed to relish the knock which the +carriage-pole gave the feed-box. Zene had halted to listen. + +It was dark in the woods. A rustle could be heard now and then as of +some tiny four-footed creature moving the stiff grass; or a twig cracked. +The frogs in the creek were tuning their bass-viols. A tree-toad rattled +on some unseen trunk, and the whole woods heaved its great lungs in the +steady breathing which it never leaves off, but which becomes a roar +and a wheeze in stormy or winter weather. + +"There isn't anything"--began Grandma Padgett, but between thing and +"here" came the distinct laugh of a child. + +[Illustration: "WHERE'S BOBADAY?"] + +Zene cracked his whip over the gray and the white, and the wagon +rumbled ahead rapidly, jarring against roots, and ends of decayed +logs, turning short in one direction, and dipping through a long +sheltered mud-hole to the very wheel-hubs, brushing against trees and +under low branches until guttural remonstrances were scraped out of +the cover, and finally descending into an abrupt hollow, with the +carriage rattling at its hind wheels. + +Grandma Padgett had been through many experiences, but she felt she +could truly say to her descendants that she never gave up so entirely +for pure joy in her life as when she saw Robert and Corinne sitting +in front of a fire built against a great stump, and talking with a +fat, silly-looking man who leaned against a cart-wheel. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. THE SPROUTING. + + +"Why, Bobaday Padgett," exclaimed aunt Corinne, "if there isn't our +wagon--and Ma Padgett." + +Both children came running to the carriage steps, and their guardian +got down, trembling. She put her arms around them, and after a silent +hug, shook one in each hand. + +The fire illuminated wagon and carriage, J. D. Matthew's cart, and +the logs and bushes surrounding them. It flickered on the blue +spectacles and gave Grandma Padgett a piercing expression while she +examined her culprits. + +"Where have you been, while Zene and I hunted up and down in such +distress?" + +"We's going right back to the tavern soon's he could get us there," +Robert hastened to explain. "It's that funny fellow, J. D., Grandma. +But he thought we better go roundabout, so they wouldn't catch us." + +Zene, limping down from his wagon, listened to this lucid statement. + +"O Zene," exclaimed aunt Corinne, "I'm so glad you and Ma Padgett +have come! But we knew you wouldn't go on to Brother Tip's without +us. Bobaday said you'd wait till we got back, and we ran right +straight out of town." + +"You ought to be well sprouted, both of you," said Grandma Padgett, +still trembling as she advanced toward the fire. "Robert Day, break +me a switch; break me a good one, and peel the leaves off. So you +came across this man again, and he persuaded you to run away with +him, did he?" + +J. D. Matthews, who had stood up smiling his widest, now moved +around to the other side of his cart and crouched in alarm. + +Grandma Padgett now saw that the cart was standing level and open, +and within it there appeared a nest of brown curls and one slim, +babyish hand. + +"What's that?" she inquired. + +"Why, don't you see, Grandma?" exclaimed Robert, "that's Fairy +Carrie that we ran away with. They made her sing at the show. We just +went in a minute to see the pig-headed man. I had my gold dollar. And +she felt so awful. And we saw her behind the tent." + +"She cried, Ma Padgett," burst in aunt Corinne, "like her heart was +broke, and she couldn't talk at all. Then they were coming out to +make her go in again, and we said didn't she want to go to you? You +wouldn't let her live with a pig-headed man and have to sing. And she +wanted to go, so they came out. And we took hold of her hands and +ran. And they chased us. And we couldn't go to the tavern 'cause they +chased us the other way: it got dark, and when Bobaday hid us under a +house, they chased past us, and we waited, oh! the longest time." + +"And then," continued Robert, "when we came out, we didn't know +which way to go to the tavern, but started roundabout, through fields +and over fences, and all, so the show people wouldn't see us. Aunt +Corinne was scared. And we stumbled over cows, and dogs barked at us. +But we went on till after 'while just as we's slippin' up a back +street we met J. D. and the cart, and he was so good! He put the poor +little girl in the cart and pushed her. She was so weak she fell down +every little bit when we's runnin'. Aunt Corinne and me had to nearly +carry her." + +"Well, why didn't he bring you back to the tavern?" + +"Grandma, if he had, the show people would been sure to get her! We +thought they'd travel on this morning. And we were so tired! He took +us to a cabin house, and the woman was real good. The man was real +good, too. They had lots of dogs. We got our breakfast and stayed all +night. They knew we'd strayed off, but they said J. D. would get us +back safe. I gave them the rest of my dollar. Then this morning we +all started to town, but J. D. had to go away down the road first, +for some eggs and things. And it took us so long we only got this far +when it came dusk." + +"J. D. took good care of us," said aunt Corinne. "Everybody knows +him, and he is so funny. The folks say he travels along the pike all +through Indiana and Ohio." + +"Well, I'm obliged to him," said Grandma Padgett, still severely; +"we owe him, too, for a good supper and breakfast he gave us the +other time we saw him. But I can't make out how he can foot it faster +than we can ride, and so git into this State ahead of us." + +Mr. Matthews now came forward, and straightening his bear-like +figure, proceeded to smile without apprehension. He cleared his voice +and chanted: + + Sometimes I take the wings of steam, + And on the cars my cart I wheel. + And so I came to Richmond town + Two days ago in fair renown. + +"Oh," said Grandma Padgett. + +"What's that he's givin' out, marm?" inquired Zene. + +"It's a way he has," she explained. "He talks in verses. This is the +pedler that stayed over in that old house with us, near by the Dutch +landlord and the deep creek. Were you going to camp here all night?" +she inquired of J. D. + +"We wanted him to," coaxed aunt Corinne, "my feet ached so bad. Then +we could walk right into town in the morning, and he'd hide Fairy +Carrie in his cart till we got to the tavern." + +"Zene," said Grandma Padgett, "you might as well take out the horses +and feed them. They haven't had much chance to-day." + +"Will we stay here, marm?" + +"I'll see," said Grandma Padgett. "Anyhow, I can't stand it in the +carriage again right away." + +"Let's camp here," urged Robert. "J. D.'s got chicken all dressed to +broil on the coals, and lots of good things to eat." + +"He wouldn't have any money the last time, and I can't have such +doings again. I'm hungry, for I haven't enjoyed a meal since +yesterday. Mister, see here," said Grandma Padgett, approaching the +cart. + +J. D. moved backwards as she came as if pushed by an invisible pole +carried in the brisk grandmother's hands. + +"Stand still, do," she urged, laying a bank bill on his cart. She, +snapped her steel purse shut again, put it in her dress pocket, and +indicated the bill with one finger. "I don't lay this here for your +kindness to the children, you understand. You've got feelings, and +know I'm more than obliged. But here are a lot of us, and you buy +your provisions, so if you'll let us pay you for some, we'll eat and +be thankful. Take the money and put it away." + +Thus commanded, J. D. returned cautiously to the other side of the +cart, took the money and thrust it into his vest pocket without +looking at it. He then smiled again at Grandma Padgett, as if the +thought of propitiating her was uppermost in his mind. + +"Now go on with your chicken-broiling," she concluded, and he went +on with it, keeping at a distance from her while she stood by the +cart or when she sat down on a log by the fire. + +"Here's your stick, Grandma," said Robert Day, offering her a limb +of paw paw, stripped of all its leaves. + +Grandma Padgett took it in her hands, reduced its length and tried +its limberness. + +"If I had given my family such trouble when I's your age," she said +to Corinne and Robert, "I should have been sprouted as I deserved." + +They listened respectfully. + +"Folks didn't allow their children to run wild then. They whipped +them and kept them in bounds. I remember once father whipped brother +Thomas for telling a falsehood, and made welts on his body." + +Corinne and Robert had heard this tale before, but their +countenances, put on a piteous expression. + +"You ought to have a sprouting," concluded their guardian as if she +did not know how to compromise with her conscience, "but since you +meant to do a good turn instead of a bad one"-- + +"Oh, we never intended to run away, Grandma, and worry you so," +insisted Robert. + +"We's just sorry for the little girl," murmured aunt Corinne.--"Why, +I'll let it pass this time. Only never let me know you to do such a +thing again." The paw paw sprout fell to the ground, unwarped by use. +Corinne and Robert were hearty in promising never to run away with +Fairy Carrie or any other party again. + +This serious business completed, the grandmother turned her +attention to the child in the cart. + +"How sound asleep the little thing is," she observed, smoothing +Fairy Carrie's cheek from dark eye-circle to chin, "and her flesh so +cold!" + +"She's just slept that way ever since J. D. put her in his cart!" +exclaimed aunt Corinne. "We made her open her eyes and take some +breakfast in her mouth, but she went to sleep again while she's +eatin'." + +"And we let her sleep ever since," added Bobaday. "It didn't make a +bit of difference whether the cart went jolt-erty-jolt over stones or +run smooth in the dust. And we shaded her face with bushes." + +"She's not well," said their experienced elder. "The poor little +thing may have some catching disease! It's a pretty face. I wonder +whose child she is? You oughtn't to set up your judgment and carry a +little child off with you from her friends. I hardly know what we'll +do about it." + +"Oh, but they wern't her friends, Ma Padgett," asserted aunt Corinne +solemnly. "She isn't the pig-headed man's little girl. Nor any of +them ain't her folks. Bobaday thinks they stole her away." + +"If she'd only wake up and talk," said Robert, "maybe she could tell +us where she lives. But she was afraid of the show people." + +"I should think that was likely," said Grandma Padgett. + +In the heat of his sympathy, he confided to his grandmother what he +had seen of the darkened wagon the night they met the Virginians at +the large camp. + +The paw paw stick had been laid upon the fire. It blackened +frowningly. But Robert and Corinne had known many an apple sprout to +preach them such a discourse as it had done, without enforcing the +subject matter more heavily. + +Grandma Padgett reported that she had searched for her missing +family in the show tent, though she could not see why any sensible +boy or girl would want to enter such a place. And it was clear to her +the child might be afraid of such creatures, and very probable that +she did not belong to them by ties of blood. But they might prove her +lawful guardians and cause a small moving party a great deal of +trouble. "But we won't let them find her again," said aunt Corinne. +"Ma, mayn't I keep her for my little sister?--and Bobaday would like +to have another aunt." + +"Then we'd be stealing her," said Grandma Padgett. "If she's a lost +child she ought to be restored to her people, and travelling along +the 'pike we can't keep the showmen from finding her." + +Bobaday and Corinne gazed pensively at the stump fire, wondering how +grown folks always saw the difficulties in doing what you want to do. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE MINSTREL. + + +J. D. Matthews spread his supper upon a log. He had delicacies which +created a very cheerful feeling in the party, such as always rises +around the thanksgiving board. + +Zene sat at one side of the log by J. D. Matthews. Opposite them the +grandmother and her children, camped on chunks covered with shawls +and horse-blankets Seeing what an accomplished cook this singular +pedler was, how much at home he appeared in the woods, and what a +museum he could make of his cart, Zene respectfully kept from +laughing at him, except in an indulgent way as the children did. + +"I guess we'll stay just where we are until morning," said Grandma +Padgett. "The night's pleasant and warm, and there are just as few +mosquitoes here as in the tavern. I didn't sleep last night." She +felt stimulated by the tea, and sufficiently recovered from the +languor which follows extreme anxiety, to linger up watching the +fire, allowing the children to linger also, while J. D. Matthews put +his cupboard to rights after supper. + +It was funny to see his fat hands dabbling in dishwater; he laughed +as much about--it as aunt Corinne did. + +Grandma Padgett removed the sleeping child from his cart, and after +trying vainly to make her eat or arouse herself, put her in the bed +in the tent, attired in one of aunt Corinne's gowns. + +"She was just as helpless as a young baby," said Grandma Padgett, +sitting down again by the fire. "I'll have a doctor look at that +child when we go through Richmond. She acts like she'd been drugged." + +J. D. Matthews having finished--his dishwashing, sat down in the +shadow some distance from the outspoken woman in spectacles, and her +family. + +"Now come up here," urged aunt Corinne, "and sing it all over--what +you was singing before Ma Padgett came." + +J. D. ducked his head and chuckled, but remained in his shadow. + +"Awh-come on," urged Robert Day "Zene'll sing 'Barb'ry Allen' if +you'll sing your song again." + +Zene glanced uneasily at Grandma Padgett, and said he must look at +the horses. "Barb'ry Allen" was a ballad he had indulged the children +with when at a distance from her ears. + +But the tea and the hour, and her Virginia memories through which +that old sing-song ran like the murmur of bees, made Grandma Padgett +propitious, and she laid her gracious commands on Zene first, and J. +D. Matthews afterwards. So that not only "Barb'ry Allen" was sung, +but J. D.'s ditty, into which he plunged with nasal twanging and much +personal enjoyment. + +"It's why he didn't ever get married," explained aunt Corinne, +constituting herself prologue. + +"I should think he needn't make any excuses for that," remarked +Grandma Padgett, smiling. + +J. D. sawed back and forth on a log, his silly face rosy with +pleasure over the tale of his own woes: + + O, I went to a friend's house, + The friend says "Come in. + Take a hot cup of coffee, + O where have you been?" + + It's down to the Squi-er's + With a license I went, + And my good Sunday clothes on, + To marry intent. + + "O where is the lady?" + The good Squi-er, says he. + "O she's gone with a wed'wer + That is not poor J. D." + + "It's now you surprise me," + The friend says a-sigh'n, + "J. D. Matthews not married, + The sun will not shine!" + +"Well, I think she was simple!" exclaimed aunt Corinne in epilogue, +"when she might have had a man that washed the dishes and talked +poetry all the time." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. THE HOUSE WITH LOG STEPS. + + +Richmond must soon have seemed far behind Grandma Padgett's little +caravan, had not Fairy Carrie still drowsed in the carriage, keeping +the Richmond adventures always present. + +They had parted from J. D. Matthews and the Virginian and his troop. +Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen were somewhere on the road ahead, but at a +point unknown to Robert and Corinne. They might turn off towards the +southwest if all the emigrants agreed to forsake the St. Louis route. +No one could tell where J. D. might be rattling his cart. + +The afternoon which finally placed Richmond in diminishing +perspective, Robert rode with Zene and lived his campaign over again. +This was partly necessary because little Carrie lay on the back +carriage-seat. But it was entirely agreeable, for Zene wanted to know +all the particulars, and showed a flattering, not to say a +stimulating anxiety to get a good straight look at Bobaday's prowess +in rescuing the distressed. Said Zene: + +"But what if her folks never turn up?" + +"Then my pa will take her to live with us," said Robert Day, "and +Grandma Padgett will do by her just as she does by aunt Krin and me. +She isn't a very lively little girl. I'd hate to play Blind Man with +her to be blinded; for seems as if she'd just stand against the wall +and go to sleep. But it'll be a good thing to have one still child +about the house: aunt Corinne fidgets so. I believe, though, her +folks are hunting her. Look what a fuss there was about us I When +people's children get lost or stolen, they hunt and hunt, and don't +give it up." + +In the carriage, aunt Corinne sitting by her mother, turned her head +at every fifth revolution of the wheels, to see how the strange +little girl fared. + +"Do you s'pose she will ever be clear awake, Ma Padgett?" inquired, +aunt Corinne. + +"She'll drowse it off by and by," replied Ma Padgett. "The rubbing I +give her this morning, and the stuff the Richmond doctor made her +swallow, will bring her out right." + +"She's so pretty," mused aunt Corinne. "I'd like to have her hair if +she never wanted it any more." + +"That's a covetous spirit. But it puts me in mind," said Grandma +Padgett, smiling, "of my sister Adeline and the way she took to get +doll's hair." + +Aunt Corinne had often heard of sister Adeline and the doll's hair, +but she was glad to hear the brief tale told again in the pleasant +drowsing afternoon. + +The Indiana landscape was beautiful in tones of green and stretches +of foliage. Whoever calls it monotonous has never watched its varying +complexions or the visible breath of Indian summer which never +departs from it at any season. + +"Mother came in from meeting one day," said Grandma Padgett, "and +went into her bedroom and threw her shawl on the bed. She had company +to dinner and was in a hurry. It was a fine silk shawl with fringe +longer than my hand. Uncle Henry brought it over the mountains as a +present. But Adeline come in and saw the fringe and thought what nice +doll hair it would make. So by and by mother has an errand in the +bedroom, and she sees her shawl travelling down behind the bed, and +doesn't know what to think. Then she hears something snip, snip, and +lifts up the valance and looks under the bed, and there sets Adeline +cutting the fringe off her shawl! She had it half cut off." + +"And what did Grandma do then?" aunt Corinne omitted not to ask. + +"Oh, she punished Adeline. But that never had any effect on her. +Adeline was a funny child," said Grandma Padgett, retrospective +tenderness showing through her blue glasses. "I remember once she got +to eatin' brown paper, and mother told her it would kill her if she +didn't quit it. Adeline--made up her mind she was going to eat brown +paper if it did kill her. She never doubted that it would come true +as mother said. But she prepared to die, and made her will and +divided her things. Mother found it out and put a stop to the +business. I remember," said Grandma Padgett, laughing, "that I was +disappointed, because I had to give back what she willed to me! yet I +didn't want Adeline to die. She was a lively child. She jumped out of +windows and tom-boyed around, but everybody liked her. Once I had +some candy and divided fair enough, I thought, but Adeline after she +ate up what she had, said I'd be sorry if I didn't give her more, +because she was going, to die. It worked so well on my feelings that +next time I tried that plan on Adeline's feelings, and told her if +she didn't do something I wanted her to do _she'd_ be sorry; for +I was going to die. She said she knew it; everybody was going to die +some day, and she couldn't help it and wasn't going to be sorry for +any such thing! Poor Adeline: many a year she's been gone, and I'm +movin' further away from the old home." + +Grandma Padgett lifted the lines and slapped them on the backs of +old Hickory and Henry. Rousing themselves from coltish recollections +of their own, perhaps, the horses began to trot. + +[Illustration: THE LAWYER.] + +In Indiana, some reaches of the 'pike were built on planks instead +of broken stone, and gave out a hollow rumble instead of a flinty +roar. The shape and firmness of the road-bed were the same, but the +ends of boards sometimes cropped out along the sides. In this day, +branches of the old national thoroughfare penetrate to every part of +the Hoosier State. The people build 'pikes instead of what are called +dirt roads. There are, of course, many muddy lanes and by-ways. But +they have some of the best drives which have been lifted out of the +Mississippi Valley. + +Though the small caravan had lost time, and Son Tip might be waiting +at the Illinois line before they reached that point, Grandma Padgett +said they would all go to morning meeting in the town where they +stopped Saturday night, and only drive a short piece on Sunday +afternoon. She hated to be on expense, but they had much to return +thanks for; and the Israelites made Sabbath day's journeys when they +were moving. + +The first Sunday--which seemed so remote now--had been partially +spent in a grove where they camped for dinner, and Grandma Padgett +read the Bible, and made Bobaday and Corinne answer their catechism. +But this June Sunday was to be of a thanksgiving character. And they +spent it in Greenfield. + +At Cambridge City little Carrie roused sufficiently to eat with +evident relish. But no such recollection of Dublin, Jamestown called +Jimtown for short, by some inhabitants, and only distinguished by its +location from another Jamestown in the State---Knightstown and +Charlottesville, remained to her as remained to Bobaday and Corinne. +The Indiana village did not differ greatly from the Ohio village +situated on the 'pike. There were always the church with a bonny +little belfry, and the schoolhouse more or less mutilated as to its +weather boarding. The 'pike was the principal street, and such houses +as sat at right angles to it, looked lonesome, and the dirt roads +weedy or dusty. + +Greenfield was a country seat and had a court house surrounded by +trees. It looked long and straggling in the summer dusk. Zene, riding +ahead to secure lodgings, came back as far as the culvert to tell +Grandma Padgett there was no room at the tavern Court, was session, +and the lawyers on the circuit filled the house. But there was +another place, near where they now halted, that sometimes took in +travellers for accommodation's sake. He pointed it out, a roomy +building with a broad flight of leg steps leading up to the front +doors. Zene said it was not a tavern, but rather nicer than a tavern. +He had already prevailed on the man and woman keeping it to take in +his party. + +Robert and aunt Corinne scampered up the log steps and Grandma +Padgett led Fairy Carrie; after them. A plain tidy woman met them at +the door and took them into a square room. There were the homemade +carpet, the centre-table with daguerreotypes standing open and +glaring such light as they had yet to reflect, samplers and colored +prints upon the walls, but there was also a strange man busy with +some papers at the table. + +His hat stood beside him on the floor, and he dropped the sorted +papers into it. He was, as Grandma Padgett supposed, one of the +lawyers on the circuit. After looking up, he kept on sorting and +folding his papers. + +The woman went out to continue her supper-getting. In a remote part +of the house bacon could be heard hissing over the fire. Robert and +Corinne sat upright on black chairs, but their guardian put Carrie on +a padded lounge. + +The little creature was dressed in aunt Corinne's clothing, giving it +a graceful shape in spite of the broad tucks in sleeve, skirt and +pantalet, which kept it from draggling over her hands or on the floor, +She leaned against the wall, gazing around her with half-awakened +interest. The dark circles were still about her eyes, but her pallor +was flushed with a warmer color, Grandma Padgett pushed the damp +curls off her forehead. + +"Are you hungry, Sissy?" she inquired. + +"No, ma'am," replied Carrie. "Yes, ma'am," she added, after a +moment's reflection. + +"She actually doesn't know," said Bobaday, sitting down on the +lounge near Carrie. Upon this, aunt Corinne forsook her own black +chair and sat on the other side of their charge. + +"Do you begin to remember, now?" inquired Robert Day, smoothing the +listless hands on Carrie's lap. + +"How we run off with you--you know," prompted aunt Corinne, dressing +a curl over her finger. + +The child looked at each of them, smiling. + +"Don't pester her," said Grandma Padgett, taking some work out of +her dress pocket and settling herself by a window to make use of the +last primrose light in the sky. + +"If we don't begin to make her talk, she'll forget how," exclaimed +aunt Corinne. "Can't you 'member anything about your father and mother +now, Carrie?" + +[Illustration: THE "YOUNG MAN WHO SOLD TICKETS" APPEARS AT THE DOOR.] + +The man who was sorting his papers at the table, turned an attentive +eye and ear toward the children. But neither Bobaday nor Corinne +considered that he broke up the family privacy. They scarcely noticed +him. + +"Grandma," murmured Carrie vaguely, turning her eyes toward their +guardian by the window. + +"Yes, that's Grandma," said Bobaday. "But don't you know where your +own pa and ma are?" + +"Papa," whispered Carrie, like a baby trying the words. "Mamma. +Papa--mamma." + +"Yes, dear," exclaimed aunt Corinne. "Where do they live? She's big +enough to know that if she knows anything." + +"Let's get her to sing a song," suggested Bobaday. "If she can +remember a song, she can remember what happened before they made her +sing." + +"That papa?" said Carrie, looking at the stranger by the table. + +"No," returned aunt Corinne, deigning a glance his way. "That's only +a gentleman goin' to eat supper here. Sing, Carrie. Now, Bobaday +Padgett," warned aunt Corinne, shooting her whisper behind the curled +head, "don't you go and scare her by sayin' anything about that pig-man." + +"Don't you scare her yourself," returned Robert with a touch of +indignation. "You've got her eyes to stickin' out now. Sing a pretty +tune, Carrie. Come on, now." + +The docile child slid off the lounge and stood against it, piping +directly one of her songs. Yet while her trembling treble arose, she +had a troubled expression, and twisted her fingers about each other. + +In an instant this expression became one of helpless terror. She +crowded back against the lounge and tried to hide herself behind +Bobaday and Corinne. + +They looked toward the door, and saw standing there the young man +who sold tickets at the entrance of the pig-headed individual's show. +His hands were in his pockets, but he appeared ready to intone forth: + +"Walk right in, ladies and gentlemen, and hear Fairy Carrie, the +child vocalist!" And the smoky torch was not needed to reveal his +satisfaction in standing just where he did. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. "COME TO MAMMA!" + + +Though the dissipated looking young man only stood at the door a +moment, and then walked out on the log steps at a sauntering pace, he +left dismay behind him. Aunt Corinne flew to her mother, imploring +that Carrie be hid. Robert Day stood up before the child, frowning +and shaking his head. + +"All the pig-headed folks will be after her," exclaimed aunt +Corinne. "They'll come right into this room so soon as that fellow +tells them. Le's run out the back way, Ma Padgett!" + +Grandma Padgett, who had been giving the full strength of her +spectacles to the failing light and her knitting, beheld this +excitement with disapproval. + +"You'll have my needles out," she objected. "What pig-headed folks +are after what? Robert, have you hurt Sissy?" + +"Why, Grandma Padgett, didn't you see the doorkeeper looking into +the room?" + +"Some person just looked in--person they appear to object to," said +the strange man, giving keen attention to what was going forward. +"Are these your own children, ma'am?" + +Grandma Padgett rolled up her knitting, and tipped her head slightly +back to bring the stranger well under her view. + +"This girl and the boy belong to my family," she replied. + +"But whose is the little girl on the lounge?" + +"I don't know," replied Grandma Padgett, somewhat despondently. "I +wish I did. She's a child that seems to be lost from her friends." + +"But you can't take her away and give her to the show people again," +exclaimed aunt Corinne, turning on this stranger with nervous +defiance. "She's more ours than she is yours, and that ugly man +scared her so she couldn't do anything but cry or go to sleep. If +brother Tip was here he wouldn't let them have her." + +"That man that just went out, is a showman," explained Robert Day, +relying somewhat on the stranger for aid and re-inforcement. "She was +in the show that he tended door for. They were awful people. Aunt +Krin and I slipped her off with us." + +"That's kidnapping. Stealing, you know," commented the stranger. + +"_They'd_ stolen her," declared Bobaday. + +"How do you know?" + +"Look how 'fraid she was! I peeped into their wagon in the woods, +and as soon as she opened her eyes and saw the man with the pig's +head, she began to scream, and they smothered her up." + +Grandma Padgett was now sitting on the lounge with Carrie lifted +into her lap. Her voice was steady, but rather sharp. "This child's +in a fit! Robert Day, run to the woman of the house and tell her to +bring hot water as soon as she can." + +During the confusion which followed, and while Carrie was partially +undressed, rubbed, dipped, and dosed between her set teeth, the +stranger himself went out to the log steps and stood looking from one +end of the street to the other. The dissipated young man appeared +nowhere in the twilight. + +Returning, the lawyer found Grandma Padgett holding her patient +wrapped in shawls. The landlady stood by, much concerned, and talking +about a great many remedies beside such as she held in her hands. +Aunt Corinne and Robert Day maintained the attitude of guards, one on +each side of the door. + +Carrie was not only conscious again, but wide awake and tingling +through all her little body. Her eyes had a different expression. +They saw everything, from the candle the landlady held over her, to +the stranger entering: they searched the walls piteously, and passed +the faces of Bobaday and aunt Corinne as if they by no means +recognized these larger children. + +"I want my mamma!" she wailed. Tears ran down her face and Grandma +Padgett wiped them away. But Carrie resisted her hand. + +"Go away!" she exclaimed. "You aren't my mamma!" + +"Poor little love!" sighed the landlady, who had picked up some +information about the child. + +"And you aren't my mamma!" resented Carrie. "I want my mamma to come +to her little Rose." + +"Says her name's Rose," said Grandma Padgett, exchanging a flare of +her glasses for a startled look from the landlady. + +"She says her name's Rose," repeated the landlady, turning to the +lawyer as a general public who ought to be informed. Robert and +Corinne began to hover between the door and the lounge, vigilant at +both extremes of their beat. + +"Rose," repeated the lawyer, bending forward to inspect the child. +"Rose what? Have you any other name, my little girl?" + +"I not your little girl," wept their excited patient. "I'm my +mamma's little girl. Go away! you're an ugly papa." + +Bobaday and Corinne chuckled at this accusation. Aunt Corinne could +not bring herself to regard the lawyer as an ally. If he wished to +play a proper part he should have gone out and driven the doorkeeper +and all the rest of those show-people from Greenfield. Instead of +that, he stood about, listening. + +"I haven't even seen such people," murmured the landlady in reply to +a whispered question from Grandma Padgett. "There was a young man +came in to ask if we had more room, but I didn't like his looks and +told him no, we had no more. Court-times we can fill our house if we +want to. But I'm always particular. We don't take shows at all. The +shows that come through here are often rough. There was a magic-lantern +man we let put up with us. But circuses and such things can go to +the regular tavern, says I. And if the regular tavern can't accommodate +them, it's only twenty mile to Injunop'lis." + +"I was afraid they might have got into the house," said Grandma +Padgett. "And I wouldn't know what to do. I couldn't give her up to +them again, when the bare sight throws her into spasms, unless I was +made to do it." + +"You couldn't prove any right to her," observed the lawyer. + +"No, I couldn't," replied Grandma Padgett, expressing some injury in +her tone. "But on that account ought I to let her go to them that +would mistreat her?" + +"She may be their child," said the lawyer. "People have been known +to maltreat their children before. You only infer that they stole her." + +Aunt Corinne told her nephew in a slightly guarded whisper, that she +never had seen such a mean man as that one was. + +"They ought to prove it before they get her, then," said Grandma +Padgett. + +"Yes," he assented. "They ought to prove it." + +"And they must be right here in the place," she continued. "I'm +afraid I'll have trouble with them." + +"We could go on to-night," exclaimed Robert Day. "We could go on to +Indianapolis, and that's where the governor lives, Zene says; and +when we told the governor, he'd put the pig-headed folks in jail." +Small notice being taken of this suggestion by the elders, Robert and +Corinne bobbed their heads in unison and discussed it in whispers +together. + +The woman of the house locked up that part which let out upon the +log steps, before she conducted her guests to supper. She was a +partisan of Grandma Padgett's. + +At table the brown-eyed child whom Grandma Padgett still held upon +her lap, refused food and continued to demand her mother. She leaned +against the old lady's shoulder seeing every crack in the walls, +every dish upon the cloth, the lawyer who sat opposite, and the +concerned faces of Bobaday and Corinne. Supper was too good to be +slighted, in spite of Carrie's dangerous position. The man of the +house was a Quaker, and while his wife stood up to wait on the table, +he repeatedly asked her in a thee-and-thou language highly edifying +to aunt Corinne, for certain pickles and jams and stuffed mangoes; +and as she brought them one after the other, he helped the children +plentifully, twinkling his eyes at them. He was a delicious old +fellow; as good in his way as the jams. + +"And won't thee have some-in a sasser?" he inquired tenderly of +Carrie, "and set up and feed thyself? Thee ought to give thy grandame +a chance to eat her bite--don't thee be a selfish little dear." + +"I want my mamma," responded Carrie, at once taking this twinkle-eyed +childless father into her confidence. "I'm waiting for my mamma. When +she comes she'll give me my supper and put me to bed." + +"Thee's a big enough girl to wait ort thyself," said the Quaker, not +understanding the signs his wife made to him. + +"She doesn't live at your house," pursued the child. "She lives at +papa's house." + +"Where is papa's house?" inquired the lawyer helping himself to +bread as if that were the chief object of his thoughts. + +"It's away off. Away over the woods." + +"And what's papa's name?" + +Carrie appeared to consider the questioner rather than the question, +and for some unexpressed reason, remained silent. + +"Mother," said the Quaker from the abundant goodness of his heart, +"doesn't thee mind that damson p'serve thee never let's me have +unless I take the ag'y and shake for it? Some of that would limber a +little girl's tongue, doesn't thee think?" + +"It's in the far pantry on a high shelf," said the woman of the +house, demurring slightly. + +"I can reach it down." + +"No, I'll bring it myself. The jars are too crowded on that shelf +for a man's hands to be turned loose among 'em." + +The Quaker smiled, sparkling considerably under his gray eyebrows +while his wife took another light and went after the damson +preserve. She had been gone but a moment when knocking began at the +front door, and the Quaker rose at once from his place to answer it. + +[Illustration: "COME TO MAMMA."] + +Robert Day and Corinne looked at each other in apprehension. They +pictured a fearful procession coming in. Even their guardian gave an +anxious start. She parted her lips to beg the Quaker not to admit any +one, but the request was absurd. + +Their innocent host piloted straight to the dining-room a woman whom +Robert and Corinne knew directly. They had seen her in the show, and +recalled her appearance many a time afterwards when speculating about +Carrie's parents. + +"Here you are!" she exclaimed to the child in a high key. "My poor +little pet! Come to mamma!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. FAIRY CARRIE DEPARTS. + + +Neither William Sebastian, the Quaker landlord, nor his wife, +returning with the damson preserves in her hand--not even Grandma +Padgett and her family, looked at Fairy Carrie more anxiously than +the lawyer. + +"Is this your mother, Sissy?" inquired Grandma Padgett. + +"No," replied the child; A blank, stupid expression replacing her +excitement. "Yes. Mamma?" + +The woman sat down and took Carrie upon her lap, twisting her curls +and caressing her. + +"Where have you been, frightening us all to death!" she exclaimed. +"The child is sick; she must have some drugs to quiet her." + +"She's just come out of a spasm," said Grandma Padgett distantly. +"Seems as if a young man scared her." + +"Yes; that was Jarvey," said the woman. "'E found her here. Carrie +was always afraid of Jarvey after he-tried to teach her wire-walking, +and let her fall. Jarvey would've fetched her right away with him, +But 'e knows I don't like to 'ave 'im meddle with her now." + +"She says her name's Rose," observed the wife of William Sebastian, +taking no care to veil her suspicion. + +"'Tis Rose," replied the woman indifferently, passing her hand in +repeated strokes down the child's face as it was pressed to her +shoulder. "The h'other's professional--Fairy Carrie. We started +'igher. I never expected to come down with my child to such a +miserable little combination. But we've 'ad misfortunes. Her father +died coming over. We're English. We 'ad good engagements in the +Provinces, and sometimes played in London. The manager as fetched us +over, failed to keep his promises, and I had no friends 'ere. I had +to do what I could." + +An actual resemblance to Carrie appeared in the woman's face. She +wiped tears from, the dark rings under her eyes. + +William Sebastian's wife rested her knuckles on the table, still +regarding Carrie's mother with perplexed distrust. + +While returning none of the caresses she received, the child lay +quite docile and submissive. + +"Well," said Grandma Padgett, still distantly "folks bring up their +children different. There's gypsies always live in tents, and I +suppose show-people always expect to travel with shows. I don't know +anything about it. But I do know when that child came to me she'd +been dosed nearly to death with laudanum, or some sleepin' drug, and +didn't really come to her senses till after her spasm." + +The woman cast a piteous expression at her judge. + +"She's so nervous, poor pet! Perhaps I'm in the 'abit of giving her +too much. But she lives in terror of the company we 'ave to associate +with, and I can't see her nerves be racked." + +"Thee ought to stop such wrong doings," pronounced William +Sebastian, laying his palm decidedly on the table. "Set theeself to +some honest work and put the child to school. Her face is a rebuke to +us that likes to feel at peace." + +The woman glanced resentfully at him. + +"The child is gifted," she maintained. "I'm going to make a hartist +of her." + +She smoothed Carrie's wan hands, and, as if noticing her borrowed +clothing for the first time, looked about the room for the tinsel and +gauze. + +[Illustration: THE CHILD LAY QUITE DOCILE AND SUBMISSIVE.] + +"The things she had on her when she come to us," said Grandma +Padgett, "were literally gone to nothing. The children had run so far +and rubbed over fences and sat in the grass. I didn't even think it +was worth while to save the pieces; and I put my least one's clothes +on her for some kind of a covering. + +"It was her concert dress," said the woman, regarding aunt Corinne's +pantalets with some contempt. "I suppose I hought to thank you, but +since she was hinticed away, I can't. When one 'as her feelings +'arrowed up for nearly a week as mine have been 'arrowed, one can't +feel thankful. I will send these 'ere things back by Jarvey. Well, +ladies and gentlemen, let me bid you good evening. The performance +'as already begun and we professionals cannot shirk business." + +"You give an exhibition in Greenfield to-night, do you?" inquired +the lawyer. + +"Yes, sir," replied the woman, standing with Carrie in arms. She had +some difficulty in getting at her pocket, but threw him a handbill. + +Then passing out through the hall, she shut the front door behind her. + +There were two other front doors to the house, though only the +central one was in constant use, being left open in the summer +weather, excepting on occasions such as the present, when William +Sebastian's wife thought it should be locked. One of the other front +doors opened into the sitting-room, but was barred with a tall +bureau. The third let into a square room devoted to the lumber +accumulations of the house. A bar and shelves for decanters remained +there, but these William Sebastian had never permitted to be used +since his name was painted on the sign. + +Mrs. Sebastian felt a desire to confuse the outgoing woman by the +three doors and imprison her in the old store room. + +"I don't think the child's hers," exclaimed Mrs. Sebastian. + +"Thee isn't Solomon," observed the Quaker, twinkling at his wife. +"Thee cannot judge who the true mother may be." + +"She shouldn't got in here if I'd had the keeping of the door," +continued Mrs. Sebastian. "I may not be Solomon, but I think I could +keep the varmints out of my own chicken house." + +Grandma Padgett set her glasses in a perplexed stare at the door. + +"She didn't let us say good-by to Fairy Carrie," exclaimed aunt +Corinne indignantly, "and kept her face hid away all the time so she +couldn't look at us. I'd hate to have such a ma!" + +"She'll whip the poor little thing for running off with us, when she +gets her away," said Robert Day, listening for doleful sounds. + +"Well, what does thee think of this business?" inquired William +Sebastian of the lawyer who was busying himself drawing squares on +the tablecloth with a steel fork. "It ought to come in thy line. Thee +deals with criminals and knows the deceitfulness of our human hearts. +What does thee say to the woman?" + +The lawyer smiled as he laid down his fork, and barely mentioned the +conflicting facts: + +"She took considerable pains to tell something about herself: more +than was necessary. But if they kidnapped the child, they are +dangerously bold and confident in exhibiting and claiming her." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. SUNDAY ON THE ROAD. + + +Aunt Corinne occupied with her mother a huge apartment over the +sitting-room, in which was duplicated the fireplace below. At this +season the fireplace was closed with a black board on which paraded +balloon-skirted women cut out of fashion plates. + +The chimneys were built in two huge stacks at the gable-ends of the +house, outside the weather boarding: a plan the architects of this +day utterly condemn. The outside chimney was, however, as far beyond +the stick-and-clay stacks of the cabin, as our fire-stone flues are +now beyond it. This house with log steps no longer stands as an old +landmark by the 'pike side in Greenfield. But on that June morning it +looked very pleasant, and the locust-trees in front of it made the +air heavy with perfume. There is no flower like the locust for +feeding honey to the sense of smell. Half the bees from William +Sebastian's hives were buzzing overhead, when Bobaday and aunt +Corinne sat down by Zene on the log steps to unload their troubles. +All three were in their Sunday clothes. Zene had even greased his +boots, and looked with satisfaction on the moist surfaces which he +stretched forth to dry in the sun. + +He had not seen Carrie borne away, but he had been to the show +afterwards, and heard her sing one of her songs. He told the children +she acted like she never see a thing before her, and would go dead +asleep if they didn't stick pins in her like they did in a woman he +seen walkin' for money once. Robert was fain to wander aside on the +subject of this walking woman, but aunt Corinne kept to Fairy Carrie, +and made Zene tell every scrap of information he had about her. + +"After I rubbed the horses this mornin'," he proceeded, "I took a +stroll around the burg, and their tent and wagon's gone!" + +"Gone!" exclaimed aunt Corinne. "Clear out of town?" + +Zene said he allowed so. He could show the children where the tent +and wagon stood, and it was bare ground now. He had also discovered +the time-honored circus-ring, where every summer the tinseled host +rode and tumbled. But under the circumstances, a circus-ring had no +charms. + +"Then they've got her," said Bobaday. "We'll never see the pretty +little thing again. If I'd been a man I wouldn't let that woman have +her, like Grandma Padgett did. Grown folks are so funny. I did wish +some grand people would come in the night and say she was their +child, and make the show give her up." + +Aunt Corinne arose to fly to her mother and Mrs. Sebastian with the +news. But the central door opening on the instant and Mrs. Sebastian, +her husband and guest coming out, aunt Corinne had not far to fly. + +"The woman is a stealer," she added to her breathless recital. "She +didn't even send my things back." + +"She's welcome to them," said Grandma Padgett, shaking her head, +"but I feel for that child, whether the rightful owners has her or +not." + +"This is Lord's Day," said William Sebastian to the children, "along +the whole length of the pike, and across the whole breadth of the +country. Thy little friend will get her First Day blessing." + +He wore a gray hat, half-high in the crown, and a gray coat which +flapped his calves when he walked. His trousers were of a cut which +reached nearly to his armpits, but this fact was kept from the public +by a vest crawling well toward his knees. Yet he looked beautifully +tidy and well-dressed. His wife, who was not a Quaker, had by no +means such an air of simple grandeur. + +Grandma Padgett and aunt Corinne, somewhat reluctantly followed by +Zene, were going to the Methodist church. Already its bell was +filling the air. But Robert hung back and asked if he might not go to +Quaker meeting. + +"Thee couldn't sit and meditate," said William Sebastian. + +Bobaday assured William Sebastian he could sit very still, and he +always meditated. When he ran after his grandmother to get her +consent, it occurred to him to find out from Zene how the pig-headed +man was, and if he looked as ugly as ever. But aunt Corinne scorned +the question, and quite flew af him for asking it. + +The Methodist services Robert knew by heart: the open windows, the +high pulpit where the preacher silently knelt first thing, hymn books +rustling cheerfully, the hymn given out two lines at a time to be +sung by the congregation, then the kneeling of everybody and the +prayer, more singing, and the sermon, perhaps followed by an +exhortation, when the preacher talked loud enough for the boys +sitting out on the fence to hear every word. Perhaps a few children +whispered, or a baby cried and its mother took it out. Everybody +seemed happy and astir. After church there was so much handshaking +that the house emptied very slowly. + +But on his return he described the Quaker meeting to aunt Corinne. + +"They all sat and sat," said Bobaday. "It was a little bit of a +house and not half so many folks could get in it as sit in the +corners by the pulpit in Methodist meeting. And they sat and sat, and +nobody said a word or gave out a hymn. The women looked at the cracks +in the floor. You could hear everything outdoors. After a long time +they all got up and shook hands. Mrs. Sebastian said to Mr. Sebastian +when we came away, 'The spirit didn't appear to move anybody this +morning.' And he said, 'No: but it was a blessed meeting.'" + +"Didn't your legs cramp?" inquired aunt Corinne. + +"Yes; and my nose tickled and I wanted to sneeze." + +"But you dursn't move your thumb even. That lawyer that ate supper +here last night would like such a meeting, wouldn't he?" + +The lawyer was coming up the log steps while Robert spoke of him. +And with him was a lady who looked agitated, and whom he had to assist. + +Robert and Corinne, at the open sitting-room window, looked at each +other with quick apprehension. + +"Aunt Krin, _that's_ her mother," said aunt Krin's nephew. His +young relative grasped his arm and exclaimed in an awe-struck whisper: + +"Bobaday Padgett!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. HER MOTHER ARRIVES. + + +Both children regarded the strange lady with breathless interest +when the lawyer seated her in the room. They silently classed her +among the rich, handsome and powerful people of the earth. She had +what in later years they learned to call refinement, but at that date +they could give it no name except niceness. When Grandma Padgett and +the landlord's wife were summoned to the room, she grew even younger +and more elegant in appearance, though her face was anxious and her +eyes were darkened by crying. + +"This is Mrs. Tracy from Baltimore," said the lawyer. "She was in +Chicago yesterday, and I telegraphed for her a half-hour or so before +the child was taken out of the house. She came as far as +Indianapolis, and found no Pan Handle train, this morning, so she was +obliged to get a carriage and drive over. Mrs. Sebastian, will you be +kind enough to set out something for her to eat as soon as you can? +She has not thought of eating since she started. And Mrs.--what did I +understand your name to be?" + +[Illustration: "THIS IS LORD'S DAY," SAID WILLIAM SEBASTIAN.] + +"Padgett," replied the children's guardian. + +"Yes; Mrs. Padgett. Mrs. Padgett, my client is hunting a lost child, +and hearing this little girl was with you some days, she would like +to make some inquiries." + +"But the child's taken clear away!" exclaimed Grandma Padgett. + +"If you drove out from Injunop'lis," said the Quaker's wife, "you +must have met the show-wagon on the 'pike." + +"The show-wagon took to a by-road," observed the lawyer. "We have +men tracking it now." + +"I knew it wasn't right for them to carry off that child," said the +Quaker's wife, "and if I'd tended the door they wouldn't carried her +off." + +"It was best not to arouse their suspicions before she could be +identified," said the lawyer. "It's easy enough to take her when we +know she is the child we want." + +"Maybe so," said the Quaker's wife. + +"Easy enough. The vagabonds can't put themselves beyond arrest +before we can reach them, and on the other hand, they could make a +case against us if we meddle with them unnecessarily. Since Mrs. +Tracy came West a couple of weeks ago, and since she engaged me in +her cause, we have had a dozen wrong parties drawn up for +examination; children of all ages and sizes." + +"Did she," inquired Mrs. Tracy, bringing her chair close to Grandma +Padgett and resting appealing eyes on the blue glasses, "have hair +that curled? Rather long hair for a child of her years." + +"Yes'm," replied Grandma Padgett with dignified tenderness. "Long +for a child about five or six, as I took her to be. But she was +babyish for all that." + +"Yes--oh, yes!" said Mrs. Tracy. + +"And curly. How long since you lost her?" + +The lady from Baltimore sobbed on her handkerchief, but recovered +with a resolute effort, and replied: + +"It was nearly three months ago. She was on the street with her +nurse, and was taken away almost miraculously. We could not find a +trace. Her papa is dead, but I have always kept his memory alive to +her. My friends have helped me search, but it has seemed day after +day as if I could not bear the strain any longer." + +Grandma Padgett took off her glasses and polished them. + +"I know how you feel," she observed, glancing at Robert Day and +Corinne. "I had a scare at Richmond, in this State." + +"Are these your children?" + +"My youngest and my grandson. It was their notion of running away +with the little girl, and their gettin' lost, that put me to such a +worry:" + +Mrs. Tracy extended her hands to Bobaday and aunt Corinne, drawing +one to each side of her, and made the most minute inquiries about +Fairy Carrie. She knew that the child had called herself Rose, and +that she had been in a partially stupified state during her stay with +the little caravan. But when Robert mentioned the dark circles in the +child's face, and her crying behind the tent, the lady turned white +and leaned back, closing her eyes and groping for a small yellow +bottle in her pocket. Having smelled of this, she recovered herself. + +But aunt Corinne, in spite of her passionate sympathy, could barely +keep from tittering at the latter action. Though the smelling bottle +was yellow, instead of a dull blue, like the one Ma Padgett kept in +the top bureau drawer at home, aunt Corinne recognized her enemy and +remembered the time she hunted out that treasure and took a long, +strong, tremendous snuff at it, expecting to revel in odors of +delight. Her head tingled again while she thought about it; she felt +a thousand needles running through her nose, and saw herself sitting +on the floor shedding tears. How anybody could sniff at a hartshorn +bottle and find it a consolation or restorative under any +circumstances, she could not understand. + +Mrs. Sebastian, in her First Day clothes, and unwilling to lose a +word of what was going on in the sitting-room, had left the early +dinner to her assistant. But she brought in a cup of strong tea, and +some cream toast, begging the bereaved mother to stay her stomach +with that until the meal's victuals was ready. Mrs. Tracy appeared to +have forgotten that her stomach needed staying, but she thanked the +landlady and drank the tea as if thirsty, between her further +inquiries about the child. + +"Are you not sure," she asked the lawyer, "that we are on the right +track this time?" + +He said he was not sure, but indications were better than they had +been before. + +"I don't wish to reproach you," said Mrs. Tracy, "but it is a +fearful thought to me, that they may be poisoning my child with +opiates again and injuring her perhaps for life. You might have +detained her." + +"That's what I've said right along," exclaimed Mrs. Sebastian. + +"But there was that woman who pretended to be her rightful mother," +observed Grandma Padget, who, though not obliged to set up any +defence, wanted the case seen in all its bearings. "There _she_ +set, easy and deliberate, telling _her_ story, how the little +thing's father died comin' over the water, and how hard, it was for +her to do the right thing by the child. She maintained she only dosed +the child to keep her from sufferin'. I didn't believe her, but we +had nothing to set up against her." + +Mrs. Tracy became as erect and fierce in aspect as such a delicate +creature could become. The long veil of crape which hung from her +bonnet and swept the floor, emphasizing the blackness of all her +other garments, trembled as she rose. + +"Why am I sitting here and waiting for anything, when that woman is +claiming my child for her own? The idea of anybody's daring to own my +child! It is more cruel than abuse. I never thought of their being +able to teach her to forget me--that they could confuse her mamma +with another person in her mind!" + +"You're tired out," said the lawyer, "and matters are moving just as +rapidly as if you were chasing over all the roads in Hancock County. +You must quiet yourself, ma'am, or you'll break down." + +Mrs. Tracy made apparent effort to quiet herself. She took hold of +Grandma Padgett's arm when they were called out to dinner. Robert +walked on the other side of her, having her hand on his shoulder and +aunt Corinne went behind, carrying the end of the crape veil as if +Fairy Carrie's real mother could thus receive support and consolation +through the back of the head. + +Nobody was more concerned about her trouble than William Sebastian. +And he remembered more tempting pickles and jellies than had ever +been on the table before at once. Yet the dinner was soon over. + +Grandma Padgett said she had intended to go a piece on the road that +afternoon anyhow, but she could not feel easy in her mind to go very +far until the child was found. Virginia folks and Marylanders were +the same as neighbors. If Mrs. Tracy would take a seat in the +carriage, they would make it their business to dally along the road +and meet the word the men out searching were to bring in. Mrs. Tracy +clung to Grandma Padgett's arm as if she knew what a stay the Ohio +neighbors had always found this vigorous old lady. The conveyance +which brought her from Indianapolis had been sent back. She was glad +to be with, the Padgetts. No railroad trains would pass through until +next day. William Sebastian helped her up the carriage steps, and +aunt Corinne set down reverently on the back seat beside her. Zene +was already rumbling ahead with the wagon. Mrs. Sebastian came down +the steps of log and put a hearty lunch in. It was particularly for +the child they hoped to find. + +[Illustration: MRS. TRACY MAKES INQUIRIES.] + +"Make her eat something," she counselled the mother. "She hardly +tasted a bite of supper last night, and according to all accounts, +she ain't in hands that understands feedin' children now." + +"The Lord prosper all thy undertakings," said William Sebastian, +"and don't thee forget to let us know what hour we may begin to +rejoice with thee." + +The lawyer touched his hat as Hickory and Henry stepped away on the +plank 'pike. He remained in Greenfield, and was to ride after them if +any news came in about Fairy Carrie. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. A COUNTRY SUNDAY-SCHOOL. + + +However we may spend our Sabbath, it is different from the other +days of the week. I have often thought the little creatures of field +and woods knew the difference. They run or sing with more gladness +and a less business-like air. The friskiest lambs, measuring strength +with each other by stiff-legged jumps, are followed by gentle bleats +from their mothers, and come back after a frolic to meditate and +switch their tails. The fleecy roll of a lamb's tail, and the dimples +which seem to dint its first coat, the pinkness of its nose, and the +drollery of its eye, are all worth watching under a cloudless Sunday +sky. + +As the carriage and wagon rolled along the 'pike, they met other +vehicles full of people driving for an outing, or going to afternoon +Sunday-school held in schoolhouses along the various by-roads. + +Mrs. Tracy leaned forward every time a buggy passed the wagon, and +scanned its occupants until they turned towards the right to pass +Grandma Padgett. + +The first messenger they met entered on the 'pike from a cross-road +some distance ahead of them, but was checked in his canter toward +Greenfield by Zene, who stopped the wagon for a parley. Mrs. Tracy +was half irritated by such officiousness, and Grandma Padgett herself +intended to call Zene to account, when he left the white and gray and +came limping to the carriage at the rider's side. However, the news +he helped to bring, and the interest he took in it, at once excused +him. This man, scouring the country north and south since early +morning, had heard nothing of the show-wagon. + +It might be somewhere in the woods, or jogging innocently along a +dirt road. It was no longer an object to the searchers. He believed +the woman and child had left it, intending to rejoin it at some +appointed place when all excitement was over. He said he thought he +had the very woman and child back here a piece, though they might +give him the slip before he could bring anybody to certainly identify +them. + +"My little one 'give me the slip'!" exclaimed Mrs. Tracy indignantly. + +The man said his meaning was, she might be slipped off by her keeper. + +"Where have you got them?" inquired Grandma Padgett. + +"He saw 'em goin' into Sunday-school, marm," explained Zene. +"There's a meetin'-house over yonder three or four mile," pointing +with his whip. + +"It's the unlikeliest place that ever was," said the messenger, +polishing his horse's wet neck. "And I suppose that's what the woman +thought when she slipped in there. If I hadn't happened by in the +nick of time I wouldn't mistrusted. She didn't see me. She was goin' +up the steps, with her back to the road, and the meetin'-house sets a +considerable piece from the fence. They was all singin' loud enough +to drown a horse's feet in the dust." + +"And both were like the descriptions you had?" said Mrs. Tracy. + +"So nigh like that I half-pulled up and had a notion to go in and +see for myself. Then, thinks I, you better wait and bring-the ones +that would know for sure. There ain't no harm in that." + +Before the mother could speak again, Grandma Padgett told the man to +turn back and direct them, and Zene to fall behind the carriage with +his load. He could jog leisurely in the wake of the carriage, to +avoid getting separated from it: that would be all he need attempt. +She took up her whip to touch Hickory and Henry. + +After turning off on the by-road, Grandma Padgett heard Zene +leisurely jogging in the wake of the carriage, and remembered for a +moment, with dismay, the number of breakable things in his load. He +drove all the way to the meeting-house with the white and gray +constantly rearing their noses from contact with the hind carriage +curtains; up swells, when the road wound through stump-bordered +sward, and down into sudden gullies, when all his movables clanged +and rumbled, as if protesting against the unusual speed they had to +endure. Zene was as anxious to reach the meeting-house as the man who +cantered ahead. + +They drew up to where it basked on the rising ground, an old brown +frame with lichens crusting the roof. There were two front doors, a +flight of wooden steps leading up to each, and three high windows +along the visible side. All these stood open letting out a pleasant +hum, through which the cracked voice of an old man occasionally +broke. No hump of belfry stood upon its back. The afternoon sun was +the bell which called that neighborhood together for Sunday-school. +And this unconscious duty performed, the afternoon sun now brightened +the graves which crowded to the very fence, brought out the glint and +polish of the new marble headstones, or showed the grooved names in +the old and leaning slate ones. Some graves were enclosed by rails, +and others barely lifted their tops above the long grass. There were +baby-nests hollowing into the turf, and clay-colored piles set head +and foot with fresh boards. And on all these aunt Corinne looked with +an interest which graves never failed to rouse in her, no matter what +the occasion might be. + +[Illustration: THE FIRST MESSENGER.] + +The horses switched their tails along the outside of the fence. One +backed his vehicle as far as his hitching-strap would let him, +against the wheels of another's buggy, that other immediately +responding by a similar movement. Some of them turned their heads and +challenged Hickory and Henry and the saddle-horse with speaking +whinneys. "Whe-hee-hee-hee! You going to be tied up here for the +grass-flies to bite too? Where do you come from, and why don't you +kick your folks for going to afternoon meeting in hot June time?" + +The pilot of the caravan had helped take horse-thieves in his time, +and he considered this a similar excursion. He dismounted swiftly, +but with an air of caution, and as he let down the carriage steps, +said he thought they better surround the house. + +But Mrs. Tracy reached the ground as if she did not see him, and ran +through the open gate with her black draperies flowing in a rush +behind her. Robert Day and aunt Corinne were anxious to follow, and +the man tied Grandma Padgett's horses to a rail fence across the +road, while some protest was made among the fly-bitten row against +the white cover of Zene's moving-wagon. + +Although Bobaday felt excited and eager as he trotted up the grass +path after Mrs. Tracy, the spirit of the country Sunday-school came +out of doors to meet him. + +There were the class of old men and the class of old women in the +corner seats each side of the pulpit, and their lesson was in the Old +Testament. The young ladies listened to the instruction of the smart +young man of the neighborhood, and his sonorous words rolled against +the echoing walls. He usually taught the winter district and singing +schools. The young girl who did for summer schoolmiss, had a class of +rosebud children in the middle of the meetinghouse, and they crowded +to Her lap and crawled up on her shoulders, though their mothers, in +the mothers' class, shook warning heads at them. Scent of cloves, +roses and sweetbrier mingled with the woody smell of a building shut +close six days out of seven. Two rascals in the boys' class, who, +evading their teacher's count, had been down under the seats kicking +each other with stiff new shoes, emerged just as the librarian came +around with a pile of books, ready to fight good-naturedly over the +one with the brightest cover. The boy who got possession would never +read the book, but he could pull it out of his jacket pocket and +tantalize the other boy going home. + +The Sunday-school was a wholesome, happy place, even for these young +heathen who were enjoying their bodies too much to care particularly +about their souls. And when the superintendent stood up to rap the +school to order for the close of the session, and line out one of +Watts's sober hymns, there was a pleasant flutter of getting ready, +and the smart young man of the neighborhood took his tuning-fork from +his vest pocket to hit against his teeth so he could set the tune. He +wore a very short-tailed coat, and had his hair brushed up in a high +roach from his forehead, and these two facts conspired to give him a +brisk and wide awake appearance as he stepped into the aisle holding +a singing book in his hand. + +But no peaceful, long-drawn hymn floated through the windows and +wandered into the woods. The twang of the tuning-fork was drowned by +a succession of cries. The smart young man's eyebrows went up to meet +his roach while he stood in the aisle astonished to see a lady in +trailing black clothes pounce upon a child strange to the +neighborhood, and exclaim over, and cover it with kisses. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. FORWARD. + + +Some of the boys climbed upon seats to look, and there was +confusion. A baby or two in the mothers' class began to cry, but the +mothers themselves soon understood what was taking place, and forgot +the decorum of Sunday-school, to crowd up to Mrs. Tracy. + +"The child is hers," one said to another. "It must have been lost. +Who brought it in here?" + +The fortunate messenger who had been successful in his undertaking, +talked in undertones to the superintendent, telling the whole story +with an air of playing the most important part in it. In return, the +superintendent mentioned the notice he had taken of those two +strangers, his attempt to induce the woman to go to the mothers' +class, her restlessness and the child's lassitude. + +The smart young man stood close by, receiving the correct version of +the affair, and holding his tuning-fork and book behind him; and all +the children, following their elders, flocked to seats around Mrs. +Tracy, gazing over one another's shoulders, until she looked up +abashed at the chaos her excitement had made. + +"It's really your child?" said Grandma Padgett, sitting down beside +the mother with a satisfied and benevolent expression. + +"Oh, indeed, yes! Don't you know mamma, darling?" + +For reply, the little girl was clinging mutely to her mother's neck. +Her curls were damp and her eyes very dark-ringed. But there was +recognition in her face very different from the puzzled and crouching +obedience she had yielded to the one who claimed her before. + +"They've been dosing her again," pronounced Grandma Padgett severely. + +"And she's all beat out tramping, poor little thing!" said one of +the neighborhood mothers. "Look at them dusty feet!" + +Mrs. Tracy gathered the dusty feet into her lap and wiped them with +her lace handkerchief. + +Word went forth to the edge of the crowd that the little girl needed +water to revive her, and half a dozen boys raced to the nearest house +for a tin pailful. + +With love-feast tenderness the neighborhood mothers administered the +dripping cup to little Rose Tracy when the boys returned. Her face +and head were bathed, and hands and feet cooled. The old women all +prescribed for her, and her mother listened to everybody with +distended eyes, but fell into such frequent paroxysms of kissing her +little girl that some of the boys ducked their heads to chuckle. This +extravagant affection was more than they could endure. + +"But where's that woman?" inquired Robert Day. He stood up on the +seat behind his grandmother and Mrs. Tracy, and could see all over +the house, but his eyes roamed unsuccessfully after the English +player. The people having their interest diverted by that question, +turned their heads and began to ask each other where she was. Nobody +had noticed her leave the church, but it was a common thing to be +passing in and out during Sunday school. She had made her escape. +Half the assembly would have pursued her on the instant; she could +not be far away. But Mrs. Tracy begged them to let her go; she did +not want the woman, could not endure the sight of her, and never +wished to hear of her again. Whatever harm was done to her child, was +done. Her child was what she had come in search of, and she had it. + +So the group eager to track a kidnapper across fields and along +fence-corners, calmed their zeal and contented themselves with going +outdoors and betting on what direction the fugitive from punishment +had taken. + +Perhaps she had grown to love little Rose, and was punished in +having to give her up. In any case, the Pig-headed man and the +various people attached to his show, no more appeared on the track +followed by Grandma Padgett's caravan. Mrs. Tracy would not have him +sought out and arrested, and he only remained in the minds of Robert +and aunt Corinne as a type of monster. + +When they left the meeting-house, the weather had changed. People +dismissed from Sunday-school with scanter ceremony than usual, got +into their conveyances to hurry home, for thunder sounded in the +west, and the hot air was already cooled by a rush of wet fragrance +from the advancing rain. + +[Illustration: THEY BADE FAIRY CARRIE GOOD-BY.] + +It proved to be a quick shower, white and violent while it lasted, +making the fields smoke, and walling out distant views. Spouts of +water ran off the carriage top down the oil cloth apron which +protected Robert and his grandmother. Mrs. Tracy held her little girl +in her lap, and leaned back with an expression of perfect happiness. +The rain came just as her comfort had come, after so much parching +suspense. Aunt Corinne wondered in silence if anything could be nicer +than riding under a snug cover on which the sky-streams pelted, +through a wonderland of fragrance. Every grateful shrub and bit of +sod, the pawpaw leaves and spicewood stems, the half-formed hazel-nuts +in fluted sheaths, and even new hay-stacks in the meadows, breathed +out their best to the rain. The world never seems so fresh and lovable +as after a June shower. + +Presently the sun was shining, and the ground-incense steaming with +stronger sweetness, and they came to the wet 'pike stretching like a +russet-colored ribbon east and west, and turned west toward +Indianapolis. + +On the 'pike they met another of the men sent out by Mrs. Tracy and +the lawyer. His horse's coat was smoking. Mrs. Tracy took up a gold +pencil attached to her watch, and wrote a note to the lawyer. She was +going on to the city, and would return directly home with her child. +The note she sent by the men, after thanking them, and paying them in +what Robert and his aunt considered a prodigal and wealthy manner. + +So large a slice out of the afternoon had their trip to the meeting-house +taken, that it was quite dark when the party drove briskly into +Indianapolis. + +It was a little city at that date. Still, Bobaday felt exalted by +clanging car-bells and railroad crossings. It being Sunday evening, +the freights were making up. The main street, called Washington, was +but an extension of the 'pike, stretching broad and straight through +the city. He noticed houses with balconies, set back on sloping +lawns. Here a light disclosed a broad hall with dim stairs at the +back. And in another place children were playing under trees; he +could hear their calls, and by straining his eyes, barely discern +that they wore sumptuous white city raiment. The tide of home-makers +and beautifiers had not then rolled so far north of East Washington +street as to leave it a mere boundary line. + +Grandma Padgett and her party stopped at a tavern on Illinois +street. Late in the night they were to separate, Mrs. Tracy taking +the first train for Baltimore. So aunt Corinne and Robert, before +going to bed, bade good-by to the child who had scarcely been a +playmate to them, but more like a delicate plaything in whose +helplessness they had felt such interest. + +Rose, obeying her mamma, put her arms around their necks and kissed +them, telling them to come and see her at home. She looked brighter +than hitherto, and remembered a dollhouse and her birds at mamma's +house; yet, her long course of opiates left her little recognition of +the boy and girl she had so dimly seen. + +Her mamma hugged them warmly, and Bobaday endured his share of the +hugging with a very good grace, though he was so old. Then it seemed +but a breath until morning, and but another breath until they were +under way, the wagon creaking along the dewy 'pike ahead of them, an +opal clearness growing through the morning twilight, and no Fairy +Carrie asleep, like some tiny enchanted princess, on the back seat. + +"The rest of the way," observed Robert Day to his aunt, "there won't +be anything happening--you see if there will. Zene says we're half +across the State now. And I know we'll never see J. D. Matthews +again. And nobody will be lost and have to be found, and there's no +tellin' where that great big crowd Jonathan and his folks moved with, +are." + +"I feel lonesome," observed aunt Corinne somewhat pensively. "When +Mrs. Tracy was sending back word to the Quaker tavern man, I wished +we's going back to stay awhile longer. Some places are so nice!" + +"Now it's a pretty thing for you to begin at your time of life," +said Grandma Padgett, "to set your faces backward and wish for what's +behind. That's a silly notion. Folks that encourage themselves in +doin' it don't show sound sense. The One that made us knew better +than to let us stand still in our experience, and I've always found +them that go forward cheerfully will pretty generally keep the land +of Beulah right around them. Git up, Hickory!" + +Thus admonished, the children entered the lone bridge over White +River, or that branch of White River on which Indianapolis is +situated. The stream, seen between chinks in the floor, appeared +deep, but not particularly limpid. How the horses' feet thundered on +the boards, and how long they trod before the little star at the +other end grew to an opening quite large enough to let any vehicle +out of the bridge! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. THE TOLL-WOMAN. + + +Still, as crossing the Sciota at Columbus, had been entering a land +of adventure, crossing the White River at Indianapolis, seemed at +first entering a land of commonplace. + +The children were very tired of the wagon. Even aunt Corinne got +permission to ride stretches of the road with Robert Day and Zene in +the wagon. It gave out a different creak and jolted her until she was +grateful for springs and cushions when obliged to go back to them. +The landscape was still hazy, the woods grew more beautiful. But +neither of the children cared for the little towns along the route: +Bellville, Stilesville, Meridian, Manhattan, Pleasant Garden. Hills +appeared and ledges of rock cropped out in them. Yet even hills may +be observed with indifference by eyes weary of an endless panorama. + +They drove more rapidly now to make up for lost time. Both children +dived into the carriage pockets for amusement, and aunt Corinne +dressed her rag doll a number of times each day. They talked of Rose +Tracy, still calling her Fairy Carrie. Of the wonderful clothes her +mother laid out to put upon her the night of her departure, in place +of aunt Corinne's over-grown things, and the show woman's tawdry +additions. They wondered about her home and the colored people who +waited on her, and if she would be quite well and cured of her stupor +by the time she reached Baltimore. Grandma Padgett told them +Baltimore was an old city down in Maryland, and the National 'Pike +started in its main street. From Baltimore over the mountains to +Wheeling, in the Pan Handle of Virginia, was a grand route. There +used to be a great deal of wagoning and stage-coaching, and driving +droves of horses and cattle by that road. Perhaps, suggested aunt +Corinne, Fairy Carrie would watch the 'pike for the Padgett family, +but Bobaday ridiculed the idea. When he grew up a man he meant to go +to Baltimore but the railroad would be his choice of routes. + +Both Robert and his aunt were glad the day they stopped for dinner +near a toll-house, and the woman came and invited them to dine with +her. + +The house stood on the edge of the 'pike, with its gate-pole ready +to be lowered by a rope, looking like any other toll place. But the +woman was very brisk and Yankee-like, and different from the many +slatternly persons who had before taken toll. She said her people +came from "down East," but she herself was born in Ohio. She thought +the old lady would like a cup of strong tea, and her dinner was just +ready, and it did get lonesome eating by a body's self day after day. + +The Padgetts added their store to the square table set in a back +room, and the toll-woman poured her steaming tea into cups covered +with flower sprigs. Everything about her was neat and compact as a +ship's cabin. Her bed stood in one corner, curtained with white +dimity. There were two rooms to the toll-house, the front one being a +kind of shop containing a counter, candy jars set in the windows, +shoestrings and boxes of thread on shelves, and a codfish or two +sprawled upon nails and covered with netting. From the back door you +could descend into a garden, and at the end of the garden was a pig-sty, +occupied by a white pig almost as tidy and precise as his owner. In +the toll-woman's living room there was a cupboard fringed with tissue +paper, a rocking-chair cushioned in red calico, curtains to match, a +cooking-stove so small it seemed made for a play-thing, and yellow +chairs having gold-leaf ornaments on their backs. She herself was a +straight, flat woman, looking much broader in a front or back view +than when she stood sidewise toward you. Her face was very good-natured. +Altogether she seemed just the ready and capable wife for whom the +man went to London after the rats and the mice led him such a life. +Though in her case it is probable the wheelbarrow would not have +broken, nor would any other mishap have marred the journey. + +"You don't live here by yourself, do you?" inquired Grandma Padgett +as the tea and the meal in common warmed an acquaintance which the +fact of their being from one State had readily begun. + +"Since father died I have," replied the toll-woman. "Father moved in +here when about everything else failed him, and he'd lost ambition, +and laws! now I am used to it. I might gone back to Ohio, but when +you fit me into a place I never want to pull up out of it." + +"And don't you ever get afraid, nights or any time, without men +folks about?" + +"Before I got used to being alone, I did. And there's reason yet +every little while. But I only got one bad scare." + +A wagon paused at the front door, so near the horses might have put +their heads in and sniffed up the merchandise, and the woman went to +take toll, before telling about her bad scare. + +"How do you manage in the nights?" inquired her guest. + +"That's bad about fair-times, when the wild young men get to racin' +late along. The pole's been cut when I tied it down, and sometimes +they've tried to jump it. But generally the travellers are peaceable +enough. I've got a box in the front door like a letter-box, with a +slit outside for them to drop change into, and the pole rope pulls +down through the window-frame. There ain't so much travel by night as +there used to be, and a body learns to be wakeful anyhow if they've +ever had the care of sick old people." + +"You didn't say how you got scared," remarked aunt Corinne, sitting +straight in one of the yellow chairs to impress upon her mind the +image of this heroine of the road. + +"Well, it was robbers," confessed the toll-woman, "breakin' into the +house, that scared me." + +Robbers! Aunt Corinne's nephew mentally saw a cavern in one of the +neighboring hills, and men in scarlet cloaks and feathers lurking +among the bushes. If there is any word sweeter to the young male ear +than Indian or Tagger, it is robbers. + +"Are there many robbers around here?" he inquired, fixing intent +eyes on the toll-woman. + +"There used to be plenty of horse-thieves, and is, yet," she replied. +"They've come huntin' them from away over in Illinois. I remember that +year the milk-sick was so bad there was more horse-thieves than we've +ever heard of since." + +"But they ain't true robbers, are they?" said aunt Corinne's nephew +in some disgust, his scarlet bandits paling. + +"Not the kind that come tryin' the house when I got scared," +admitted the toll-woman. + +"And did they get in?" exclaimed Robert Day's aunt. + +"I don't like to think about it yet," remarked the toll-woman, +cooling her tea and intent on enjoying her own story. "'Twasn't so +very long ago, either. First comes word from this direction that a +toll-gate keeper and his wife was tied and robbed at the dead o' +night. And then comes word from the other direction of an old man +bein' knocked on the head when he opened his door. It wouldn't seem +to you there'd be enough money at a toll-gate to make it an object," +said the woman, looking at Zene's cross eyes with unconcealed +disfavor. "But folks of that kind don't want much of an object." + +"They love to rob," suggested Bobaday, enjoying himself. + +"They're a desp'rate, evil set," said the toll-woman sternly. "Why, +I could tell things that would make your hair all stand on end, about +robberies I've known." + +Aunt Corinne felt a warning stir in her scalp-lock. But her nephew began +to desire permanent encampment in the neighborhood of this toll-gate. +Robber-stories which his grandmother not only allowed recited, but +drank in with her tea, were luxuries of the road not to be left behind. + +"Tell some of them," he urged. + +"I'll tell you about their comin' _here_," said the toll-woman. +"'Twas soon after father's death. They must known there was a lone +woman here, and calculated on findin' it an easy job. He'd kept me +awake a good deal, for father suffered constant in his last sickness, +and though I was done out, I still had the habit of wakin' regular at +his medicine-hours. The time was along in the fall, and there was a +high wind that night. Fair time, too, so there was more travel on the +'pike of people comin' and goin' to the Fair and from it, in one day, +than in a whole week ordinary times." + +[Illustration: THE TOLL-WOMAN.] + +"I opened my eyes just as the clock struck two and seemed like I +heard something at the front door. I listened and listened. It wasn't +the wind singin' along the telegraph wires as it does when there's a +strong draught east and west. And it wasn't anybody tryin' to wake me +up. Some of our farmers that buys stock and has to be out early and +late in a droviete way, often tells me beforehand what time o' night +they'll be likely to come by, and I set the pole so it'll be easy for +them that knows how to tip up. Then they put their money in the box, +and tip the pole back after they drive through, to save wakin' me, +for the neighbors are real accommodating and they knew father took a +heap of care. But the noise I heard wasn't anybody droppin' coppers +in the box, nor raisin' or lowerin' the pole. The rope rasps against +the hole when the gate goes up or down. It was just like a lock was +bein' picked, or a rattly old window bein' slid up by inches. + +"I mistrusted right away. It wouldn't do any good for me to holler. +The nearest neighbor was two miles off. I hadn't any gun, and never +shot off a gun in my life. I would hate to hurt a human bein' that +way. Still, I was excited and afraid of gettin' killed myself; so if +I'd _had_ a gun I _might_ have shot it off, for by the time +I got my dress and stockin's on, that window was up, and somethin' +was in that front room. I could hear him step, still as a cat. + +"I thought about the toll-money. Everybody knew the box's inside the +door, so I was far from leavin' it there till the collector came. I +always took the money out and tied it in a canvas sack and hid it. A +body would never think of lookin' where I hid that money." + +"Where did you hide it?" inquired aunt Corinne. + +The toll-woman rose up and went to collect from a carriage at the +door. The merry face of a girl in the carriage peeped through the +house, and some pleasant jokes were exchanged. + +"That's the daughter of the biggest stock man around here," said the +toll-woman, returning, and passing over aunt Corinne's question. "She +goes to college, but it don't make a simpleton of _her_. She always +has a smile and a pleasant word. Her folks are real good friends of +mine. They knew our folks in Ohio." + +"And did he come right in and grab you?" urged Bobaday, keeping to +the main narrative. + +"I was that scared for a minute," resumed the toll-woman, "that I +hadn't any strength. The middle door never is locked. I leave it on +the latch like, so I can hear wheels better. What to do I didn't +know, but a body thinks fast at such times. First thing I knew I was +on the back doorstep, hookin' the door on the outside. Then a gust of +wind like, came around the corner of the house, and voices came with +it, and I felt sure there were more men waitin' there to ketch me, if +I tried to run." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. ROBBERS. + + +It was a light night, but the new moon looked just like it was +blowed through the sky by the high wind. I noticed that, because I +remembered it afterwards. + +"Now I was outside, I didn't know which way to turn. If I run to +either side, there were the men, and if I took toward the pig-pen +they'd see me. And they'd be comin' around and 'd ketch me where I +was." + +"What did you do?" exclaimed aunt Corinne, preserving a rigid +attitude. + +The toll-woman laughed cheerfully as she poured out more tea for +herself, Grandma Padgett having waved back the teapot spout. + +"I took the only chance I saw and jumped for that there cave." + +Both Robert and his aunt arose from their chairs to look out of the +back door. + +The cave was a structure which I believe is peculiar to the West, +being in reality a kind of dug-out. It flourished before people built +substantial houses with cellars under them, and held the same +relation to the family's summer economy as the potato, apple, and +turnip holes did to its winter comfort. Milk, butter, perishable +fruit, lard, meats, and even preserves were kept in the cave. It was +intended for summer coolness and winter warmth. To make a cave, you +lifted the sod and dug out a foot of earth. The bottom was covered +with straw. Over this you made boards meet and brace each other with +the slope of the roof. The ends were boarded up, leaving room for a +door, and the whole outside sodded thickly, so that a cave looked +like a sharp-printed bulge in the sward, excepting at that end where +the heavy padlocked door closed it. It was a temptation to bad boys +and active girls; they always wanted to run over it and hear the +hollow sound of the boards under their feet. I once saw a cave break +through and swallow one out of such a galloping troup, to his great +dismay, for he was running over an imaginary volcano, and when he sat +down to his shoulders in an apple-butter jar, the hot lava seemed +ready made to his hand. + +From the toll-woman's cave-roof, spikes of yellow mustard were +shooting up into the air. The door looked as stout as the opening to +a bank vault, though this comparison did not occur to the children, +and was secure with staple and padlock and three huge hinges. +Evidently, no mischievous feet had cantered over the ridge of this +cave. + +It stood a few yards from the back door. + +"I had the key in my pocket," said the toll-woman, "and ever since +then I've never carried it anywhere else. I clapped, it into the +padlock and turned, but just as I pulled the door I heard feet comin' +around the house full drive. Instead of jumpin' into the cave I +jumped behind it. I thought they had me, but I wasn't goin' to be +crunched to death in a hole, like a mouse. My stocking-feet slipped, +and I came down flat, but right where the shadow of the house and the +shadow of the cave fell all over me. If I hadn't slipped I'd been +runnin' across that field, and they'd seen me sure. Folks around here +made a good deal of fuss over the way things turned out, but I don't, +take any more credit than's my due, so I say it just happened that I +didn't try to run further. + +"The two men outside unlocked the back door and the one inside came +on to the step. + +"'There's nothin' in the box and nobody in here,' says he. 'She's +jumped out o' bed and run and carried the cash with her.' + +"'Did you look under the bed?' says one of the outsiders. And he ran +and looked himself; anyway, he went in the house and came out again. +I was glad I hadn't got under the bed. + +"'This job has to be done quick,' says the first one. 'And the best +way is to ketch the woman and make her give up or tell where the +stuff is hid. She ain't got far, because I heard her open this door.' + +"Then they must have seen the cave door stannin' open. I heard them +say something about 'cave,' and come runnin' up. + +"'Hold on,' says one, and he fires a pistol-shot right into the +cave. I was down with my mouth to the ground, flat as I could lay, +but the sound of a gun always made me holler out, and holler I did as +the ball seemed to come thud! right at me; but it stuck in the back +of the cave. + +"'All right. Here she is!' says the foremost man, and in they all +went. I heard them stumble as they stepped down, and one began to +blame the others for crowdin' after him when they ought to stopped at +the mouth to ketch me if I slipped through his fingers. + +"I don't know to this hour how I did it," exclaimed the toll-woman, +fanning herself, "nor when I thought of it. But the first thing I +felt sure of I had that door slammed to, and the key turned in the +padlock, and them three robbers was ketched like mice in a trap, +instead of it's bein' me!" + +Robert Day gave a chuckle of satisfaction, but aunt Corinne braced +herself against the door-frame and gazed upon the magic cave with +still wider eyes. + +"Did they yell?" inquired Bobaday. + +"It ain't fit to tell," resumed the toll-woman, "what awful language +them men used; and they kicked the door and the boards until I +thought break through they would if they had to heave the whole +weight, of dirt and sod out of the top. Then I heard somebody comin' +along the 'pike, and for a minute I felt real discouraged; for, +thinks I, if there's more engaged to help them, what's a poor body to +do? + +"But 'twas a couple of stock-men, riding home, and they stopped at +the gate, and I run through the open house to tell my story, and it +didn't take long for them with pistols in their pockets and big black +whips loaded with lead in the handles, to get the fellows out and tie +'em up firm. I hunted all the new rope in the house, and they took +the firearms away from the robbers, and drove 'em off to jail, and +the robbers turned out to be three of the most desp'rate characters +in the State, and they're in prison now for a long term of years." + +"What did you do the rest of the night?" inquired Grandma Padgett. + +"O, I locked everything tight again, and laid down till daylight," +replied the toll-woman, with somewhat boastful indifference. "Folks +haven't got done talkin' yet about that little jail in my back yard," +she added, laughing. "They came from miles around to look into it and +see where the men pretty nigh kicked the boards loose." + +This narrative was turned over and over by the children after they +resumed their journey, and the toll-woman and her cave had faded out +in distance. If they saw a deserted cabin among the hollows of the +woods, it became the meeting place of robbers. Now that aunt +Corinne's nephew turned his mind to the subject, he began to think +the whole expedition out West would be a failure--an experience not +worth alluding to in future times--unless the family were well robbed +on the way. Jonathan and Thrusty Ellen, in the great overland colony, +would have Indians to shudder at, a desert and mountains to cross, +besides the tremendous Mississippi River. Robert would hate to meet +Jonathan in coming days--and he had a boy's faith that he should be +constantly repassing old acquaintances in this world--and have no +peril to put in the balance against Jonathan's adventures. Of course +he wanted to come out on the right side of the peril, it does not +tell well otherwise. + +But while aunt Corinne's mind ran as constantly on robbers, they had +no charms for her. She did not want to be robbed, and was glad her +lines had not fallen in the lonely toll-house. Being robbed appeared +to her like the measles, mumps, or whooping-cough; more interesting +in a neighboring family than in your own. She would avoid it if +possible, yet the conviction grew upon her that it was not to be +escaped. The strange passers-by who once pleasantly varied the road, +now became objects of dread. Though Zene got past them in safety, and +though they gave the carriage a wide road, aunt Corinne never failed +to turn and watch them to a safe distance, lest they should make a +treacherous charge in the rear. + +Had they been riding through some dismal swamp, the landscape's +influence would have accounted for all these terrors. But it was the +pretty region of Western Indiana, containing hills and bird-songs +enough to swallow up a thousand stories of toll-gate robberies in +happy sight and sound. + +Grandma Padgett, indeed, soon put her ban upon the subject of caves +and night-attacks. But she could not prevent the children thinking. +Nor was she able to drive the carriage and at the same time sit in +the wagon when they rode with Zene and stop the flow of recollection +to which they stimulated him. While sward, sky, and trees became +violet-tinted to her through her glasses, and she calmly meditated +and chewed a bit of calamus or a fennel seed, Bobaday and aunt +Corinne huddled at the wagon's mouth, and Zene indulgently harrowed +up their souls with what he heard from a gentleman who had been in +the Mexican war. + +"The very gentleman used to visit at your grand-marm's house," said +Zene to Robert, "and your marm always said he was much of a +gentleman," added Zene to aunt Corinne. "Down in the Mexican country +when they didn't fight they stayed in camp, and sometimes they'd go +out and hunt. Man that'd been huntin', come runnin' in one day scared +nigh to death. He said he'd seen the old Bad Man. So this gentleman +and some more of the fine officers, they went to take a look for +themselves. They hunted around a good spell. Most of them gave it up +and went back: all but four. The four got right up to him." + +"O don't, Zene!" begged aunt Corinne, feeling that she could not +bear the description. + +But to Robert Day's mind arose the picture of Apollyon, in _Pilgrim's +Progress_, and he uttered something like a snort of enjoyment, saying: + +"Go on, Zene." + +[Illustration: ZENE'S WILD MAN.] + +"I guess it was a crazy darkey or Mexican," Zene was careful to +explain. "He was covered with oxhide all over, so he looked red and +white hairy, and the horns and ears were on his head. He had a long +knife, and cut weeds and bark, and muttered and chuckled to himself. +He was ugly," acknowledged Zene. "The gentleman said he never saw +anything better calkilated to look scary, and the four men followed +him to his den. They wouldn't shoot him, but they wanted to see what +he was, and he never mistrusted. After a long round-about, they +watched him crawl on all-fours into a hole in a hill, and round the +mouth of the hole he'd built up a tunnel of bones. The bones smelt +awful," said Zene. "And he crawled in with his weeds and bark in his +hand, and they didn't see any more of him. That's a true story," +vouched Zene, snapping his whip-lash at Johnson, "but your grandmarm +wouldn't like for me to tell it to you. Such things ain't fit for +children to hear." + +Robert Day felt glad that Zene's qualms of repentance always came +after the offence instead of before, and in time to prevent the +forbidden tale. + +Yet, having made such ardent preparation for robbers, and tuned +their minds to the subject by every possible influence, the children +found they were approaching the last large town on the journey +without encountering any. + +This was Terre Haute. One farmer on the road, being asked the distance, +said, it was so many miles to Tarry Hoot. Another, a little later met, +pronounced the place Turry Hut; and a very trim, smooth-looking man +whom Zene classed as a banker or judge, called it Tare Hote. So the +inhabitants and neighbors of Terra Haute were not at all unanimous in +the sound they gave her French name; nor are they so to this day. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. THE FAIR AND THE FIERCE BANDIT. + + +At Terra Haute, where they halted for the night, Robert Day was made +to feel the only sting which the caravan mode of removal ever caused +him. + +The tavern shone resplendent with lights. When Grandma Padgett's +party went by the double doors of the dining-room, to ascend the +stairs, they glanced into what appeared a bower or a bazaar of +wonderful sights. They had supper in a temporary eating-room, and the +waiter said there was a fair in the house. Not an agricultural +display, but something got up by a ladies' sewing-society to raise +money for poor people. + +Now Robert Day and Corinne knew all about an agricultural display. +They had been to the State Fair at Columbus, and seen cattle standing +in long lines of booths, quilts, and plows, and chickens, pies, +bread, and fancy knitting, horses, cake stands, and crowds of people. +They considered it the finest sight in the world, except, perhaps, a +fabulous crystal palace which was or had been somewhere a great ways +off, and which everybody talked about a great deal, and some folks +had pictured on their window blinds. But a fair got up by a ladies' +sewing-society to raise money for the poor, was so entirely new and +tantalizing to them that they begged their guardian to take them in. + +Grandma Padgett said she had no money to spare for foolishness, and +her expenses during the trip footed up to a high figure. Neither +could she undertake to have the trunks in from the wagon and get out +their Sunday clothes. But in the end, as both children were neatly +dressed, and the fair was to help the poor, she gave them a five-cent +piece each, over and above admission money, which was a fip'ney-bit, +for children, the waiter said. Zene concluded he would black his +boots and look into the fair awhile also, and as he could keep a +protecting eye on her young family, and had authority to send them +up-stairs in one hour and a half by the bar-room time, Grandma Padgett +went to bed. She was glad the journey was so nearly over, for every +night found her quite tired out. + +Zene, magnifying his own importance and authority, ushered aunt +Corinne and Robert into the fair, and limped after them whenever he +thought they needed admonition or advice. The landlord's pert young +son noticed this and made his intimates laugh at it. Besides, he was +gorgeously attired in blue velvet jacket and ruffles and white +trousers, and among the crowds of grown people coming and going, +other children shone in resplendent attire. Aunt Corinne felt the +commonness of her calico dress. She had a "white" herself, if Ma +Padgett had only let her put it on, but this could not be explained +to all the people at the fair. And there were so many things to look +at, she soon forgot the white. Dolls of pink and pearly wax, with +actual hair, candy or wooden dogs, cats, and all domestic animals, +tables of cakes, and lines of made-up clothing which represented the +sewing society's labors. There was too much crowding for comfort, and +too much pastry trodden into the floor; and aunt Corinne and her +nephew felt keen anxiety to spend their five-cent pieces to the best +advantage. She was near investing in candy kisses, when yellow and +scarlet-backed books containing the history of "Mother Hubbard," or +the "Babes in the Woods," or "Little Red Riding Hood," attracted her +eye, and she realized what life-long regret she must have suffered +for spending five cents on candy kisses, when one such volume might +be hers for the same money. + +Just as aunt Corinne laid her silver on the book counter, however, +and gave her trembling preference to the "History of Old Dame Trot +and her Cat," Bobaday seized her wrist and excitedly told her there +was a magic-lantern show connected with the fair, which could be seen +at five cents per pair of eyes. Dame Trot remained unpurchased, and +the coin returned to aunt Corinne's warm palm. But she inquired with +caution, + +"What's a magic-lantern show?" + +"Why, the man, you know," explained Robert, "has pitctures in a +lantern, and throws light through 'em, and they spread out on a wet +sheet on the wall. The room's all dark except the place on the wall. +A Chinese man eatin' mice in his sleep: he works his jaws! And about +Saul in the Bible, when he was goin' to kill the good people, and it +says, 'Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?' And when they let him +down in a basket. And there's a big star like grandma's star quilt, +only it keeps turning all kinds of colors and working in and out on +itself. And a good many more. Zene went in. He said he wanted to see +if we ought to look at it. And he'll stand by the door and pay our +money to the man if we want to go. There's such a crowd to get in." + +Robert Day's aunt caught the fire of his enthusiasm and went +straight with him to the door wherein the magic lantern performed. A +crowd of children were pushing up, but Zene, more energetic than +courteous pushed his charges ahead so that they gained chairs before +the landlord's son could make his choice. + +[Illustration: AT THE SEWING SOCIETY FAIR.] + +He sat down directly behind Robert and aunt Corinne, and at once +began to annoy them with impertinent remarks. + +"Movers' young ones are spry," said the landlord's son, who had been +petted on account of his pretty face until he was the nuisance of the +house. "I wouldn't be a movers' young one." + +Robert felt a stinging throb in his blood, but sat still, looking at +the wall. Aunt Corinne, however, turned her head and looked +witheringly at the blue-jacketed boy. + +"Movers' young ones have to wear calico," he continued, "and their +lame pap goes lippity-clink around after them." + +"He thinks Zene's our father!" exclaimed aunt Corinne, blazing at +the affront she received. + +"Don't mind him," said Robert, slowly. "He's the hostler's boy, and +used to staying in the stable. He doesn't know how to behave when +they let him into the house." + +This bitter skirmishing might have become an open engagement at the +next exchange of fires, for the landlord's son stood up in rage while +his chums giggled, and Robert felt terribly equal to the occasion. He +told Zene next day he had his fist already doubled, and he didn't +care if the landlord put them all in jail. But just then the magic +light was turned upon the wall, the landlord's son was told by twenty +voices to sit down out of the way, the lantern man himself sternly +commanding it. So he sunk into his seat feeling much less important, +and the wonders proceeded though Aunt Corinne felt she should always +regret turning her back on the Dame Trot book and coming in there to +have Zene called her lame pap, while Robert wondered gloomily if any +stigma did attach to movers' children. He had supposed them a class +to be envied. + +This grievance put the robbers out of his mind when they trotted +ahead next day. The Wabash River could scarcely soothe his ruffled +complacence. And never an inch of the Wabash River have I seen that +was not beautiful and restful to the eye. It flows limpidly between +varying banks, and has a trick of throwing up bars and islands, +wooded to the very edges--captivating places for any tiny Crusoe to +be wrecked upon. Skiffs lay along the shore, and small steamers felt +their way in the channel. It was a river full of all sorts of +promises; so shallow here that the pebbles shone in broad sheets like +a floor of opals wherever you might wade in delight, so deep and +shady with sycamore canopies there, that a good swimmer would want to +lie in ambush like a trout, at the bottom of the swimming hole, half +a June day. + +Perhaps it was the sight of the Wabash River which suggested washing +clothes to Grandma Padgett. She said they were now near the Illinois +State line, and she would not like to reach the place with everything +dirty. There was always plenty to do when a body first got home, +without hurrying up wash-day. + +So when they passed a small place called Macksville, and came to +Sugar Creek, she called a halt, and they spent the day in the woods. +Sugar Creek, though not sweet, was clear. Zene carried pails full of +it to fill the great copper kettle, and slung this over a fire. The +horses munched at their feed-box or cropped grass, wandering with +their heads tied to their forefeet to prevent their cantering off. +Grandma Padgett at the creek's brink, set up her tubs and buried +herself to the elbows in suds, and aunt Corinne with a matronly +countenance, assisted. All that day Robert went barelegged, and +splashed water, wading out far to dip up a gourdful; and he thought +it was fun to help stretch the clothes-line among saplings, and lift +the scalded linen on a paddle into the tub, losing himself in the +stream. Ordinary washdays as he remembered them, were rather disagreeable. +Everybody had to wake early, and a great deal of fine-split wood was +needed. The kitchen smelt of suds, and the school-lunch was scraps +left from Sunday instead of new cake, turnovers and gingerbread. + +[Illustration: GRANDMA PADGETT'S WASHING-DAY IN THE WOODS.] + +But this woods wash-day was an experience to delight in, like +sailing on a log in the water, and pretending you are a bold +navigator, or lashing the rocking-chair to a sled for a sleighride. +It was something out of the common. It was turning labor into +fantastic tricks. + +They had an excellent supper, too, and after dusk the clothes stood +in glintly array on the line, the camp-fire shone ruddy in a place +where its smoke could not offend them, and they were really like +white stones encircling an unusual day. + +But when Robert awoke in the night they gave him a pang of fright, +and he was sorry his grandma had decided to let them bleach in the +dew of the June woods. From his bed in the carriage he could see both +the road and the lines of clothes. A horseman came along the road and +halted. He was not attracted by the camp-fire, because that had died +to ashes. He probably would not have heard the horses stamp in their +sleep, for his own horse's feet made a noise. And the wagon cover was +hid by foliage. But woods and sight were not dark enough to keep the +glint of the washing out of his eyes. Robert saw this rider dismount +and heard him walking cautiously into their camp. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. A NIGHT PICTURE OF HOME. + + +Here at last was the robber. After you have given over expecting a +robber, and even feel that you can do without him, to find him +stealing up in the night when you are camped in a lonely place and +not near enough either tent or wagon to wake the other sleepers for +reinforcements, is trying to the nerves. + +Bobaday sat up in the carriage, bracing his courage for the +emergency. He could take a cushion, jump out and attack the man with +that. It was not a deadly weapon, and would require considerable +force back of it to do damage. The whip might be better. He reached +for the whip and turned the handle uppermost. There was no cave at +hand to trap this robber in, but a toll-woman should not show more +spirit than Robert Day Padgett in the moment of peril. + +Though the robber advanced cautiously, he struck his foot against a +root or two, and stumbled, making the horse take irregular steps +also, for he was leading his horse with the bridle over his arm. + +And he came directly up to the carriage. Robert grasped the whip +around the middle with both hands, but some familiar attitude in the +stranger's dim outline made him lower it. + +"Bobby," said the robber, speaking guardedly, "are you in here?" + +"Pa Padgett," exclaimed Robert Day, "is that you?" + +"Hush! Yes. It's me, of course. Don't wake your grandma. Old folks +are always light sleepers." + +Pa Padgett reached into the carriage, shook hands with his boy, and +kissed him. How good the bushy beard felt against Bobaday's face. + +He said nothing about robbers, while his father unsaddled his horse +and tied the animal snugly to a limb. + +Then Pa Padgett put his foot on the hub and sprang into the carriage. + +"Is there room for me to stretch myself in here tonight too?" + +"Of course there is. But don't you want to see grandma and aunt +Krin?" + +"Wait till morning. We'll all take an early start. Have they kept +well?" + +"Everybody's well," replied Bobaday. "But how did you know we were +here?" + +"I'd have passed by," said Pa Padgett, "if I hadn't seen all that +white strung along. Been washing clothes?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then I made out the carriage, and something like a wagon back in +the bushes. So I came up to examine." + +"We thought you'd be at the State line," said Robert. + +"Oh, I intended to ride out till I met you," replied his father. +"But I'd have missed you on the plain road; and gone by to the next +town to stop for you, if it hadn't been for the washing. You better +go to sleep again now. Have you had a nice trip?" + +"Oh, awful nice! There was a little girl lost, and we got her to her +mother again, and Zene and the wagon were separated from us once"-- + +"Zene has taken good care of you, has he?" + +"He didn't have to take care of us!" remonstrated Robert. "And last +night when there was a fair, I thought he stuck around more than he +was needed: There was the meanest boy that stuck up his hose at +movers' children." + +Aunt Corinne's brother Tip laughed under his breath. + +"You'll not be movers' children much longer. The home is over +yonder, only half a day's ride or so." + +"Is it a nice place?" + +"I think it's a nice place. There's prairie, but there's timber too. +And there's money to be made. You go to sleep now. You'll wake your +grandma, and I expect she's tired." + +"Yes, sir, I'm going. Is there a garden?" + +"There's a good bit of ground for a garden; and there's a planting +of young catalpas. Far as the eye can see in one direction, it's +prairie. On the other side is woods. The house is better than the old +one. I had to build, and I built pretty substantial. Your grandma's +growing old. She'll need comforts in her old age, and we must put +them around her, my man." + +Bobaday thought about this home to which he and his family were to +grow as trees grasp the soil. Already it seemed better to him than +the one he had left. There would be new playmates, new landscapes, +new meadows to run in, new neighbors, new prospects. The home, so +distant during the journey that he had scarcely thought about it at +all, now seemed to inclose him with its pleasant walls, which the +smell of new timbers made pleasant twice over. + +Boswell and Johnson, under the carriage, waked by the cautious talk +from that sound sleep a hard day's hunts after woods things induces, +and perhaps sniffing the presence of their master and the familiar +air of home, rose up to shake themselves, and one of them yawned +until his jaws creaked. + +"It's the dogs," whispered Bobaday. + +"We mustn't set them to barking," cautioned Pa Padgett. + +"Well, good-night," said the boy, turning on his cushion. + +"Good-night. This caravan must move on early in the morning." + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Old Caravan Days, by Mary Hartwell Catherwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD CARAVAN DAYS *** + +***** This file should be named 6909.txt or 6909.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/9/0/6909/ + +Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Juliet Sutherland, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team. This file was produced from images generously made +available by the Canadian Institute for Historical +Microreproductions. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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