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| author | pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> | 2025-10-04 20:22:03 -0700 |
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| committer | pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> | 2025-10-04 20:22:03 -0700 |
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diff --git a/76984-h/76984-h.htm b/76984-h/76984-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3c2eeb4 --- /dev/null +++ b/76984-h/76984-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9433 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Rocky Fork | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tiny {width: 5%; margin-left: 47.5%; margin-right: 47.5%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +td {padding-left: 0.5em;} +.tdr {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .blockquot { + margin-left: 7.5%; + margin-right: 7.5%; +} + +.bbox {border: 2px solid; padding: 1em;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +.indentright {padding-right: 2em;} + +.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} + +div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} +div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} + +.large {font-size: 125%;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold; text-align: center;} + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -2.5em; padding-left: 3em;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .indent {text-indent: 1.5em;} +.poetry .indent12 {text-indent: 11em;} +.poetry .first {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} +@media print { .poetry {display: block;} } +.x-ebookmaker .poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} + +p.drop-cap { + text-indent: -0.35em; +} +p.drop-cap2 { + text-indent: -0.75em; +} +p.drop-cap:first-letter, p.drop-cap2:first-letter +{ + float: left; + margin: 0em 0.15em 0em 0em; + font-size: 250%; + line-height:0.85em; + text-indent: 0em; +} +.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap, .x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap2 { + text-indent: 0em; +} +.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap:first-letter, .x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap2:first-letter +{ + float: none; + margin: 0; + font-size: 100%; +} + +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:smaller; + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; + padding: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; } + + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76984 ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt=""></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_0"></a></span> +<figure class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> + <img src="images/i_frontis.jpg" width="450" height="700" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p class="caption">“<span class="smcap">I’m Doctor Garde’s little girl.</span>”—<i>Page <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="title page"></div> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="titlepage"> +<h1>ROCKY FORK</h1> + +<p>BY<br> +<span class="large">MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD</span></p> + +<p>ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK T. MERRILL</p> + +<p><i>NEW EDITION</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_titlelogo.jpg" alt="publisher's logo"></div> + +<p><span class="large">BOSTON<br> +LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.</span></p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"> <i>Copyright, 1911</i>,<br> + <span class="smcap">By Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Co.</span></p> +<hr class="tiny"> +<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved</i><br> + <br> + <i>Electrotyped and Printed by<br> + THE COLONIAL PRESS<br> + C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A.</i></p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[v]</span> +<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> +</div> + +<table> + +<tr><td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER</span></td><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Doctor Garde’s Little Girl</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Mr. Pitzer</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Geography-school Teacher</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Company</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Geography School</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Narrows and Mary Ann Furnace</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Miss Melissa Further Disapproves of the Rocky Fork</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Which Treats of Thumb-papers</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">They Churn</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Mother Outdoors Disturbed</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bluebell Makes a Poem</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td><td> “<span class="smcap">Jordan Stormy Banks</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Abram Has a Theory</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bluebell Has No Theory</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Ford</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Trio and Chorus</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Doctor Garde Listens to Reason</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bluebell and Tildy</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Child in the Blackberry Patch</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_207">207</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">[vi]</span></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Last Time</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The First Railroad Train</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Miss Biggar</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Duck among Swans</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXIV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Miss Melissa Drops a Few Hints</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Events</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXVI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Miss Biggar’s Possessions</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_288">288</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXVII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Dinner in Doll-land</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Somebody Arrives</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_305">305</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXIX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Doctor Garde’s Little Girl</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XXX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Two Letters</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_319">319</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[vii]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +</div> + +<table> +<tr><td>“<span class="smcap">I’m Doctor Garde’s little girl</span>” (<i>page <a href="#Page_11">11</a></i>)</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_0"> <i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><span class="allsmcap">FACING PAGE</span></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<span class="smcap">Here’s a wax doll for you</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_46"> 46</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The principal figures in a procession to the school-house</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_110"> 110</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Liza stepped back, drawing her roll off the spindle into a long woolly thread</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_134"> 134</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<span class="smcap">I seized his bridle and tried to lead him out</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_184"> 184</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The performer played some little march</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_254"> 254</a></td></tr> +</table> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[viii]</span> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span> + +<figure class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> + <img src="images/i_p9.jpg" width="450" height="412" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p class="caption"><span class="smcap">Rocky Fork</span></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I<br> +<small>DOCTOR GARDE’S LITTLE GIRL</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">MANY years ago the morning sun looked +down among the tall hills of central Ohio, +and saw one little girl patting along a path. +The path wound down through a hollow, and +up, up over wood-clothed heights which she +thought nearly touched the sky.</p> + +<p>At first glance this little girl appeared to be +a large slat sun-bonnet taking a walk on a pair +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>of long pantalettes. But at second glance one +brown, thin arm escaped from a short sleeve +might have been seen carrying a calico bag +by its drawing-string; and under the pantalettes +a pair of stout-shod little feet skipped +along.</p> + +<p>It was not more than seven o’clock. The tall +meadow grass was glittering, and every bird +known to the State was singing with his morning +voice. When she reached the small run +which twisted along the hollow, and put her +foot on the first of the stepping-stones which +crossed it, the little girl could not help stopping +to gaze in the water. The minnows played +around the stone with a quiver of their tiny +bodies which fascinated the gazer. She stooped +cautiously and tried to catch one in her hand, +but sunshine on the pebbles was not more elusive.</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, little girl,” said a winning +voice; and the little girl jumped up, reeled, set +one foot in the water, and brandished her reticule +in the effort to regain her balance. The +sugared butter-bread and sweet cookies tumbled +against currant-pie and cherries, and all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>settled to an upside-down condition as she +finally got on the bank and saw a gentleman +preparing to trip across the stones.</p> + +<p>It was an uncommon thing to meet any one, +and especially a stranger, on that long two-mile +path to school. But it was a wonderful +thing to meet such a grand stranger. She +dropped a bobbing curtsy, and the gentleman, +having crossed, stopped and smiled. He had +glittering black eyes, and curly hair and whiskers, +glittering teeth and boots, fine clothes, and +altogether the look of a “town gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“Whose little girl are you?” inquired this +town gentleman affably, rubbing the wet soles +of his boots on the grass.</p> + +<p>Under the long slat sun-bonnet a round face +blushed all about its blue eyes and quite back +to its auburn hair, and a timid voice piped from +the calico funnel: “I’m Doctor Garde’s little +girl.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! where does Doctor Garde live?”</p> + +<p>“Right back there in that big house.”</p> + +<p>“And who lives in this house I just passed?”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Banks. Her little girls go to school +with me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>“Yes. And where do you go to school?”</p> + +<p>“In the school-house ’way at the other side +of the hills.”</p> + +<p>“Oho! many children go there?”</p> + +<p>“All of ’em in our districk. There’s Willeys, +and Pancosts, and Harrises, and Halls, +and Bankses, and Martins, and me, and my +little sister’s going when she gets big enough.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Well, thank you. I may call there +in the course of the day. Does that path lead +back to your school-house?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. But you must turn to the right +at the big sand-banks, and cross the foot-log +over Rocky Fork by Hall’s mill.”</p> + +<p>The gentleman nodded, and passed on smiling +as Doctor Garde’s little girl dropped him +another curtsy. She skipped across the stones +and hastened up rising ground to the Banks’. +Theirs was a weather-beaten domicile, part log +and part frame, with a covered stoop at one +door on which Tildy sat plaiting her long hair +preparatory to going to school.</p> + +<p>Tildy, it must be confessed, was a raw-boned +girl, but with a low-browed, serious face. Her +nature leaned to the solemn side of life, as her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>sister Teeny’s leaned towards what was merry. +Matilda liked to sit in the grass and dress her +locks, or to watch from the doorstep the rocks +and glooms on each side of her home.</p> + +<p>Teeny appeared within, tying her bonnet, the +string of her reticule across her arm. A bunch +of old-fashioned pink roses was pinned to her +dress, which hooked in front and was just long +enough to sweep her heels when she walked. +Teeny was a big girl who felt quite a young +woman, since she was “going on” fifteen, +ciphered in long division, and had finished a +sampler with her name, “Christine Banks,” +embroidered under a beautiful piece of poetry. +“We’re takin’ curran’-pie for our dinner to-day, +Melissy,” announced Tildy solemnly as +Doctor Garde’s little girl ran up.</p> + +<p>“I got some, too,” she responded with triumph. +So little made a triumph in that region +and time.</p> + +<p>“’Tain’t sweetened with sugar.”</p> + +<p>“’Tis, too! I saw Liza put in heaps.” She +sat down on the steps and explored her reticule. +There was rather a sorry mess in its +depths, but the slices of bread were reduced +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>again to their proper basis, and the other goodies +piled carefully on them.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you call me Bluebell?” she +suggested with a rather hopeless accent.</p> + +<p>“’Cause that ain’t your name,” said Tildy, +strictly.</p> + +<p>“I guess my father always calls me that.”</p> + +<p>“’Tain’t your name, anyhow. Your name +is Melissy Jane Garde, goin’ on eight years +old.”</p> + +<p>“It’s just Melissy,” cried the younger, doggedly, +as if she would like to disown that.</p> + +<p>“My mother called me Bluebell, too, and +she’s gone to heaven. I sh’d think you might +call me what my mother called me.”</p> + +<p>“Your name’s Melissy,” repeated Tildy, +looking with undisturbed eyes upon the distance. +Here the argument dropped, as it usually +did. The defeated party turned to other +things.</p> + +<p>“I pretty near fell in the run. The’ was a +man come along and scared me so. He was +prettier than my father!” exclaimed Melissa, +pausing after this climax; “that is, dressed +up prettier; and he said he was coming to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>school to-day. I wonder what he’s coming +there for?”</p> + +<p>“Prob’ly it’s somebody the directors is +sending to whip us,” opined Matilda with serious +resignation. “They say Mr. Pitzer ain’t +strict enough.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, do you s’pose it is?” cried the credulous +little girl beside her. “I never got +whipped at school yet.”</p> + +<p>“Now, Tildy,” exclaimed the pink-faced elder +sister, stepping out, “if you don’t hurry +up we’ll go on and leave you.”</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll stay at home,” said Tildy, reflecting +on the fine stranger’s probable errand.</p> + +<p>“No, you won’t,” cried her mother’s voice +from an inner room, making a pause in the +monotonous rattle of a loom; and though it +was a plaintive voice and not very decided, +Tildy was moved by it to get her sun-bonnet +and follow the other two. They were making +a round of the garden, to gather pinks, hollyhocks, +bouncing-betties, bachelor-buttons, and +asparagus sprays. Having tied up a bunch +apiece, they left the house and began their root-matted +and rocky ascent. There were levels +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>above where the woods made a twilight at noon, +where ferns crowded to their knees, and some +stood as high as their waists. Who could help +stopping to inhale that breath which is no +plant’s but a fern’s?</p> + +<p>“There’s vinegar-balls on this oak,” remarked +Tildy, casting her eyes up as they +passed under a dark-leaved tree. So, sticks +and climbing being brought to bear upon the +tree, one or two small apple-shaped bunches +were brought down to yield a tart juice to sucking +lips. I do not pretend to say the balls were +wholesome. But the same lips loved the white, +honey-filled ends of clover-blossoms, tender +sticks of sweet-briar when stripped of its skin, +and they doted on “mountain-tea,” a winter-green +of three rich fleshy leaves, which clung +all over these heights in fragrant mats. The +three girls were lovers of Mother Outdoors. +Melissa especially gloried in the woods. The +noble tree arches, the dew, and sweet earth-smell +filled her with worshipping joy. It was +so nice to be a little girl with a sun-bonnet +hanging off her shoulders by the strings, and +the great woods cooling her face, and sighing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>away off as if thinking up some song to sing +to her!</p> + +<p>In due course they came to three giant ridges +of sand. These stood in a clear place, and +nobody in that region troubled himself about +the geological cause of their existence in the +heart of the woods. There they were, too +tempting to be resisted. Melissa dropped her +reticule, Tildy seriously followed her example, +and Christine forgot her dress hooking in front +and her claims to big girlhood. All three +mounted the dunes, sat down, gathered their +clothing close about their feet, and shot down +the sides as if on invisible sleds. This queer +sort of coasting was great fun. When it +seemed expedient to adjourn, they shook the +clean sand from their dresses, and the eldest +and youngest untied their low shoes to turn +them upside down. Matilda being barefoot +and therefore free from such civilized cares, +improved the time by taking an extra slide, +which was too much for the other girls, so they +tried it again.</p> + +<p>Thus the morning waxed later. So by the +time they crossed the foot-log over Rocky Fork +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>and approached the log school-house, “books” +were actually “taken up.”</p> + +<p>The school-house was chinked with clay and +had double doors which opened close beside a +travelled road. The woods and heights rose +behind it, and at one side a sweep of play-ground +extended into a viney hollow where +hung the grape-vine swing for which all the +girls in school daily brought pocketfuls of +string.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II<br> +<small>MR. PITZER</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">CHRISTINE stepped over the threshold and +dropped a curtsy which dipped her dress +in the dust. Matilda followed and was taken +with a similar convulsion on the same spot. +Then the smallest bobbed violently; all this +homage being paid to a somewhat threadbare +man who sat behind a high desk opposite the +door.</p> + +<p>Continuous high desks on a raised platform +extended around the walls, and continuous +benches ran in front of them. Here sat the +elders of the school—the big boys and girls, +with their backs to smaller fry who camped on +long benches set along the middle of the floor, +swinging their heels and holding spellers in +their hands. The benches were made of split +logs, the flat sides planed smooth, and the +round sides bored with holes into which legs +were stuck; as these legs were not always even, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>boys at opposite ends of a bench could “teeter-totter” +the whole row of urchins between them. +There were no backs against which you might +rest your shoulders, but any tired little fellow +might lie down if he took his own risks about +rolling off. There had been teachers who +would not allow the muscles thus to relax. But +Mr. Pitzer was a kind, soft-hearted old man, +who, as Matilda has hinted, was not considered +strict enough. He had taught the school many +seasons.</p> + +<p>The directors said he might do for summer, +but each winter they determined to engage +some strapping modern pedagogue who could +control the young men and wild young women +who sallied knowledge-ward during the long +term. Still Mr. Pitzer was found in his place. +He taught manners and morals as well as the +common branches, and his sweet, severe face +under iron-gray hair became stamped on every +mind that entered the double doors.</p> + +<p>The tardy pupils, unchallenged, hung their +bonnets and dinner-bags on nails in the wall, +Teeny took her big-girls’ seat, and straightway +lay flat on her desk in the agonies of writing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>a morning copy, while the other two sat side +by side on a bench murmuring the first reading-lesson. +A hum like the music of many hives +sounded all over the room. “D-i-s—dis, +d-a-i-n, dain, disdain,” crossed “in-com-pat-i-bil-i-ty;” +and the important scratching of +slate-pencils in the hands of ciphering big boys, +seemed to supplement a breathing and occasional +sputter of quill pens.</p> + +<p>“Second Reader may stand up!” cried the +master.</p> + +<p>Bluebell’s class, including her tall friend +Matilda, formed in a row in front of the master’s +desk, each holding his reader clinched +before his face.</p> + +<p>A polished walnut ferule lay at Mr. Pitzer’s +hand, and the text-book sprawled on the desk. +He wore spectacles of so slight an iron frame +that the glasses seemed suspended miraculously +between his stern eyes and the eyes +turned up to him. Like a commander giving +some military order, he now cried out: “Attention!”</p> + +<p>At the signal every girl dipped low and every +boy bent forward with a bow. It would have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>been a misdemeanor for the girls to bow and +the boys to curtsy, and they knew it. Then the +boy at the top of the class began to read in a +voice which could be heard on the opposite side +of the road; he was followed by a timid little +girl who put her nose close to the book and +spelled and whispered; and she in turn by a +merry girl who had been put back from the +Third Reader when the master was cross, for +pronouncing ships wrecked, “shipses rick-ed.” +Very little did she care, for, knowing the Second +Reader by heart, it was easy for her to +rattle off the story of The Three Boys and the +Three Cakes, with a moral. Bluebell read in +a clear, sensitive, appreciative voice, and Tildy +followed. They spelled the words which the +master pronounced to them, and had another +lesson set. The military order was then varied:</p> + +<p>“Obedience!”</p> + +<p>At this they saluted as before, and took their +seats.</p> + +<p>Business went on as usual. The large girls +recited in smart, high voices, and the boys blundered +in monotone, excepting little Joe Hall, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>who was such a mite of a fellow, yet so smart +that he knew almost as much as the master. +Joe had ciphered farther into the jungles of +arithmetic than anybody else, and could parse +as fast as his tongue would run. He always +had his atlas lessons, and some said had been +clear through the geography, while his writing +was so wonderful that the master sometimes +let him set copies when he himself was very +busy.</p> + +<p>“Somethin’s the matter with the master this +mornin’,” whispered Tildy to Bluebell, as they +wriggled around trying to rest their backs.</p> + +<p>It was true. He stalked about with his hands +under his coat-tails, sticking his under lip out. +Even Joe Hall’s grandiloquent rendering of +Fourth Reader text could not draw his mind +from some internal strain; and after recess +the trouble came out.</p> + +<p>Mr. Pitzer read the rules of the school. +Whenever he had heard complaint, he brought +out those ponderous rules and visited them +upon the pupils that they might know what he +required of them, even if he did not exact it. +Every listener, except the new or very dull ones, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>knew these rules by heart. They were written +on tall cap sheets in the best of flourishes, and +covered the whole duty of boy and girl.</p> + +<p>To-day the master read them with frowns +and a sonorous voice.</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Article Thirteenth!</span>” he thundered at +last; “<i>Every boy or girl in going to or from +school shall treat with civility all persons whom +they meet upon the highway, he or she making +a bow or a curtsy as the case may be. It shall +be a high misdemeanor to treat impolitely any +stranger or strangers in the schoolroom, or the +play-ground, or the highway.</i>”</p> + +<p>And here as if to test Mr. Pitzer’s pupils in +their behavior, a strange man did step over the +threshold, taking off his hat as he did so.</p> + +<p>The schoolmaster stopped and glared. But +Bluebell’s heart came into her mouth. She felt +unreasonably terrified and trapped by fate. +For it was the curly, glittering gentleman who +had promised to come to the school-house, possibly +on that dread errand suggested by Tildy—to +whip the whole school!</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III<br> +<small>THE GEOGRAPHY-SCHOOL TEACHER</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“MAY I have a few minutes’ conversation +with you?” said the fine stranger to +Mr. Pitzer. The schoolmaster bowed stiffly, +said “Certainly, sir,” with some pomp, and +came forward. He evidently felt distrust, not +to say hostility; but after <span class="smcap">Article Thirteenth</span>, +he was bound to set the school an +example in politeness.</p> + +<p>There was a stricture around Bluebell’s +heart while she watched them talking in low +tones near the door. The stranger was pliant, +eager and voluble. Oh, <i>how</i> he did want to get +at them all with his stick! <i>Would</i> Mr. Pitzer +give them over to such shame and pain! She +reflected about the black ripe cherries in her +reticule, and wished she had propitiated the +good old man by giving them to him at recess. +The school stopped droning, and held its +breath, just as the earth does before a storm, +to catch some hint of this colloquy. Mr. Pitzer +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>seemed more and more mellowed to the man’s +proposals. The curves of his stern face turned +upwards; he nodded his head at the end of +every sentence; and finally, leading the way +to his high desk, he told the school that Mr. +Runnels had something important to impart to +them.</p> + +<p>Bluebell shut her eyes, and cowered. Little +Joe Hall sat bolt-upright, and all the big scholars +turned around on their seats.</p> + +<p>“He’s going to begin with them on this +bench,” whispered Tildy to Bluebell. Mr. Runnels +smiled with his teeth and picked up the +ferule.</p> + +<p>Oh, how earth brightened again as his business +unfolded! The faint, worm-eaten odor of +the glass-smooth bench which she clutched, +seemed quainter to Bluebell than ever before. +She had heard the Fourth Reader class sing +out the tale of Ginevra; and that chest, +“carved by Antony of Trent,” had just such +an indescribable, pungent smell, she felt certain, +as the desk and seats of this school-house. +It had always given her a pleasant sensation; +it now added to her joy; her heart expanded; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>Mr. Runnels was a very nice man. He did not +even hint that a school ought to be whipped +wholesale; Tildy Banks didn’t know anything +about it. His errand was to organize a geography school!</p> + +<p>“The method,” said Mr. Runnels, “is altogether +new. I have a fine and complete set of +painted maps representing every part of the +earth’s surface, and the exercise of storing the +mind with this important science is not only +vastly improving, but novel and delightful. All +of you speak to your parents. The charge is +trifling, but the benefit will be lasting. Everybody +is invited free to the organization of the +school to-night at Harris’s chapel west of this +school-house. All the boys and girls and young +people of the next district will be there. So +don’t fail to urge your parents to bring you. +So many bright eyes,” said Mr. Runnels with +a charming smile—</p> + +<p>The school giggled with delight—</p> + +<p>—“so many intelligent faces, instructed by +a wise, kind master—”</p> + +<p>Mr. Pitzer straightened his back and smiled +around—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>—“must surely take an interest in this +beautiful globe on which we live.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Runnels went on and gave them a short +lecture on geography. He told them anecdotes +of that ignoramus who did not believe the +world was round and turned on its axis, because, +if this were the case, his father’s mill-pond +would spill all its water. The children +laughed uproariously, though few of them had +ever thought of the earth except as an expanse +of rocks, trees and robe-like sward, cleft +by the Rocky Fork.</p> + +<p>Mr. Pitzer and the geography-teacher parted +with ceremonious bows. The schoolmaster +himself made a few cautious remarks to cool +his own enthusiasm; but the next class, which +was the grave elders’ arithmetic, constantly +broke out with fractional questions about a +different science.</p> + +<p>At last the sun had retreated from the middle +of the floor to the very door-sill. By this +token they knew it was high noon. Spellers +were laid straight on the benches around the +wall, desk lids were shut down over their miscellany. +Eyes looked expectantly at the master, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>and all arms were folded. He uttered one +magic word: “Dismissed!”</p> + +<p>The school seemed to turn a complete somersault: +every child projected himself like an +arrow toward the door, whooping, singing, +scampering and tumbling. Chaos surged to the +brown wooden joists. Some nimble little boys +got on the desks and galloped around, while +others slipped out through the windows, which +were set sidewise instead of lengthwise in the +log walls, looking like windows that had lain +down to dream. The master, swinging a thick +wooden cane, walked to his house which was +near. It might confer distinction to go home +to one’s dinner, but this distinction was not +courted even by children who lived in sight. +Could anything be more delightful than that +noon hour! Was it only an hour—that time +stuffed full of events as a month? It was the +kernel of all day, at any rate.</p> + +<p>Bluebell and Tildy went to their play-house +to eat dinner. This summer residence was +formed by a triplet of trees growing so close +together as to form a deep alcove. The floor +was carpeted thick with moss which Bluebell +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>and Tildy changed every few days. They had +some gnarly chairs, which you might have +called chunks. Hanging their sun-bonnets up +on scales of bark, they ate their dinners in society, +much as foreign people attend the theatre. +For all about them were similar boxes, or +residences, whose occupants visited, and exchanged +samples from each others’ reticules, +so what was cooked on one side of the district +was tested on the other side.</p> + +<p>Amanda Willey and Perintha Pancost +knocked at the bark door of Misses Garde and +Banks, and were bidden to come right in and +take chairs. The residence being already comfortably +full, however, and no chairs visible, +they stayed outside and took grass, which was +far more comfortable. Tildy and Perintha +swapped a fragment of cherry-pie and a bit +of rather stale cake, while Amanda gave Bluebell +a piece of her cheese for some cherries. +These were grave transactions, each party examining +what she received with due caution, +excepting Bluebell, who was willing to fling her +repast right and left without considering +whether she got its equivalent or not. Amanda +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>Willey was a large-faced, smiling girl with very +smooth hair cut short around her neck. Over +her ordinary dress she wore a long-sleeved pink +sack, and a pink apron tied about the waist like +a grown woman’s. The costume was most +pleasing in Bluebell’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“I got a black-silk apron,” she observed, +smoothing and patting Amanda’s drapery. +“I’m going to ask Liza to let me wear it to +geography school.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going,” exclaimed Perintha Pancost. +“The man’s to board at our house. He had +his breakfast there.”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t,” said Tildy. “He looks like a +raskil. Mebby he’s come down here to rob +folks.”</p> + +<p>The blue eyes, brown eyes and hazel eyes +around her stood out at this suggestion. Tildy +spoke as if her acquaintance with rascals was +thorough.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think that’s very smart of you, Till +Banks,” said Perintha, the hostess of the +“raskil.” “My pa and ma don’t have robbers +at our house. He’s the pertiest kind of a man. +I like him.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>“So do I,” decided Bluebell with a sigh of +relief. Her credulous nature had been staggered +by Matilda. “I’ll take my Noey’s Ark +book to read in g’ography school.”</p> + +<p>The boys, having swallowed their dinners, +were already shouting at “Bull in the Pen,” +when the girls gathered to take turns at the +swing. How sweet these allotted ten or a dozen +rushes through the air were, with some swift-footed +girl running under you to send you up +among the branches! The glee with which you +grabbed a leaf, your slow reluctance in “letting +the old cat die,” and another succeed you! +The number of games of “Black Man,” “Poison,” +“Base,” which can be crowded into one +noon, has never been computed. Every muscle +is strained, the hair clings to pink foreheads, +lungs and hearts work like engines, and the +outdoor world is <i>too</i> sweet to be given up when +that rattle of the master’s ferule against the +window sash is supplemented by the stern call +of “Books!”</p> + +<p>Drenched in the dew of health, every little +body rushed again to the hard benches. Bluebell +told herself that she always liked afternoon, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>it seemed so short; and as the sun +stooped lower and lower, a lump of homesickness +grew in her for the old weather-stained +house, her father’s return from his daily +rounds, and the baby’s tow head and black +eyes which were sure to meet her at the lower +bars. Then there was the spelling-class which +crowned every day’s labor. Orthography may +not be the most important element of education, +but Bluebell thought it was, and she had +a genius for it. While Tildy swung sleepy legs. +Bluebell mentally counted her own “head-marks,” +and speculated on what the master’s +offered prize might be at the end of the term. +Classes succeeded each other, and the sweet +dream-producing hum went on, until Bluebell +found herself again going triumphantly “down +foot,” having scored still another head-mark.</p> + +<p>Then the roll was called, while reticules, bonnets +and caps were slyly gathered off their +pegs and passed from hand to hand, that no one +might keep the others waiting. Joe Hall responded +to his name with a shout, while +Amanda Willey’s voice could scarcely be +heard; some pupils answered “half a day;” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>and for others there was a hurried cry of “absent,” +not always correct, as in the case of +John Tegarden, who shook fist and head many +times at Joe Hall for shouting absent to his +name when he was there in the body. Joe +ducked his shoulders, and intimated by lifting +his eyebrows, grimacing and nodding, that this +was an oversight on his part. And John was +obliged to carry his grievance outdoors, as he +was the first boy on his bench. Dinner-bag and +cap in hand, he stopped at the door to scrape +and say “Good-evening!” to the master, receiving +a stately “Good-evening” in return. +Thus one by one they filed out, each child stopping +to make that grave salutation, until the +master was free to close the double doors and +fasten them with chain and padlock.</p> + +<p>It was more than two hours till sunset; but +there were long shadows in the woods, and an +evening coolness was stealing over the beautiful +earth.</p> + +<p>The Rocky Fork foaming over boulders or +spreading into still pools at the feet of leaning +trees, shaded, variable, but clear as spring +water, cut the home path in two, and was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>spanned by a foot-log. The wheel of Hall’s +mill turned lazily here, and the mill-race made +Bluebell’s brain unsteady. Not so the shady +pebbles in the stream. She sat and watched +them after crossing until Tildy’s voice up the +ascent gave her warning to hurry.</p> + +<p>All the country was in that afterglow of sunset +when she reached the pasture-bars behind +the house. And of course there was the little +sister at the bars, her curly tow hair dovetailed +at the back, her black eyes spread and both +white claws clinging around the wood.</p> + +<p>“Some tump’ny’s tum!” she cried.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV<br> +<small>COMPANY</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">THE announcement that there was company +did not prevent Bluebell from climbing the +bars and giving Roxy a warm hug, but rather +added strength to the embrace.</p> + +<p>“You little darling, it’s been so long since +I saw you! Ear-ly this morning sisser went +away. Who’s come? Hope it isn’t somebody +that’ll keep us from playing and having a +good time.”</p> + +<p>The tow-headed sister spread her nervous +little hands and attempted description while +trotting along.</p> + +<p>“Lady with turls: nice, nice lady!”</p> + +<p>“Is father home?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t Liza know who she is?”</p> + +<p>“No. Liza say, ‘Take off your fings. Doctor +be home pretty soon.’”</p> + +<p>“Oh! It’s somebody to be doctored.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>“It’s tumnp’ny!” urged Rocco. “We goin’ +to have plum p’serves for supper.”</p> + +<p>This settled it. Liza was a discriminating +housekeeper who did not regale calling patients +with her best preserves. The doctor’s +house was also his office where people came +for medicines or treatment, and the Rocky +Forkers were willing to make it a free hotel; +but Liza was not.</p> + +<p>Liza had been spinster mistress of the house +for twenty-five years. Her mother died only +the year before her cousin, Doctor Garde, and +his orphans came, and the short, plump, merry, +quick old maid had taken care of her mother +for a long time. She liked taking care of people. +It was really for the privilege of taking +care of the children that she rented her premises +to her cousin. He came with two babies, +and a new medical diploma to build up a practice +among the hills, and threw himself entirely +into work, leaving Liza to bring up the +children as she saw best. She was a woman +with a wholesome soul, and they all got on +comfortably. While she thought the doctor +remarkable in his profession, and felt pride in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>his cases and cures, outside of that, being considerably +his senior, she took the attitude of +a protecting aunt.</p> + +<p>To-night the children saw her standing in +the back door, looking comely and important, +her black hair sleeked down to her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“M’lissy,” she exclaimed—for when Liza +was anxious or grave, she called the child by +her real name—“go into my room and put +on your blue calico, and your white stockings +and slippers. I’ll come and braid your hair.”</p> + +<p>“Who’s come, Liza?”</p> + +<p>“It’s some of your kin. Mind, now, don’t +go through the sitting-room.”</p> + +<p>Then Bluebell knew that the awful presence +was there. She walked on tiptoe past the +closed door, Rocco at her heels, and slipped +up the staircase to that half nursery, half bedroom, +which the children occupied with Liza. +It contained some of their mother’s furniture: +a mahogany chest of drawers, bulging in front; +a stuffed rocking-chair in which Bluebell told +the little sister stories; a crib, and a trundle-bed +which was not pushed under Liza’s white-valanced +and quilt-covered four-poster, but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>stood under a window that the cherry-boughs +scraped. The room was whitewashed as fair +as a lily, even to the hewed wood joists. Liza’s +dresses hung on nails along the wall, and Bluebell’s +hung beneath in a row which she could +reach.</p> + +<p>Her heelless slippers and fine open-work +stockings came out of the chest of drawers; +and she was soon struggling to hook the blue +calico, but ineffectually, when Liza came up +like a breeze, brushed and braided her hair in +two short tails, tied the tails with yellow brocaded +ribbon from her own ribbon-box, and +looked her over approvingly.</p> + +<p>“Now don’t forget your curchy,” she admonished. +“Come here, Rocky: let me braid +your hair, too, while I’m about it.”</p> + +<p>Rocky demurred, but it was no use. Her lint +locks were swiftly made into two tiny strands +and also tied across with yellow ribbon, giving +her an ancient and grotesque appearance. The +children trod down-stairs a step at a time, hand +in hand. Bluebell trembling with bashful self-consciousness. +It choked her voice and made +her dizzy when she entered the sitting-room, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>so that she stumbled on a strip of the home-woven +carpet laid loose upon the floor. There +were a few chairs, including one gilt-ornamented +rocker, and a case of the doctor’s +books, in the sitting-room; and nothing more; +for the guest in white curls was on the porch +looking up the amphitheatre of woods surrounding +her.</p> + +<p>She was certainly a great lady. Her dress +of plum-colored poplin had a long pointed +waist; she wore a broad embroidered collar +turned over ribbon, and just as the children +appeared, put a large, open-faced gold watch +back into its pocket. Her hair was coiled on +the top of her head and fastened with a shell +comb, two full curls being left at each side of +the forehead.</p> + +<p>Bluebell felt overwhelmed when this lady +turned her delicate face from the hills and +reached two transparent hands toward the +country children. Bluebell made her obeisance, +and the lady seemed pleased with the conscientious +gravity with which she did it.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know me?” said this lady, +pressing a hand of each child.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>“No, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“I am Miss Calder. Your father has told +you about me? I became responsible for you +when you were an infant, and you received my +name, Melissa.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell searched her memory painfully. +She was very anxious to know her namesake, +who seemed the daintiest woman alive; but +having no recollection of the matter herself, +she was forced to admit she did not know she +had one.</p> + +<p>“I s’pose father forgot to tell me,” she observed, +bringing forward the best excuse she +could think of for him.</p> + +<p>“I dare say,” said Miss Calder. “He has +not been the same man since your mother +died.” The fair old lady began to tremble. +She took a handkerchief out of the beaded reticule +hanging to her arm, and, hugging Bluebell +to her, cried for several minutes with an agitation +which shook them both. Bluebell was +much embarrassed. She felt that she ought to +be very sorry, and heaved several deep sighs; +but the pain in her nose, which Miss Calder +was squeezing against the watch-case, kept her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>from fully giving herself up to grief, and it was +probably just as well, as she had a whole lifetime +in which to miss her mother.</p> + +<p>The rose-leaf maiden lady dried her eyes, +and sat down with the children, one on each +side of her.</p> + +<p>“Are you ’sponsible for Rocco, too?”</p> + +<p>“No. I do not know who named her. Your +parents were living in another place at that +time, and your mother died soon after her +birth. I have not seen you since you were a +babe in arms. Your mother was a very lovely +woman.”</p> + +<p>“We’ve got a daguerreotype of her.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed! will you let me see it?”</p> + +<p>“Father will when he comes. He keeps it +locked in his desk drawer. I took it to school +one day to show to the scholars, ’cause Printhy +Pancost said she knew my mother wasn’t +pretty, and he said I mustn’t take it any +more.”</p> + +<p>The fair lady smiled slightly, and said again, +“Indeed!” This appeared to be a polite word +which she uttered without the least emotion, +merely to indicate that she was listening.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>“What do you study at school?”</p> + +<p>“Reading and spelling. I’m in the Second +Reader. We’ve read as far as the ‘Three Boys +and the Three Cakes,’ and we’re spelling in +‘A-base.’ I could spell over to ‘In-com-pat-i-bil-i-ty,’ +but the rest can’t. And there’s going +to be a g’ography school, and I’ll ask father +to send me.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed. You are very smart in your +studies, Melissa. Little Roxana doesn’t go to +school?”</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>Here little Roxana, unwilling to be presented +to company as totally unaccomplished, rubbed +her long fingers over the lady’s watch-guard +and asserted herself:</p> + +<p>“I can sing at the foonerals!”</p> + +<p>Bluebell felt disconcerted. She feared to +shock the rose-leaf guardian; but Rocco took +no notice of her signal to drop the subject.</p> + +<p>“I can sing ‘Back any more,’ and ‘Cap in +a father’s hand.’” To prove which the baby +began at once and sang in a clear, bold voice:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first">“This is the way I long have sought,</div> +<div class="verse">I neva’ turn back any more:</div> +<div class="verse">And mourned a-tause I foun’ it not,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span></div> +<div class="verse">I neva’ turn back any more:</div> +<div class="verse">Away the holy proph-ups went,</div> +<div class="verse">I neva’ turn back any more:</div> +<div class="verse">The road ’t leads from bam-shum-ment,</div> +<div class="verse">I neva’ turn back any more!”</div> +</div></div> + +<p>“Why, indeed!” exclaimed Miss Calder. +But, like a wound-up musical box, changing her +tune, Rocco went on:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first">“There is a happy land,</div> +<div class="indent">Far, far away:</div> +<div class="verse">There saints and glory stand,</div> +<div class="indent">Bright, bright as day.</div> +<div class="verse">Caps in a father’s hand,</div> +<div class="indent">Love cannot die.”</div> +</div></div> + +<p>“I know ‘Jucy-crucy-fide-him,’ too.”</p> + +<p>“She means ‘The Jews, they crucified +Him,’” said Bluebell.</p> + +<p>“I sing it to the white chicken’s fooneral, +and the black chicken’s fooneral, and the +speckled chicken’s fooneral.”</p> + +<p>“You see,” said Bluebell, hot in the face, +but constrained to answer the raised eyebrows +of this lady who probably never pulled off +shoes and stockings or rolled down a sandbank, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>or so much as looked at a dead chicken, +when she was a little girl, “we got a little +graveyard. And there were so many pretty +little chicks died. And Liza lets us take the +fire shovel. We dig a nice little hole and fence +it all round with sticks in the bottom, and wrap +the chicky up; then we ’tend like this porch +was the church, and we sing and have a funeral +like they did when Mary Jane Willey died—I +just preach about what a good chicken it +was,” stammered Bluebell; “and then we +’tend like we’re cryin’ and put it in our box +that we pull with a string, and have a percession +to the grave.” She became so interested +in the description that she ended with some +gusto.</p> + +<p>Miss Calder put her handkerchief to her lips, +shaking a little, and Bluebell felt afraid that +she was going to cry again.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t that an unhealthy kind of play?” +she finally asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh no, ma’am—the chickens is just as +clean!”</p> + +<p>“But your feelings are so disturbed.”</p> + +<p>“We just <i>let on</i> we feel bad. We got ten +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>chickens buried, and headstones and footstones +to ’em all. We enjoy ourselves so much!”</p> + +<p>Miss Calderas smile now escaped from the +handkerchief and ran up her delicate shrivelled +face.</p> + +<p>“I have something for you in my trunk +which may amuse you in a different way.” So +saying the lady rose and rustled into the sitting-room, +where in one corner stood a small, +round-lidded hair-trunk just as the driver from +the station had left it. She opened this with +a key from her reticule, while Bluebell and +Roxana stood one at each end of it, their hands +behind them and their pulses beating with expectation. +A scent of lavender and rose-leaves +came from under the cover. Miss Calder lifted +musky robes of lawn, dazzling white embroidered +garments, and her cap and bonnet-box out, +before she came to certain packages which she +methodically unwrapped.</p> + +<p>Bluebell swallowed several times, and the +little sister opened her mouth.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> + <img src="images/i_fp46.jpg" width="450" height="634" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p class="caption">“<span class="smcap">Here’s a wax doll for you.</span>”—<i>Page <a href="#Page_47">47</a>.</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>The first thing which came to sight was a +string of blue and white beads braided in a +rope; that Miss Calder tied around Rocco’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>honored neck. Then followed a rattle and +whistle, also for Rocco, whom the good lady +had evidently pictured to herself as yet an +infant. But when two flat packages revealed +themselves, “Tales from Catland” in red and +gold and “Stories from Roman History” in +black, flexible backs, Bluebell felt unspeakably +rich. This was, after all, a comparative state. +The superlative was reached when the last +bundle of all came out of several newspapers +and folds of tissue paper. There were some +glimpses of pink gauze, the unmistakable presence +of small gaitered feet, then the actual +dawning of rosy face and flaxen hair.</p> + +<p>“Here’s a wax doll for you,” said Miss +Calder, making the presentation as if wax dolls +were a common addition to every well-regulated +little girl’s family. This was the first of +that particular class of dolls the children had +ever seen. Several cheap ladies with broken +heads were lying about the house; for whenever +the doctor made a journey he brought one +of the children a doll and the other a book—the +books being always histories, or solid sciences.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>Bluebell, I must confess, was too much an +outdoor child to be a tender mother of dolls. +But this beautiful creature with real hair, woke +rapture in her. Her breath came short when +she thanked the new friend. The splendor of +such a possession made her ashamed of her +unmaternal care over the plainer dollies who +had fallen one by one into Rocco’s untutored +hands.</p> + +<p>“What will you call her?”</p> + +<p>“I think the prettiest name in the world is +Georgiana,” said Bluebell, hesitating. If this +darling must be called Melissa it seemed more +than she could stand!</p> + +<p>“That suits her very nicely,” agreed the fair +maiden lady. Bluebell was emboldened to go up +closer and make her lips into an expectant bud.</p> + +<p>“You want to kiss me, do you?” said Miss +Calder, smiling; so she inclined her cheek +towards the bashful, eager little face, and Bluebell +felt as if she had kissed a white hollyhock’s +yielding petal.</p> + +<p>“I have some pretty pieces to make Miss +Georgiana more clothes. Do you know how to +sew?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>“I can hem a little, but it sticks my finger.”</p> + +<p>“Have you begun a sampler yet?”</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am. But Liza’s going to start one +for me. Teeny Banks has got one done, but +she’s a young woman.”</p> + +<p>A well-known, ringing neigh came from the +lane which led through woods from the main +road.</p> + +<p>“That’s Ballie! Father’s at the bars. I’ll +go and tell him you’re come.”</p> + +<p>Father had flung himself out of the saddle, +and the slender-legged, delicate Arabian mare +followed him into her stable. Her chestnut +coat had the richness of satin. She had one +white stocking and a white face, pink, sensitive +nostrils and an arching neck. She had been +known to do marvels of speed, to breast swollen +streams, to pick her way carefully around dangerous +cliffs in the darkest night. She and +her master moved together like one of the old +sylvan Centaurs; but if Bluebell climbed her +back, as she sometimes did, the Arabian +stepped as gently as a nurse.</p> + +<p>Accustomed to her father’s habits, Bluebell +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>waited on the barn floor until he stabled the +pretty creature. She still held Miss Georgiana +carefully in her arms. He came out, unfastened +his leggings, and hung them in their +usual place. His face was square, serious, and +sweet. His light hair hung below his high +standing collar. He was a young man, scarcely +thirty, and so lovable when he got into the +arms of his children. Still, Bluebell had been +taught not to address him by the diminutive of +papa. His own bringing-up had been austere, +inclining to plain, strong words like father, +mother, children.</p> + +<p>“See what I got!” cried his little girl.</p> + +<p>Father lifted her up, doll and all, relaxing +into a smile.</p> + +<p>“Where did you get that?”</p> + +<p>“Father, Miss Calder has come. And she +brought Rocco some beads and me some books, +and Rocco a whistle, and me a doll, and she’s +got a gold watch and white curly hair! Oh, I’m +so glad! And may I go to g’ography school +to-night? There’s a man going to teach in the +church.”</p> + +<p>Father put her down and took her hand.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>“When did she come?” he inquired as they +walked towards the house.</p> + +<p>“Before I got home from school. I guess +a man brought her. And, father,” advised +Bluebell, confidentially, “don’t say anything +to her about mother, for if you do, she’ll burst +out a-crying!”</p> + +<p>He looked down at the auburn head with +wistful eyes.</p> + +<p>It occurred to her afterwards that grown +people seemed to pay little attention to what +children said; for when she came in with +Rocco to supper, father was showing Miss +Calder the daguerreotype, and she was crying +in her web-like handkerchief.</p> + +<p>Bluebell heard her say, “She was like a +daughter to me.” The doctor sat with his head +on his hand. But Bluebell was prevented from +witnessing their meeting by Roxana’s singular +behavior. This lint-locked damsel stood beside +the house, her hands locked behind her. The +whistle and rattle lay despised upon the earth, +though her beads still hung beneath her sulking +chin. Bluebell’s heart misgave her. But she +tried persuasion.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>“Darling, don’t you want to go and help +sisser hunt up the old, <i>pretty</i> dollies, and set +’em in a nice row?” Rocco’s whole body +shook a negative.</p> + +<p>“Would you like to <i>hold</i> the wax dolly in +your hands, and be <i>real</i> careful?”</p> + +<p>Rocco kicked backward with her heel to indicate +her contempt for the wax dolly.</p> + +<p>“O dear!” sighed Bluebell, who had been +taught it was the duty of an elder sister to +give up to the younger. “<i>Do</i> you want to take +my doll right out of my mouth, when it was a +present, too, and pull her hair out and rub dirt +on her face, and break her all to pieces?”</p> + +<p>Roxana wriggled a very faint negative. But +still it was evident that wax doll stood between +her sister’s heart and hers.</p> + +<p>“I don’t da’st to give her away to you,” +pleaded Bluebell, safe on that point; still she +looked ruefully at the fair Georgiana’s dissension-creating +face.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want the ole fing!” exclaimed +Rocco, sticking her lip further out and scowling. +She really did not know what was swelling +in her tender little heart.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>“Then, honey-dew,” argued Bluebell, whose +affection would burst into pet names which she +would not on any account have had her elders +hear, “what you poutin’ for?”</p> + +<p>She held the disturbing Georgiana aloft.</p> + +<p>“Georgiana,” said the elder sister, “I got +just one little Rockety-popperty, and I love her +and hug her, and our mother’s dead, so we’re +half-orphans. And we play together and have +the best times! Buryin’ chickens and all.”</p> + +<p>Rocco’s long fingers twisted nervously, and +one full tear splashed on the toe she was scowling +at.</p> + +<p>“And now a good friend’s come, and +brought you, and my little sister’s got mad! +It makes me feel so bad I don’t want to play! +You can just stay here under this tree. I’m +goin’ off in the woods or some place. And our +company will want to know what’s become of +me, and folks will say, ‘she went off and lay +down like the babes in the woods ’cause her +sister didn’t love her any more!’”</p> + +<p>Roxana uttered a mournful whoop. Her +heart broke under its heavy weight, and the +freshet washed over her face.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>“<i>I</i> ain’t mad, B’uebell,” she surrendered, +piteously.</p> + +<p>They flew and caught each other in a tight +embrace, Bluebell stooping to the baby.</p> + +<p>“I do love you any more!”</p> + +<p>“You old darling!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t go off to the woods!”</p> + +<p>Rocco was such a delicious little sister in her +melting moment, so wet-eyed, so tremulous in +the breast, clinging with such loving arms, that +the least pliable person could not resist her.</p> + +<p>“No, I won’t go off to the woods, honey-dew,” +vowed Bluebell.</p> + +<p>“You can have my eggs in the rob—rob—robin’s +nest,” hiccupped Rocco, who in the +triumph of affection gave up all things.</p> + +<p>“And you can be Georgiana’s mother, and +I’ll be her grandmother! Then you’ll own her +too, and I won’t be givin’ her away!” This +flash of Bluebell’s genius fused the whole difficulty.</p> + +<p>Rocco’s tears were carefully wiped off on +the wrong side of her apron. A smile like the +brightness after rain spread from her black +eyelashes all over her face, a reflection of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>smile Georgiana had been so steadily bestowing +on her small maternal relative, her grandparent, +the dark, weather-beaten house, the +cherry-trees, and all animate and inanimate +nature.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V<br> +<small>THE GEOGRAPHY SCHOOL</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap2">AFTER supper Miss Calder professed herself +very much fatigued; so Liza showed +her at once to the best room, and Doctor Garde, +before setting out on a night-ride, carried her +trunk into it.</p> + +<p>This gorgeous apartment was situated on +the ground floor, opening directly from the +sitting-room; and as the rest of the family +slept up-stairs, the timid lady felt an unacknowledged +chill running down her spine. She +considered that she had come into a wild and +uncivilized region, and remembered the brigand-like +workmen at the Furnace who seemed +to regard her with curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Are you not afraid, alone with the children, +when Doctor Garde is gone?” she asked Liza, +while laying out her toilet-set.</p> + +<p>“Oh no, I never think of such a thing. +Mother and me lived here alone so long. They +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>say it is unsafe over in the Harris neighborhood. +But nobody ever tried to break into this +house.”</p> + +<p>A screech-owl screamed, and Miss Calder +shuddered. These spinster ladies were very +polite to each other, but they really stood in +social opposition.</p> + +<p>“She’s used to fine living, and she’ll think +this is no place to bring up the children,” was +Liza’s secret fear.</p> + +<p>“The children seem healthy and happy +enough,” was Miss Calder’s silent comment, +“but they never will learn manners here. +Maurice must be roused, and reminded of his +duty to them.”</p> + +<p>There was a fireplace in the spare bedroom, +now filled with asparagus and roses set in a +huge blue pitcher. The toilet-stand was covered +with ruffled dimity. The bed-valance was +also of ruffled dimity, and a mountain of +feather-beds, dressed in the best linen and +showiest quilts the house afforded, offered +Miss Calder repose. Liza had once been to +Fredericktown, and she flattered herself she +knew how town-folks fixed their company +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>rooms. A chest on legs and a brass-knobbed +bureau stood in opposite corners. The flowered +bowl and pitcher would be eagerly seized +by china-fanciers in these days. A long gilt-framed +glass, with a gaudy landscape at the +top of it, was shrouded in gauze, like the face +of a Turkish wife. On each paper blind was +represented a colossal vase of flowers, so gorgeous +that real roses were put almost out of +countenance by them. And the chairs were all +wooden seats instead of split-bottom, and had +gilding on their backs. On the wall was a +framed certificate of Liza’s church-membership; +and the plaster-of-Paris images of a cat +and a parrot ornamented opposite ends of the +mantel, while “Little Samuel” knelt pacifically +between them.</p> + +<p>“There’s no lock on the door that opens on +to the porch,” bustled Liza, “but you needn’t +be afraid. Nobody could open that door without +waking you.”</p> + +<p>Miss Calder saw this door with cold perspiration, +and thought of her cozy upper chamber +at home, and her two bell-ropes which on +the instant would arouse Maria and the man.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>But she smiled as pleasantly as possible, +while thinking, “My nerves will not bear such +a strain long.”</p> + +<p>Liza wished her good-night, and went to put +the baby to bed, and attend to her milking.</p> + +<p>The cows were at the lower bars, waiting in +content. Night had not fairly set in, for twilight +lingers so long among the hills. There +was dead blackness up the pine slopes, but an +afterglow along the valley. Bluebell sat on +the fence watching these bovine mothers. She +had called them from the other side of the run, +with long intonations: “Su-kee; Pi-dey! Ro-see! +Su-ukee!” Pidey’s bell had tinkled accompaniment, +recording their progress on the +way. Now it dingled down the opposite hill +with such a clamor that Bluebell could fancy +the knock-kneed trot of both cows; and now +it thumped as they plunged into the run; then +it wandered along, pausing over some very +sweet bunch of grass, jerking at a mouthful of +sweet-briar, and finally coming to the bars in +perfect marching time: “<i>te-ding</i>, <i>te-ding</i>, <i>te-ding</i>, +<i>a-ding</i>, <i>ding</i>.” Bluebell had never heard +an organ or an orchestra. She thought that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>cow-bell in the dim landscape, with echoes coming +back from the hills, the most softening +music in the world. The sound brought with +it a smell of roses, of grass after rain, and +clover.</p> + +<p>But another sound now attracted her ear, +and she turned on the fence. Ballie was neighing +at the upper bars. The doctor had one foot +in the stirrup and was rising to his seat when +his daughter’s voice burst out in appeal:</p> + +<p>“Oh, father, won’t you please take me to +g’ography school?”</p> + +<p>She clung panting to the fence. “The whole +school’s goin’, and it’s only to Harris’s +chapel!”</p> + +<p>He felt very tender toward his children this +evening, though he thought himself always too +indulgent.</p> + +<p>“But I haven’t time to take out the buggy +now.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t I ride behind you, father? I’m all +dressed up ’cept my Sunday flat.”</p> + +<p>“Well, run and get it then, I can leave you +at the chapel, and pick you up when I come +back. Tell Liza to pin a shawl around you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>Bluebell was presently climbing to a seat +behind the Arabian’s saddle, and holding +around her father as they trotted away. Her +mother’s black-silk, heavily fringed shawl was +pinned tightly under her chin. It must be confessed +that Liza had not seen her wrapped. +Liza was with the baby, and Bluebell knew she +would put the horrible old broche around her—a +wrap beautiful in its time, but now as +old as Liza’s self, and much the worse for +wear. So the damsel knocked hastily at Miss +Calder’s door, to gain access to the chest +within.</p> + +<p>Miss Melissa opened it with some hesitation +lest it were an early housebreaker. She had +on a flowered dressing-gown and was brushing +out her puffs.</p> + +<p>“I only want to get my shawl out of the +chest,” said the little girl, and she hurried to +lift the heavy lid.</p> + +<p>“Are you going out, my dear?”</p> + +<p>“Father’s goin’ to take me to g’ography +school.”</p> + +<p>“To geography school?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am. I’m to ride behind him on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>Ballie, and he’ll leave me at the door, and call +for me when he comes back. It will be such +fun!”</p> + +<p>Miss Melissa looked as if she hardly thought +so. Her inward comment was, “Dear me! +how negligent and ignorant of a mother’s duty +a man is!”</p> + +<p>Bluebell dragged out the heavy embroidered +black shawl, and ran with it. The silk apron +was not attainable; but this royal garment and +her “flat” were more than she had hoped for. +The “flat” was a brown crimped straw with +flopping brim, tied under the chin—a head-covering +for Sunday.</p> + +<p>It was quite an adventure to be going +towards that unknown delight of geography +school, behind on Ballie, who, though kind, +curvetted and begged to know why <i>she</i> was +asked to do double duty like any old hack.</p> + +<p>They rode by the skirts of the pines, and +down a knotty, steep wagon road, over the +bridge of the run to the cross-roads. Lights +from various cabins twinkled along their way. +The horse’s hoofs struck the county thoroughfare +which led past the school-house, but paused +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>at a small white building, and here Bluebell +alighted. Her mind had been too busy for talk, +and her young, grave father, occupied also, +whistled under his breath all the way. It made +her feel sad to hear father whistle so—it was +like the far-off sigh of the pines.</p> + +<p>“I’ll stop for you,” he said as he cantered +off.</p> + +<p>Harris’s chapel was lighted; and through its +two open doors you could see it was crowded. +Its gable-end was towards the road, and a flight +of wooden steps led up to each door. Bluebell +entered on the “women’s side.” No kind of +meeting could be held in the building which +would make it proper for these doors to be +used indiscriminately. All the men and boys +entered at one door, all the women and girls +at the other; a certain partition in the benches +separated the house into two sides, one of +which was composed of bonnets, and the other +of bare heads having the hair cropped around +the ears.</p> + +<p>But never had the chapel presented so enjoyable +a sight to Bluebell’s eyes as now. She +liked the nine-o’clock Sunday-school, and even +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>the sermon, though the minister always +pounded and the echoes of his voice made your +ears ache; but when the windows were open +such pleasant air came in, the children looked +so nice in their Sunday clothes, and their mothers +so peaceful, and even ugly old Mr. Harris +seemed quite pleasant, when he started the +singing, keeping time with his foot, and rolling +out cheerfully:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first"> “Come, let us anew</div> +<div class="verse">Our journey pursue,</div> +<div class="verse">Roll round with the year,</div> +<div class="verse">And never stand still</div> +<div class="verse">Till the Master appear.”</div> +</div></div> + +<p>But to-night the whitewashed walls glistened +under tallow candles stuck in tin sockets at regular +intervals around them, besides those lights +in the great chandeliers made of cross-pieces +of wood pierced with holes. At the pulpit-end +of the room, large maps covered the wall; and +below them stood Mr. Runnels with a long +pointer in his hand. The seats seemed filled to +overflowing with everybody for miles around, +as Bluebell tiptoed up the aisle. The flat +flopped and the fringed shawl trailed. Some +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>one put out a hand and pulled her, and she +found Perintha Pancost had squeezed a seat +for her, which she thankfully took, settling her +little blushing face into the mass. She found +Mandy Willey on the other side of her. Mandy +Willey had on the black-silk apron, and her +white sun-bonnet. She had also a pocketful of +fresh mountain-tea, which she divided with the +other girls.</p> + +<p>“What did you wear your flat for?” whispered +Perintha disparagingly. “Take it off!” +Her school bonnet lay in her lap, and she +looked comfortable.</p> + +<p>“I sha’n’t do it,” whispered back Bluebell +with some asperity.</p> + +<p>“My maw has an old shawl like that,” added +Perintha, fingering the fringe.</p> + +<p>“Your maw!” retorted Bluebell, stung by +the implied stricture when she thought herself +looking her grandest. She concentrated all her +scorn on the soft diminutive. “<i>I’d</i> say +mother!”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” snuffed Perintha.</p> + +<p>“Miss Calder’s come,” continued Bluebell in +a dignified fashion. “She’s a town-lady. She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>brought me a doll with real hair that you can +comb out, like mine.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care if she has,” retorted Perintha. +“My cousin in Frederick has two dolls nearly +as big as I am, and <i>both</i> of them has hair!”</p> + +<p>So they might have gone on, trying to outshine +each other in lustre borrowed from their +friends and relatives, much as grown people +do, had not Mr. Runnels now claimed everybody’s +attention. He gave a brief, plain lecture +on the divisions of the earth’s surface. +Then selecting the map of North America, he +requested the best singers to take their places +on front seats. Old Mr. Harris, who had come +to keep a proper check on proceedings, felt +touched and complimented by this appeal. He +always led church singing; so, tiptoeing officiously +about, he weeded out a laughing girl +here and an awkward young man there, in some +other place a middle-aged farmer who was +noted for bass, or a matronly shrill-voiced sister +who responded with reluctance, and placed +them in array, himself at the head, good-naturedly +ready to lend his influence to education.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>Then Mr. Runnels turned to the old schoolmaster +who sat smiling and prominent on a +chair brought down from the high pulpit, and +begged that the school-children might be +brought forward. Upon this, Mr. Pitzer tiptoed +along the aisles, summoning this one and +that one of his flock and ranging them behind +the front row, where the heads of some scarcely +reached above the high backs of the seats. +Bluebell felt important and excited, and regretted +having left behind her Noah’s Ark +book, which she had proposed to herself as a +text-book to the maps. Perintha and Mandy +forgot to munch mountain-tea. Little Joe Hall +sat beside the master, on the men’s side, the +master secretly proud of this boy’s quick mind +and alert manner, though pretending to be oblivious +to them lest parents of other children +present might say he “showed partiality.”</p> + +<p>The geography-teacher explained the map, +and old Mr. Harris was the first to go up and +“point out” different countries. He made +mistakes and chirped pleasantly over them, but +encouraged one or two blushing girls to follow +him, and a lumbering boy who was so frightened +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>when the pointer was placed in his hand +that he could not tell land from water.</p> + +<p>Then little Joe Hall stepped forward and +covered himself all over with glory; he had +the countries so thoroughly by heart that nobody +could puzzle him, though John Tegarden +confusedly called for “Russian Central.” The +master smiled furtively around while he took +off his glasses and rubbed them.</p> + +<p>But now the beauty of a geography school +came into full play. The improvised orchestra +was instructed to lift up its voice and sing off +the map while Mr. Runnels indicated each +country with the pointer. The melody was a +sort of chant, but it was a lively chant, and +every rustic took it up with enjoyment:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="first"> “Greenland, a desolate and barren region,</div> +<div class="verse">Greenland, a desolate and barren region!</div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="first">“Russian America, New Archangel,</div> +<div class="verse">Russian America, New Archangel.</div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="first">“British America has no capital,</div> +<div class="verse">British America has no capital.</div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="first">“United States, Washington,</div> +<div class="verse">The government’s republican:</div> +<div class="verse">United States, Washington,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span></div> +<div class="verse">The government’s republican.</div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="first">“Mexico, Mexico city,</div> +<div class="verse">Mexico, Mexico city.</div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="first">“Central America, New Guatemala,</div> +<div class="verse">Central America, New Guatemala.”</div> +</div></div></div> + +<p>It sounded so wonderfully learned. These +geographical names were caught up with gusto +by everybody in the house except a few quiet +old folks who respected “good learning,” but +felt that their day was too far advanced to +attempt it. In short, the geography-teacher +and his method made an excellent impression; +and when he called a recess that “signers” +might come forward and enroll themselves in +his classes, as future lessons would be given +with closed doors, a majority of all present +were put upon his lists. Even Mr. Pitzer joined +the adult class; not that he had anything to +learn in the science of geography; but he said +he always liked to throw his influence on the +right side.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t your paw going to send you?” inquired +Perintha of Bluebell. Perintha was +promenading with the air of a proprietress, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>just because the geography-teacher boarded at +her house!</p> + +<p>“Course he is,” exclaimed Doctor Garde’s +little girl, anxious for his return; “he always +wants me to learn everything I can.”</p> + +<p>She stood on a bench and stretched up to one +of the high windows to peer in the direction he +had taken. The boys and girls trooped in and +out enjoying their recess; the elderly people +gathered in groups; and she felt quite left out +and behind the fashion, until little Joe Hall +called her attention.</p> + +<p>“Bluebell Garde, your father wants you.”</p> + +<p>“Where is he?” she asked, scrambling +down.</p> + +<p>“He’s up there talking to Mr. Runnels. I +guess he’s signin’ for you.”</p> + +<p>He had enrolled her name and paid the fee, +in an absent way, but he did not seem greatly +impressed by the smiling geography-teacher.</p> + +<p>“The children’s class will meet on Saturday +afternoons,” said Mr. Runnels. “Your little +girl seems to have a wonderful mind. She has +learned the map of North America already.”</p> + +<p>He said this, drawing his breath over his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>teeth and bowing in a way which made Bluebell +uncomfortable, “it seemed so affected”—she +had heard Liza speak of “affected people” +with such condemnation that they seemed +next door to criminals. The young father +looked down at her, possibly flattered by this +tribute to his child’s talents.</p> + +<p>“She needs holding back instead of urging +forward,” he said briefly; and taking her hand, +he nodded adieu to Mr. Runnels.</p> + +<p>“Can’t I stay till it’s out, father?” begged +Bluebell, trotting by his side as he stalked out, +his old patients right and left greeting him.</p> + +<p>No. He had another call to make on the way +home, and had no time for the geography +school.</p> + +<p>So she was obliged to console herself, as they +cantered along, with rehearsing the chant +which meant in her ears a triplet of gruesome +sounding names for one country:</p> + +<p class="center">“Greenland, a des-o-late and barren region!”</p> + +<p>They drew up at Ridenour’s gate. Her +father went in, with his black-leather medicine-cases +called “pill-bags” over his arm, merely +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>throwing the Arabian’s bridle over a post. +Bluebell crept forward into the saddle, and +began to stroke the mare’s soft neck. She put +her foot into the strap above the stirrup and +took a firm seat, imagining herself flying at +full gallop. It would have frightened Miss +Melissa beyond expression to see her in this +unprotected, perilous plight.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the flat did flop with violence, and +she found herself clinging with all her might +to the plunging Arabian’s mane.</p> + +<p>“I want you!” said the rough voice of a +man, appearing through the darkness.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI<br> +<small>THE NARROWS AND MARY ANN FURNACE</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“OH!” added the man, frightened to see +such a little shape cling to the plunging +horse, “I thought it was the doctor.”</p> + +<p>The doctor was fortunately making a short +call; and he now appeared to quiet the still +snorting creature.</p> + +<p>“I held on tight, father!” said his little girl, +trembling in every nerve.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t mean to scare anything,” apologized +the furnace-man with some compunction, +though with his own anxiety and errand upper-most; +“but I saw the horse, like you was +startin’ away and I wanted to stop you. We’ve +had an accident down to the Furnace. I went +in to your place, but Liza said you’d gone this +way, so I come along expectin’ to meet you. +Eli Ridenour fell over the Narrows.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll come,” said the doctor. “Is he at the +Furnace?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you go in and tell the family. Cautiously, +mind; his mother isn’t strong yet. +And have them send a wagon with plenty of +bedding to bring him home.”</p> + +<p>The furnace-man entered the house without +ceremony, according to the custom of the country, +and Doctor Garde swung himself again +into the saddle, taking his little girl this time +before him.</p> + +<p>“You ought to be in bed,” he observed as +they flew up the slope. “Guess I better let you +down where the lane turns off. You can run +along then, can’t you?”</p> + +<p>Run along that dark lane, half a mile in +length, through blackness, all alone! Fathers +are not mothers; and this father, though the +tenderest in intention, was so accustomed to +heroic methods himself, that he did not realize +what terror his proposition held for his little +girl.</p> + +<p>“Don’t make me get off,” she pleaded, patting +his shaven cheek. She thought of Billy +Bowl. It is impossible to explain how this +mythical character could haunt her after dark. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>He was a monster of ingratitude in a story, and +Bluebell had a greater horror of him than of +any other image her mind could call up. Billy +Bowl was a bow-legged fellow who slipped into +a pit: there he lay bellowing for help—Bluebell +could fancy his hoarse cries—until some +good man came along and pulled him out. It +was easy to picture this excellent person reaching +into the pit and taking hold of Billy’s repulsive +hand. And being pulled out, what did +the bow-legged Billy do? He turned around—how +strongly the case was stated in that!—he +<i>turned around</i> and pushed in the man who +pulled him out! Many a night Bluebell wished +Billy Bowl had been left in the pit! Many a +time did she regret Liza had ever told her the +story. She believed him always abroad, an +element of evil on the air! She could not tell +any grown person about it. Father would +laugh, and show the absurdity of the fancy.</p> + +<p>Father had not the slightest idea that his +little girl nursed any Bugaboo or felt her flesh +creep at braving Billy Bowl the whole length +of that lane! With a shade of disapproval, +however, he did observe:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>“I hope my little girl isn’t a coward?”</p> + +<p>Fear of Billy Bowl and general cowardice +were two distinct things in Bluebell’s mind.</p> + +<p>“Course I’m not!” she answered with direct +truth. “Didn’t I hold tight and not get +throwed off? And I didn’t scream, either. +But do take me along, you never took me to see +any patients. I like to go with you, father,” +confessed Bluebell, half-ashamed to reveal how +much she enjoyed his society. And she added, +patting his shaven cheek again:</p> + +<p>“Little father!”</p> + +<p>“Little father” was not displeased by the +caress. He kissed her on the forehead, and +thought what a companion she would grow to +be for him. They cantered past the turning +off of their lane. The road soon required all +his attention. They entered what was known +about Rocky Fork as the Narrows: a shelf dug +out along a precipice. It was only a mile or +so in extent, but being of semi-circular shape, +those who used the pass could see but a few +yards ahead of them. Above it the hill rose +perpendicularly in masses of rock and distorted +pines as high as Bluebell could see. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>Below it—many jagged, straight-down yards +below it—the Rocky Fork murmured along a +bed of boulders.</p> + +<p>About the middle of the Narrows a huge +mass of rock hung over the way, threatening +every passer: it was called the Table. Every +hard storm brought part of it down, and a dangerous +gully was worn under it. The road was +comfortably wide for horsemen, though in passing, +the one who had a right to the wall was +thankful therefor; but vehicles could not possibly +pass each other.</p> + +<p>Whenever two carriages met on the Narrows, +the driver nearest the entrance unhitched his +horses, fastened them to the rear of his vehicle +and drew it backward into a broader place. +No railing of any sort protected the edge. No +one but a native, or a person perfectly familiar +with every step of the way, would cross the +Narrows, especially after night.</p> + +<p>The doctor’s horse picked her way, not too +close to the mountain-wall. Rock-splinters and +flint-dust rolled over the edge and were heard +dropping and dropping until the brain turned +dizzy following them. She knew every foot of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>the road, but snorted frequently as if her disapproval +of it was unconquerable. Bluebell’s +fingers tightened on her father’s coat. Her +face was toward the ravine. It was a gulf of +darkness: there was no moon, and it was just +as well that little could be seen except the white +flinty track. Just after they passed the Table +rock, where Ballie had to tread quite on the +outside to keep from knocking her rider’s head, +they heard footfalls advancing toward them. +Bluebell knew father would take care of her! +still they must turn to the right, and the right +was the outside.</p> + +<p>The footfalls quickened, they thumped tumultuously: +it was a horse galloping. No man in +his senses would make a horse gallop along that +perilous cut. Bluebell could feel her father +gathering himself, tightening his hold on the +bridle and around her little body to a cruel +clench. He leaned forward and whispered, +“H——st!” to the mare, and then shouted +ahead:</p> + +<p>“Look out there!”</p> + +<p>The galloping horse, which they could see +was riderless, plunged back and reared directly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>in front of them. The Arabian recoiled, +her hind feet went over the precipice, and she +scrambled like a cat to hang on with her front +hoofs and regain her hold. Father leaned to +her neck—Bluebell felt almost crushed for an +instant; then they were on the solid road, the +riderless horse had dashed around the curve, +and the agile Arabian, trembling in every limb, +turned her head back to throw the glare of her +eye upon her master’s face.</p> + +<p>“Well done!” he said, patting her.</p> + +<p>She uttered an exultant neigh, and hurried +forward with a quicker step.</p> + +<p>“Did I hurt you?” the doctor asked his little +girl.</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” she replied, breathing hard, but +proud of having controlled herself in this second +fright. “There isn’t another horse in the +world as smart as Ballie!”</p> + +<p>“She has brought me out of so many tight +places,” said the doctor, “I could trust my +life to her. But I wish you were in bed.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t make any fuss!”</p> + +<p>“No,” said father, “I’m glad you didn’t; +you showed your old Irish pluck, the pluck of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>your great-great-grandfather, old Sir James. +During the Irish rebellion in the last century, +rough mobs gathered with pikes at every +bridge to spear men of his belief.”</p> + +<p>“What’s a pike, father?”</p> + +<p>“A pole with a sharp knife on the end. +Once when he came by with his followers the +bridge was full, and he rode straight through, +fighting them on all hands, and the rioters +missed the pleasure of throwing his speared +body in the stream.”</p> + +<p>“It was right for him to fight, was it, +father?”</p> + +<p>“It is right to meet any emergency with +pluck, and overcome it.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell felt her heart swell. She determined +to show her Irish pluck in every emergency +of life.</p> + +<p>The road broadened and a glare fell across +it: they had reached the Furnace. The Furnace, +which was called Mary Ann to distinguish +it from other furnaces in the ore region, was +an open brick building built into the hillside. +It furnished an industry for many poor men. +Here iron was melted, and the fires seldom went +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>out. Even in sunny days smoke hung over the +cluster of houses in a valley below, which was +named from the Furnace, Mary Ann Post-office.</p> + +<p>It was a wonderfully picturesque sight which +the riders came upon. A flare lit up the coal-dust +road, and you could look between brick +pillars at what seemed to be the centre of the +earth on fire. Men passed to and fro, thrown +into strong relief, and each one wore a +red-flannel blouse known thereabouts as a +“wamus,” a name which probably came from +“warm us”; the “wamuses” did not lessen +the general effect.</p> + +<p>Bluebell felt excited. She did not miss a +point of the picture. Her father, she thought, +was like old Sir James riding through danger.</p> + +<p>But the doctor dismounted at once to serious +business. One furnace-man tied his horse, and +another gave Bluebell a seat on a stool behind +one of the brick pillars.</p> + +<p>“I met a horse galloping around the Narrows,” +said Doctor Garde.</p> + +<p>“’Twas Eli’s,” said a furnace-man. “It +throwed him just at this end of the Narrows, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>and went gallopin’ down to Mary Ann. And +just a few minutes ago back it came on the +homeward road. We tried to catch it, and that +set it off on the run again. You had a pretty +close shave of it, didn’t you, Doc?”</p> + +<p>“Very close,” replied the doctor. He went +to his patient, who lay outside on a bed of +coats.</p> + +<p>Bluebell sat quietly watching the fires and +feeling sorry for the injured man when he +groaned. She heard somebody say it might +have gone worse with him, and that he was not +badly hurt after all. Her head settled against +the brick pillar, and the men came and went +before her like figures in a dream. She wondered +if it were true, as John Tegarden said, +that all the coal underground for rods around +had been on fire since the old furnace burnt +down some years before. He said horses’ feet +sunk through and were in danger of burning +off! Then she heard frogs in the Rocky Fork +singing their loudest, as if to drown the far-reaching +cry of insects which make the summer +night ring; and the cool wind and a smell of +blossoming laurel rushed over her face.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>But, waking next morning on her own bed, +she had not the least idea how she got there. +Nor had she dreamed that the events of that +finished day were to make a great change in +her life.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII<br> +<small>MISS MELISSA FURTHER DISAPPROVES OF THE ROCKY + FORK</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">FATHER had started on his rounds again +when his daughter came down to breakfast, +and Miss Calder and Liza were at table, +talking politely. Liza wore a cool, faded lawn, +one of her best afternoon dresses, over which +her kitchen apron was tied. Miss Calder, with +less of the sun in her blood, was in a black +barège relieved by white sleeves and collar. +Each woman seemed so sweet and fair in her +way, that Bluebell hardly knew which to admire +most.</p> + +<p>Liza settled the little girl’s dress with a +matronly twitch and fastened a loose hook or +two: then poured out her glass of milk and +helped her to bread and butter and fried +chicken.</p> + +<p>“You won’t want to go to school to-day, will +you, Bluebell?” she said.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>“Bluebell?” repeated Miss Calder, questioningly. +“She is not commonly called Melissa?”</p> + +<p>“Well, no,” replied Liza apologetically; +“seems like her mother give her a kind of a +pet name when she was a baby, because her +eyes were so blue. But laws! they’re gray +now to what they were before she had the +whooping-cough. Whooping-cough is very +hard on children. She had it two years ago, +and so had Rocco, and I was worryin’ about +them the whole summer.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell had been considering the sacrifice +of a school-day. She thought of her head-marks, +and the probability of Perintha Pancost +or Tildy Banks accumulating wealth of that +kind to her detriment, in her absence. She +thought of the noon play, and the geography-school +excitement. Giving up school for +the day, and for perhaps as many days as +Miss Calder stayed, was a serious sacrifice. +Still, what little girl <i>could</i> go off to school +when her friend was on a visit to the family?</p> + +<p>“I won’t go,” said Bluebell, hoping Perintha +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>Pancost at least might not get the head-mark.</p> + +<p>“You must not stay at home on my account,” +said Miss Melissa. “I want to see +your school. Your father said he would be +driving by that way in the afternoon and would +fetch me home.”</p> + +<p>“But it’s so far!” cried the little girl +eagerly. “Can you walk all that way?”</p> + +<p>“I think I should enjoy it,” replied Miss +Calder, smiling. “I am quite a pedestrian.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell at once felt it was to be an important +day. Teeny and Tildy Banks would be +aides-de-camp in the march. She would show +her friend off before the school. Perintha Pancost +needn’t take on airs about the geography-teacher. +She could not remember when so distinguished +a visitor had honored the school. +The whole pageant flashed before her mind, +even to the finale when her father’s low-seated +buggy would be whirled up before the step by +Ballie, and Miss Calder disappear in a cloud +of dust.</p> + +<p>So after breakfast they set out, Miss Melissa +carrying a blotting-book to fill with flowers +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>and ferns for her herbarium: a possession +everybody should have, she informed Bluebell.</p> + +<p>Bluebell carried a most superior lunch—not +in the calico bag, which smelled of stale +bread-crumbs and had been used rather freely +in getting the “last tag” of various girls on +separating for the day—but in a willow hand-basket +with lids, so cumbersome that she envied +Teeny and Tildy when they sallied forth +with their slim reticule. However, <i>they</i> had +not company.</p> + +<p>“And how did you like the singing-school?” +inquired Miss Melissa as she and Bluebell +walked down toward the run.</p> + +<p>“It was a g’ography school. Oh, it was <i>so</i> +nice! He had them sing the countries—I wish +Rocco had waked ’fore we started: I’d ’a’ +learned it to her.”</p> + +<p>“This country seems very romantic,” said +Miss Calder, inhaling the air with delight. +“But it needs cultivation. You should see the +smooth, beautiful hills around Sharon.”</p> + +<p>“Is that where you live, ma’am?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that has been my residence all my +life,” said Miss Calder with nice precision. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>“And, my dear, you may, if you please, call +me Aunt Melissa. Your mother called me Aunt +Melissa.”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m. Thank you,” murmured Bluebell. +She was about to curtsy, but hesitated lest it +might not be a suitable occasion. “Aunt Melissa, +is Sharon a great big place—as big as +Fredericktown?”</p> + +<p>“I know nothing about Fredericktown. But +Sharon is not a city. It is a delightful small +town of about two thousand inhabitants.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell silently wondered who counted the +people. She had vast respect for cities and +towns. She could not imagine anything ill-kept +or disgusting about a town. Presently +they came to the run, and Miss Melissa uttered +one or two exclamations as she staggered +across the stones.</p> + +<p>“This isn’t anything to the foot-log,” said +Bluebell. “But, oh, Aunt! wouldn’t it scared +you last night if you’d been on Ballie when she +slipped over the Narrows! It’s an awful steep +place!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the lady, turning quite pale; +“the man who fetched me from the cars drove +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>along there. He assured me that there was no +other road, or I never should have allowed +it.”</p> + +<p>“But there <i>is</i> another road.”</p> + +<p>“He said there was none. And I have trembled +ever since to think of returning. I trust +your father does not ride that way often?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I guess he does.”</p> + +<p>Miss Melissa trembled now to think how soon +the little speaker might become doubly orphaned.</p> + +<p>“We rode that way last night,” repeated +Bluebell, “and a runway horse come by and +pushed us off! Ballie was all off but her fore +feet, Aunt, and she just jumped back! I was +scared,” she pursued, plodding along innocently, +her dark bare arms dropping with their +load of basket; “but I showed my Irish pluck +and didn’t make any fuss. I didn’t make any, +either, when father left me on Ballie and went +in to Ridenour’s. A man come along and made +her plunge so she would have run away or +throwed me off if I hadn’t held tight!”</p> + +<p>“Indeed,” said Miss Melissa faintly. But +a most determined look grew in her shocked, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>affectionate face. “The poor children,” she +ruminated, “will not only have the bringing-up +of boys, but their very lives will be continually +endangered by their absorbed young +father, if I do not interfere.”</p> + +<p>“You see we had to go to Mary Ann Furnace +to ’tend to a man that fell over the Narrows +and got hurt,” Bluebell went on; but by +this time they had reached the Banks’, and +Teeny and Tildy were waiting.</p> + +<p>Teeny walked beside Miss Calder, trying to +feel quite a grown woman and striking her +dignified heels against her own dress at every +step; but Tildy hung back and helped Bluebell +with the basket. Tildy felt a motherly patronage +for the smaller girl. They were chums, +though Bluebell’s arm had to reach up to Tildy’s +waist, and Tildy’s arm lay most comfortably +on Bluebell’s shoulder. Whatever else +might be in Tildy’s disposition, she was a devoted +partisan. These friends seldom disagreed. +Bluebell accepted Tildy’s solemn dictum +with credulous readiness, and was usually +her partner when the school marched, or in +the delightful rainy-day game of “Round and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>round in a green sugar-tree, one cold and frosty +morning.”</p> + +<p>There were, however, two things which Bluebell +felt she could not yield to Tildy, and these +were the spelling-prize, and their one disputed +“piece” on Friday afternoon when “speaking” +was in order.</p> + +<p>To be sure, there were plenty of other pieces +which might have been added to their repertory, +such as “<i>My bird is dead, says Nancy +Ray</i>,” “<i>Twinkle, twinkle, little star</i>,” and “<i>I +like to see a little dog</i>,” all fresh as the lips +that mumbled them in class; but both Tildy +and Bluebell would speak “<i>Mary had a little +lamb</i>,” or they wouldn’t speak anything! They +both loved and doted on this piece: they not +only knew it by heart, but each claimed it with +a jealousy passing that of authorship. If Mr. +Pitzer called Bluebell’s name first, she flew to +the middle of the floor and shrilled “<i>Mary had +a little lamb</i>,” with a triumphant wag of her +head at Tildy. If Tildy had the first opportunity, +the case was reversed, and Bluebell, +with a sense of injury, declined to contribute +to the afternoon’s literary exercises. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>sweet-hearted schoolmaster smiled at their +weekly controversy, and perhaps the scholars +got tired of the ever-recurring lamb; but the +literary range of the school was not very wide, +and there were other repetitions than Bluebell’s +and Tildy’s.</p> + +<p>The schoolward-going group this time walked +with decorum past the downs. But Miss +Calder made frequent pauses on mossy logs +while the others brought her forage of ferns. +They chewed sassafras leaves and peeled long +withes of spicewood. She could see distant +laurel heights through breaks in the woods, and +they made a long detour to get her bunches +of the pinky-white blossoms. So it was actually +late in the forenoon when they came to the +foot-log by Halls mill. Though Miss Melissa +had walked with spirit, she shrank from the +boiling Rocky Fork, and asked for the bridge, +and even proposed going back rather than trust +the giddy foot-log. But this was not to be +heard of, and Teeny distinguished herself for +firmness. She took tight hold of the fluttering +lady’s hand, and Tildy walked behind steadying +her by the dress. So after a tilt and a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>shriek or two, they brought her safely to the +other side in time for her to witness Bluebell’s +intrepid passage of the log, laden with all the +baggage of the party except the blotting-book, +which Tildy went back to bring.</p> + +<p>Then they all moved upon the mud-chinked +school-house. Miss Melissa’s gentle face expressed +a refusal to be reconciled to this as an +institution of learning. She was a professor’s +daughter, and had spent her days in an academic +atmosphere. She had even taught in the +Young Ladies’ Institute one year after her +graduation, in order to ground herself more +firmly in polite knowledge. This was a long +time ago; but all her life her society had embraced +college-bred people. So to speak, Miss +Melissa had never come in contact with the +common schools of her native land.</p> + +<p>Mr. Pitzer got down from his desk and met +them at the door; and Bluebell, who had been +whispering over to herself all the way from the +foot-log a formula of introduction, there kindly +suggested by Miss Calder, turned red as the +old-fashioned roses on the master’s desk, and +felt her breath broken short by every beat of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>her heart. But she came out bravely with the +introduction:</p> + +<p>“Miss Pitzer, allow me to present you to +Mr. Calder.”</p> + +<p>Then she dropped her own curtsy and hid her +face in her calico bonnet as she hung it up. +For some of them <i>would</i> laugh, and she was +wrapped in flames of mortification.</p> + +<p>However, Miss Calder made a grand impression, +and the schoolmaster walked back three +steps to make his bow longer. Then he handed +her to his chair on the platform, and he himself +took a lower seat, leaving Bluebell’s friend to +appear the autocrat of the school. She looked +around at the chinked walls and ink-splashed, +knife-marked desks, at the sincere, reflective, +bovine eyes which always distinguish country +children—eyes that seem as full of woodsy +sweets as the violets. And she looked at the +flushed schoolmaster, who pushed his spectacles +quite into his hair, and puckered his mouth +into very wise shapes while he went on explaining +to Joe Hall and the big boy who ciphered +with him a deep problem in common or vulgar +fractions. It might have been that Mr. Pitzer +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>was out of his depth, though he was a great +schoolmaster; or that the explanation was too +pompous. Miss Calder’s eyebrows went up in +the very least degree, though not for the world +would this gentle creature have hurt the self-esteem +of any one. After Joe Hall and the +big boy had marked the extent of their next +lesson with their thumb-nails, the schoolmaster +said some learned things to Miss Calder about +the importance of mathematics: and as this +was a very apt class he hoped to take it through +the book. And she asked him if the course embraced +Algebra and Geometry, and was going +on to mention Trigonometry and the Calculus, +when she observed the poor schoolmaster grow +red and stammer. He did not want to be put +to shame before his pupils, but spoke out with +a humble spirit:</p> + +<p>“No, madam, my researches have never extended +so far.”</p> + +<p>And something in the old man’s tone touched +her so keenly that she was shocked with herself, +and wondered if she, Melissa Calder, had +been rude! Such a fear drove her to the extreme +of kindness and gentleness. When the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>schoolmaster found she was a living and +breathing graduate—alumnæ were as scarce +as authors then—his deference towards her +became much greater. The true-hearted old +gentleman loved knowledge; he begged that +she would make a few remarks to the school, +which would be much better than a continuation +of the exercises. Miss Melissa blushed; +but everybody who entered a school in those +days felt bound to “make remarks” if called +upon to do so. So Miss Melissa began:</p> + +<p>“Young ladies and gentlemen”—which +made the little boys giggle and nudge each +other; but as her soft, fine, cultivated voice +went on, they all listened and were drawn +to her, except, perhaps, a few who thought +Bluebell Garde felt herself proprietress of a +lion.</p> + +<p>Bluebell felt indeed happy. Her reading-class +was called after the schoolmaster beamed +his satisfaction over Miss Melissa’s talk, and +she read her loudest and glibbest. Then noon +came on, and there never was a more delightful +noon. The hot day brought rank, sharp smells +from everything: even the dog-fennel along the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span>road yielded a pungent fragrance, and jimson-flowers +were not to be despised.</p> + +<p>Miss Melissa was pressed into the swing by +an ardent group, and flung up a few times +among the leaves, where her white curls danced +like sensitive spiral springs. And all the big +girls sat around her to eat their dinners, and +talked quite as if they had known her all their +lives. But Perintha Pancost mimicked her behind +a tree, and refused to be caught, when +Bluebell Garde, the Blackman, patted her one, +two, three, right on her back! Perintha also +had brought the first summer pippins in +her reticule, and she gave bites to every +girl in school except Bluebell and Tildy +Banks.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was devoted to festivity. Mr. +Pitzer felt that so distinguished a visitor must +be entertained. Miss Calder might disapprove +of him, with everything else she had seen at +Rocky Fork, but she could not help liking the +old master.</p> + +<p>Pieces were “spoke,” as a matter of course. +Joe Hall, in a shrill, confident voice, told them +he had</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first">“Stood beneath a hollow tree,</div> +<div class="indent">The wind it hollow blew:</div> +<div class="verse">He thought upon the hollow world</div> +<div class="indent">And <i>all</i> its hollow crew!”</div> +</div></div> + +<p>without one misanthropic shade in his apple +face. Two of the boys had a dialogue, in which +a tiny Mr. Lennox looked up to a lubberly +Peter Hurdle and told him he was a contented +boy and quite a phil-os-o-pher. And two of the +girls had a dialogue which sounded like one +end of a telephonic conversation as it is heard +nowadays; for one girl shouted that she had +lost her thimble, Mary, and would you please +lend her yours; in reply to which you heard +only a murmur. There was quite a colloquy, +and the silent girl evidently gave a great deal +of good advice, but listen as you might you +could only get it by inference from what the +loud-voiced girl said. Then John Tegarden +shouted “<i>The boy stood on the burning deck</i>,” +until he came to the most exciting part, when +his memory failed and he retreated mumbling +and injured, not so much by the trick it had +served him, as by Joe Hall, who ducked his +head and imitated John’s slouching, disappointed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>attitude. John picked some clay out +of the wall and watched for an opportunity to +shy it at Joe, but reflected that it might hurt; +and being the tenderest-hearted boy in the +world, he crumbled it slowly away and watched +Teeny Banks lead out a group of embarrassed +damsels and station them in a circle around +herself, it being understood that she was the +mother and these her daughters gathered in an +easy family group to discuss the seasons. One +declared her rhymed preference for Spring, +another for Summer, a third for Autumn, and +a fourth for Winter, when Teeny chimed in +with a sweet monotone informing them that +each season in its round held certain delights, +and they must see the Creator’s hand in all.</p> + +<p>Well was it for Tildy and Bluebell that +Mary’s disputed lamb was not called out that +day. For Doctor Garde drove up just at this +stage of the proceedings, and Miss Calder bade +the schoolmaster adieu, and the schoolmaster +went outside to see her in the buggy, the wind +blowing the hair from his dear old forehead, +while during his absence several charges of +paper wads were exchanged across the house, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>to the scandal of the big girls who picked the +missiles from their hair or dresses, and with +impressive shakes of the head threatened to +“tell master.”</p> + +<p>There was too much electricity in the air, +and the school was too boisterous to settle down +to routine again that afternoon. All besought +Mr. Pitzer to let them have “spelling-school,” +even Bluebell, who had declined riding home +on account of her head-mark; and the smiling +schoolmaster consented.</p> + +<p>They decided to “choose up and spell down,” +instead of “choosing across.” Then Joe Hall +and Amanda Willey, being nominated by the +schoolmaster, approached each other and took +his ferule between them. Joe grasped it above +Amanda’s hand, and Amanda grasped it above +Joe’s hand, and this continued until Joe’s hand +came last at the top. This result entitled him +to the first choice; and he and Amanda, taking +their stations with backs against opposite +walls, he chose:</p> + +<p>“Bluebell Garde.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII<br> +<small>WHICH TREATS OF THUMB-PAPERS</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">BLUEBELL GARDE was deep in a discussion +with Tildy Banks, and heard not her +name till it was repeated.</p> + +<p>The conference had begun while the master +was out of doors bidding adieu to Miss Calder. +The afternoon was so hot that little paper-fans, +made of old book leaves and fastened in the +middle with pins, were fluttering all over the +house; the long windows and the door were +wide open; still a stifling heat made everybody +feel aggressive. And at this unfortunate time +Tildy made a discovery which she imparted to +Bluebell in a harrowing whisper:</p> + +<p>“P’rinthy Pancost’s got your thumb-paper!”</p> + +<p>Bluebell looked across at Perintha. Then +she grasped her own spelling-book and reader, +and turned the leaves with a rapid swish, her +eyes sparkling more at every turn. No thumb-paper +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>reposed in any of its accustomed places. +It was made of a leaf of Joe Hall’s copybook, +and ornamented with birds which seemed to +wear pantalettes. Bluebell was very neat with +her books, which she loved as friends; and not +one word was erased by a sweaty little thumb-mark. +And P’rinthy Pancost had <i>stolen</i> her +thumb-paper! The school was swarming with +thumb-papers. Every youngster in his hours +of idleness employed himself folding bits of +paper into the required shape, and it was an +art, I assure you, which required skill. She +could make, or accept from willing hands, a +dozen others in as many minutes. But that was +not the point. She had suffered spoliation, and, +menacing Perintha Pancost, she cried out in a +loud whisper:</p> + +<p>“You give me back my thumb-paper!”</p> + +<p>“’Tain’t yours,” replied Perintha, coolly +unfolding it. This was a crowning insult. To +unfold a thumb-paper was to destroy its individuality +and make it a mere square scrap.</p> + +<p>“<i>’Tis</i> mine!”</p> + +<p>“’Tain’t!”</p> + +<p>“The master’ll whip you!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>“Yah-yah!” taunted Perintha, whom the +weather was reducing to impishness.</p> + +<p>Bluebell’s tears started, but she staunched +them bravely with a corner of her apron.</p> + +<p>“Cry-baby cripsey!” whispered Perintha, +leaning towards her.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell my Aunt Melissy on you!” threatened +Bluebell, feeling that this authority must +crush her.</p> + +<p>But Perintha sniffed.</p> + +<p>“Your Aunt Melissy’s nobody’s daddy,” +she said quite aloud, copying from the boys +this strong phrase which was calculated effectually +to put down upstarts.</p> + +<p>To be told that you were “nobody’s daddy” +was to be robbed of all dignity and consideration +in this world; it was a snub which the +meekest and most peaceable must feel. But to +have your great-aunt Melissa called “nobody’s +daddy” was not only a family outrage, but +an attack on the infallible dignity of all grown +people.</p> + +<p>Bluebell shook her auburn head and whispered +to Tildy, “I’ll tell the master what she +said!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>But Tildy, constituting herself second in the +affair, advised with head-shakings and dark +looks that they deal with her themselves.</p> + +<p>“The master would just make her give you +the thumb-paper, and he wouldn’t do anything +to her,” said Tildy, remembering how she had +appealed to him against her enemies in vain, +and had afterwards taken ample satisfaction +with her nails.</p> + +<p>The master came in, and arrangements were +made for the spelling-school, during which +Bluebell returned to the grievance on her mind. +“Mary’s lamb” was no wall of separation +now. The dark head and the auburn head +rubbed against each other. Perintha looked +defiant, and was evidently making partisans of +Minerva Ridenour and the other girls on her +seat.</p> + +<p>“Bluebell Garde!”</p> + +<p>Bluebell started as Joe called her name the +second time, and went to take her place with +some pleasure in being chosen first among the +good spellers. Perintha was chosen nearly last +on the opposite side. I am afraid there was +exultation over this under the auburn mass of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>hair. Joe Hall gave her a handful of wheat +from his father’s mill to chew. Tildy was +below the big boys and girls on Joe’s side, so +there was no chance to confer with her, if the +spelling code had not forbidden whispering. +Bluebell, therefore, munched her wheat and +gave herself up to the excitement of the occasion.</p> + +<p>They spelled across: that is, the schoolmaster, +standing between, pronounced a word first +to one side then to the other. Alas that little +words should have slain so many! If he had +begun in words of three syllables, many of them +could have rolled the letters glibly. But among +the ie’s and the ei’s Teeny Banks and half a +dozen other big girl’s stranded. The lines +thinned rapidly; those who missed, retiring to +central benches and watching the fortunes of +their sides with great anxiety.</p> + +<p>Fortune favored Perintha Pancost. Easy +words came to her, and she stood among the +last three on her side. Still, with Joe Hall and +Bluebell Garde opposing, though they stood +alone, what could her side expect? The contest +waxed very hot; and constantly was Perintha +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>Pancost favored with words she could spell. +Her leader went down; her only other supporter +went down.</p> + +<p>Then Bluebell found herself overflowed with +a word that had “ation” in it, and Perintha +spelling pertly at it stood an instant longer +than she did. Of course it floored her, but she +could now boast that for once she had out-spelled +Bluebell Garde!</p> + +<p>Joe Hall stood up three lines longer, spelling +tremendous-sounding words; and when he +tripped, there was such a storm coming up that +the master said he would dismiss early that +afternoon.</p> + +<p>Already the thunder could be heard echoing +among the hills. The roll was hastily called. +Tildy waited outside for Bluebell; under her +slat bonnet the hair was clinging to her temples, +but the gloom of her eye and firm pucker +of her mouth indicated fullness of purpose.</p> + +<p>“When she comes out,” said Tildy.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Bluebell, piteously, from the +depths of defeat and injury and physical lassitude.</p> + +<p>Perintha’s name came away down among the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>P’s, and she was ranged accordingly on a bench +which never got free as soon as the B’s and G’s +on the girls’ side.</p> + +<p>“When she comes out,” repeated Tildy, +“we won’t scratch her—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no!” exclaimed Bluebell. She could +not bring her mind to that.</p> + +<p>“Because the marks would show,” pursued +Tildy; “and we won’t whip her with sticks.”</p> + +<p>“The master might whip us!” exclaimed +Bluebell in terror. She prided herself on never +having been punished at school. And all teachers +were not like Mr. Pitzer in those days.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he might,” assented Tildy, evidently +having foreseen that objection to the sticks; +for when Mr. Pitzer had severe cause he could +be strict as the strictest.</p> + +<p>“But I tell you what we <i>will</i> do,” said Tildy, +leaning forward and laying the utmost emphasis +on every word. She lifted her forefinger, +and her reticule slid down to her elbow:</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">We will churn her!</span>”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX<br> +<small>THEY CHURN</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">A FLARE of lightning in the northern sky +may have frightened Perintha as she +stepped over the sill; or she may have suspected +an ambush at each side of the school-house. +At any rate, a strong desire to be once +more under her father’s roof, gave swiftness +to the little bare feet, and her pantalettes +danced at a lively pace through the dog-fennel. +Her black eyes gave one quick look behind, and +after that look her reticule, like a swelling sail, +stood straight backwards in the wind. But +Tildy had her before she was more than +screened by the fence of Martin’s wheat-field.</p> + +<p>“Take hold of her other arm!” commanded +Tildy. And Bluebell, panting, took hold.</p> + +<p>“Now churn!”</p> + +<p>And they churned. Up and down they +churned until it seemed all the buttermilk of +Perintha’s nature must go to the bottom and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>the pure butter of repentance stand up to be +gathered by their correcting hands. So interested +in their undertaking were the reformers +that Perintha’s cries and struggles seemed to +make no impression on their senses. Their +sun-bonnets hung by the strings around their +throats, and their loosened hair switched up +and down, keeping time to the churning. It +was so absorbing a gymnastic performance +that Bluebell felt Perintha must almost enjoy +it, if she did strain to get away.</p> + +<p>The churners were brought to a pause by +hands laid on their shoulders, and lo! there +stood Mr. Pitzer with a following of half the +school. Perintha’s face came out of the crown +of her sun-bonnet, all smeared with tears and +curly hair, and the black-eyed, piteous look she +threw up to the schoolmaster, cut Bluebell to +the heart.</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde’s little girl was terrified to find +herself in the position of a culprit; but this was +endurable compared to the sudden rush of remorse +caused by Perintha’s helpless look. She +had been churning a malicious little imp, and +behold here was the grieved face of her daily +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>playmate! All the pretty things Perintha had +ever done, flashed before her. Perintha sent +some tissue-paper birds to Rocco when Rocco +was sick; yes, and she made the baby a set of +pasteboard chairs in a box house. And what +fragrant apples had come to Bluebell’s teeth +from Perintha’s reticule! She would always +let you have the first swing, too; and what did +that old thumb-paper amount to?</p> + +<p>“She didn’t act so till I got mad to her +first,” thought Bluebell, making one of the +principal figures in a procession to the school-house, +the master’s finger and thumb carrying +the lobe of her ear. Tildy walked on the other +side of him, her ear similarly supported. Perintha, +bidden to follow, sobbed as mourner +behind them, and a sympathetic though silent +crowd supported her.</p> + +<p>This, however, was dispersed at the door. +The master waved all hangers-on away; and +the nearer-rolling thunder gave them additional +warning. Even Teeny, after wavering +with a concerned face around the windows, was +obliged to take to the foot-log and leave these +culprits to their fate.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> + <img src="images/i_fp110.jpg" width="450" height="694" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p class="caption"><span class="smcap">The principal figures in a procession to the school-house.</span>—<i>Page <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>“Now, sir!” said Mr. Pitzer, taking his +judgment-seat. And the thunder rolled directly +overhead. When Mr. Pitzer said “Now, +sir,” to a girl, he had forgotten she was anything +but a culprit. He took out the Rules of +the School, and putting on his spectacles, and +peering through the darkening air, read Article +Ninth:</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Article Ninth</span>: <i>Pupils are under the jurisdiction +of their parents from the time they +leave home until they appear upon the play-ground. +But from the time they enter the +school-house until they enter their parents’ +door at night they are under the jurisdiction +of the master, and accountable to him for all +misdemeanors.</i>”</p> + +<p>His spectacles flared at the three.</p> + +<p>“They ketched me and shook me up and +down, and I wasn’t doin’ anything to them!” +burst out Perintha with a sob, leaving Article +Ninth entirely aside from the question.</p> + +<p>“She stole Bluebell Garde’s thumb-paper,” +said Tildy, somber but collected. Her reticule +dangled from her elbow, and her bare toes +squirmed along a crack in the floor. Her face +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>expressed determination coupled with a gloomy +distrust in Mr. Pitzer’s ability to deal out justice. +A brisk rush of air came through the +open window, which made the dear old man +sneeze and take off his spectacles. Bluebell +was weeping in the bottom of her apron, which +she lifted to her face.</p> + +<p>“I thought I was sh-showin’ my Irish +pluck,” she broke out, wringing her small +pink nose; “but I guess I wasn’t! and it +makes me feel so bad to think I hurt +her!”</p> + +<p>The master laid his hand on her head. The +other hand he laid on Perintha’s. Tildy +stepped back as if she feared he might have +a third hand for her.</p> + +<p>“P’rinthy can have my thumb-paper,” continued +Bluebell; “and I don’t care for the +other things, ’cause she was good to my little +sister when my little sister was sick—and I +got mad first.”</p> + +<p>There was now a hearty duet of sobs performed +by Bluebell and Perintha. The latter +thrust her arm up to the elbow in her pocket +and drew out the most crumpled and defaced +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>of thumb-papers, which she held out to Bluebell.</p> + +<p>Tildy put her nose up. She’d like to see herself +“knucklin’ under, that way, to P’rinth’ +Pancost or anybody else!”</p> + +<p>But the master’s face glowed in the gathering +dimness:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first">“Let dogs delight to bark and bite,</div> +<div class="indent">For ’tis their nature to;</div> +<div class="verse">Let bears and lions growl and fight,</div> +<div class="indent">For God hath made them so:</div> +<div class="verse">But children, you should never let</div> +<div class="indent">Your angry passions rise—”</div> +</div></div> + +<p>One jagged knife of lightning, reflected on +the school-house door, cut short his exhortation.</p> + +<p>“It’s going to storm,” he said, looking up +as if the fact had just presented itself to him. +“You better all run home now, and try to be +good friends hereafter.” He put up the Articles, +took down his hat, and busied himself +shutting the windows. He paused to say, +“Good-evening,” three separate times as the +three went out curtsying to him for the second +time that evening.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>Tildy stalked straight toward the foot-log. +Perintha paused after turning her bonnet’s +mouth homeward, and twisted back, looking at +the ground.</p> + +<p>“Good-by, Bluebell. I’m going to bring +you some pippins to take to your Aunt Melissy +to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>This was equivalent to a full apology, and +Bluebell hastened to acknowledge it.</p> + +<p>“Goody! will you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Perintha, lifting her still wet +lashes.</p> + +<p>The two little girls looked into each other’s +eyes and smiled. It was a treaty of peace. +Then a cloud of dust travelling up the road +enveloped them; Perintha scudded away with +it, and Bluebell, her mouth and eyes filled, ran +towards the Rocky Fork after Tildy’s retreating +figure.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X<br> +<small>MOTHER OUTDOORS DISTURBED</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“WAIT, Tildy!” called Bluebell, when she +reached the foot-log and saw a figure +climbing the heights beyond.</p> + +<p>The wind may have carried her voice away, +for it almost blew her off the log, and a trampling +sound far off, like the rush of an army of +giants through the woods, filled one’s ears. +The heavy basket caught on bushes as Bluebell +scrambled up the rocky path, and tired her +hands, while Tildy’s reticule sailed straight +on.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Tildy, wait!” panted the little girl. +Among the windings, or in some short cut, Tildy’s +figure ever and anon appeared and disappeared, +and Bluebell faced the storm alone. +How black its gloom was in the woods! The +very rocks and trees which had been smiling +landmarks so long, seemed strange and threatening. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>A quick patter caught her, and then a +deluge mixed with frightful glares and deafening +roars burst over the world. The trees +rocked and twisted, and just ahead of her she +saw one tall chestnut bend as if swooning, and +fall across the way with a long, sublime, whistling +crash. Even in her terror Bluebell heard +and felt that wonderful cry of the falling tree +which cannot be forgotten. The splinters of its +broken trunk stood up like pale yellow icicles +in the air. She made a detour among hazel-bushes +to pass it, and ran along the path, trembling +in every nerve, yet under her fear delighting +in this revolution which had overtaken +Mother Outdoors. The warm summer rain +dripped from every thread of her clothing and +soaked her body in its delicious bath. The +footway turned into a miniature canal; and +every tree-trunk stood in startling blackness +against the general gloom. Before the first +dash had quite thinned its gray sheet to sprinkles, +that far-off tramping arrived in earnest; +the storm pelted and poured; the lightning +flashed in her very eyes, and its answering +thunder was instantaneous; a tree swept down +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>here carrying others with it; and there two +went down together, until the whole woods +seemed cracking and wailing around her.</p> + +<p>With streaming garments, and shoes that +spurted water at every step, the little girl still +ran ahead. She could scarcely see the downs +when she passed them, but they appeared +dimly, like the desert islands in Mr. Runnel’s +maps. Again and again the lightning seemed +barely to miss her, and she jumped as the thunder +crashed around her ears. She ran until +she was out of breath, and then panted along +among the drenched ferns. In spite of the confusion +and loneliness and closing darkness, +there was exhilaration in the warm, soaking +rain.</p> + +<p>It ceased to pour as she passed down the +slope; the wind lulled; and through openings +she could see distant long dark threads stretching +from cloud to earth, then suddenly disappearing. +The confusion in the woods died +away. But there was no clearing up, no emerald +flash of wet grass in the setting sun; no +rapid drying of branches and laugh of leaves. +The rank, fresh smell of wet earth was mingled +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>with scents from the peppermint that bordered +the run below, but the faintest suggestion of +old dead leaves came with them. The lightning +retired toward the horizon and threw a silent +or distantly answered dazzle through the woods +once in awhile. And night was coming early +without any sunset.</p> + +<p>Bluebell saw a man advancing through the +bushes, drawing showers upon himself at every +step. She reflected that it was not far to +Banks’ now, and if he tried to carry her off +they could hear her scream; so she trotted forward, +a desirable object to kidnap, her shapeless +bonnet hanging around her neck, which it +discolored with its strings, her dress and pantalettes +clinging to every line of her vigorous +little figure. Still the man paused to parley +with her, and his parleying consisted in offering +her two fingers of his left hand and turning +back.</p> + +<p>“Oh, father, I’m ’most drowned! And the +woods fell down!”</p> + +<p>“It’s been a hard storm,” said father. He +had a closed umbrella in his right hand. +Branches and underbrush would interfere with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>it if open here. He paused, setting it against +a tree, and reached down to his little girl.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I’d better carry you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, father, I’m wet as sop.”</p> + +<p>He lifted her up and took his umbrella. He +had on his gum coat and boots which he wore +over ordinary clothing when riding in the teeth +of storms.</p> + +<p>Bluebell threw one arm across his shoulder, +from which dangled the big basket.</p> + +<p>“That might have been left at the school-house,” +said father.</p> + +<p>“It’s Liza’s,” said Bluebell, “and all the +rain has rained through it and through my +dinner cloth.”</p> + +<p>“I might have brought it in the buggy. Did +you get across the Rocky Fork before the +rain?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. And Tildy ran on ahead.”</p> + +<p>She was progressing royally down the slope, +rained on by every branch, but so comfortable +right by father’s light, long locks. He moved +sure-footed from stone to stone. The dark was +closing around them. The cry of frogs and of +the disconsolate cows came up from low places +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>in the valley. But Doctor Garde’s little girl +had the task of telling her father she had “been +called up by the master” that day. His code +was stern. He had told her if she received +punishment at school and came home with complaints, +she would be punished again. Bluebell +was very proud of her standing and integrity +at school. The closing night seemed so dismal. +What would he say if he knew she was +called up!</p> + +<p>She cuddled her free hand under his ear +to have some vantage ground, and broke +forth:</p> + +<p>“I churned P’rinthy Pancost, father!”</p> + +<p>“Did you? How do you play that?”</p> + +<p>“We didn’t play, father. We did it a-purpose, +Tildy and me. We had a fallin’ out. +And the master called me up after school!”</p> + +<p>Father walked on with the low pine-like +whistle under his breath.</p> + +<p>“But we made up,” his little girl went on, +unwilling to enter into the enormity of Perintha’s +sin against Aunt Melissa; “and she’s +going to bring apples to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” said father. “Always +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>treat your little mates kindly, and obey the +master.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” assented Bluebell, giving his +neck a little squeeze. “I do like the master, +father. I guess I’m going to take the prize in +our class in spelling!”</p> + +<p>Father delivered a short whistle, and looked +around into her face, smiling. This signified +that he was pleased. It was his note +of acclamation over his daughter’s achievements.</p> + +<p>“I don’t <i>think</i> anybody else has near as +many head-marks as I have. Father, won’t it +be polite for me to go to school while Aunt Melissa’s +here? Can’t I go in the <i>afternoons</i>, +anyhow?” coaxingly.</p> + +<p>“Do you like to go so well?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, sir! We have such fun noons. +And somebody else would get my head-marks!”</p> + +<p>He did not reply at once, and they came by +Banks’s house. The candle was lighted, a +smell of supper came forth; and Tildy in dry +clothes was standing at the door.</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you wait?” called Bluebell.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>“I couldn’t,” said Tildy, tartly.</p> + +<p>“P’rinthy’s goin’ to bring some apples to-morrow,” +assured Bluebell.</p> + +<p>But Tildy sniffed. “Some folks is awful +thick, all at once,” she commented.</p> + +<p>Bluebell looked down at her father’s ear, +and wondered why it was mean to make up +with folks.</p> + +<p>Tildy’s mother came to the door, drawn by +the sound of voices, and looked out anxiously. +She was a very tall, ungainly woman, bent in +the shoulders, with gray, black-lashed eyes +which Tildy’s were like. She wore a clinging +black calico. Her face was care-worn but very +motherly. Bluebell knew that her husband was +dead, that he had worked at the Furnace in the +winter, and in the summer farmed his own land, +which lay along the valley between the hills +and the run. He must have been a pleasant +man, for he was cousin to Liza at home. Mrs. +Banks’s name was also Eliza; and the neighbors +to distinguish them called this one “Robert’s +Liza.”</p> + +<p>“Did she get hurt?” cried Robert’s Liza, +when she made out the doctor’s armload.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>“Not a bit,” he replied, facing around and +smiling.</p> + +<p>“Come in and have some tea or something +before you go on, do! Tildy was a sop, and +I expect Bluebell’s wetter yet. Teeny got +home before the trees began to fall, but +I’ve been that frightened about the children!”</p> + +<p>“We can’t stop,” said the doctor. “I have +to start out when I get back with this soaked +pappoose. The run’s rising, Liza. You’d do +well to take your crocks out of the milk-house +to-night.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do that,” said Liza; “but do <i>you</i> mind +the Rocky Fork, Doc—it’s dreadful when it +gets up.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, never mind me,” replied Bluebell’s +father. He plashed on down the slope with +her; and through the humid dusk Bluebell +heard the run boiling, along with a sound of +the Rocky Fork itself, which was quite outside +its banks, muddy and angry; and she could +not be sure that certain eddies did not swirl +above the buried stepping-stones. But father +seemed sure of it, for he put his feet through +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>the eddies, and then the water reached the +ankles of his gum boots. He stepped firmly +up on the meadow green, and during that short +interval between the run and the bars, condensed +all that he had meant to say to his little +girl during the walk.</p> + +<p>“Put me down now, father,” she said. +“Ain’t you tired?”</p> + +<p>He put her down and gave her two of his +fingers again, while he took the basket. Two +fingers just filled her grasp.</p> + +<p>“How do you like to live at the Rocky +Fork?”</p> + +<p>This question surprised her so she looked up +at him; but his face was a white blur in the +general dimness.</p> + +<p>“Would you rather live in the town where +your Aunt Melissa does, and go to a fine +school?”</p> + +<p>The prospect was like a dazzling flash to +Doctor Garde’s little girl, through even this +gloomy weather.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, sir! I’d like to live there! But”—with +a rising pang—“Mr. Pitzer is so +good, and he let us have spelling-school this +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>very afternoon. Do they have mountain-tea +there?”</p> + +<p>“Probably not. So you’ve been happy up +here in the hills, have you, Bluebell?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.” She could barely remember a +home in a city, and one pillared church where +music was made by unseen people. She had +been happy, and the Rocky Fork was the only +place she had lived in.</p> + +<p>“Miss Melissa has been speaking to me,” +said the doctor. “I can’t attend to Rocco and +you as your mother would have done. I want +to be a good father.” There was an unusually +tender tone in his voice.</p> + +<p>“Why, father,” exclaimed Bluebell, climbing +up the bars, so she could take him around +the neck when he lifted her over, “you’re such +a nice, nice man! I don’t think anybody could +be gooder; I would be so sorry if you was anybody +else! I like you, father!”</p> + +<p>He laughed half under his breath, and got +over the bars with her.</p> + +<p>“My daughter flatters me.”</p> + +<p>“’Deed, father, I’m in such earnest! ’Deed +and double-deed!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>“Ah? Well! Miss Melissa was a great +friend of your mother’s, and I think she has +some right to advise about the future of you +children. You must be educated.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell imagined herself an educated, faultless +woman like Aunt Melissa!</p> + +<p>While she was imagining, her father lifted +her up again and kissed her, saying as he set +her down, “Run right in now to Liza. She has +dry clothes and a nice supper ready for you.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XI<br> +<small>BLUEBELL MAKES A POEM</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">IN the night Bluebell was wakened by the +cherry-boughs scraping her window—and +how they did scrape! The rain was tramping; +it beat the house and roared on the shingles; +the pines were making a high, thrilling noise +which she did not know was like the voice of +the sea. All within was so dry and comfortable; +all without so muddy and dark. Yet off +in the woods there were sweet smells, and +birds’ nests tucked in forked branches, and the +May-apples were rank, and even old rotten +logs crumbling to yellow dust had a pungent +odor of their own. What did the birds do in +a storm? Did they turn their tails down like +chickens? And how did the naked birds that +were all furry bill and sprawling limbs like +the baby swallows under the shed-eaves, get +along?</p> + +<p>Father, on his night-ride, was the thread on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>which these thoughts were strung. She thought +of him first, and he ran through everything else. +Ballie’s firm, quick step was moving on distant +roads; the pill-bags were fastened behind the +saddle; father whistled softly between his +teeth; and anxious people looked into the storm +for him. It scarcely occurred to Bluebell to +wish him indoors. He and rough weather were +old acquaintances. She had seen him come to +the open fire stamping, the frost in his hair, or +take off cloth leggings covered with mud, or +stiff-frozen from the ford. What did he care +for summer rain, housed as he was too, in rubber +coat and boots, and on the most sensible +horse in the world! Bluebell decided to ask +Liza if she might not put on her very oldest +dress and stand under the eaves where the +water ran over in a constant shower.</p> + +<p>But in the morning everything looked so +dreary and soaked that she did not care to do +it. Clouds scudded close to the earth; the hill +above the house showed black under its foliage; +the elder-flowers by the rock play-house were +beaten to the ground; and hollyhocks in the +garden leaned down as if about to swoon. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>cherry-leaves had a higher polish and intenser +green, but little unripe apples strewed the +orchard.</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde had not come home. Liza said +she did not expect him before night. In very +bad weather she had known him to be gone +two or three days. Still, she kept some warm +chicken in the old-fashioned Dutch oven before +the fire while she did her baking.</p> + +<p>The air was oppressive. But Miss Melissa +moved around wrapped in a thick shawl. Liza +took the roses out of her fireplace and started +a warmer color dancing over some sticks. The +low-scudding clouds began to pour again.</p> + +<p>Bluebell spent the morning with Miss Calder +making doll-clothes, and wondering if Tildy’s +mother let <i>her</i> go to school. Only a few of the +children who lived nearest would be there, for +so many had to cross the numerous bends and +turns of the Rocky Fork. They would have to +play in the house if it did not clear before noon, +and the tracks of the boys’ bare feet would look +so funny on the floor. To-day seemed years +removed from yesterday. This was a bit of +dingy autumn thrust through a summer day. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>Bluebell enjoyed the dress-making with zest, +but she hoped it would clear.</p> + +<p>Rocco had her high chair drawn to the +kitchen table, and helped Liza with the baking. +Her tow hair was braided back, the ends turned +up and tied with black thread, and her slim +claws as clean as soap and water could make +them. She had Bluebell’s little rolling-pin and +baking tins and Liza’s thimble before her. +Liza was making caraway seed-cake; she +watched the baby fondly, giving her dabs of +dough which Rocco rolled out, cut up and +placed in her tins. As soon as they were baked +she divided them evenly on two saucers; for +Rocco never ate any treat of which Bluebell did +not have exactly half. She had been known to +keep a mellow apple or pear from morning till +dusk when Bluebell came home; smelling it +and turning it over wistfully, but waiting its +division.</p> + +<p>The rain poured while they ate dinner.</p> + +<p>“It comes down by bucketfuls,” said Liza. +“I do hope Abram will get round and look +after Liza-Robert’s stock. Lambs is so simple, +and hers are always gettin’ into the run.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>“Why doesn’t she let her farm to a tenant?” +suggested Miss Calder.</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s not the way around here. +Abram, he’s her brother-in-law and my first +cousin; he lives about half a mile above us, +and he ’tends to things for her. Liza’s no manager.”</p> + +<p>Soon after dinner Miss Melissa lay down for +her daily nap. Georgiana sat on the sitting-room +mantel in an incomplete gingham dress, +smiling on the weather with unchanged serenity. +Liza went up garret to do a small “stent” +of spinning. She always spun on dismal afternoons +when the needle would lag in sewing. +She knit winter stockings for the family. Bluebell +and Rocco followed her, and the wheel +could be heard soon after the children’s feet +ceased sounding on the stairs.</p> + +<p>When the children’s feet ceased sounding on +the stairs, they were in the garret. It was one +big dusky room, extending over the whole +house, with a chasm in the floor through which +the stairs came up. At each side the roof +sloped so that even Rocco might knock her +head. There were windows in the gables; and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>from all the rafters hung dried peppers, pennyroyal, +ears of seed-corn, bags of seed, and sage, +and of dried raspberries, and blackberries, +cherries, and peaches, for in those days the +art of canning fruit was not generally known +to housewifery. Liza’s special jams and preserves +stood along a system of shelves, in stone +jars, broken-nosed tea-pots and flowered bowls +tied up closely with white cloths. The floor +was clean and dustless. A retired rocking-chair +which had lost one rocker in the battle +of life, was settled in one corner where it +lived on a pension of the children’s favor. For +right by it was their mother’s old trunk, the +black and white hair worn off it in patches, +leaving a tough hide exposed.</p> + +<p>In this casket Bluebell kept many of her play-things +and all her most precious books. She +had “Emma and Caroline,” a paper-book +some three inches square, a diminutive Mother +Goose, several histories, and a work on geology +suitable to advanced students which her father +had brought her, and her school prizes—notable +among them a pink-backed volume of Dr. +Watts’s hymns which she had learned by heart. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>Here also reposed her last Sunday-school book, +which had rather harrowed her mind; for it +was the Memoir of Jane Ann Smith, who +caught fire and burned to death; the picture +of Jane Ann running out of the mill door all +on fire, was put in as a lively frontispiece. +There were almost no books for children in +those days. Hannah More’s tracts and memoirs +of very pious people constituted the library +from which Bluebell and all the other +little Rocky Forkers chose; if it could be called +choosing when the librarian held the backs of +an armload of books towards you, and you +might pick out only one at a hazard. Bluebell +had found one delicious story of a little girl +whose uncle came and took her away to India +where she had no end of wonderful times. But +most of the books were grown-up, or very serious, +or consisted of advice to young English +servants when starting out to service. So +Bluebell unfolded from its wrappings with +tremulous delight that real fairy-book, “Tales +from Catland” which Aunt Melissa brought +her. It was a book with some long words in +it, but even these were a sonorous pleasure; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>the Countess Von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg, +Grandmagnificolowsky, the tall page, +Glumdalkin, the cross cat, Friskarina, the amiable +cat. Bluebell settled into the one-sided +rocker, and lived in castles and woods and palaces, +while the rain beat the shingles directly +overhead as if it were playing thousands of +small castanets, and Liza’s wheel sang high or +low.</p> + +<p>Rocco sat down on the front of a small flax-wheel +which worked with a treadle, and afforded +the baby just sitting-room, to watch +Liza spin.</p> + +<p>The great wheel stood in the centre of the +garret; on its long bench lay a pile of wool-rolls. +Liza took hold of the end of a roll, attached +it to the spindle in some mysterious +manner, and turned the wheel around and +around and around with a smooth stick which +she called her wheel-pin. The spokes seemed +to approach each other, then melted together +into a transparency, the hum rose higher and +higher until it became a musical scream, and +Liza stepped back drawing her roll off the +spindle into a long woolly thread. Back and +forth she moved, from the spindle to the gable +window; now hurrying up the wheel, and now +letting it sing, as it seemed, away down in the +sloping bench which supported it.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> + <img src="images/i_fp134.jpg" width="450" height="697" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p class="caption"><span class="smcap">Liza stepped back, drawing her roll off the spindle into + a long woolly thread.</span>—<i>Page <a href="#Page_134">134</a>.</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>The rain rained on. Bluebell forgot her +head-marks. When she had read two stories +and let the Cat-book sink to her knees, her +imagination was so stimulated that she craved +half-unconsciously to make a story herself. +But Liza’s wheel put rhythm into her head, +and Liza’s presence mixed the practical with +the purely ideal.</p> + +<p>For a long time she sat and thought, constrained +to form into shape what she had in +her mind; and if the thing itself was simple +and the shape grotesque, many an author since +Bluebell will confess to having given very poor +expression to the finest inspiration.</p> + +<p>“I believe it’s going to quit raining,” said +Liza as a very pale ray slanted through the +window and shone on the point of the spindle.</p> + +<p>She pulled out the last roll and stopped her +wheel.</p> + +<p>“What’s that noise?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>It seemed to be some one knocking perseveringly +at the kitchen door. Liza gave the +wheel one more vigorous turn and finished her +“stent” before she started down.</p> + +<p>“I expect it’s Abram,” she said. “Don’t +let Rocco fall down the stairs, Bluebell, and +don’t play with my spinning.”</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am, I won’t.”</p> + +<p>Roused from the spell which wheel and book +had cast, the children turned to each other for +a romp.</p> + +<p>Bluebell paused impressively as she caught +the little sister in her arms, and proceeded to +make a confidant of her.</p> + +<p>“Honey-dew, sisser’s made a pretty piece!”</p> + +<p>“Piece o’ what?”</p> + +<p>“Poetry! Like ‘Poor Jane Ray’ and +‘Twinkle, twinkle.’”</p> + +<p>Rocco heard these standards of literary excellence +mentioned without any emotion.</p> + +<p>“I’ll say it to you.”</p> + +<p>“Le’s p’ay,” suggested Rocco instead.</p> + +<p>“It’s somethin’ pretty—about Liza,” urged +the poet, tasting the first difficulties of securing +a public.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>Rocco paused in the mad-career of a tumble +and consented to listen.</p> + +<p class="center">“See that pretty maiden,”</p> + +<p>(“That’s Liza, you know,” explained Bluebell,)</p> + +<p class="center">“Spinning in the rain.”</p> + +<p>“’Tain’t wainin’,” said Rocco; “it’s twit.”</p> + +<p>“It was, though. Now you just listen:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="first">“See that pretty maiden,</div> +<div class="verse">Spinning in the rain:</div> +<div class="verse">The wheel goes round and round to make</div> +<div class="verse">Our stocking-yarn again.</div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="first">“The wind goes roar and roar,</div> +<div class="verse">The wheel roars with its band;</div> +<div class="verse">The maiden turns it with a pin</div> +<div class="verse">For fear she might hurt her hand.”</div> +</div></div></div> + +<p>“Isn’t that pretty?”</p> + +<p>Rocco meditated. The subject of poetry had +aroused other thoughts within her; and the +faculty of association carried her on from a +hymn Liza frequently sung to her—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first">“On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand,</div> +<div class="indent">And cast a wistful eye</div> +<div class="verse">On Canaan’s fair and happy land</div> +<div class="indent">Where my possessions lie—”</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>to the family who represented the idea to her. +So without making any comment on Bluebell’s +poem, she said decidedly,</p> + +<p>“I want to go to Jordan Stormy Banks’s +house.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII<br> +<small>“JORDAN STORMY BANKS”</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap2">“ALL well as common, Liza?” inquired +Abram, knocking the mud off his feet +at the kitchen door.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she replied, but with a shade of +anxiety. “The doctor hasn’t got home yet. +Come in, Abram. Have you been over the +run?”</p> + +<p>“I guess I won’t come in,” said the farmer. +He was large-framed, stooping, and clothed in +homespun wool of an indescribable dull color. +His wamus was belted in; his broad, slouching +hat showed several holes. He placed a hand +on each side of the doorway and leaned in while +he talked. “Yes. I’ve been over there. Liza-Robert +came nigh to losin’ her milk-house last +night. The milk-lids was afloat and the spring +is clear under water.”</p> + +<p>“Tuh! tuh!” ejaculated Liza. “And I expect +the Rocky Fork is clear out of its banks.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>“I should say it was,” imparted Abram +deliberately. “It’s half-way up the Narrows +and all over the meadow t’other side. +Table Rock came down in that blow yesterday!”</p> + +<p>Liza uttered a cry. Table Rock had overhung +the Narrows ever since her memory +began.</p> + +<p>“Hall’s mill has been carried off and lodged +in the bottom-lands. The stone’s sunk and the +frame’s split in two or three pieces.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Abram!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s consider’ble high waters. The +Ridenours was out in a canoe over their corn-field +this mornin’.”</p> + +<p>“How’s Eli?”</p> + +<p>“Doin’ well, as far as I know.”</p> + +<p>“The doctor said he’d maybe have to stay +by him a while last night. Seems like he was +threatened with inflammation.”</p> + +<p>“If Doc’s t’other side of the Fork he’ll not +ford it for a while. It’s all ’round the school-house. +Willey told me this mornin’ Mr. Pitzer +couldn’t take up school till the water went +down again. That g’ography man’ll have to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>put off his doin’s, too. There’s a sight of timber +down on the hill. I don’t know when we’ve +had such a storm.”</p> + +<p>“Did it do you any damage?”</p> + +<p>“Well, no. Uprooted a few apple trees. +That’s about all. Any chores you’d like done +outdoors?”</p> + +<p>“I’m much obliged to you, Abram, but there +isn’t anything. The cows always come up to +the bars. I s’pose Samantha’s well?”</p> + +<p>“So’s to be around. The children’s folks +have come to see ye, have they?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s a kind of an adopted aunt of their +mother’s.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Abram, taking his hands off +the sides of the door, “I must get on toward +home.”</p> + +<p>He came back after going a few steps.</p> + +<p>“I’ll look in again before night, Liza.”</p> + +<p>“I’d be obliged if you would, Abram.”</p> + +<p>Neither spoke of feeling anxious about the +young doctor. Still Liza girded herself more +cheerfully to go out and gather her demoralized +poultry. A primrose-colored west brightened +the whole landscape. The beaten-down grass +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>had already begun to lift itself, and a pleasant, +drying breeze was flowing down the valley. +The broken clouds drifted to all parts of the +sky. Liza gathered drenched and gaping chickens +into her apron, where they trod upon each +other with cold pink feet, and piped shrilly for +food and comfort. She had a special basket +behind the stove for these weather-orphans, +where their down would curl once more, and all +of them subside into a buttercup-colored mass, +too sleepy to peep. There was one chicken that +ran persistently through the weeds away from +her, yet calling with all his might for aid from +some quarter. He stretched his thin neck here +and there and disconsolately shook his pin-feather +wings. Now lost in a forest of rag-weed, +he made the tops quiver over him as he +ran; and now slipping through the garden +palings, he scampered dismayed up and down +the bank of a deep canal, the channel whereof +he had known before the deluge as a neat garden +path between beds of vegetables. Liza +reached through and gathered him to the asylum +in her apron just as she observed Bluebell +picking her way to the lower bars. The run +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>was roaring through the meadow, and she rose +up apprehensively.</p> + +<p>“Don’t go down to the water, Bluebell. You +can’t cross now.”</p> + +<p>“But Tildy’s on the other side and beckoned +to me: I just want to talk across to her.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid you’ll fall in if you go too near. +Remember the run’s up.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be careful. Tildy can’t come over, and +she does want to see me so bad!”</p> + +<p>“You’ve both been weather-bound,” said +Liza smiling. “Well, you be careful. Where’s +the baby?”</p> + +<p>“She’s talking to Aunt Melissa. I gave her +my new doll to hold.”</p> + +<p>Precious as little sisters may be, there are +times when the mature girl of nine or ten feels +that she cannot have them “tagging” after +her; when she gives them a sop in the shape of +her best plaything, or engages them in conversation +with some elderly and charming relative, +while she slips out to gallop where heedless +baby shoes would have to be carried.</p> + +<p>Tildy had been signaling at the other side +of the run for some time.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>Bluebell ran down the wet meadow, feeling +joyful at being out of doors once more. The +hills were half-smiling. She could not help +noticing how the trees tossed. In the south-west +was a cushion of foliage so large, so green, +so apt to dimple with the wind, that the little +girl never could help wishing to sit and tumble +about on it.</p> + +<p>The run showed wide and turbid from the +back door, but on near approach it seemed a +ranting young river. Sticks and even rails +were being eddied away by what was day +before yesterday a few strands of clear +water.</p> + +<p>How wide was the separation between Bluebell +and Tildy!</p> + +<p>Resentment of the Perintha Pancost truce +had been swept from Tildy’s face by later +occurrences.</p> + +<p>“We can’t go to school any more,” she +called.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, we can when the waters go down.”</p> + +<p>“The’ won’t be any school-house. The +Rocky Fork’s all around it. Our spring-house +pretty near went, and if the run rises much +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>higher it’ll carry off our house and your house, +too.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell looked back at the weather-beaten +homestead.</p> + +<p>“It would look like Noey’s Ark. But it +says there isn’t to be another flood, Tildy, +’cause the rainbow’s put in the sky for a sign +that the waters shall no more cover the face of +the earth!”</p> + +<p>“Hain’t been any rainbow this wet spell,” +said Tildy impressively.</p> + +<p>Bluebell searched the whole sky, and brought +her eyes down again clouded with apprehension. +There had been no rainbow this wet +spell.</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe it will rise to the roofs of +the houses and the tops of the mountains,” she +cried, with an upward inflection of appeal.</p> + +<p>“I wish’t it would. Then you could sit on +your roof and I could sit on mine, and sail +sticks and boats across to each other. I’ve +been havin’ lots of fun with mother’s old bread-bowl. +Why didn’t you come down soon as it +quit rainin’? I beckoned to you.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t see you. Where’s Teeny?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>“She’s helpin’ mother with her weavin’. +Why don’t you take off your shoes and stockin’s?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” replied Bluebell looking +down at her low shoes and then at the lush, +soft grass. She always had envied Tildy her +untrammelled toes, but her father had a prejudice +against bare feet in all weathers. Tildy, +that fortunate creature, could walk sidewise in +the dusty summer road, dragging one foot and +thus making a beautiful broad mark, with stopping +posts indicated, like the picture of a fence. +But if Bluebell attempted it she filled her +stockings with dust and rendered her shoes a +dismal sight.</p> + +<p>Tildy now came down to the brink and made +her impression in the yielding soil.</p> + +<p>“Look there,” said she, displaying two fine +black slippers of glossy mud. “Take yours +off, too, and maybe we can wade some.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell found a dry stone, sat down upon +it, and peeled her feet pink and bare.</p> + +<p>“Come along up the run,” called Tildy. +“I’ve got my boat up here.”</p> + +<p>So they scampered along on each side, the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>ooze coming between Bluebell’s toes with a +delicious rush.</p> + +<p>The bread-bowl beached on Tildy’s side, was +ready for service. She had a pole to steer it +with, and setting it afloat, ran along turning +and guiding it as anxiously as if it were a +bulrush basket with another little baby in it. +Bluebell ran by her side of the stream, and +begged that the vessel might make a voyage to +her. With a push of the pole, Tildy turned its +prow, but it got caught against a snag, and +she labored long to free it. Finally, the cracked +and rather unseaworthy vessel came triumphantly +in, and Bluebell caught it with joy.</p> + +<p>The two girls felt as if they had shaken hands +across the separating stream. Bluebell had +some of the baby’s seed cookies in her pocket. +She wiped the bowl very dry with bunches of +grass, and made a nest of fresh grass in the +centre, on which a handful of thimble cakes +were then carefully deposited, and the gallant +craft started on its return trip.</p> + +<p>It moved down stream, and both girls accompanied +it. Tildy poled with care lest the +cargo might get slopped. Now, there was a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>rail coming down stream in the centre of the +current, pointing like a long black finger to the +fact that that bowl must be got out of the way, +or there would be a collision on the high seas.</p> + +<p>Bluebell danced and exclaimed while Tildy +poled in set determination. Alas for the noble +bread-bowl! In despair she stuck the pole into +it, brought it with a swish to land with its grass +and seed-cakes scattered to the stream, and +losing her balance fell partly in herself.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Tildy!” screamed Bluebell, when +Tildy scrambled on the bank, dripping to her +waist.</p> + +<p>“This makes the second time this week I’ve +got wet,” said she solemnly. “I don’t b’lieve +I want to wade now.” She sat down on the +grass and wrung her clothes. Her mood was +very sombre indeed.</p> + +<p>“I expect I’ll take sick and die,” she said. +“Father used to get wet to his hide before +he took bed-fast. And I’m a good deal his +build.”</p> + +<p>“Just as soon as my father comes home,” +cried Bluebell, “I’ll ask him to ride Ballie over +the run and give you some medicine.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>“You needn’t throw it up to me that you’ve +got a father when I ain’t got any,” said Tildy, +dismally.</p> + +<p>“Why, Tildy! I <i>never</i>!”</p> + +<p>“You did, too. But mebbe you ain’t got any +either, now.”</p> + +<p>“My father’s comin’ home to-night!”</p> + +<p>“Mebbe he is.”</p> + +<p>“He’s just gone to see his patients, and he’s +comin’ right straight home!”</p> + +<p>“Table Rock fell down over the Narrows +yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care if it did!” warded off Bluebell, +with quivering lip.</p> + +<p>“My Uncle Abram says it could ’a’ hit your +father just as easy as not!”</p> + +<p>“But it didn’t!”</p> + +<p>“But somethin’ may have happened to him. +If he tries to cross the Rocky Fork now, he’s +sure to get drownded! Uncle Abram says he +feels uneasy. Looky there, now! Mebbe that’s +his hat comin’ down the run!”</p> + +<p>Bluebell suspended a great sob and watched +the black object approaching. It reeled nearer +and nearer—it looked <i>so</i> much like father’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>black hat: she saw the band: she saw the brim +dip—</p> + +<p>“Ho!” cried Doctor Garde’s little girl triumphantly, +“that’s just a chunk o’ burnt +wood, Miss Tildy Banks, and my father ain’t +any more drowned than you are!”</p> + +<p>Tildy, who felt herself more drowned than +she wished to be, and decidedly uncomfortable—for +there is a difference between sky-water +and run-water—merely responded, “Huh, +Madam!”</p> + +<p>Bluebell started back to pick up her stockings +and shoes. She heard a long ringing neigh +from the lane.</p> + +<p>“There!” she cried, shaking a shoe at +Tildy, “there’s my own father come home to +my house this very minute! I’m going right +to the bars,” she added, thrusting her tender +feet into the shoes after wiping them on her +stockings, “and I’ll tell him all the mean +things you said. And I won’t ask him to give +you the medicine, so I won’t.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want it,” responded Tildy: “he +hain’t got any but nasty stuff.”</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde’s little girl did not stay to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>argue. She scampered to the lower bars, flung +over them, and splashed across the puddles to +the upper bars. Ballie’s glossy, tossing head +appeared around the barn-corner. But her +saddle was empty and turned to one side, the +pill-bags dangling, her bridle hung loose, and +as soon as she saw the little girl, she uttered +a neighing scream.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII<br> +<small>ABRAM HAS A THEORY</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">THE Arabian mare’s long cry reached Liza’s +ear, also. She was putting her chickens +in the basket, and having covered them, went +toward the bars.</p> + +<p>“There’s something wrong, the way that +horse whinnies,” said Liza aloud. “Why, look +at her now! He’s been thrown!”</p> + +<p>Ballie was walking from one end of the bars +to the other, resenting the saddle and dangling +saddle-bags, resenting the bridle which hung +to her feet, but more than all distressed by the +absence of her master. As soon as she saw +Liza she uttered another interrogative wailing +cry.</p> + +<p>A pair of small stockings hung across the +fence: Bluebell’s figure was flying down the +lane at the foot of the pine hill.</p> + +<p>“O my gracious!” cried Liza, smiting her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>hands. “Now <i>she’ll</i> go off and get killed. +Come back, Bluebell! come back here! She +runs right on and doesn’t hear me!”</p> + +<p>Ballie heard intelligently, and jerked her +bridle from under foot, seeming, as she did so, +to fling a wail after Bluebell.</p> + +<p>Liza got over the bars and mechanically relieved +the mare, unfastening the pill-bags and +saddle, and turning the bridle back over her +neck. Leaving her tied to the post, Liza flung +her apron over her head and started running +towards Abram’s house. It was a mile to +Abram’s. When she had passed the orchard +and was nearly across the east meadow, she +remembered Miss Calder had been left with +only Rocco in the house, unconscious of what +had happened. Still running, Liza dipped into +a gulch-like hollow which divided the stony +meadow in halves. It was oozy and slippery, +and she climbed the other side nearly out of +breath. Abram’s house appeared beyond its +orchard.</p> + +<p>When Liza had scaled the orchard fence, +and recovering breath a little, came running +towards the front of the house, she found +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>Abram and his wife talking with a man in the +road.</p> + +<p>Bounce, the house-dog, had barked all the +way up the orchard, but they had never turned +their heads.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Abram!” she cried. At this Abram +looked around, and showed a face as distressed +as her own.</p> + +<p>“We’ve just heard the doctor’s been +drowned,” said Samantha solemnly.</p> + +<p>Liza was not prepared for this statement. +Her burning face bleached.</p> + +<p>“Who says so?” she exclaimed aggressively.</p> + +<p>“The g’ography-teacher and him both tried +to cross the Rocky Fork at the ford, and his +horse acted up some way and got him off.”</p> + +<p>Liza groaned.</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe it,” she said next: “why +didn’t you help him?”</p> + +<p>The geography-teacher was splashed and +muddied from head to foot. His face looked +haggard, and on Pancost’s tall gray horse he +appeared singularly gruesome. Liza despised +him at first sight. She longed to pull him from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>his uncertain seat, and have him punished for +this trouble for which she unreasonably held +him accountable.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t help him, ma’am. I just escaped +with my own life, and rode as hard as I could +to the first house I saw, to give the alarm.”</p> + +<p>“There’s four houses between this and the +ford! His horse just came to the bars! Abram! +Why don’t you stir yourself? Go and help +him! He isn’t drowned, I know. Why, he can +swim like a fish! If you’d only stopped to be +of some account!” she cried, flashing her excited +eyes up and down the geography-teacher.</p> + +<p>“Liza,” said Abram, “I’m startin’ to the +stable for a horse. But you hain’t heard the +particulars.”</p> + +<p>He cantered away, and Samantha, who had +gone into the house, came out with a camphor-bottle. +She bathed Liza’s face, while that good +spinster held to the fence and denounced Mr. +Runnels.</p> + +<p>“Where’s your particulars, now? If you’d +stood by him like a man, as he ’a’ stood by you! +Where is he? What did he do after he got into +the water?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>“You don’t know what you’re talking about, +ma’am,” said Mr. Runnels, avoiding her eyes, +and speaking in a dejected way without heat. +“His horse got to plunging and the saddle +slipped. The current was so strong we +were both carried away below the ford, and +when I got out, his horse had kicked him +loose.”</p> + +<p>“Ballie kick <i>him</i>! She never kicked him!”</p> + +<p>“I can’t help that. She was climbing the +bank and a heavy log hit him and he went +under. I called for help, but nobody came. +Then I put my horse to a gallop and rode as +hard as I could to the first house I saw.”</p> + +<p>“Sit down, Liza,” begged Samantha, pushing +her upon a stool they used in picking fruit. +Liza sat down. “There goes Abram to the +ford fast as he can go. And if he don’t find +anything he’ll warn out all the neighbors. +Don’t take on so!” sobbed Samantha in her +own apron.</p> + +<p>Mr. Runnels turned his horse and followed +Abram. Dripping and wretched and in need +of hospitality as he certainly was, it had not +occurred to either of the women to offer him +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>anything. He faded from their view merely as +the bearer of bad tidings.</p> + +<p>But a capable woman like Liza could give up +to smelling camphor for a moment only. Within +half an hour she had created a revolution in +her own house. The sitting-room was turned +into a hospital ward, with every appliance for +restoring wounded or half-drowned people. A +fire made the black chimney-piece sparkle. +Miss Melissa followed her around, awed and +colorless, but anxious to help. She did marvels +of lifting and carrying, scarcely knowing it. +A chill struck through the air as the day closed. +Only the baby, who sat in the big rocker with +Georgiana and the soles of her own feet broadside +to the fire, could sing with any enjoyment +of life. The unusual bustle and the climbing +fire seemed things of good cheer. Unconscious +of any trouble and feeling in a musical mood, +Rocco improvised recitative, crescendo and +diminuendo, knitting her fine eyebrows with an +artist’s concentration.</p> + +<p>“O—my—GOOD—GWacious! Jawgeanno!—I +neva’ turn back any mo’. An’ it +WAINED: AND Juicy-crucy-fied ’im. Cap in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>my father’s HAN’! An’ the’ was a little guyl +had a nice dolly b’ronged to her sisser B’uebell. +O Jawge-ANNO!”</p> + +<p>Liza-Robert came tiptoeing in on her heavy +shoe-soles. She had got the news some way, +and going nearly a mile up the run, found a +narrow place where she could get across by the +aid of rails and so reach the troubled house. +She had been crying on the way, and when she +saw Rocco toasting her soles with such musical +satisfaction, the poor woman buried her face +in her apron.</p> + +<p>“Poor little innocent!” she said, passing +her hand down Rocco’s head; “poor little +innocent!”</p> + +<p>Rocco was accustomed to Liza-Robert’s +widowed expression, and laughed up in her +face.</p> + +<p>“Dreat big doll,” she said importantly, +turning Georgiana for inspection.</p> + +<p>Then, as if a peg had slipped in the music-box +of her little chest, she straightway struck +off again:</p> + +<p>“On Missus—JORDAN STORMY Banks’s +house, I cast a Rishful EYE!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>Miss Melissa came in from the banistered +porch where she had been watching, and Liza +from the kitchen.</p> + +<p>“Did you see or hear anything?” inquired +Liza. Her plump, well-preserved face looked +shrunken.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” replied Miss Melissa, spreading +her transparent, trembling hands to the fire.</p> + +<p>“I’ll make you acquainted with my cousin’s +widow, Miss Calder,” said Liza.</p> + +<p>Miss Calder bowed to the raw-boned, sad +woman. Liza-Robert inclined her head.</p> + +<p>“How do ye do, ma’am?” Then she wiped +off a rolling tear with her apron. There was a +natural majesty in her which fully appreciated +culture and delicacy in another; but now she +met this lady without a thought of the difference +between them.</p> + +<p>“He stayed by me night and day when I had +the lung fever, and the other doctors give me +up to die. If it hadn’t been for him I wonder +who’d be carin’ for my children now! I’m just +a hard-workin’ woman that’s had trouble, but +he always was as good as an angel to me and +mine.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>Liza went to the door; then to the bars. The +day was gone: she was startled to find it so +near twilight.</p> + +<p>Presently she came back with an heroic air, +patted the prepared bed and laid it open, +turned a stick on the fire-dogs over, and hurriedly +brought in a candle.</p> + +<p>“I thought I heard some one comin’,” she +said.</p> + +<p>It seemed to be the tramping of another +horse at the bars. Ballie, still tied to the +ignominious post, neighed to it interrogatively.</p> + +<p>Abram came striding in.</p> + +<p>“Where is he?” said Liza.</p> + +<p>Abram looked at the three women piteously.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. We ain’t found him.”</p> + +<p>“Who’s lookin’?” cried Liza with a sharp +tone.</p> + +<p>“All on this side the Fork. The men goin’ +home from the Furnace all turned in.”</p> + +<p>“I thought mebby ’twas only that curly-headed +g’ography-teacher,” said Liza. She +burst out sobbing in her apron again. Miss +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>Calder sat down. Rocco was frightened, and +got down with Georgiana hanging across her +shoulder, to stare at Abram.</p> + +<p>“We did get his hat,” said Abram, swallowing +as if his very prominent Adam’s apple were +choking him. “And I have a kind of a theory +now.”</p> + +<p>He proceeded, without much encouragement, +to explain his theory:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Runnels says a log hit him and he +went down right by the ford. They’re gettin’ +Ridenour’s canoe and ’ll drag over that spot. +But I hev a kind of theory—I don’t know +whether I’m right or not—”</p> + +<p>The three women lifted their heads expectantly.</p> + +<p>“My theory is, it didn’t stop there.”</p> + +<p>The pronoun sent a shudder through his +hearers.</p> + +<p>“It’s down below the Narrows, and I’m +goin’ to Mary Ann and warn out the men for +a search there.”</p> + +<p>At this hopeless view of the case, Liza +walked the floor in a transport of grief, and +Liza-Robert tried to repress her own sorrow +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>and attend to Miss Calder, who seemed fainting.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the poor boy! And him so noble-hearted! +Night after night, day after day, +through rain and shine and cold and heat he’s +rode! And it made no difference whether it +was to the rich or the poor! They was all +alike to him if they needed doctrin’—and he +never expected to get pay for half he done!”</p> + +<p>Here Rocco raised her voice and howled.</p> + +<p>“He was good to me,” said Abram. “I +never knowed a man I thought more of.”</p> + +<p>“Honey,” said Liza, coming to the baby, +and trying to control herself, “Liza’ll put you +to bed now.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to go,” howled Rocco. “I +want B’uebell to sit in the chair and wock me.”</p> + +<p>Liza flashed a glance all around the room. +Then a recollection ran over her face leaving +it more faded.</p> + +<p>“Oh, didn’t that child come back? She ran +down the lane to hunt him. Abram, where’s +Bluebell?”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV<br> +<small>BLUEBELL HAS NO THEORY</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">WHEN Doctor Garde’s little girl started +down the unfenced lane, she acted on an +impulse given by terror. She ran with all her +might at the side of the lane, tangling her feet +in fragrant pennyroyal, and bounding over +bunches of ground-cherries, so that it seemed +a whole year before she reached the place +where it joined its mud to that of the main +road. This was a steep, stumpy place: young +saplings had been ridden down, and bent their +bruised backs to draggle torn tops on the +ground. On the black hill above, all those +pines were whistling softly between their teeth, +as father did. Hundreds of odd thoughts +rushed pell-mell through the little girl’s +mind.</p> + +<p>Ballie’s track here melted into others; but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>as Bluebell had not thought of tracing Ballie’s +course, she did not pause on account of losing +the clew. She stood still an instant and looked +back toward the house. She was so little. +Grown-up folks would know better what to do. +The house was almost out of sight among trees. +She had no distinct idea except that father was +certainly in danger somewhere and must be +found. The primrose light was fading out in +the west. If she went on and nobody knew +where she was, she might slip over the Narrows +and be killed, and against this her sound +flesh and wholesome blood rebelled utterly. +Still, her pause was only an instant long: she +laced up the leather strings of her shoes and +tied them firmly, waded around mud-holes, and +ran on toward the entrance of the Narrows.</p> + +<p>Just here the Rocky Fork burst upon her +sight. Bluebell held to the flint wall feeling +giddy. She had never seen such an expanse +of water. It covered nearly the whole of a +wide meadow, and on the side next the Narrows +licked at the earthen cliff, crumbling it by slow +handfuls. She felt it was climbing step by +step to grab her as she started on.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>There was a current like a mill-race over the +hidden bed of the Rocky Fork. Logs, brush, +rails, whole trees, skated along on it. The +child could not keep her fascinated gaze off this +current, and it made her so dizzy she was +obliged every few moments to stop, reeling +against the hill-wall and hugging its stones +with her hands. She was going in the direction +of the current. Just as Bluebell entered +on this narrow track she heard violent galloping +begin of a sudden behind her. She thought +of Billy Bowl, and seizing a root above her +head, made herself as flat as possible against +the wall. She thought also of the loose horse +which met father and her upon the Narrows, +and turned desperately to frighten it back. +But this horse was a lean gray one and had +a rider, and both were dripping from head to +foot; the rider looked wildly toward the Narrows +and wheeled his horse away from them. +Then he flew away as fast as the animal could +gallop on a sled road, arching by through the +pine woods which led to the road past Abram’s, +but was seldom used except by wood-cutters. +He had not noticed Bluebell.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>“It’s the g’ography-teacher,” said she hurrying +on. “And <i>he’s</i> fell in the water and +wet all his nice clothes, and he looked <i>just like +Billy Bowl</i>!”</p> + +<p>Nothing else happened in her dizzy, long +journey around the Narrows. Midway she +could not look at the waters, but their sound +filled all the country silence. Bluebell’s road +remained in light after the shadows settled on +them. A huge hole was left over the gutter +where Table Rock had hung: the earth was +broken all around. Bluebell got by it as well +as she could. When she reached the Furnace +the day-workmen were about to start to their +homes.</p> + +<p>All the way around, though Doctor Garde’s +little girl had been showing as much Irish pluck +as she could muster, her chin had shaken with +sobs and her heart felt bursting with a mighty +homesickness for father. She looked into the +Furnace now, unreasonably expecting to see +him on a bunch of coats or wamuses, tended as +they had tended Eli Ridenour.</p> + +<p>She saw glittering eyes and smutted faces, +and heard a line of song roared out.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>“Where’s my father?” she cried to the +nearest Furnace-man.</p> + +<p>Several came to her at once.</p> + +<p>“It’s Doc. Garde’s little girl.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, sissy?”</p> + +<p>“Is my father here?”</p> + +<p>“No. He hasn’t been past the Furnace +since night before last. What’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>“He’s got hurt someway,” wailed Bluebell, +the tears dropping to her breast. “The horse +came home with her saddle all turned, and I +can’t find him.”</p> + +<p>The Furnace-men looked at each other, and +the alarm flashed around.</p> + +<p>“Which way was he ridin’?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I thought maybe he fell +over like Eli Ridenour and you’d brought him +here. Oh, if you don’t find my father, I can’t +stand it at all!”</p> + +<p>“He must have been trying to ford the +Fork,” exclaimed the biggest of all the Furnace-men. +“We’ll go down there.”</p> + +<p>They swarmed around each other in what +appeared a scarlet confusion of unbelted wamuses, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>then trooped in a hurry to the Narrows. +They forgot the child. She stood crying beside +a brick pillar, too overwhelmed with trouble to +think of anything but its pain. Where <i>was</i> +father? And was he badly hurt?</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XV<br> +<small>THE FORD</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">IN an hour the banks about the place where +the country road forded the Rocky Fork in +low water, were studded with what seemed +from a distance large, unblinking fireflies. +And on the stream itself two or three other +fireflies in a cluster moved back and forth, +here and there. Bad news need not be telegraphed +in the country. It flies faster than +the wind. The whole neighborhood on each +side the Rocky Fork knew that Doctor Garde +had been carried down in the Rocky Fork, and +men of all ages turned out in the search.</p> + +<p>The Furnace-men brought dried pine sticks +for torches. Three people paddled Ridenour’s +canoe about, trailing light on the muddy water. +The trees took on a weird appearance as these +torches lit up the inner mystery of their +branches, and some sleepy birds that had just +comfortably settled for the night, chirped inquiringly. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>Overhead the stars appeared by +ones and groups through a clear sky, from +which the trailing mists were blown away.</p> + +<p>The men in the canoe had a log-chain and +hook which they trailed along the bottom. +Others followed the banks down stream, being +obliged to go around deep bogs and back-waters +which nearly covered what had been grape-vine +thickets. Doctor Garde’s felt hat had been +found in a thicket by one of the boys, and +Abram had ridden off home with it: but when +he got there he had not had the heart to +carry the soaked and dreadful token in, but +had laid it in a corner of the porch while +he entered to tell about it and state his convictions.</p> + +<p>Mr. Runnels remained by the ford, walking +his borrowed steed here and there, and stretching +fearfully toward every object which attracted +notice.</p> + +<p>“They say Pancost come nigh losin’ his old +gray,” said Mr. Willey grimly, laying his hand +on the neck of this steed.</p> + +<p>“I barely got out,” replied Mr. Runnels. +“It seemed as if we were both to go.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>“What possessed ye to try the Rocky Fork +when it’s so high?”</p> + +<p>“I wanted to carry around word to all my +pupils on this side that the lessons would be +stopped till the water went down. I was about +to turn back, but Doctor Garde was just venturing +in, and I thought a man might follow +where he went.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but Doctor Garde wouldn’t turn back +from anything! And he had the prettiest piece +o’ horse-flesh in the whole country. She could +swim like a duck, and take a straight up-and-down +bank, and in the darkest night he could +give her the bridle and go to sleep. The trouble +with Doctor Garde, sir, was that he didn’t know +danger when he saw it. This is a rough piece +o’ country, but he’d cut right across the hills, +and once he got his eyelid cut open riding +against a branch, and it hung down to his cheek. +But he goes home and sews it up himself, and +keeps on ridin’ as if nothing had happened. +Ain’t many men could stand what he could.”</p> + +<p>“I should think not.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. I couldn’t. And he was the best +doctor, sir, I ever had in my family. There’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>Hall over yonder. His mill went with these +high waters, but I believe he feels a sight worse +about the doctor.”</p> + +<p>The men with the grapple-chain hooked +something. It was no easy matter to keep out +of the current and the course of limbs and various +flotsam from wood-cutters’ piles. They +got into a still place scummed over with powdered +rotten-wood, and here they carefully +drew in the laden hook.</p> + +<p>Men on the opposite bank called to each other +and came running to the verge, while those by +the scummy bay knotted together and held their +lights down.</p> + +<p>“Have you got anything?” they called.</p> + +<p>Those around the hook fell back and looked +up:</p> + +<p>“No, nothing but a little stump.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVI<br> +<small>A TRIO AND CHORUS</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">THE homesickness for father grew to agony +in Doctor Garde’s little girl. She stood +just outside the Furnace pressing her hands +together.</p> + +<p>When she was a smaller girl she dreamed +once that father was dead. It was a smothering +dream. Her heart weighed her down so she +thought she could never skip or play blackman +again. Driven by unendurable loneliness which +nothing but the presence of father could cure, +she persistently hunted him till she came to an +enormous mansion which was heaven. Here +she asked for him, and was told that he had +just passed into another apartment, which she +entered just in time to see the last fold of his +garment disappearing through an opposite +door. So from one vast room to another she +still followed, calling him as she ran; but he +never heard, and she never touched even the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>hem of his robe. The place grander than any +town, was full of carvings, pictures and nameless +elegances, such as Bluebell could not remember +ever having seen before. Then she +was in a forest where a wind-storm had passed. +Fallen trees made a limitless bridge from her +feet into the horizon, and there was the most +brilliant moonlight over the whole visible +world. She was crying to herself, hopeless of +ever seeing father again, when he came walking +over that endless corduroy bridge toward her. +He came walking in a long white robe which +covered him with light and trailed on the logs, +his square serious face full of concern about +her. He did not seem pleased to find her crying +there, though he picked her up and soothed her! +Then he told her she must be kind to the baby +and be a good girl; and without her being able +to detain him, he turned and trailed again out +of sight across the moonlit logs.</p> + +<p>This dream had made such a painful impression +on Bluebell that she never had forgotten +it. It always came across her mind at serious +times. It seemed to belong to the same class +of untold terrors as her superstition about +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>Billy Bowl. But now it came up before her +like reality. Or perhaps the reality which the +child was facing stood before her like that +dream.</p> + +<p>The Fork’s roar came up through humid +dusk which was thickening every minute to +darkness. Some whippoorwills in the trees +below the road were uttering their cry almost +under her feet, so that she heard the guttural +which preceded it:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first"> “G’—whippoorwill,</div> +<div class="verse">G’—whippoorwill!”</div> +</div></div> + +<p>But presently out of the intermingled sounds +of whippoorwills, water and frogs, there came +something else very different.</p> + +<p>It was not at first distinct; but when Bluebell +listened intently, she did hear a voice calling:</p> + +<p>“Hillo!”</p> + +<p>The little girl ran along the road toward +Mary Ann until she came to where the Narrows +broadened to a hilly shoulder which sloped +gradually to the Fork. Bluebell knew nothing +about the descent. Within this hill and along +under the Furnace, John Tegarden’s coal-fires +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>were supposed to be perpetually burning. But +her eyes were accustomed to the dark, and there +was a fine starlight overhead.</p> + +<p>It did seem dreadful to come down to the +very edge of the Rocky Fork. Flecks of foam +showed on it like threatening teeth. Black objects +were continually passing down, out in the +current. Sometimes these fish etched their fins +on the low sky on the other side, when you saw +that there were twigs and limbs of a floating +tree.</p> + +<p>When Bluebell had climbed down almost to +a level with the Rocky Fork, she held on to a +bush, and listened.</p> + +<p>“Hillo!” called the voice again.</p> + +<p>It was farther from her, and must be just +under the Narrows opposite the Furnace.</p> + +<p>“Father! Is father there?”</p> + +<p>“Hillo! somebody come and help me!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, father, are you drownin’! Oh, what +shall I do?”</p> + +<p>“Is that you, Bluebell? Who’s with you?”</p> + +<p>“Nobody, father, but just myself! I can’t +get to you, father—the water’s so deep!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t think of trying to come to me!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>There was a pause. The Rocky Fork, the +frogs, and the whippoorwills uttered their +voices. Bluebell thought she heard a groan +contributed to the chorus.</p> + +<p>“Oh, father! <i>are</i> you drownin’? Can’t you +get out somehow?”</p> + +<p>A horse’s feet made heavy thuds overhead: +they sounded so loud she was not sure he heard +her.</p> + +<p>“Father! what must I do?”</p> + +<p>“Bring somebody here.”</p> + +<p>“But you’ll drown while I’m gone!” cried +Bluebell, adding a blubbering sob by way of +period.</p> + +<p>“No, I sha’n’t.”</p> + +<p>His little girl’s nerves were not equal to +facing the bare possibility, and she sent up a +wail.</p> + +<p>“Don’t make a fuss,” came father’s voice, +somewhat sternly.</p> + +<p>“Who’s that down there!” called a voice +from the road overhead; “Bluebell?”</p> + +<p>“Sir?” She held to her bush and looked +up: there was a blurred man on horseback +against the deeper background of hill.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>“Is that Bluebell Garde?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. My father’s here in the Rocky +Fork, and I don’t know how to get him +out!”</p> + +<p>The man made his horse’s feet clatter, and +he could be heard immediately afterwards, +making his way down the bank himself.</p> + +<p>“Who’s that?” called the doctor from his +invisible position.</p> + +<p>“It’s me, Abram Banks. I don’t seem to +make you out, doctor.”</p> + +<p>“I’m here in the shadow on a log.”</p> + +<p>The Rocky Fork and the frogs and whippoorwills +came in with a full chorus while Abram +paused and caught his breath.</p> + +<p>“Can you hold on a bit longer?”</p> + +<p>“I think so. The water’s quiet. But my +arm’s broken, and I can’t help myself, and it +may turn me faint pretty soon, again. I’ve +nearly fainted several times.”</p> + +<p>“If you could hold on till I gallop back and +get Ridenour’s canoe.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell sobbed in her dress-skirt.</p> + +<p>“Can’t you get a rope up at the Furnace, +Abram? If I had one end of a long rope I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>could fasten it to the log, and then you could +tow me to where you are.”</p> + +<p>“Is it a big tree?”</p> + +<p>“No, rather small. I managed to get it out +of the current—broke off some branches and +paddled.”</p> + +<p>“Bluebell,” said Abram, deliberately pulling +off his wamus and boots, “you go up the +bank and see what my horse’s doin’. I tied +him in such a hurry he may get loose, and then +we’d be in a box for a way to git your father +home.”</p> + +<p>The little girl scrambled up, holding to the +grass in places, and before she reached the top, +she heard a plunge which told Abram had +taken to the water.</p> + +<p>Abram’s horse was tied to a sapling across +the road, and was stretching his neck to +browse.</p> + +<p>The breathing of the Fork and the frogs was +interrupted by splashings and half-exclamations. +Bluebell was reassured by hearing her +father’s voice more plainly. The log was being +pushed cautiously out of its harbor. He directed +Abram not to turn it towards the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>current, but to steer it against another log. +Abram’s replies were interspersed with grunts.</p> + +<p>It was not a very long time before they struggled +up the hill, Abram helping the doctor. +His own hair was sending little streams of +water down his wamus, but Doctor Garde was +dripping from head to foot. When the light +from the Furnace fell on him, he showed in a +ghastly plight.</p> + +<p>“Have you got a knife, Abram?” asked the +doctor.</p> + +<p>Abram groped in his homespun and brought +out what he called a jack-knife.</p> + +<p>“Now, cut my sleeves open, will you?”</p> + +<p>This was done. The doctor took his coats +off.</p> + +<p>“That rubber sleeve compressed it, or +seemed to. It’s considerably swollen.” He +examined his right arm. Bluebell could see +him closing his lips.</p> + +<p>“Just git on the horse now and I’ll put sissy +up behind you. Or can’t you manage it?”</p> + +<p>The doctor took the horse’s bridle in his left +hand, and placing one foot in the stirrup, +leaped up as he did on his Arabian. But this +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>time he sank back and leaned on the plough-horse’s +neck.</p> + +<p>“Afraid I can’t do it, Abram. A few ribs +a little out of normal condition, too.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t you step on that rock, father?” said +Bluebell, caressing his sound elbow. In her +comfort at having him again, she would have +been his stepping-stone herself.</p> + +<p>The faintness passing away, he followed +Abram and the horse to a rock and succeeded +in mounting from that. The farmer flung up +Bluebell behind him, and took the bridle. This +small cavalcade started at once.</p> + +<p>“It’d be safer to go the long way around +the hill,” suggested Abram. “They’re a-huntin’ +you b’low at the ford, and we might +meet ’em with lights or somethin’, and this +horse might cut up. She’s always simple along +the Narrows.”</p> + +<p>“The nearest way will be the safest to-night. +I want to get home, Abram.”</p> + +<p>So they passed the Furnace in a quick walk +and entered the Narrows. The night-workmen +were busy inside, and probably speculating +about the recovery of Doctor Garde’s body.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>“Father,” cried Bluebell, hugging him carefully +below his arms, “Ballie came home with +the saddle all turned over!”</p> + +<p>She laid her cheek against his dear wet back, +ashamed to make louder demonstrations of joy. +Now that he was out of the water, the whole +disaster seemed a mere extension of that painful +dream.</p> + +<p>“And you started out to find where she left +me, did you?” said father in a bantering tone +which indicated that he was touched.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, and I thought you fell over the +Narrows.”</p> + +<p>“Did you say they were searching at the +ford?”</p> + +<p>“Got out Ridenour’s canoe and draggin’ +with a log-chain.”</p> + +<p>“Who?”</p> + +<p>“The whole neighborhood, nigh about. That +g’ography man he first brought word to me, +and the Furnace-hands heard, and they come. +But it wasn’t my theory that it—that you’d +stop there. I felt pretty clear you’d went with +the current. Liza, she come runnin’ to tell me +some mischance had happened to you. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>g’ography-teacher, he looked scared out a +year’s growth,” said Abram, having recourse +to the time-honored humor of his region.</p> + +<p>“He was badly scared.” The young doctor’s +face shone with a phosphorescent smile. +“If I had left him to his fate he couldn’t have +stood it, perhaps, as well as I can. It was +folly in him to try the Fork, any way. But he +plunged in because I did, and I felt bound to +help him over.”</p> + +<p>“He told us,” remarked Abram slowly, +“that you was kind of took off by the current +and your horse kicked you, and you sunk.”</p> + +<p>The doctor laughed.</p> + +<p>“Well, he certainly was scared out of his +sense. Why, I had crossed the current, diagonally, +as the mare always takes a swift current, +and was just at the opposite bank, when +he yelled to me. He had come in holding his +horse’s head down, and it was about to drown; +they spun around in the current and started +down stream. When I got to him I seized his +bridle and tried to lead him out, and then the +horse began to struggle, and the first thing I +knew I was dropped off and thrashed around, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>and his gray gave me a few kicks which might +have been fatal out of the water, and I saw +Ballie spinning along the road with her gearing +half off, and the young man getting safely +out on his horse. I tried to swim, but my best +arm was so numb I couldn’t use it, so I just +kept out of the way of drift as well as I could, +and finally found a log I could crawl upon. I +think he called me once or twice, but I found +it necessary to fix my whole mind on what I +was doing. When I got on my log and as far +as the Narrows, it took hard work to get out +of the current. Can’t we move on a little +faster, Abram?”</p> + +<p>The horse’s pace was quickened. Bluebell +had not listened for the crumbling of earth +below, nor did she much mind the gutter under +Table Rock hole. Her soul was given up to +indignation.</p> + +<p>“He didn’t act the man, apparently,” pronounced +Abram, having turned all the incidents +over.</p> + +<p>“I’ll never go to his g’ography school +again!” cried Bluebell from a bursting heart.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> + <img src="images/i_fp184.jpg" width="450" height="693" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p class="caption">“<span class="smcap">I seized his bridle and tried to lead him out.</span>”—<i>Page <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>“Tut!” said father, “little girls should be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>seen and not heard. Abram, would you mind +trotting? I think I could stand it.”</p> + +<p>They trotted.</p> + +<p>Bluebell’s face intensified behind the wet +back. Her imagination rehearsed a scene. She +put Mr. Runnels before the geography school, +and especially before Mr. Pitzer’s spectacles, +and pointing to him said, “He is just as bad +as Billy Bowl, for he let my father get pushed +into the Rocky Fork after my father had helped +to pull him out! Old Billy Bowl! Old Billy +Bowl!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVII<br> +<small>DOCTOR GARDE LISTENS TO REASON</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">THE run had gone down, and the Rocky Fork +was within its banks and falling every +hour. Hall, with a number of his neighbors, +was raising another mill on the site of the old +one, and Mr. Pitzer’s boys went down at recess +and noon to watch the process and get in the +way.</p> + +<p>Wreaths of drift on the play-ground showed +where the water had been, and the lower logs +of the school-house had threads of green +springing in their cracks and knot-holes.</p> + +<p>Everybody had heard how Doctor Garde got +into and out of the Rocky Fork, and the geography-master +met some rough bantering which +he answered as best he could. The young men +in his night school talked in knots in the graveyard +about tar and feathers for him; but tar +and feathers were a favorite subject with them, +principally because they had never seen any +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>and had some curiosity about the effect of such +a combination. Mr. Runnels did his best to +remove the prejudice against him, and he was +so amusing, they forgave him, especially as +Doctor Garde had nothing more to say about +the matter.</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde was badly hurt; and one of +the other country doctors who set his bones +made sad work with the swollen arm. The +whole neighborhood on the safe side of the +Fork got upon their plough-horses and came +to see him, according to custom. Healthy as +his physique was, so many strains and annoyances +brought on fever, and Liza-Robert hovered +mournfully around the kitchen, taking +Liza’s place, while Liza nursed him past the +worst days. Miss Calder took charge of the +children, though one of the doctor’s fancies +was to have them both placed on the foot of +his bed where he could see them while they +sang to him. With one hand propping up his +head, he watched them through half-smiling +eyes.</p> + +<p>Ballie neighed long and frequently in her +stable. Bluebell fed her standing on the barn floor, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>and smoothed her velvet nose, telling her +minutely all that had happened, and whether +father was better or worse. Still, Ballie felt +lonesome; and as there was no stable boy to +groom her down, Liza at last turned her into +the meadow, where she sailed like a lark.</p> + +<p>On Saturday afternoon Tildy Banks, bare-footed, +slipped into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>The doctor was very much better. She edged +to the room where he lay, and looked in. It was +warm, dazzling weather, and all the doors stood +open.</p> + +<p>Father was having his dinner. Bluebell and +Rocco camped beside him, occasionally getting +a bit, and finding the invalid fare a great deal +nicer than their own unlimited dinner.</p> + +<p>“There’s Tildy!” said Bluebell; “come in +Tildy: Rocco’s telling father a story. And +take a chair.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to,” responded Tildy, briefly.</p> + +<p>The doctor turned his head and asked her +how Jacob the soap-boiler was. Tildy’s eyes +snapped; for Jacob the soap-boiler was an +imaginary person whom the doctor placed before +Tildy’s mind as a possible future tyrant. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>He found the children one day playing a very +stately play, with much curtsying and singing:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="first"> “Here come three lords just out of Spain</div> +<div class="verse">A-courting of your daughter Jane.”</div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="first">“My daughter Jane she is too young</div> +<div class="verse">To listen to the wiles of a flattering tongue.”</div> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Tildy was especially serious in the performance; +and he at once put in a plea for another +and absent lord, by title, Jacob the soap-boiler +who desired his loyal duty to Matilda instead +of to Jane.</p> + +<p>“He’s about as well as usual,” she returned +with a stoical countenance, but her nails felt +quite long.</p> + +<p>“The’ ain’t any soap-boiler,” now pleaded +Bluebell, making coaxing faces to her father. +“And then what happened next, Poppetty?”</p> + +<p>The baby leaned her head towards one +shoulder and then the other in a bashful pause.</p> + +<p>“I guess there isn’t any more of it,” suggested +Bluebell.</p> + +<p>“Yes, the’ is, too! ’Nen,—’nen—’nen +they eat haws and forn-berries and winter-dreens, +and ’ey didn’t have good honey and +bwed and chickun—’tause the’ wasn’t any. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>An’ the boy say to his sisser, ‘Don’t try: I +git a gun I shoot!’ And birds put leaveses all +over ’em. ’Nen they laid down on drown’; an’ +the ole bad mans go off and fight wizsor-ruds +an’ ’ey git killed. An’ the’ wasn’t any church-house +or anyfing. Thus’ trees all ’roun’. An’ +the babies didn’t have any krunnel-bed, nor +any nice drurio wiz drors to keep the’ Sunday +clo’es in. An’ the birds put leaveses all over +’em. An’ they rished they was to their house. +An’ they bofe died. ’Nen they touldn’t go +any furver ’tause they was so tired! They +thus’ laid them down and <i>di-de</i>!”</p> + +<p>Rocco folded her claws and fixed her black +eyes impressively on father’s face.</p> + +<p>“An’ birds put leaveses all over ’em,” she +repeated.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said father, “that’s a very mournful +tale. Now, if you’ll kiss me very carefully +you may both get down and run out to play. +I ought to get a nap.”</p> + +<p>They both kissed him very carefully and +went out with Tildy.</p> + +<p>Tildy dug her toes into the soil, and made the +following remark:—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>“Come, and go to ’r house.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if Liza’ll let us.”</p> + +<p>“She told mother you could come to-day. +Mother sent me over to fetch you. They don’t +want you ’round while your father’s so sick.”</p> + +<p>“He ain’t so sick! He’s ’most well.”</p> + +<p>Tildy looked fixedly at her toes:</p> + +<p>“He looks awful bad.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I guess you would, too, if your ribs +and your arm was broke! That day we played +down by the run you said he was going to get +drowned, but he didn’t!”</p> + +<p>“He come nigh it,” observed Tildy, with +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“Well, he didn’t get <i>clear</i> drowned, nor he +ain’t goin’ to, for all o’ you!” retorted Bluebell +with stinging asperity.</p> + +<p>Tildy dug her toes into the soil, ploughing +quite a furrow.</p> + +<p>“My father’s got a pretty verse on his tombstone,” +she said, suggestively. “It says:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first">“‘Remember, friends, as you pass by,</div> +<div class="verse">As you are now, so once was I:</div> +<div class="verse">As I am now, so you must be—</div> +<div class="verse">Prepare for death and follow me.’”</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>“That’s on ’most all of ’em in the graveyard!”</p> + +<p>“And it’s what they’d put on your father’s.”</p> + +<p>“Tildy Banks, I don’t like ye!”</p> + +<p>“The’ ain’t no love lost betwixt us,” observed +Tildy; and she turned toward home.</p> + +<p>Bluebell felt bruised and astounded. Rocco +stood by, gazing up through the tunnel of her +sun-bonnet.</p> + +<p>“You’ll feel sorry when I’m gone off to live +somewheres else!”</p> + +<p>Tildy pursued her way deafly, straight as an +Indian.</p> + +<p>“Tildy!”</p> + +<p>The distance widened.</p> + +<p>“Tildy, what did you go and get mad for? +Are you leavin’ us? I don’t think that’s a nice +way to mind your mother!”</p> + +<p>Tildy paused near the bars, and turned, +but without any intention of stooping to parley.</p> + +<p>“Melissy Garde, if you’re goin’ to ’r house +you better come on.”</p> + +<p>Roxana’s sister came on, hurrying her by the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>hand. It was such a grief to be at variance +with anybody, and especially with Tildy, who +must indeed love her, they had played together +so long.</p> + +<p>Tildy helped the baby over the bars, and they +all proceeded down the meadow in silence. Ballie +was scouring across the flank of the hill, +making the woods echo with her whinneys. +Whatever was green looked densely so, and the +shade was black against the light. The more +distant landscape seemed to vibrate in the heat. +Grasshoppers fled from their approach in every +direction, and down the run Pidey and Rose +stood up to their knees in a deep place, chewing +their cuds and switching their tails. On such +a summer day Nature is a tender mother: the +outdoor world is better than the best fairy-books.</p> + +<p>“You ought to see my doll Aunt Melissa +brought me,” began Bluebell in a conciliatory +tone. “Her face kind of melted.” At this +moment Bluebell felt she could bear that sad +change in Georgiana if it would only mollify +Tildy.</p> + +<p>“She’s wax, you know, and Rocco held her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>too near the fire, and one cheek run, like she +cried the red off.”</p> + +<p>“She did try!” exclaimed Rocco, in distress.</p> + +<p>“Liza tried and I tried and Jawgeanus tried—<i>I</i> +didn’t hurt her, B’uebell!”</p> + +<p>“No, honey, you didn’t. Aunt Melissa says +she thinks she can paint it over.”</p> + +<p>Tildy stalked ahead, helping to lead the +baby.</p> + +<p>“Did you go to school yesterday, Tildy?”</p> + +<p>“I gener’ly go to school!”</p> + +<p>“Did you get the head-mark?”</p> + +<p>“Your dear Printh’ Pancost got that.”</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde’s little girl looked piteously at +the uncompromising sun-bonnet.</p> + +<p>“I wish you’d got it, Tildy.”</p> + +<p>“<i>I</i> don’t care about head-marks.”</p> + +<p>“But I’d rather you’d have the prize than +anybody else if I go ’way. We’ve always been +cronies, you know.”</p> + +<p>Tildy’s sun-bonnet turned its mouth toward +her, and the scrutinizing gray eyes focused +themselves on their affectionate minion.</p> + +<p>“If you’d been some folks’ young one +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>you’d had to go to school every day after the +water went down.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Tildy, I felt too bad to go when my +father was so sick. And I guess he isn’t goin’ +to send me any more. We’re goin’ to move +away!”</p> + +<p>Tildy’s countenance softened by degrees to +actual wistfulness. Still she combated the assertion.</p> + +<p>“That’s just talk. My mother says he won’t +leave the Rocky Fork.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but Liza and Aunt Melissa and him +say it’s so. Aunt Melissa wants us to live at +her house, and she knows lots of people that +will let my father doctor them. And maybe +I’ll go to a seminary,” said Bluebell with awe. +“That’s a grand, very fine school, Tildy, where +you learn to play on a py-anna, and paint flowers, +and everybody studies big books! Aunt +Melissa says, ‘You are running too many risks, +Maurice, and how are you going to educate the +children?’ And he says, ‘I thought of the +children when I was in the water.’ Liza she +cried on her apron, and Aunt Melissa took her +handkerchief out of her reddycule and cried on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>that, and father looked very solemn and says, +‘They owe everything to you, Liza.’ Then +Liza says she won’t stand in anybody’s light, +and she’s seen it all along. So they talked a +good many times. And every time, they talked +more like we’s goin’ away. Liza has begun to +knit my speckled white-and-red winter stockings.”</p> + +<p>They had now reached the run. Tildy took +Roxana up and lifted her across the stones. +On the other side, it was her proposal to make +a saddle to carry the baby up the slope. So +Bluebell grasped one of her own wrists, palm +downward, and Tildy grasped one of her own, +and with their free hands they then grasped +each other’s free wrists, thus forming a square +and substantial seat on which Rocco sat down +when they stooped for her. She held to Tildy’s +shoulder and Bluebell’s neck as they went on. +Riding on this kind of saddle is most exhilarating. +If your bearers stumble you have the +chance of alighting on your feet, yet you see +the world from an elevated position and at your +ease.</p> + +<p>They heard the loom before they entered the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>house. Mrs. Banks was weaving, and Teeny +was sitting on the doorstep in the shade, sewing +quilt-pieces. Teeny was quite devoted to this +industry. She had a very young-womanish +air. Her hair was twisted in a knob with some +pinks in it, and her mother’s largest apron was +tied around her plain-waisted dress.</p> + +<p>The floors were all bare at Liza-Robert’s +house, though she wove endless carpets for her +prouder neighbors. The children went into the +loom-room, which was nearly filled by that huge +frame. There were threads stretching diagonally +and crossing each other in front of her, +between which she shot a shuttle from side to +side; then she pulled an overhanging frame-work +twice, and it sent the bobbin-thread, +which was called a filling, home to its place in +the web, with a not unmusical sound. The web +this time was a linsey cloth with variegated +threads through it, intended for the girls’ winter +dresses.</p> + +<p>She took Rocco up on her lap, let her struggle +to guide the shuttle through, and made believe +that the baby pulled the frame-work.</p> + +<p>“Little innocent!” said Liza-Robert; “it’ll +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>be the only stroke she’ll ever weave. They have +things different in fine towns.”</p> + +<p>“I want a drink,” said Tildy. She went +out, followed by her faithful Bluebell. They +ran down to that spring-house spared by the +late flood, and opened the door into its coolness. +The ground was clear again, and the +yellow-faced crocks stood in their accustomed +places with the overflow of the spring purling +around them. The spring itself was so clear +and cold and alive to its duty that there was +pleasure in only hanging over it to see your +face below. Tildy broke off leaves from peppermint +stalks, and bending them so they could +be pinned with stems, made cups for Bluebell +and herself. They dipped and emptied these +thimble-sized cups until the breasts of their +dresses were wet, utterly ignoring the gourd +which hung on a nail just at hand.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVIII<br> +<small>BLUEBELL AND TILDY</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">THEN they went behind the garden and +along the eastern hill-slope, and gathered +unto themselves large families of elders.</p> + +<p>A little girl who has never played with these +woods-babies cannot realize the delight there +is in them. Warm from the sun and freshly +green, they seemed more <i>alive</i> than the most +complete doll. It always gave Bluebell a heartache +to come upon a pile of withered elders +left from a former play. She would dig out +Rosa, or Lilly, or Alice, and look sorrowfully +at the crackling drapery and shrunken body of +that departed companion.</p> + +<p>The elders were in bloom, so Tildy and Bluebell +“p’tended” the white, fragrant smear +made of so many little cups was a daughter’s +white skirt hanging below her green gown; for +it was quite the thing then for a child’s embroidered +skirt to show its rich hand-work +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>below the short dress. The girls plunged into +the midst of the elder thicket, surrounded by +its incense, and came out with rustling armloads. +To make an elder doll, you break it +smoothly from the parent stem, and how beautifully +the pith shows in the top of its head! +then you leave arms at a suitable distance below—the +elder’s branches spring on exactly +opposite sides—and strip all the leaves from +these, except three at the extremities, which +are hands. And last, you give the darling a +length of bare stem for waist, and place her +before you to admire the delicate brown bark +of her face, which has an expression individual +and distinct from the faces of her sisters.</p> + +<p>Tildy and Bluebell sought their favorite +play-houses up the hill, their arms loaded, and +each leading an active young elder by the hand. +The play-houses were some distance from their +school-path.</p> + +<p>“We ain’t been here for so long,” remarked +Bluebell, panting up the steep with her family; +“I wonder if anything’s broke our acorn +dishes?”</p> + +<p>Tildy’s house was a big rock cropping out +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>of the soil. She had “up-stairs and down-stairs,” +for it was easy to go around behind +and step on the top of the rock. Her down-stairs +was well rugged with moss, but the gray +floor up-stairs stood bare and cool in the wood-shadows. +Bluebell’s residence was a mighty +stump, cut clean and smooth at the top. She +had dragged a fragment of rock near for a +doorstone, and lived on that smooth, many-ringed +floor. She had a back kitchen, of course, +behind the stump, where her acorn delft was +stored on little shelves made of bark, propped +with pebbles from the run. A fleece of vivid +moss, finer than the most gorgeous Persian +rug, covered this kitchen. The late storm had +only brightened this; but alas! her shelves and +acorn cups were all to be built and stored again.</p> + +<p>They placed themselves in their respective +dwellings, surrounded by daughters, and talked +across.</p> + +<p>“Now, le’s play <i>Thinks-I-to-Myself</i>!” said +Bluebell; “it’s such a funny book; and there’s +Miss Mandeville, and Robert, and Miss Twist, +and old Mrs. Creepmouse—ain’t that a queer +name, Tildy! I read it all through, and skipped +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>the parts where it was long. You have one of +your dolls be Robert, and I have one of mine +be Emily Mandeville.”</p> + +<p>Tildy allowed this to be done. The hero of +<i>Thinks-I-to-Myself</i> was made of a very jaunty +elder switch; and the girls put themselves into +parts and at the same time moved their puppets. +Robert sent a valentine of a grape-vine +leaf to Miss Mandeville; and Miss Mandeville +used the language which she did in the book; +and Miss Twist appeared at the ball pinned all +over with flounces of her natural bloom, while +an emerald chain of grass graced her neck. It +was very interesting; but when they came to +the marriage of the hero and heroine, the movers +of the drama were at a loss for a suitable +ceremony. They had never seen a wedding.</p> + +<p>“Just join their hands,” said Tildy, “and +I’ll say ‘Bow-wow-whiddle-ink—Bow-wow-whiddle-ink!’ +That will do as well as anything.”</p> + +<p>So the three-leaved palm of Miss Emily was +laid in the three-leaved palm of gallant Robert, +and twisted together, and the couple propped +by a tree. Overhead great branches were rocking +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>with a musical rustle, and further up the +hill a squirrel barked. Ants crept up the drapery +of the bride-expectant, and a bunch of +ferns moved as if to fan her.</p> + +<p>Tildy took her stand in front, and Bluebell +stood by, grouped around with the other characters +in <i>Thinks-I-to-Myself</i>, such of them as +could not stand lying gracefully on their backs. +Tildy opened her mouth and said “Bow—” +when Teeny, leading the baby, appeared on the +scene.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you hear me call you to supper?” +she asked.</p> + +<p>“No, we didn’t hear anything.”</p> + +<p>“What you doing?”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t doin’ anything,” returned Tildy, +somewhat shamefaced. Her weakness for elders +was something Teeny failed to appreciate.</p> + +<p>“We’ve played a story out of a book,” explained +Bluebell, “and now they are standing +up to get married, and Tildy is going to say +‘Bow-wow-whiddle-ink!’”</p> + +<p>“No, I ain’t!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Tildy, please go on. And old Mrs. +Creepmouse died, and we buried her under +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>grass, with bushes for stones at her head and +feet.”</p> + +<p>Teeny gurgled in her throat. She was a real +grown young woman, you know, who sewed +quilt-pieces and had one “Rising Sun” and +“Pride of the West” done and quilted in shell-pattern +and laid away. Still she did not laugh +out loud, and kindly volunteered to help the +bridal party out of their predicament.</p> + +<p>“You can marry them by the old Connecticut +law.”</p> + +<p>“How, Teeny! Oh, you do it!”</p> + +<p>So Teeny approached and said:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first"> “By the old Connecticut law,</div> +<div class="verse">I marry this Indian to the squaw;</div> +<div class="verse">Kiss her and take her for your bride:</div> +<div class="verse">Now I pronounce you man and wife</div> +<div class="indent12">All your life.”</div> +</div></div> + +<p>“Oh, how beautiful that was!” sighed Bluebell. +“It doesn’t make any difference ’cause +they <i>wasn’t</i> Indians, does it? Now le’s put +’em in the houses, and cry ‘good-by.’ Everybody +in the book <i>cries</i> when they talk. I don’t +see what made ’em cry when they just say +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>something. It says ‘cried my father,’ ‘cried +Miss Mandeville.’ I s’pose they felt bad.”</p> + +<p>Rocco helped to pile the elder-people, who +had served their time and must lie shrivelling +to-morrow, upon the rock and the stump. Then +the human dolls who would have so many stories +to play in their lives, went down hill +chattering together, and sat on split-bottomed +chairs around Liza’s table. Rocco was lifted +by <i>Josephus</i> and the other available books in +the house. Their most luxurious dishes were +custard and red currants; and the yellow faces +of some of the crocks had yielded up their rich +wrinkles, and they had cookies, which Liza +indulgently let them crumble in the cream.</p> + +<p>“Don’t go home yet,” commanded Tildy, +when the first star was trembling out of the +evening light and the household gathered outside +the door on chairs or step. “I’ll take you +clear to the bars, so you won’t be ’fraid if it’s +dark.”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t a coward,” remarked Doctor +Garde’s valiant little girl. Doctor Garde’s +baby sat by Liza-Robert’s knee. The evening +milking was strained away in the spring-house, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>and the day’s tasks were told. Teeny had +pieced a dozen blocks; the mother folded her +bony and work-worn hands, and looked toward +the horizon with patient, meditative eyes.</p> + +<p>“Hush!” said Tildy; “if you’d hear +mother tell about the child in the blackberry +patch, it ’ud make you a coward!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIX<br> +<small>THE CHILD IN THE BLACKBERRY PATCH</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“TELL it,” begged Bluebell.</p> + +<p>Liza-Robert removed her eyes from the +horizon and shook her head at Tildy. Her own +girls were companions, to whom she freely imparted +the most eldritch tales and wonders; +but Doctor Garde objected to having his children’s +imaginations tinctured with the folklore +of the region. She was so tender and indulgent, +however, that no child need plead with +her long. All gathered closer around her knees +to hear the story of the child who wandered in +the blackberry patch.</p> + +<p>“It was just after I was married,” said +Liza-Robert, “and long before Christeeny was +born, that Robert come home one night from +the Furnace and told us he had heard something +in the blackberry patch. That was before +we bought this land, and we lived in part +of the old homestead and Abram’s folks lived +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>in the other part. It was a good three miles +to the Furnace, but Robert walked there and +back every day, and usually got home after +dark. This was a summer night, and drizzlin’ +rain. He said it was yellow in the west, and +the last thing the sun did as it went down was +to make a rainbow, and that rainbow stood with +one foot across the Rocky Fork, and the other +away up in the laurels. Robert he crossed the +blackberry patch about dusk.”</p> + +<p>“I know the blackberry patch,” said Bluebell. +Her mind mapped and tinted it. A high, +undulating place terraced around with hills, +and a large notch of sky showing in the west; +blackberry thickets were grouped over it; there +the katydids and cicadæ sang unceasingly, and +grasshoppers thumped all over you, penetrating +to the tightest part of your clothing, apparently +seeking to be crushed, or to be relieved +of a leg, while their bulging eyes expressed +sulky reproach. It was a very lonesome +place, full of echoes, and rank with grass, +in which some of the boasted copperheads of +the region had been killed.</p> + +<p>“But it was lots wilder then,” pursued Liza. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>“Part o’ the bushes have been grubbed out +since that time. But there was a sort of path +some o’ the men livin’ on the east road had +worn right straight through it.</p> + +<p>“So Robert he was about the middle of the +patch when he hears a child begin to cry like +its heart was breaking. Thinks he, somebody +has been here pickin’ berries to-day, and left a +child behind. So he begun to call to it and tell +it not to be afraid, Bob Banks was there, and +he’d take it home. He waded into the grass +and looked in different places for it. Now it +seemed right at his hand, and now it would +sound away off up the hills. It was the most +mournful crying he ever heard; but hunt as +he might he couldn’t get sight of the child. +So, after waitin’ till it got too dark to see, he +came home, and was for going back with Abram +and a lantern to find that child.</p> + +<p>“They got the lantern and went back and +hunted that patch high and low, but never saw +any child nor heard any cheep of it, and their +wamuses was ready to wring out when they got +home.</p> + +<p>“Next day was Sunday, and we all went to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>mornin’ meetin’. The neighbor women hadn’t +any of ’em been blackberryin’ the day before, +and hadn’t heard of any lost child. So we’d +have laughed at Robert if Eli Ridenour hadn’t +come past the Furnace Monday with <i>his</i> story. +<i>He’d</i> heard the child in that patch. He was +coming through there about midnight Sunday +night, when the most sorrowful cryin’ anybody +ever heard begun right close to him. Eli was +always cowardly, and he took to his heels. He +said it sounded like a woman swishin’ through +the grass with her long dress, and cryin’ lonesome-like. +But Robert stuck to it, it was more +like a child scared half to death.</p> + +<p>“People begun to think there was something +wrong with that patch. Some said it was a +gang of bad men that wanted to steal and had +a cave somewhere near the patch; for there +was a gang took in a cave ’way up the Rocky +Fork when I wasn’t much older than this baby. +Mother Banks often told about it. And some +said it was a child brought there to be lost and +wander ’round till it died—”</p> + +<p>“Like the babes in the woods,” murmured +Bluebell.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>—“By folks that wasn’t as good as they +ought to be. And all kinds of stories were told. +Some saw it settin’ ’way up in a tree all in +white, and some heard it under the ground, as +if it was buried up and couldn’t get out. Mr. +Willey offered to go before a ’squire and make +affidavit that he saw its eyes through the +bushes, and they looked like live coals.</p> + +<p>“So the neighbor men got together and +stayed in the patch at night; they was bound +and determined to find that child. They didn’t +hear a thing of it, and along in the night all of +’em fell asleep except Robert and Mr. Willey. +They were all lying on the grass by a lot of +blackberry bushes, and several of the men had +their guns, for there was all kinds of suspicions, +you know. And Robert said all of a sudden +that crying begun again, up the hill at the back +of the patch, and it was enough to melt a heart +of stone. Mr. Willey and Robert they takes +their guns, and they slips along—”</p> + +<p>The children clustered closer to Liza’s knee. +Rocco opened her mouth; her black eyes scintillated +through the dusk; and Bluebell threw +a glance at the dark woods above the house.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>“So they slips along and along, close to the +ground. It was starlight enough to make things +out pretty well. And what do you think they +came across right at the edge of the woods?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, a little lost baby!” cried Doctor +Garde’s little girl, “just like Mr. Post in the +First Reader! I always loved that story.”</p> + +<p>Tildy puffed in derision.</p> + +<p>“It was somethin’ with great big shinin’ +eyes—”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” pleaded Bluebell, “it <i>wasn’t</i> the +thing that came after Peggy’s Gold Leg?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Liza, laughing; “it was an +animal a good deal bigger than a dog; and it +was all ready to spring off of a limb at them +when Robert fired his gun, and over it rolled!”</p> + +<p>“’Twas a painter!” announced Tildy, with +a flourish of triumph.</p> + +<p>Bluebell crouched in her seat. Had Tildy +pronounced it “panther,” this would have +meant little to her. But a “painter!” The +Rocky Fork colloquialism bristled with terrors. +A “painter” had degrees of ferocity which +even a bear could not attain. Lions were the +only superiors to “painters,” and, after all, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>the name of lion had not that hollow, frightful +sound to be found in “painter!”</p> + +<p>“O my!” breathed Bluebell.</p> + +<p>Roxana hid her head under Liza’s apron.</p> + +<p>“They skinned it,” said Liza; and this +enabled the children to breathe more freely. A +skinned “painter” cannot be as formidable +to the mind as one with his robes on. “And +we’ve got the skin yet. I’ve heard tell painters +would cry like women or children to draw folks +near so they could eat them. But that’s the +only one shot on the Rocky Fork since this +country was new. We always called it ‘The +Child in the Blackberry Patch.’”</p> + +<p>There were those dear elder dollies lying in +the play-houses up hill. All night they must +hear the trees whisper—now low, as if just +dropping asleep; now loud, and breathing +deeply, as if startled by something more than +a fresh breeze: they must hear the mysterious +crackling of twigs, the fall of some crumbling +part of a rotten log, the hoot of night-owls, the +rattle of the tree-frog, and the dense cry of +insects which made the air one unbroken sheet +of sound; the dew would gather on their barky +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>faces. Of course they were nothing but elders—but +were they at all afraid?—or telling +“painter” stories among themselves? Hour +by hour their juices would dry, and to-morrow +the bright and blooming Emily Mandeville and +the bedizened Miss Twist would be old and +withered elders, and day after to-morrow you +might grind them to powder!</p> + +<p>A voice calling from the lower bars with a +horn-like rise and fall—a homely, but a comfortable +sound—summoned not Rose and Pidey, +but the children, to come home.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” sighed Bluebell, as she rose reluctantly. +She was very loath to ask, but she +wanted to know so badly. “That painter’s +<i>dead</i> now, ain’t it, Liza?”</p> + +<p>“Why, honey, it was killed long before +Teeny was born!” This was indeed a relief.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XX<br> +<small>THE LAST TIME</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">WHEN everything was settled, the Rocky +Forkers said they were not surprised +that Doctor Garde was going to move. A man +always ought to better himself; but they hoped +he <i>would</i> better himself. The Rocky Fork was +rough and hilly, but some towns might be +worse.</p> + +<p>Miss Calder was to take the children home +with her; but the doctor, able to ride about +with his arm in a sling, had to collect fees and +settle his business before departing to a new +field.</p> + +<p>So Bluebell came the last time to the log +school-house. She might not see it again.</p> + +<p>“The children shall visit you every summer, +Liza,” said the young man.</p> + +<p>“And you must come to see them,” urged +Miss Melissa. But Liza knew the old time was +forever broken up. And Bluebell knew that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>when she came back the school-house would not +be her school-house, nor Mr. Pitzer, if he still +reigned, her master; yet in her bustle and +anticipation, regrets were crowded to a corner +of her mind, and she felt important on this +last day. Mr. Pitzer had written a beautiful +parting address to her on half a tall foolscap +sheet, in his fairest hand, upstrokes light and +downstrokes artistically shaded, with such +wonderful turning W’s and other capitals, +throwing fantastic vines all around. He had +ornamented the top with a bird and a fish in +red and green inks, each being deftly finished +by a continuous flourish without the pen having +been lifted from the paper. The address began, +“Dear Youth;” and went on to describe +life as a stream, and a child as a young voyager +who was bidden to beware of quicksands, +whose sky your old friend hoped might be ever +free from storms. In concluding he said, +“How touching is a young and interesting +mind just unfolding its petals to the sunlight! +Whoever shall bring it to perfect flower, it +will always be a source of pleasure to your old +friend to remember that he was the first to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>lead it in the ways of knowledge. May heaven +bless and richly endow my young friend!</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="indentright">“Your schoolmaster,</span><br> + +“<span class="smcap">Thomas Pitzer</span>.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell folded the paper reverently. She +could not read many of the words; it was +necessary to add more years to her life before +this production could be appreciated in its magnitude. +But she was very grateful for such a +testimonial, and some odd tender string began +vibrating in her little heart. Oh, dear Mr. +Pitzer! and dear old benches that smelled like +the chest carved by Antony of Trent! The +very dunce-cap was a thing of joy when she +thought of it! How funny it looked on a blubbering +little boy who would not repent of his +misdeeds until he was stood in the middle of +the floor with that paper cone on his head! +Should she ever know again the hungry smell +of a reticule that has a few stale crumbs in it? +She had her way all day. She visited, and +when she and Tildy asked to go after the water, +not a soul in school would have been a rival +candidate for the same office.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>They brought back bunches of honeysuckle +from Langley’s well, and the smell of that +flower became forever associated in Bluebell’s +mind with worm-eaten benches, clay-chinked +walls and the stirring air of the hills. She +wore her best blue calico, and felt so dressed +up as to have lost part of her identity. So +Tildy rested the pail-handle on a stick, and +silently carried the short end herself. And +when they put the water-pail on its bench in +the corner, Joe Hall got permission to pass it +around (another fat office in primitive school-life), +and not one mouth within those walls +could refuse to press the dripping gourd when +it presented itself, splashing cold drops on bare +feet, or sending delicious shudders through +thinly covered limbs. When Joe Hall reached +Bluebell, he dropped in her lap not only a +thumb-paper bearing her name, but a lot of +birds ingeniously folded in the pattern generally +accepted by the school.</p> + +<p>Perintha Pancost had her pocket so bulging +full of new apples that it weighed her down, and +all the scholars on her bench swallowed expectantly. +But, one after the other, they were +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>passed to Bluebell, through hands which only +stopped them on the way for a smell; so Bluebell’s +pocket bulged, and she and Perintha exchanged +the most amiable and confiding smiles. +Mr. Pitzer was so busy mending pens that he +perhaps saw no occasion for bringing out and +reading that article of the rules which forbade +eating “<i>apples, condiments, and nuts, or going +to dinner-bags in school hours</i>.”</p> + +<p>How kind all those boys and girls were! +John Tegarden showed her the “Death of the +Flowers,” in the Fourth Reader, which he was +learning to speak before summer school was +out, for the “last day;” and, as it had a melancholy +tone, Bluebell felt vaguely complimented. +She would be away off in Sharon on +that day; she would not even see the prizes +distributed, to say nothing of missing that +spelling-prize herself.</p> + +<p>Some of the parents who were not too busy +harvesting, would be there in their Sunday +clothes; the children themselves would appear +in different character, all shod in stiff shoes +or jaunty slippers; the fortunate girls in white +dotted swiss, or book muslin, with rosettes of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>ribbon in their tightly braided hair, the poorer +ones in starched calico; the boys dressed exactly +like their fathers, and looking like little +old men, very much subdued by the calamity +of clothes.</p> + +<p>But still there probably were grander gala +days in Sharon.</p> + +<p>Amanda Willey would have Bluebell stand +next to her in the ring at noon when they +played “<i>I lost my glove yesterday, found it +to-day</i>.” Of course Tildy stood on the other +side, and Perintha, who went around with the +glove—which was simply and solely an empty +reticule, there being no glove in the entire +school wardrobe—dropped it behind Bluebell. +They abstained from “<i>Drown the Duck</i>,” because +she hated the tiresome ins and outs, and +was sure to be drowned by dashing straight at +the leader.</p> + +<p>Even the boys left “<i>Bull in the Pen</i>,” and +“<i>Mad Dog</i>,” to say nothing of “<i>Base</i>” and +“<i>Three Old Cat</i>,” and condescended to play +for once with the girls, if the girls would play +that variation of “<i>Hide and Seek</i>” known to +them as “<i>Hickamy-dickamy</i>;” and to Bluebell +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>was reserved the right of repeating the +cabalistic formula by which the panting and +eager crowd was narrowed down to the one +party who had to hide his eyes. With dipping +forefinger she went the rounds, rejoicing in the +liquid roll of the words:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first"> “Hickamy-dickamy, aliga-mo;</div> +<div class="verse">Dick slew, aligo-slum;</div> +<div class="verse">Hulkum, pulkum, peeler’s gum:</div> +<div class="verse">France—you’re out!”</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The lot fell on Minerva Ridenour, that little +baby-faced thing who was always standing +about with her mouth open, as if perpetually +astonished at the world, and who could not even +eat an apple without showing how her white +first-teeth made cider of the fruit. There were +plenty of places to hide: behind logs and trees, +behind the school-house and the school-house +door. Before she had counted a hundred, with +her eyes hid against the base, not a bobbing +head or glint of calico could be seen in the landscape; +and when, rubbing the smear which +darkness had made, off her sight, she wandered +cautiously a few yards from the base, lo! there +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>were a half a dozen long-legged fellows patting +it, having swooped from overhanging branches +or from behind logs. Forms appeared everywhere, +and the little Black Man ran valiantly, +but overtook only one or two at the base, where +she patted excitedly, calling the individual +names of the entire school, until she was +checked, and reminded if she called anybody’s +name before he appeared, that party could +“come in free.” Joe Hall and John Tegarden +remained out when all the rest stood in a scarlet +and perspiring group! and it was ludicrous +to see Minerva fly back to the base as if drawn +by an elastic rope which she had stretched, +every time an alarm rose behind her or she saw +a suspicious spot. On the other hand, the +found majority shouted warning or encouragement +to the invisibles:</p> + +<p>“Lay low, Joe!”</p> + +<p>“Run, John, now’s your time! Run! run! +run!”</p> + +<p>John had hid in the hollow towards the +Rocky Fork, and his long legs at his distance +were pretty equally matched against Minerva’s +tardier feet at her distance. It was an exciting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>moment, in which the majority patted its hands +and knees and shouted with all its might. Minerva +came in gallantly, but John reached over +her at the last instant and patted the base: +“One, two, three!” And then his impetus +carried him sprawling on the ground. It was +John’s nature to throw his entire sensitive soul +into what he undertook, and he did not enjoy +the girls’ laughing and the boys’ hooting as he +scrambled upon “all-fours.” He did not know +he was to do martial service for his country +and to die the death of a soldier. The noble +possibilities of the boy were at that time only +apparent in his tenderness of heart. It was an +aggravation to an awkward fellow like John +to see Joe Hall sail in and encircle the base +while Minerva was farthest from it, as if Mercury’s +wings grew on his neatly moving heels; +pat it triumphantly, and step back with his head +up, as if graceful success was a matter of course +for him.</p> + +<p>Oh, they had so much fun! If there was anything +in the world more exhilarating than running +right through when the Black Man calls, +Doctor Garde’s little girl had yet to encounter +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>it. Then there was that similar play, with a +shiver in it:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="verse">“How many miles to Barley-bright?”</div> +<div class="verse">“Three score and ten.”</div> +<div class="verse">“Can I get there by candle-light?”</div> +<div class="verse">“Yes, if the witches don’t catch you!”</div> +</div></div> + +<p>But the school-day ended. Bluebell put her +reader and spelling-book into her reticule. She +got one last head-mark. And the lessons the +higher classes had read that afternoon, made +a background of thought in her mind—the +magnificently worded “Con-fla-gra-tion of an +Am-phi-theatre,” and that rousing story of a +son’s return, beginning, “It was night. The +widow of the Pine Cottage had laid on her last +fagot.”</p> + +<p>One by one the boys and girls went out, bowing +or curtsying to the master, and he laid +special emphasis on the “<i>Good</i>-evening” +which he gave Bluebell.</p> + +<p>How soon it was all over! And how soon +the very evening before her departure had +come! The clothes she was to wear on the +journey were laid out on a chair, and her mother’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>trunk brought down from the garret, repaired +and packed. After all, it was decided +to let Roxana stay with Liza until her father +was ready to depart. In her own flutter, Bluebell +scarcely anticipated missing the baby.</p> + +<p>Tildy came over to stay all night, and they +played until late. She brought her John +Rogers’ Primer as a parting gift for Bluebell +to “remember her by.” Its frontispiece represented +the martyr, John Rogers, burning at +the stake, surrounded by soldiers with axes, +and his numerous family, in very short-waisted +gowns or mature-looking coats. The delightful +rhymes within its covers almost repeated themselves:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="first">“Time cuts down all,</div> +<div class="verse">Both great and small.”</div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="first">“In Adam’s fall</div> +<div class="verse">We sin-ned all.”</div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="first">“Zaccheus he</div> +<div class="verse">Did climb a tree,</div> +<div class="verse">His lord and master</div> +<div class="verse">For to see;”</div> +</div></div></div> + +<p>and many others with an old-fashioned tang +like that of a winter apple kept far into the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>spring. And there was, besides, John Rogers’s +address to his children. On receiving this precious +pamphlet, Bluebell drew from her own +stores her oldest and dearest book, the +“<i>Hymns for Infant Minds</i>,” in pink pasteboard +covers. There was this prime favorite:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first">“My father, my mother, I know,</div> +<div class="indent">I cannot your kindness repay;</div> +<div class="verse">But I hope as the older I grow,</div> +<div class="indent">I shall learn your commands to obey.</div> +<div class="verse">You loved me before I could tell</div> +<div class="indent">Who it was that so tenderly smiled;</div> +<div class="verse">But now that I know it so well,</div> +<div class="indent">I should be a dutiful child.”</div> +</div></div> + +<p>And there, too, was Mr. Pitzer’s battle piece:</p> + +<p class="center"> “Let dogs delight,” &c.,</p> + +<p>And,</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first">“I thank the goodness and the grace</div> +<div class="verse">Which on my birth has smiled;”</div> +</div></div> + +<p>with dozens of other gently stimulating hymns +which Bluebell had long known by heart. In +giving this book to Tildy, she gave as nearly +a part of her identity as could be separated +from herself.</p> + +<p>Morning came—early, but moist and shady +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>among the hills. The girls were up before anybody +else in the house. Tildy hooked Bluebell +up with maternal care, and combed the tangles +out of her hair with an energy which came near +straining their friendship at that last moment.</p> + +<p>Then Liza bustled about breakfast, and the +baby waked in the unusual stir. Miss Melissa +moved out of her chamber in the dignified habit +which she had laid aside after her arrival at +the Rocky Fork. Father did not ride away +until the party was ready to start. Abram +with his spring-wagon was to drive them to the +station: father was still a left-handed horseman.</p> + +<p>The last, and almost the very best, breakfast +of Rocky Fork life was just over, when Robert’s +Liza and Teeny came trailing up the +meadow, their dresses deeply touched with +dew. Teeny brought her rough-coated china +lamb as a parting gift; she had outgrown such +toys; but Bluebell could only give her a kiss +in return, for all her treasures were under lock +and key.</p> + +<p>Then a rattling was heard along the lane, +and Abram appeared with his horse and spring-wagon. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>He had two split-bottomed chairs for +his travellers, but for himself, a board across +the wagon was good enough. He let down the +bars, and drove in to take on the trunks. And +then Bluebell realized that she was going away +from home!</p> + +<p>Does the child leave you so lightly, old +weather-beaten house! Never mind. Years +will bring you your revenge: you will live in +her mind forever, a symbol of joy which does +not come when we are older.</p> + +<p>She is squeezing the little sister, responding +to Tildy’s stoical hug—and Tildy starts +straight to the lower bars, her brimming eyes +turned from the company. Liza-Robert is caressing +her with some pious words, and now +she is tight in Liza’s arms, just realizing how +soft and comfortable and dear they have been. +She hangs to Liza while Miss Melissa makes +her adieux, and Teeny gives her another pat +as Abram hoists her into the vehicle.</p> + +<p>Father is ready on his Arabian to ride beside +them as far as Mary Ann post-office. They will +take the long way around the hills.</p> + +<p>The bars are put up behind them. Bluebell +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>looks back and sees her group of friends moving +into the house, and hears Rocco’s voice—like +the voice of the old house—calling persistently:</p> + +<p>“Good-by, B’uebell, good-by! Good-by, +B’uebell!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXI<br> +<small>THE FIRST RAILROAD TRAIN</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“FATHER,” said Doctor Garde’s little girl, +when she saw the branching road ahead +on which he must ride away from her, “you +won’t get into the Rocky Fork again, <i>will</i> +you?”</p> + +<p>“If I do, it will barely reach my saddle-girth +now,” replied father, smiling.</p> + +<p>“But you’ll be careful, won’t you, father?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’ll be careful.”</p> + +<p>Both his horse and Abram’s wagon were +checked when the roads separated, while a few +adieux were said. He shook hands with Miss +Melissa and kissed his little girl. In a few +moments he was cantering away, and Bluebell +felt launched on the unknown world by herself. +There was Abram, however, a figure to whom +she had been accustomed so large a part of her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>life. And though he seemed nothing but a figure +now, driving silently and looking straight +ahead, for Abram was a reticent man, he was +most significant of home. It was a long drive +to the railroad station. Mary Ann post-office +was quite back in the wilderness, and Bluebell +had always thought it a suburb of the great +world.</p> + +<p>They stopped in the woods far from any +house, and had their dinner. Liza had put up +the best of lunches and plenty of cold tea. +Abram unhitched his horse and led it to a +stream to drink; then he took a sack of feed +from the space behind the trunks, and fed it. +Miss Calder and Bluebell sat on their chairs, +but Abram took his dinner resting on the grass. +When they had stopped half an hour by Miss +Calder’s time, he hitched the horse again, and +they moved briskly forward lest they should +be too late at the station for the afternoon +Baltimore and Ohio passenger train.</p> + +<p>As they came down a slope. Doctor Garde’s +little girl saw what she thought was an immense +long boat sliding across a grassy plain +with a roar which terrified her. It was as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>strange a sight as a blue or scarlet moon in the +sky.</p> + +<p>“Oh, look at that!” she cried: “what is +it?”</p> + +<p>“That’s the east-bound passenger,” said +Miss Melissa. “Our train will be down soon +now.”</p> + +<p>So that strange vision was “the cars.”</p> + +<p>She had heard of their rapid motion, and +was prepared to see them shoot like a meteor; +they were a little disappointing in that respect. +But the smoke, the noise! And the possible +danger! Suppose that train had changed its +direction, and had run up the slope straight at +Abram’s wagon! Bluebell had no doubt the +mysterious sliding power could move where it +pleased. But when they alighted at the station, +she saw stretching in front of it, and as +far as eye could see on each side until the parallel +lines became points or disappeared behind +hills, iron rails laid on a prepared road. This +was the railroad; the flying boat could not leave +it for a turf track and prosper. Here was matter +for congratulation; but a new fear arose +in the little girl’s mind which she would not on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>any account have betrayed. If the cars ran +on wheels, as Aunt Melissa explained that they +did, how <i>could</i> those wheels keep from slipping +off the polished tops of the rails? and if they +departed ever so little, Bluebell knew what +must follow. Her vision of riding on the cars +began to take a lurid nimbus. Still, other people +had ventured and lived.</p> + +<p>The station was a small, lonely building, but +several handsome farm-houses could be seen +in the landscape. There were two rooms inside, +in one of which a little machine clicked all +the time. There were poles all along the railroad, +with wires stretched along their tops, and +Bluebell noticed that these wires came down +through a window to this machine. She knew +what that was. It was the telegraph. She had +heard things went more quickly over that than +over the railroad.</p> + +<p>“I hope father and Rocketty will ride on +that when they come to Aunt Melissa’s house,” +she thought. “Wouldn’t the baby’s eyes pop +when they went spinning along so fast! But +what do folks do when they get to the poles? +I should think the tops of the poles ’ud hit ’em. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>I guess they just swing round the poles and +go on. I don’t believe I could go very fast if +they <i>was</i> telegraphin’ me.”</p> + +<p>Miss Melissa sat on a bench in the station. +Abram had attended to the tickets and had the +trunks marked for delivery at Newark. He +then drove his horse some distance away, and +having secured it, came back to see his party +off.</p> + +<p>Bluebell slipped her hand into his and stood +by him on the platform.</p> + +<p>“You’ll soon be off now,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Are you glad to get away from the Rocky +Fork?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <i>no</i>, sir! But I want to learn at a big +seminary.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a fact,” said Abram, as if deliberation +had convinced him of it.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Banks, I s’pose you’ll see Tildy?”</p> + +<p>“It’s likely I will; yes, it’s pretty likely.”</p> + +<p>“If you do see her, I wish you would +please tell her to write to me; I forgot to ask +her.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know’s she can write.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>“But Teeny can. And Tildy said she was +going to have a copybook as soon as her mother +bought her some foolscap paper. I am going +to learn to write. I am going to play music, +too, Mr. Banks.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s likely you’ll learn a heap of fine +things.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you s’pose Teeny would write a letter +<i>for</i> Tildy?”</p> + +<p>“That don’t seem onreasonable,” admitted +Abram. “Christeeny writes a fair hand. +Robert, he was a good scholar. He read the +Bible and Josephus clear through.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. And Joe Hall said they were +singin’ so nice at g’ography school now.”</p> + +<p>“That’s good learning,” said Abram, +drolly; “but ther’s many another thing a +man’d better know than singin’ g’ogr’phy. +F’rinstance: how to ford a creek!”</p> + +<p>Before Doctor Garde’s little girl could do +complete justice to this pleasantry, which she +and Abram, of all persons, were able to appreciate, +the air was rent with a scream that +turned the whole landscape for one instant into +a nightmare.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>“That’s the cars,” said Abram; “don’t you +see the smoke comin’ round the hill?”</p> + +<p>Miss Calder came out on the platform. The +glittering monster of the rails bore down upon +them as if determined to have their lives. The +station agent stood ready to attend to baggage +or express matter.</p> + +<p>Before Bluebell could get her breath evenly, +she was being helped up steps after Miss Calder, +was walking along a long narrow room +with windows on each side, and being seated +beside Aunt Melissa on a velvet-upholstered +seat. Red, bright velvet, gayer than Rocco’s +best flowered winter dress which Liza made +of a remnant of brocaded velvet among mother’s +things. The seats were very soft and +spongy, too. Bluebell furtively bounced up +and down while Miss Melissa was settling comfortably. +She sat on a seat facing her. A man +obligingly turned it over for them. All at once +the station began to slide backwards; and before +she could recover from this, the woods and +hills gently slipped away as if they had grown +tired of such everlasting rest. The train was +moving! What was a wagon or a horseback +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>ride compared to this! Teetering on a sapling, +or on a board stuck through the fence, or swinging +in a grape-vine, must forevermore be secondary +methods of motion. But where was +Abram? She stretched her head out of the +open window, and Miss Melissa nervously +pulled her in just in time to save her flat from +a flight.</p> + +<p>But Bluebell had seen Abram far back, plodding +up the road behind the station.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t bid him good-by,” she thought +ruefully, as this last symbol of her country +home vanished from sight. She felt a momentary +pang, such as maybe shoots through a +little plant torn from its cherishing ground to +be transplanted.</p> + +<p>But there was Aunt Melissa sitting up so +grand, her veil over her face and her delicate +gloved hands enclosing her vinaigrette, ready +for the headache which threatened her when +travelling. She was a symbol of that larger +life opening before the child.</p> + +<p>Miss Calder was suffering a peculiar martyrdom. +In every fibre of her sensitive nature she +felt that she had robbed the lonesome spinster +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>among the hills, who had not half her resources. +But, on the other hand, she had but performed +her sacred duty to the dead and the living. +She knew she was considering the welfare of +the children more than her own wishes. It was +a waste for the refined young doctor to spend +his life and energies at the Rocky Fork when +by her influence she could help him to a position +better suited to him. He was so humble +and sorrowful himself, he had not considered +that he owed a future to his dead wife’s children.</p> + +<p>Still Miss Melissa felt she had performed a +very painful duty, and regretted that she had +not done it years before; for anything neglected +brings with it long arrears of interest.</p> + +<p>But Bluebell was in a fever of delight. Every +object seen on that journey was stamped upon +her mind for life.</p> + +<p>When they slid into Newark, at which point +their trip by rail ended, the city glamour enveloped +her. To be sure, they passed squalid +houses, worse than the most illy kept cabins +about the Rocky Fork; and she got swift +glimpses of dirty children and pens of back +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>yards,—in short, of all the unsavory sights +which spot the outskirts of a city. But these +seemed picturesque. The folks must have a +good time living “in town.” If the children +were filthy, they could have candy every day, +probably, and walk on sidewalks. Teeny said +folks in Fredericktown never soiled the soles of +their shoes. And oh, how beautiful the tall +buildings were, when the slowly moving train, +ringing its bell in state, gave glimpses of them! +Streets stretching far as eye could see, carpets, +dry goods, immense windows, people hurrying +about dressed in their Sunday clothes and looking +as if they felt the importance of living in +town; carts rattling, long painted and gilded +carriages with a man riding on top, appearing +and disappearing around corners; and more +than all, the roar of human life! How grand +was a city! She even loved the smell of it, +which consisted principally of escaping gas, +not in good odor with more experienced noses.</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde’s little girl was in a nervous +hurry to follow Aunt Melissa out of the train +when it stopped. She remembered its imperceptible +starting, and what should she do if it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>carried her off by mistake? A man in blue +clothes lifted her down from the last high step, +and she kept close to Miss Calder. From the +dingy brick dépôt came a light-haired, smiling +man in very neat clothes. He carried a whip +in his hand.</p> + +<p>“How do you do, Archibald?” said Miss +Calder with great affability. “Have you got +the carriage here?”</p> + +<p>Archibald took off his hat and bowed, smiling +all the time in the most laughter-provoking +way, and replied that he was quite well, and +hoped he saw Miss Calder looking well. The +carriage was on the other side of the dépôt.</p> + +<p>Miss Calder said she was in excellent health, +but felt threatened with a headache and would +be glad to get home. She hoped everything +had gone well.</p> + +<p>Archibald assured her everything had moved +as usual, except the house didn’t seem the same; +and he would put her trunk up behind the carriage +immediately if she could wait one minute.</p> + +<p>“There are two trunks,” said Miss Calder: +“that one beside mine which that man is pulling +out of the way, is Melissa’s.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>Archibald applied himself to loading the baggage +on a rack behind the carriage. Then he +made haste to open the door, let down the steps, +and help his mistress and her charge in. The +carriage was roomy and comfortable, and +drawn by two fat sleepy-looking horses, black +as coal and groomed until they glittered. They +seemed on the best of terms with Archibald, +who called them Coaly and Charley.</p> + +<p>Miss Calder leaned back with a satisfied sigh +as they started. The cushions were easy and +the stuffed back supported one to the shoulders.</p> + +<p>It was quite sunset when they left Newark +behind and drove towards the yellowing west. +The three or four miles intervening between +the railroad town and Sharon was a succession +of lovely landscapes, and seemed one of those +suburban extensions which rich men love to +beautify with their villas. There was no ruggedness +like that about the Rocky Fork. The +hills rose in majestic proportions but softened +outlines. In the afterglow left by sunset the +country had an unearthly beauty. The road +constantly broadened; villa after villa appeared, +each standing in spacious grounds. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>They reached the top of an ascent, and saw +Sharon set below, surrounded by hills and glittering +like a huge topaz in the evening light. +As they descended they lost sight of her. She +was drowned from view among her abundant +foliage. Bluebell began to think the road had +turned aside from her, when they came sweeping +around a curve and past an artificial lake, +and were in Sharon’s main street, so broad +that many carriages like Miss Melissa’s could +drive there abreast. The street was quite +lively with carriages, and Miss Calder exchanged +greetings with numbers of people. +One tall white building was beginning to glitter +with lights from roof to ground. She knew it +must be an important place, and asked with +awe what it was.</p> + +<p>“That’s the seminary,” replied Miss Calder.</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde’s little girl felt almost dizzy +as she was obliged to withdraw her eyes from +the great mill of learning.</p> + +<p>They drove far up this wide street and +turned down another. The carriage stopped. +Archibald opened a gate and drove half-way +around a sweep under tall trees, and brought +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>them to the steps of a large old house. It was +brick. Bluebell could see vines massed over +one whole end of it. There was a tall pillared +veranda extending along the entire front.</p> + +<p>The hall-door was open, and within, a globe +of light hung suspended from the ceiling. Bluebell +thought of the Discontented Cat who went +to live with the Countess Von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg, +as she was ushered into +this hall and the double parlors which opened +from it. She walked on bouquets of velvet +flowers as large around as a tub. The lofty +rooms appeared to Bluebell one vast collection +of treasures. She did not know there were such +pictures, such chairs and ornaments and +lounges and curtains in the world.</p> + +<p>In this house three or four generations of +Calders had lived and died. It was the first +fine house built in Sharon by one of the Massachusetts +colonists when the country was new. +It had been remodeled and added to, and its +furniture changed with the family tastes or fortunes. +But the Calders never destroyed an old +thing. Its former belongings were sure to be +preserved in some way.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>Miss Melissa entered her own room which, +opened from the back parlor, and took off her +wraps, bidding Bluebell take off hers also. And +again Doctor Garde’s little girl was astonished +by the sumptuousness of her surroundings. +Then Aunt Melissa opened a door into a bathroom, +and refreshed herself by bathing her +hands and face at a marble stand, and called +Bluebell to do likewise.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXII<br> +<small>MISS BIGGAR</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">BUT in spite of its beauty and spaciousness, +this seemed rather a lonely house, Bluebell +thought, when she was ready for tea, and +had nothing to do but gauge her surroundings. +Aunt Melissa floated about, showing fatigue in +every motion, but anxious to examine into the +state of her house. Doctor Garde’s little girl +wished for Rocco, or that Tildy would walk in, +poking her toes into the pile of the carpets. +Wouldn’t Tildy be s’prised! About this time, +she and Teeny were sitting on the front steps. +And the wind from around the hill was rustling +through the elders—dear elders! Rose and +Pidey were standing to be milked. There was +moonlight all over the Rocky Fork—but not +like this lonesome-looking moonlight sifting +through Aunt Melissa’s trees. Maybe that big +white seminary wasn’t half as nice as the log +school-house when you came to find out. And +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>what master could be kinder or know any more +than Mr. Pitzer? O Rocky Fork, how this little +heart ached for you! Maybe father would +get hurt again. Oh, this pain of homesickness +for what you love! If she could just hug the +baby one blessed minute, or feel Liza’s fostering +hand tying up the ends of her auburn +braids!</p> + +<p>“Why, my dear!” exclaimed Miss Melissa +moving back from a closet, “what can be the +matter? Is it possible I hear you crying?”</p> + +<p>She stooped and put her hand under Bluebell’s +chin. The child smeared her face vigorously +with her palms.</p> + +<p>“I guess it’s only some water runnin’ out +of my eyes,” she said with heroism and a hiccup.</p> + +<p>Miss Melissa seated herself on a sofa and +drew her charge’s head to her thin shoulder.</p> + +<p>“You feel lonely. But plenty of nice little +girls will come to call on you; and think! your +father and little Roxana will be here soon.”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m,” struggled Bluebell, smothering +down her sobs. This was no way to show +Irish pluck.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>Miss Melissa trembled slightly.</p> + +<p>“This place seems strange to you. But your +mother used to play all over this house. She +sat in this very room and sewed and talked +with me many an afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell looked about, feeling less repelled. +Her mother’s presence had touched this and +that, and in some sense still lingered there for +her.</p> + +<p>“I am growing to be an elderly lady, and +all my relatives are distant or dead. The +warmest friendship of my life was formed for +your mother, and I could not help wanting to +bring her children into my house, that I might +do all I can for them.”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m,” responded Bluebell, having conquered +her sobs and shut them below her +throat with a large lump laid on their +heads.</p> + +<p>“And I did hope you might be happy, that +maybe you would want to make your old auntie +happy—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Aunt Melissa, you ain’t old!”</p> + +<p>“Old enough to feel very lonely.”</p> + +<p>This touched Bluebell, in her present mood, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>more deeply than anything said before. She +put one arm around Aunt Melissa’s narrow +waist; the lady patted her.</p> + +<p>“There, now, well try to be cheerful. I +presume you are hungry and tired, and the tea-bell +has been ringing while we were talking. +When you have something to eat and are rested +you will feel a great deal better. Run and +bathe your face, and then we will go into the +dining-room.”</p> + +<p>In the dining-room a real fairy feast was set +forth. As for the silver and china, Bluebell +had never imagined its like. The table was +round and cosy, and though she sat opposite +Aunt Melissa, they seemed quite near together. +The neatest and plumpest of women came in +to wait on them. This was Maria, who had +been with Miss Calder a dozen years. Maria +looked pleased and rosy as she exchanged +greetings with the lady of the house.</p> + +<p>“I hope you found everything right when +you came in, ma’am. I had some cake in that +I daren’t leave a minute.”</p> + +<p>“Everything seems in excellent order, +Maria. Were there any letters?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>“A good many papers. I put them on the +libr’y table.”</p> + +<p>“That was right.”</p> + +<p>Maria went out, and Bluebell went on carefully +with her supper. Eating and drinking +were made beautiful. It was a joy to sip her +milk—with a little hot tea poured into it as +a tonic for her spirits, which Miss Calder approved +of—from a cup so transparent that it +seemed too strong a breath must blow it away; +to watch the tall, shining urn and chased tray, +and even the carved wooden clock on the wall, +from which, while Bluebell watched it, there +suddenly dipped out a little bird, calling, +“Cuckoo!” eight distinct times.</p> + +<p>Before his last note quite ceased, a sharp +pat of slipper-heels came flying through the +hall, and a small person appeared at the dining-room +door.</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s you, is it, Libbie? I was just +hoping you would come in.”</p> + +<p>“When did you get home?” cried Libbie in +a clear, high voice.</p> + +<p>“About a half-hour ago. Is your grandmamma +well?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>“She is very well, I thank you.”</p> + +<p>Libbie was taking an inventory of the little +girl opposite Miss Calder.</p> + +<p>“Melissa,” said Miss Calder, in the formal +manner which she considered it requisite to +use even towards children, “let me present +Miss Libbie Biggar. Miss Libbie, my namesake, +Melissa Garde.”</p> + +<p>Miss Libbie stepped back, placing the toe of +her right foot across the heel of her left, and +made a graceful bow. She did it evidently +without thought. Her manner was perfectly +easy. Bluebell struggled to get up, and +dropped a poor little half-curtsy.</p> + +<p>“I hope you are well,” said Miss Biggar.</p> + +<p>Bluebell replied that she was <i>tolerably</i> well. +This young lady, no older than herself, confused +and humbled her. She admired Miss +Libbie’s air and composure, her low-necked +and short-sleeved white dress, her small slippers, +the ribbon around her waist, and the tiny +ring on her hand. But her head—it was the +most wonderful head Bluebell had ever seen. +Its heavy dark hair was shingled close, “like +a boy’s, only cut shorter!” The effect was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>fine. Bluebell despised her own auburn braids. +And Miss Libbie had black eyes, a short nose, +and a few charming dots of freckles sprinkled +over her altogether piquant face. She came +towards Miss Calder, and took that lady’s hand +within her dimpled fingers, and on invitation +sat down to have a bit of cake. Every motion +was watched by Doctor Garde’s little girl. +How hopeless her own bashful awkwardness +seemed! Wouldn’t Tildy be s’prised to see +a little girl act so much like a grown-up lady!</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIII<br> +<small>A DUCK AMONG SWANS</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap2">AFTER tea was over they went into the +back parlor; and here Bluebell noticed for +the first time a large, shining object standing +on carved and claw-footed legs. The top was +partially covered by an embroidered cloth. +But Miss Libbie Biggar was perfectly familiar +with it. She tried to move the front of it, and +Miss Melissa finally opened a folding lid for +her, disclosing a long row of brilliant black and +white ivory keys.</p> + +<p>“Do you play on the piano?” inquired Miss +Libbie politely, turning to her new acquaintance.</p> + +<p>“Melissa is going to take lessons at once,” +replied Miss Calder for her.</p> + +<p>This, then, was a py-anna! Oh, wonderful +instrument! While yet voiceless, it threw its +glamour over Doctor Garde’s little girl. She +at once resolved to master its harmonies. Some +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>stray poetic instinct, of which she was half-ashamed, +made her love the irregular tinkle of +a cow-bell among the hills, the echoing ring of +a blacksmith’s hammer; and she had often followed +a bird, called at the Rocky Fork a +“medder-lark,” with her head upturned and +her breast thrilling, till her unguided feet perhaps +betrayed her to the run or some mud-hole.</p> + +<p>Miss Libbie climbed upon the music-stool, +ready without invitation to make a display of +what she had superficially learned. But from +the instant her fingers touched the key-board, +one listener sat rapt almost beyond expression. +The richness of the instrument was wonderful +to Bluebell. Its harmonies, which the young +performer could not even hint at, yet suggested +themselves to the silent child. Miss Libbie’s +hands, and the dimple each finger showed at +its root when lifted to strike a note, seemed +most admirable. Oh, to be so accomplished! +The performer played some little march, and +such various exercises as she could remember. +While she played, Bluebell was struggling with +a dumb sense of having been defrauded thus +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span>far in her life. She ought not to be so behind +that little girl. What had gone wrong? Was +it her own fault? How could she learn music +at the Rocky Fork? Still, she was conscious +of grief and shame, and many other unreasonable +sensations.</p> + +<p>“What pieces do you like best?” inquired +Miss Libbie in a general way, wishing to be +agreeable to this queer little girl.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I like them all so much!” exclaimed +Bluebell. Then a sob followed her voice. She +ran to Miss Melissa, and was folded to that +lady’s shoulder. This spontaneous action +helped the sore little heart, and she was able +to stop her crying before it became a freshet.</p> + +<p>“O dear!” said Libbie, turning around on +the music-stool, “what’s the matter? Have +<i>I</i> done anything?”</p> + +<p>“Everything is strange to her,” murmured +Miss Melissa; “she has never been away from +her father before. She must go right to bed, +and she will feel better in the morning.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell tried to smile over her shoulder at +the caller.</p> + +<p>“I think it’s the music makes me cry!”</p> + +<figure class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> + <img src="images/i_fp254.jpg" width="450" height="635" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p class="caption"><span class="smcap">The performer played some little march.</span>—<i>Page <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.</i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span>Libbie descended from the music-stool, evidently +not flattered.</p> + +<p>“Because I like it so much!” stammered +Doctor Gardens little girl, ashamed of the confession +thus wrung from her.</p> + +<p>Miss Melissa patted the auburn head.</p> + +<p>“Indeed! Well, you shall have all the music +you want, my dear, and before you get through +you may cry in another key over some difficult +exercise.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell was marched up-stairs, overstrung +and humiliated by her <i>début</i> into her new home. +Libbie chose to follow, though her grandmother’s +domestic had been sent in to call her +home.</p> + +<p>Miss Calder perhaps had a little speech +ready as she opened the door of the room Bluebell +was to occupy. But she merely said with +a tremor, “Your mother often occupied this +room, Melissa.”</p> + +<p>And again the child felt that invisible presence +which seemed to open such great vistas to +her. The room itself was so sumptuous she +dreaded damaging it.</p> + +<p>Libbie gravely perched herself upon a chair, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span>and watched while Miss Melissa laid out a +nightgown from Bluebell’s trunk which stood +near the closet door waiting unpacking.</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde’s little girl undressed herself +with tremulous hands and crept humbly into +the unadorned cotton gown Liza had made. +Then she said her prayers, and Aunt Melissa +tucked her under the cover, and reached up to +turn off the gas.</p> + +<p>“Are you coming down now, Libbie? Your +grandmamma wants you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m, in a minute.”</p> + +<p>The little girl in bed thought, “She doesn’t +mind very well, anyhow;” and this was the +first debit she found for Miss Libbie Biggar.</p> + +<p>“Well, don’t keep Melissa awake long to-night,” +said Miss Calder. She left the gas +burning and hastened down-stairs, for the +knocker made a mighty clang on the front +door, and she knew some neighbor had come +to welcome her back.</p> + +<p>Miss Biggar sat up and looked at Doctor +Garde’s little girl, evidently interested in her. +Bluebell turned her bashful face down on the +pillow.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span>“Are you going to cry again?” inquired +Miss Biggar. “Do you cry all the time?”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t crying,” responded Bluebell, showing +her face with some asperity.</p> + +<p>“Your nose looks all swelled on the end. +Why don’t you have your hair shingled?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how,” replied Bluebell, bewildered.</p> + +<p>“Why, just go to a barber, and he’ll shingle +it. Grandma let me have mine done if I’d have +my tooth pulled out so another could grow in. +How old are you?”</p> + +<p>“Goin’ on nine.”</p> + +<p>Miss Libbie considered.</p> + +<p>“What makes you say ‘goin’ on’?”</p> + +<p>Bluebell might have replied that it was the +custom of the country where she came from. +But she could not explain her provincialisms.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Is</i> your name Melissa?” inquired Libbie, +with a compassionate emphasis.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s Melissa Garde; but they always +call me Bluebell.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Well.</i> That’s a <i>great</i> deal better than Melissa. +I wouldn’t be called Melissa!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span>“What’s your name?”</p> + +<p>“Elizabeth Biggar. I live with my grandma. +My papa and mamma are both dead.”</p> + +<p>“My mother’s dead.”</p> + +<p>“Have you got all her rings and jewelry?”</p> + +<p>“No-o,” replied Bluebell. “I don’t believe +she had any.”</p> + +<p>Libbie gave the speaker a long, compassionate +stare. Then she turned to contemplating +her own case.</p> + +<p>“<i>Oh!</i> I have the <i>loveliest</i> things, and a gold +watch in a satin case, and diamond ear-rings; +but I have to wait till I’m eighteen years old +before I can wear them, grandma says. Once +we had a children’s party and I wore my blue +silk dress, and grandma let me put on the <i>handsomest</i> +locket! I wish I would hurry and be +eighteen.”</p> + +<p>“That’s very old, isn’t it?” said Bluebell.</p> + +<p>“Yes. I’ll be a young lady then.”</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde’s little girl cast her eyes on +the wall, and wondered if she would ever be a +young lady. Teeny Banks was only a young +woman. She could discern the difference, but +her convictions were very strong that she could +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span>never become such an ornamental being as +Miss Libbie Biggar. So, leaving this perplexity, +she turned back for information.</p> + +<p>“What do they do at a party?”</p> + +<p>Miss Libbie stared again.</p> + +<p>“Who?”</p> + +<p>“Why, the children.”</p> + +<p>“Why, don’t you know?”</p> + +<p>Bluebell shook her head. She had “stayed +all night” at Tildy’s, marched, and spoken +pieces at school, but her experience never comprehended +a party.</p> + +<p>“Well, didn’t you ever go to a party?”</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde’s blushing little girl acknowledged +her shortcoming.</p> + +<p>“O my! Why, where did you use to +live?”</p> + +<p>“At the Rocky Fork.”</p> + +<p>“And didn’t the children have birthday or +Christmas parties there?”</p> + +<p>Another shake of the auburn head.</p> + +<p>“Well, that is the queerest thing!”</p> + +<p>“But what do the children do at a party?”</p> + +<p>“Why, they do just like grown people at +their parties,” replied Miss Biggar satisfactorily; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span>and Bluebell sat up in bed and thought +it over.</p> + +<p>“Only,” explained the young lady, “they +go in the afternoon instead of evening. When +my cousin came from Newark”—thrice +happy Miss Libbie to have a cousin who lived +in a city!—“to visit me, I had a lovely party, +about twenty girls and ’most as many boys, and +we had ice-cream at supper.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?”</p> + +<p>Libbie rose from her chair, walked to the +bedside, and seriously looked over her interlocutor.</p> + +<p>“Vanilla ice-cream. Didn’t you ever eat +any?”</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde’s little girl felt that she was +about to be routed with great slaughter. She +had alighted upon a new world where the customs +of the people were all strange to her, and +it behooved her, she had at last the tact to +perceive, to be more circumspect than to betray +her ignorance so openly.</p> + +<p>She changed the subject, and also her companion’s +attitude from the offensive to the defensive.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span>“Do you go to school?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I go to the seminary.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going there too. What do you study?”</p> + +<p>“Music and Mental ’Rithmetic; and we +print, and I’m going to take drawing lessons.”</p> + +<p>“And what do you read in?”</p> + +<p>“The First Reader.”</p> + +<p>“Ho!” ejaculated Bluebell; and a shade of +uneasiness came over Miss Libbie’s face.</p> + +<p>“What do <i>you</i> read in?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>“I can read in ’most anything,” replied Doctor +Garde’s little girl. “I’m in the <i>Second</i> +Reader, pretty near to the Third. How far +have you got in spelling?”</p> + +<p>Libbie looked mystified.</p> + +<p>“Can you spell in-com-pre-hen-si-bil-i-ty?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to.”</p> + +<p>“I can spell all the big words in the spelling-book.”</p> + +<p>This educated creature began to assume +a formidable aspect in the eyes of Miss Biggar.</p> + +<p>A rap on the door heralded Maria’s head.</p> + +<p>“Miss Libbie,” said she, “your grandma +says for you to come right home this minute. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span>She’s got something nice for you, and it won’t +keep.”</p> + +<p>“I’m coming now. I know what it is. It’s +ice-cream. You say I’m coming, Maria.”</p> + +<p>Maria withdrew her head.</p> + +<p>“I live in the very next house,” continued +Libbie to Bluebell. “You must come and see +me.”</p> + +<p>“I will,” promised Bluebell.</p> + +<p>“I’ll bring some of the girls to call on you.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell did not know what to reply to this +formidable proposal, so she said nothing.</p> + +<p>Libbie’s hand was on the door-knob; she +had said good-night and received a response, +but came running back with a most charming, +childish impulse. She climbed on the bed and +dabbed a quick soft kiss on Bluebell’s lips. +The door banged after her, and her slipper-heels +clattered like a goat’s feet on the padded +stairway.</p> + +<p>“She’s a nice little girl, and she just reads +in the First Reader, after all,” thought Bluebell, +dozing off, and not comprehending that +this was a beginning in her life of finding wonderful +images and proving them to be human.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIV<br> +<small>MISS MELISSA DROPS A FEW HINTS</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">WHEN Bluebell waked in the morning she +heard the cherry-tree whispering in her +ear, and saw Liza’s dresses hanging on the opposite +wall. But the windows were misplaced, +and everything swam after she got her eyes +open, until the change in her habitation occurred +to her. Then the Rocky Fork receded +and this new home came forward with half-painful +reality.</p> + +<p>Before the child was dressed a tap at the +door announced Aunt Melissa. Aunt Melissa +came in, looking delicate in a white trailing +wrapper, and kissed her namesake good-morning. +Then she unpacked the trunk, putting +everything in its place, and pushed the small +inconvenient thing outside the door for Archibald +to carry up garret.</p> + +<p>She left out Bluebell’s best calico dress, and +the little girl put it on, feeling that a perpetual +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span>but very serious holiday had come. That dress +was good enough to wear to Sunday-school at +the Rocky Fork. Tildy and Teeny’s best dotted +robes did not look any better. She liked it +much better than her white. That white was +such an unlucky dress. When she had it on she +felt so extremely dressed that it distracted her +attention from all the pleasant things in life. +The first time she wore it she felt her importance +expanding to the horizon all around; +Tildy and Teeny in their dotted calicoes were +mere maids of honor on her royal progress to +church. But a man came along the deep-rutted +road in his farm-wagon, and as Bluebell +stepped out of his way, the wheel sank with a +chug into a hole filled with mud preserved especially +for bespattering the proud. Bluebell was +splashed from head to foot; even her open-work +stockings shared the eruption. The saddest +part of such a humiliation is, that nobody +in the least shares the heartbreak of it.</p> + +<p>Teeny said she was sorry, but there was no +time to stop to scrape the mud off. It would +dry as they went along. Her manner plainly +implied that in the case of very little girls like +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span>Bluebell, it made no difference at all if they +looked like frights at church.</p> + +<p>“You better run back home,” said Tildy, +holding her parasol-handle across her shoulder, +much as a woodman carries an axe, though the +sun was making her wrinkle her freckled nose +frightfully. Tildy considered that she knew +the proper poise for parasols, and if the sun +did not accommodate himself to that, it was his +fault and not hers. Bluebell stood crying.</p> + +<p>“You better run back home,” said Tildy +again, patronizingly.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you go back with me?” begged the +victim.</p> + +<p>But Tildy remembered her stiff-necked and +conscious demeanor at the outset. Besides, <i>she</i> +was not spattered, and she wanted to go to +meeting. She declined going back. Doctor +Garde’s little girl was smitten with consternation +that her own familiar friend refused to +share her affliction. She went crying alone +through the pine lane. And though the white +dress came immediately to the wash-tub, still +that recollection clung to it like a stain, and +she liked the blue calico much better. It +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>“dressed her up,” but raised no wall of separation +between her and her fellow-mortals. It +simply relieved her of all anxiety about the +appearance of Bluebell Garde, and left her the +free use of her muscles. The blue dress had +a broad belt and a very short skirt, a low neck +and short puffed sleeves. Miss Melissa made +it more ornamental by a fine mull ruffle around +the neck.</p> + +<p>“Shall I put on my black-silk apron too?” +inquired Bluebell, as she stood to be hooked up, +full of desire to bring herself up to her surroundings.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I should,” said Miss Melissa +gently. Her hands were very soft and cool. +She unfastened the pig-tails of auburn hair. +“I have some pieces of old blue silk which I +think we can turn into a very pretty bodice that +you will like to wear better than an apron. Libbie +Biggar has a pink silk bodice which is very +becoming. I notice there is very good velvet +on the apron. With some lace I have, it will +make you lovely bretelles.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell’s head swam. If she could be +spoiled by clothes, Miss Melissa was in a fair +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>way to spoil her. A seamstress was to come +that very day to fit the child out, and Miss +Melissa looked forward with gentle excitement +to this dressing of a living doll. Blue silk bodices +and bretelles! But with that ready acceptance +of beautiful things as a right which characterizes +all children, and grown people too, +until their fairy-faith is broken by accumulated +loads of care, this little girl was able in a few +moments to contemplate her prospects with +serenity.</p> + +<p>“But what are bretelles, Auntie?”</p> + +<p>“Ornamental straps or ladders which little +girls wear over light dresses.”</p> + +<p>With a happy sigh. Bluebell gave up the +black-silk apron; it occurred to her to regret +she had not worn it more. We do not realize +that our good things in this world are all transitory, +and to be enjoyed promptly, each in its +season.</p> + +<p>They went down-stairs to breakfast. The +table was laid as exquisitely as the night before; +in fact, the best things about the house +seemed to be used every day, without any reference +to company.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span>“I am going to give you”—here Aunt Melissa +paused in pouring coffee to adjust something +about the service, and Bluebell waited +with a bit of buttered roll poised half-way to +her mouth—“a little party, in a few days, to +introduce you to your little associates.”</p> + +<p>“Me?” said Bluebell, stretching up her thin +neck and opening her eyes quite wide.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“I never had a party! The little girl that +came in last evening, Miss Libbie Biggar, said +she’d had lots of ’em. I don’t know any +more about havin’ parties than about playin’ +music.”</p> + +<p>“You may begin your music soon. The seminary +vacation lasts some weeks yet. I noticed +they had the seminary lighted up last evening +for trustees’ reception. But you need not wait +until school opens, Melissa, my dear.”</p> + +<p>Miss Calder lifted a bit of steak very delicately +with her fork: the forks were sterling +silver, and very different from those to which +this little girl had been accustomed.</p> + +<p>“You are forgetting to eat with your fork, +my dear.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span>Bluebell crimsoned. “Why, Liza always +told me to eat with my knife!”</p> + +<p>“But that is not the custom in good—here. +I mention it,” said Miss Melissa delicately, +“because your little associates would probably +notice it; and besides, you want to form your +manners, don’t you, my dear?”</p> + +<p>Bluebell was so anxious to form her manners +that she longed for a fairy wand to change +herself into just what she ought to be. With +native diffidence, however, she concealed this +intense desire for perfection, and merely +nodded her blushing face, saying, “Yes, +ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“I notice that you are very observing. If +you watch others and do as they do, your manners +may be formed easily. And Melissa, my +dear,”—again Auntie paused, and altered the +arrangement of something on the table with +her sensitive hands—“when little boys or +girls are introduced to you—”</p> + +<p>“O my! do they introduce little boys in +Sharon?”</p> + +<p>“Why, certainly; little gentlemen and ladies +should be presented to each other as such. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span>I was suggesting, when you are introduced to +any one in fact, it has become the fashion to +bow instead of to curtsy.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell wondered if she could do anything +so boyish. But remembering Miss Libbie Biggar’s +model bow, her mind was fired with emulation.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXV<br> +<small>EVENTS</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">SUNDAY came.</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde’s little girl was richer by +one music lesson, which Miss Melissa herself +gave her; and by a blue shirred silk bonnet +and muslin-gingham dress, as well as long +black mitts, the like of which she had never +seen before. Sunday was an important day in +Sharon. This old Massachusetts colony retained +many Puritan customs. All day the +various church bells rang—for Sunday-school, +for forenoon, afternoon and evening services. +Miss Melissa and Bluebell moved on crowded +sidewalks on their way to church. The little +girl was astonished by the architecture which +she saw around her. The church they entered +seemed a sublime pile. They ascended a flight +of broad steps, and passed through a matted +vestibule into the vastest and whitest place +Doctor Garde’s little girl had ever seen. The +aisles were carpeted, many of the seats were +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span>cushioned, the pulpit was a sumptuous small +parlor by itself, and music, so full and mighty +that it made the air shudder with delight, came +from some invisible place. She followed Miss +Melissa’s rustling clothes up the central aisle, +and was placed beside her in one of the most +comfortably padded pews, with footstools under +foot, and books in the racks. The tremendous +congregation spread on every hand. There +were no men’s side and women’s side! Families +sat in their own seats. The bald head of +a father might be seen beside the dancing, bonneted +head of his daughter. Everybody seemed +solemn but exceedingly comfortable; and when +the music ceased nothing but a whisper of fans +could be heard. Through a door at one side of +the pulpit came a saint-faced man, who ascended +and opened the Bible. He looked very +nice, and not a bit like that Mr. Joel Clark at +the Rocky Fork who cruelly mortified her one +Sunday when she ventured to peep between the +leaves of her book while he was preaching in +very loud and long-sounding words. Her eye +had just caught an old English wood-cut—possibly +one of Bewick’s—when it seemed the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span>world was tumbling about her ears! She could +not believe her senses. Mr. Clark was pointing +his finger at <i>her</i>, and sinking her in seas of +shame.</p> + +<p>“That little girl,” said he, “who is reading +there, had better close her book and listen to +the sermon.”</p> + +<p>Then the whole congregation looked at her +as if they had always known she was a wretch. +Perintha Pancost and Minerva Ridenour, who +were just going to look into their books, sat up +and appeared virtuously wrapped in the discourse, +while Mr. Clark went on as if it were +just right to crush a shrinking child by the +way. And may be it <i>was</i> right. How did Bluebell +know? He was a grown-up, good man, +and a preacher, and she a little girl, of no account +except in her relationship to Doctor +Garde. She held the tears back with heroic +struggles, but her face burned with hot blood; +a mark was set upon her; and whenever Mr. +Clark came around on the circuit, she could not +bear to pass under his eye; and if he made an +address to the Sunday-school, she cowered down +behind the tall seats. This preacher in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span>Sharon church did not look as if he would point +out little girls: therefore Bluebell liked him. +The congregation stood up and turned around +to sing, and then she saw the source of the +music: two or three key-boards like a treble +piano, on which a young man played, and a +great row of pipes in a mass of woodwork +which she did not understand. There were +some people who stood in a class holding singing-books, +and this singing-school was up in a +high place like a slice of a second story, and +this second story extended also around the +sides of the church.</p> + +<p>Miss Libbie Biggar sat in a pew the other +side of a partition, in the most beautiful cherry +silk bonnet, tied under her chin with ribbon. +It was made like Bluebell’s, with a slight flare. +What else Miss Libbie wore, was concealed by +the high partition. Beside her sat an old lady +as fair as a lily, in mourning clothes. But that +her hair was as white as dandelion-down. Bluebell +must have believed her young; for nowhere +in the church could be found a smoother, +more delicate face. An old woman, according +to Bluebell’s observation, was a bent, brown +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span>person, wrinkled like a withered apple, like +Granny Ridenour.</p> + +<p>The two little girls exchanged glances; then +the people stood up; they sang out of books +instead of having their hymns lined two lines +at a time by the minister, which Bluebell +thought a great improvement herself.</p> + +<p>Libbie took advantage of this new position +to lean over the partition and whisper:</p> + +<p>“I’m going to call on you to-morrow. We +went to Newark, so I couldn’t come before. +Orpha and Orrell are coming too.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” nodded Bluebell in trepidation, making +signs, for the minister seemed looking +over people’s heads at them. She wanted to +ask what made him lay a pile of writing on the +pulpit beside the Bible. The people suddenly +kneeled, and Bluebell hurried to drop to her +footstool as she saw Aunt Melissa do. It was +all beautiful, and made her feel good; but Libbie +Biggar reached over the partition to whisper +again:</p> + +<p>“You’ve got a pretty bonnet.”</p> + +<p>Her grandmother pulled her dress as she +subsided, and Bluebell could hear her industriously +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span>turning over hymn-book leaves. Then +everybody resumed his seat; and the music +which had so pleased her glad ear at first, +began again triumphantly, and the people in +the class up-stairs sang a very beautiful piece, +which never afterwards quite left Bluebell’s +mind. She learned in time to know it as the +Te Deum.</p> + +<p>“There’s Orrell,” whispered Libbie again, +indicating a flossy-haired child at the side of +the church.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t!” begged Bluebell; “he +mightn’t like it.” She cast her eye at the +pulpit.</p> + +<p>“Our minister don’t care. I like him. He +takes tea at our house. His boy whispers and +squirms all the time. Look at him up there.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell looked at the boy in a front pew, and +felt thankful to see him twisting very restlessly. +He was a handsome little fellow; but, +as Mr. Cook would say, not in harmony with +his environments.</p> + +<p>The sermon began, and Libbie’s grandmother +moved nearer to her.</p> + +<p>“I don’t have to come at evening, do you?” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span>said Libbie to Bluebell, when service was +over.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said Bluebell.</p> + +<p>They moved out in different streams of people, +and did not see each other again.</p> + +<p>After dinner. Aunt Melissa brought out her +good books and instructed her namesake. They +read some poems; and, before the gas was +lighted, had a long talk, sitting with their arms +around each other, in which the duties of guardian +and charge were discussed.</p> + +<p>On Monday morning Bluebell practised her +music lesson while Aunt Melissa was shopping. +After dinner she put on the muslin-gingham, +for in this town people frequently wore their +Sunday clothes on common days!—and sat +down by her auntie to learn herring-bone stitch. +The French clock on the mantel ticked: it was +black marble, with a shepherd leaning across +the top; the piano stood open; when Bluebell +had stitched a strip or two, she might practise +again. Afternoon checker-work moved on the +porch, and shadows chased each other up and +down the pillars. Bluebell felt like some grand +little girl in a story, who had a fairy godmother. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span>How pleased father would be to see +her learning to be such a lady! Probably at +that moment the scholars in the log school-house +were just mopping their faces after recess. +What fun they had had!—but how different +the log school-house was from Aunt Melissa’s +drawing-room! Bluebell’s polish at this +period began to have a vulgar, varnishy odor. +She wondered if it was the proper thing to have +gone to school in a log school-house. Libbie +Biggar had evidently never done such a thing, +and that pretty, fluff-haired girl at church +could not understand how the benches had a +queer, foreign smell, and Mr. Pitzer let them +have such good times. Doctor Garde’s little +girl was noting the differences in externals, +and the refining influence of beautiful surroundings; +and in her anxiety to improve, she +was in danger of forgetting what she owed to +the country hills.</p> + +<p>The knocker was lifted and came down with +a boom, ushering in the prettiest and most +laughable bit of comedy. Miss Libbie Biggar +introduced her friends Misses Orrell Pratt and +Orpha Rose, and the three diminutive ladies sat +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span>down in large chairs, and acted grown-up. +They had on all their ornaments, and their +white dresses were distended with the hoops +which at that time were coming into vogue. +Sweet and kissable in their ribbons and bright +bonnets, they were a charming study as to manners. +Orrell held her little sunshade in her +crossed hands, and drooped her eyelids prettily, +as she inquired about Miss Melissa’s +health, and delivered her mamma’s compliments. +Bluebell, at a signal from Miss Calder, +had put her work out of hands, and she too +sat up, trying to reflect as faithfully as a mirror +these pinks and patterns of juvenile society.</p> + +<p>Miss Orpha had difficulty with the small wire +frame-work, known as a skeleton, which surrounded +her person, but she managed it with +a great deal of tact.</p> + +<p>“How do you like Sharon?” inquired +Miss Biggar, as if she had never done so +rude a thing as to talk across partitions in +church.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I think it’s beautiful!” exclaimed +Bluebell, with immediate consciousness that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span>enthusiasm was out of place in the presence +of such well-balanced ladies.</p> + +<p>“Where did you live before you came +here?” inquired Miss Orpha.</p> + +<p>Bluebell blushed! When she was older she +blushed to remember that she blushed. But +these girls seemed so finished, and she was so +little in accord with their past, that her beginnings +looked raw and humble.</p> + +<p>“It was a very hilly place called the Rocky +Fork.”</p> + +<p>“There are a great many hills here,” remarked +Miss Orrell.</p> + +<p>“Yes; they are very pretty.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell’s nerves twitched, she was on such +a strain of propriety.</p> + +<p>If the conversation flagged, the young ladies +sat looking at each other and their young hostess, +or Miss Calder, with calm, unchildlike nonchalance, +which threw Doctor Garde’s little girl +almost into despair. Her former standard of +being agreeable was to talk much and fluently; +a pause was a breach of politeness, and put +pins and needles into her flesh. How then +could she ever hope to attain to such silent self-possession? +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span>Afterwards, at school, she discovered +that Orrell was naturally dull, and Orpha +not half as charming and amiable as first acquaintance +seemed to warrant. She asked them +about their dolls without arousing much maternal +enthusiasm. As they went away, however, +their voices could be heard in quick chatter +along the street. Timidity had not ruled +them in the least. They had simply been making +a proper, dressed-up call, like their mammas +did.</p> + +<p>Then followed, in due course, that great day +of the party. Bluebell was nearly worn out +with anticipation before afternoon came. She +had a new fluffy dress of a material called +tarletan, spread over innumerable skirts and +a skeleton. Aunt Melissa became her maid, and +filled the office with the greatest care. The +little girl’s hair was braided loosely and tied +in two ropes with long satin ribbon. Miss Melissa +was guilty of shoeing her in white satin +slippers, but they were heelless. This vision +of little girl paraded up and down before the +long glass in the parlor, overlooking her thin +arms, and delighted with her fairy disguise. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span>Promptly at four o’clock, some ladies and gentlemen +began to arrive, some under the chaperonage +of mothers or elder sisters, but the +majority in twos, or covies like partridges. +Bluebell, previously instructed, and much awed +by the good company, did not run to meet her +future playmates and ask them to go to the +play-house, or up-stairs to the garret for a play; +even the luxury of a chicken funeral was far +from her mind. She stood by Aunt Melissa, +and each little girl and boy, on emerging from +the dressing-room and entering the parlor, was +presented to her. There was a dressing-room +up-stairs for the boys; the girls took off their +hats and laid down their parasols in Aunt Melissa’s +room. And they had doting elders who +stood by and retwisted their curls or adjusted +the “set” of their hoops.</p> + +<p>When everybody had arrived, the parlors +swam with sweet faces, white full-blown tarletan +flowers, white pants and black jackets. The +boys had not the ease of the girls: it drew Bluebell’s +heart to them to see their awkward postures +and attempts at behaving. The boys intended +to come out strong at tea-time.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span>The older people who came along started +games; the children played “Hunt the Slipper,” +and this created some real noise and +scrambling. Then they played “Forfeits” +and “Consequences;” and just before supper +a grown young lady in enormous crinoline sat +down at the piano and cried, “Partners for a +French Four.”</p> + +<p>Immediately certain little couples took their +places on the floor, and Johnny Pratt, evidently +prodded by his sister, stepped up to Bluebell.</p> + +<p>“Come on,” said Johnny.</p> + +<p>“What they going to play?”</p> + +<p>“Goin’ to dance a French Four.”</p> + +<p>But Doctor Grarde’s little girl hung back, +full of dismay.</p> + +<p>“Come on!” exclaimed Libbie Biggar, “it’s +your party and you have to lead off. Isn’t that +the way, Miss Ann?”</p> + +<p>The young lady at the piano turned half-way +around and said she believed it was. She +looked at Doctor Garde’s disconcerted little +girl with a kind smile.</p> + +<p>“What’s the trouble?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span>Oh, it was dreadful to have the room full of +children and several irreproachable grown-up +folks looking at her as if she were some peculiar +savage.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you come on?” cried Libbie +with an impatient stamp.</p> + +<p>“But I don’t know how. I sha’n’t mind if +somebody else plays in my place.”</p> + +<p>Somebody else would not do, in the eyes of +a few sticklers; so Bluebell was pushed and +huddled through the figures, and merrily +laughed at. And it seemed the most dreadful +performance she had ever heard of, and mortified +her sadly. She was consumed with a +desire to step and act gracefully; the motion +was exhilarating; but how could she put her +toe out just so, and remember which hand to +give every time! The others made precise +steps with which she was unacquainted, and +to imitate them in her timid way was to make +a caricature of herself.</p> + +<p>Aunt Melissa came in from the dining-room +like a friendly sail to a half-wrecked sailor, and +made a few smiling excuses for her little friend. +Then she marshalled the children out, and their +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span>guardians looked in at the dining-room door +to see what a charming company they made. +Admiring mothers assisted Aunt Melissa in +serving refreshments, and from the first biscuit +to the last dish of pink ice-cream there +were exclamations of delight over the table.</p> + +<p>After supper they played in the grounds until +sunset; other games in the parlors followed; +and by eight o’clock the last little girl was going +home saying she had had a lovely time.</p> + +<p>And all these things made a deep impression +on Doctor Garde’s little girl. She felt elated +notwithstanding the French Four, and kissed +Aunt Melissa with quite the air of Libbie Biggar. +Miss Calder was delighted with the pleasure +she had given. Her own individuality was +very slight: to be amiable and appear as well +as the best Sharon people was her standard of +manners, and she was glad to see her charge +conforming to them.</p> + +<p>Still, the sap of the woods is strong, and +will rise in veins which it has nurtured. After +all this civilized excitement, Bluebell fell +asleep late, and dreamed a wordless and rhymeless +dream which had no beginning or end, but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span>chimed along, bringing the smell of ferns and +oak-leaves, sweet-brier and sassafras, and the +very breath of trees, all around her. Nobody +sings the full expression of dreams: if this +dream had been sung, perhaps it would have +sounded—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="verse">Oh, there was a very funny little pink-eyed man;</div> +<div class="verse">His hair stood out as only silk of dandelion can;</div> +<div class="verse">He whistled up the morning, and down the afternoon,</div> +<div class="verse">And slept inside a hollow tree all covered up with moon;</div> +<div class="verse">His dress was made of moss-hair that greener branches studs.</div> +<div class="verse">And fringed around with catkins of palest willow-buds;</div> +<div class="verse">He drove a sled of oak-leaf with katydids a span—</div> +<div class="verse">Oho! this world is rosy to a pink-eyed man!</div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="verse">His feet he bathed in violets; he tapped the big paw-paw,</div> +<div class="verse">And sucked, astride May-apple forks, each apple that he saw;</div> +<div class="verse">Peppermint and pennyroyal, sheep’s-sorrel had he,</div> +<div class="verse">Spicewood and sassafras, and nuts from nutty tree;</div> +<div class="verse">His pockets sagged with dewdrops so bright they shone like sparks,</div> +<div class="verse">And he teetered on a grass-blade and threw the cores at marks.</div> +<div class="verse">He made a spider spin him a gray hammock on her plan,—</div> +<div class="verse">Sing, oh, this world is rosy to a pink-eyed man!</div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="verse">He made a brook-stone chimney within his little garth,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span></div> +<div class="verse">And piled a heap of fireflies to sparkle on his hearth;</div> +<div class="verse">All overhead were carvings of ancient wormy sort;</div> +<div class="verse">He tied up ants in couples and made them hunt for sport;</div> +<div class="verse">He had a little long-bow of throstle-quill; for string</div> +<div class="verse">He tore a strip of bat-leather out of a gray bat’s wing;</div> +<div class="verse">And when he shot one June-bug, why, twenty others ran,—</div> +<div class="verse">Aha! this world is rosy to a pink-eyed man!</div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div class="verse">His boat was half a butternut all scooped and polished clear;</div> +<div class="verse">He had a crew of water-skates, and he need only steer;</div> +<div class="verse">He always wore an acorn-cap for fear his hair might burn;</div> +<div class="verse">And he sat upon a toadstool and fanned him with a fern;</div> +<div class="verse">Or in an empty bird’s nest he piped whole afternoons;</div> +<div class="verse">The gnats would dance by thousands to hear such merry tunes;</div> +<div class="verse">The long sweet time in honey-drops of amber clearness ran,—</div> +<div class="verse">And oh, this world is rosy to a pink-eyed man!</div> +</div></div></div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVI<br> +<small>MISS BIGGAR’S POSSESSIONS</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">EVERY afternoon the knocker clanged on +Miss Calder’s door, calls for her <i>protégée</i> +being plentifully sprinkled among the visits of +older ladies to her. Doctor Garde’s little girl +enjoyed driving out to make calls with Aunt +Melissa. In a town the size of Sharon, in those +days, calling on your intimate neighbor with +state and ceremony was a moral duty. The +afternoons dreamed. Slow embroidering and +careful hand-sewing were enlivened by rapid +talk. It was delightful to be roused from a +drowsy state by a pageant of friends in great +bravery whose manners accorded with their +clothes. The people of southern cities will have +their <i>Mardi gras</i> mummery in spite of fever +and famine: so, at that period, the ladies of +large villages found their principal diversion +in careful toilets and stately calling.</p> + +<p>But the best thing after all at Aunt Melissa’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span>was the library. Bluebell was overwhelmed by +her riches in that. Her own <i>Cat Book</i> paled +by the side of <i>One Thousand Fairy Tales</i> and +the <i>Arabian Nights</i>. There were books of +travels, and piles of <i>Graham’s Magazine</i>, <i>Sandford +and Merton</i>, Abbott’s <i>Rollo Books</i>, <i>Robinson +Crusoe</i>, whole shelves of poets, immense +cyclopædia volumes, and even a few gilt annuals, +books of beauty, etc. Walter Scott and +Irving inhabited one long shelf with Cooper. +O world of books, what a great world thou art, +and how large a part of many people’s lives is +projected into thee!</p> + +<p>Miss Melissa herself was a gentle student. +She felt her early relish revived by the fervor +with which this child seized on the library. She +directed Bluebell occasionally, but let her forage +at will.</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde’s little girl calculated that this +feast of books would last until she was quite +old—almost twelve, in fact.</p> + +<p>One pictured tome, called Shakspeare, hard +to lift from the shelf, and very queer and hard +to understand in some parts, had yet a fascination. +She was delighted to find this the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span>source from which came some of the best +<i>Fourth Reader</i> pieces: Shylock at the trial; +Prince Arthur and Hubert. She toiled carefully +through both plays, and would not for +anything have confessed to a grown person that +she felt real sorry for poor old Shylock, though +he was bad. It seemed so naughty of his +daughter to carry off the ring he prized,—the +one he had from his wife Leah,—and so +dreadful for him to lose all his prop:—prop, +Bluebell considered, must be short for property. +But Portia and the caskets were great +fun, and Antonio a man almost as lovely as +her own father. She devoutly wished Hubert +had taken Arthur away off into the country,—to +some place like the Rocky Fork,—and had +never told the king he still lived. Wasn’t it +nice the old bad king got so scared at those +moons! He was as bad as the uncle in <i>Babes +of the Wood</i>.</p> + +<p>But the very loveliest of everything was +Midsummer Night’s Dream. What could be +cuter than Puck, or more delicate than Titania! +With a natural instinct for pronouncing, the +little girl got nearly all the names right, though +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span>she branded Theseus as The-ze-us, unconscious +of the Greek diphthong’s shortness, and never +in her life could she alter the charmed sound.</p> + +<p><i>Plutarch’s Lives</i> was delicious in spots, but +rather tough. Shakspeare, on the other hand, +was never, never tough. She missed old and +deep meanings intended for adult senses. Titania’s +infatuation with the weaver was so +funny that she chuckled heartily. But the finer +aroma of the plays was never missed once.</p> + +<p>There were some copies of Dickens on the +shelves too; but she happened on them late, +for Dickens did not appear an attractive name.</p> + +<p>Libbie Biggar came flying in and found Bluebell +with her head supported by her hands and +a fat volume propped open on the table.</p> + +<p>“Come on!” exclaimed the shingled young +lady; “Miss Calder said you might go to my +house and stay the afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde’s little girl looked up, absent +and half distressed.</p> + +<p>“Sit down and take off your hat,” she murmured, +with a glimmer of polite solicitude.</p> + +<p>“I sha’n’t stop a minute. What are you +reading?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span>“Oh, it is the nicest story! Oh, his mother +was so sweet, and Mr. Murdstone was so mean, +and so was Miss Murdstone. But I could hug +Peggotty: she’s as good as Liza was. And I +almost wish Davy would go away off and visit +his funny old aunt that flattened her nose +against the window.”</p> + +<p>“Well, come on. I don’t care anything +about that. You’re always reading. Orpha +Rose says you went and huddled down in a +corner with a book when she had you to her +house to tea.”</p> + +<p>“It was Undine,” pleaded Doctor Garde’s +little girl, turning red. “I did want to know +so badly what became of her.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think it’s nice to be reading all the +time.”</p> + +<p>That settled it. Libbie Biggar, who had +been carefully brought up from birth, ought +to know what was nice. Still, Doctor Garde’s +little girl felt her individuality too strong for +her in spots. She inwardly decided that it was +nice, too!</p> + +<p>“But I don’t read all the time. I began +Davy last week, and I’ve only read a little piece, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span>about little Em’ly and the boat-house and all, +and where Mr. Murdstone whipped him, and +Davy bit him—oh, good!”</p> + +<p>“Well, if you’re coming to my house to play +little dinner, come on. I don’t see any fun in +just reading and reading and reading.”</p> + +<p>Miss Biggar spoke with a tang of injury; +and with a similar tang on her part, Bluebell +marked her place in Davy and hid the book lest +somebody else might appropriate it. To be +hauled by the ears all the way from a distant +country called England, to play even such a +fine play, was sudden. But there was no appeal. +Doctor Garde’s little girl must always +be under the dictation of some companion. She +followed Libbie as obediently as if the latter +were Tildy, and the stage of action the Rocky +Fork. How far she would bear dictation the +dictator never knew until he experimented and +her swift and complete rebellion apprised him. +But, after all, what little girl would not for the +time prefer Libbie Biggar’s playroom to all the +libraries collected since and including that of +Ptolemy Philadelphus?</p> + +<p>It looked like a toy-shop. There were animals +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span>standing on wheels to be drawn by a +string; animals which nodded their heads +quite like life; cats that mewed, dogs that +barked; rabbits and squirrels sitting up in +plaster-of-Paris immobility; a whole Noah’s +Ark with a cargo of wooden survivors—Mrs. +Noah, Mrs. Ham, and Mesdames Shem and +Japhet in red or blue or yellow or green dresses +of bright paint, and Noah to the life, looking +so like the rest of his family that you could +only distinguish him by his broader hat. As +for dolls, Georgiana, who had come in Bluebell’s +arms, sat down in despair and felt nobody +at all! There was a baby doll in a cradle, +with real bald head and fat hands, wearing a +long dress and baby cap. A very much dressed +mother-doll sat by it in one chair of a satin and +mahogany parlor-set. A negro doll dressed in +bright calico leaned against the head of the cradle +to signify that she was the most faithful of +nurses. Various insignificant dolls with mashed +<i>papier-maché</i> faces lounged about in faded +finery, or sprawled staring at the ceiling as if +counting flies. A wax lady as large as Libbie +could handle—so immense in fact that she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span>wore a little girl’s shoes, and sat in an arm-chair.</p> + +<p>Oh, Georgiana! when thy doting relative felt +that mighty doll’s floss and saw her walk across +the floor, and heard her cry “mamma!” instead +of the inarticulate noise which was all +thou couldst make in thy chest, didst thou not +slide down and roll up thine eyes and decide +that life was not, after all, worth living!</p> + +<p>But what were the dolls beside the cooking +furniture of that magic room! In those days +every little girl had not a complete toy household +at her command. Conveniences for cooking +dolls’ meals were rare, and many a doll sat +down to a cracker on triangles of broken dishes, +and thought herself well served.</p> + +<p>But under the black mantel on the brick +hearth of Libbie Biggar’s playroom stood the +completest little iron stove, with Liliputian lids, +pots, pans, skillets, oven, tea-kettle. It was not +to be looked at, but cooked with. In the left-hand +corner by the fireplace was a cupboard, +bearing a tea-set, and not the kind which will +barely fit your finger with thimbles of cups, +but large enough to eat with. And a round +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span>table was drawn cosily near it; a table just +large enough to spread above little girls’ laps +when they sat up to it on low chairs.</p> + +<p>What a kingdom to come into! They set +about kindling a fire in the stove with sticks +prepared for that purpose, and very soon the +little monster was roaring away, the pipe sending +up small clouds to the chimney, the tea-kettle +blowing out steam, and coals of actual +fire grinning between the steel bars!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Biggar, the floss-haired grandmamma, +came in, smiled indulgently at their zest, and +exhorted them not to set themselves on fire. +She was going out, and if they wanted anything +they might get it from the kitchen. +After she was gone, the domestic, probably set +to watch the fire, looked in once or twice, and +left some goody each time.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVII<br> +<small>DINNER IN DOLL-LAND</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap2">LIBBIE brought up dabs of dough made for +her special baking, and rolled them out for +biscuits, with a rolling-pin the size of her middle +finger, cut them, and baked them in a pan +on the bottom of the oven. Bluebell cut a potato +into bits and boiled it in a pot. They made +tea and laid the table. The cook donated preserves, +cake, rice-balls and cold meat: these +were mere side-dishes, not to be compared with +what they cooked themselves.</p> + +<p>Georgiana and the imported wax lady were +placed at the table opposite each other, where +they half-rolled up their eyes, and refused to +be a bit sociable. The other dolls were laid in +a hungry circle with their feet to the table, as +if to draw in sustenance through the soles.</p> + +<p>The biscuits were burnt; but, eaten with butter +and preserves, they tasted better than any +grown-up biscuit was ever known to do; and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span>though the potatoes came up saltless and without +any dressing, they were too mealy for anything. +And the feasters drained the teapot +dry.</p> + +<p>The wax ladies were generously helped, and +ate in an invisible way, though what was before +them frequently slid toward the head and foot +of the table, guided by a plump white hand or +a short brown one.</p> + +<p>Outside, the cicada’s summer song kept the +air full of a pleasant monotone. Scarcely a +breeze stirred. The afternoon was so slumbrous +one could pretend or make-believe almost +anything. Occasionally a passer’s foot +sounded on the brick pavement. Doctor Garde’s +little girl, who sat in range of the street, often +turned from the interest in hand to look, with +the expectation that Someone was coming from +Somewhere to her. Not exactly a nabob, or +an elephant, or a fairy in gauze wings; but +some herald from the wonderful future into +which she seemed to be entering.</p> + +<p>Miss Libbie Biggar’s fancy reared itself only +on substantial foundations.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Garde,” she observed, leaning forward +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span>to fix her bead-black eyes on the shrinking +Georgiana, “your daughter looks as if she +had the mumps on one side of her face. I had +the mumps once, and made grandma give me +some pickle, and it hurt—oh, you can’t think +how it hurt me! Mrs. Garde, if your daughter +has the mumps, you shouldn’t brought her into +my large family.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mrs. Biggar, it isn’t mumps at all. +She got too near the fire once when she was +crying very hard, and her cheek began to run +down with the tears, and forgot to run back. +Mrs. Biggar, does your daughter take music-lessons?”</p> + +<p>“O dear, yes! She can play the <i>Battle of +Prague</i> clear through without looking at her +notes.”</p> + +<p>“I s’pose you send her to the seminary to +school?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but her health will not allow her to +be confined too much.” Mrs. Biggar was quoting +from her seniors.</p> + +<p>“I am going to send my daughter to the +seminary. She loves to go to school. Her +health is very stout. I will have to hold her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span>back instead of pushing her ahead.” Mrs. +Garde also was quoting from her seniors.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you have something more, Mrs. +Garde?”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you, Mrs. Biggar.”</p> + +<p>“Children will any of you be helped to +something more?”</p> + +<p>The prostrate dolls, who camped with their +heels to the repast, and were supposed to be +seated in a rosy circle around the general table, +all responded in different tones that they didn’t +want any more, thank you. So the ladies ceremoniously +rose.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Biggar led the way to the parlor-set. +All the dolls, except the wax ones and the +blackamoor, were sent outdoors to play in a +corner, but told they could not go on the sidewalk. +The colored doll was directed to clear +the dinner away, which she industriously did +by leaning on her stomach across the table. +The fire had gone down to white ashes in the +stove.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Biggar invited Mrs. Garde to take a +seat upon the sofa. But as the sofa was only +a little too large for Mrs. Garde to put in her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span>pocket, that lady only pretended she sat upon +it, while her real and substantial support was +the ingrain carpet.</p> + +<p>“My daughter will play on the piano for +you,” observed the hostess. “You ought to +say you’d be delighted.”</p> + +<p>“I’d be delighted, Mrs. Biggar.”</p> + +<p>“This is the piano.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Garde could see no key-board. And it +stood square and boxlike without legs: a small +dark polished case. Even when the tall wax +doll was prevailed upon to favor them, she did +not open the instrument. Her mamma applied +a key to it; but a vast amount of coaxing was +necessary to overcome the young lady’s reluctance.</p> + +<p>“Come, my dear, give us some music,” said +Mrs. Biggar briskly.</p> + +<p>“Mamma,” replied a voice much thinner, +but in other respects strangely like the maternal +tones, “Don’t ask me. You know I don’t +play.”</p> + +<p>“You urge her,” suggested Mrs. Biggar to +the guest.</p> + +<p>“What’ll I say?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span>“Why, you say, ‘Oh do,’ and ‘Now don’t +disappoint us,’ and ‘You play <i>so</i> well,’ just as +big folks do when a young lady acts that way.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, do play. Miss Biggar,” pressed Mrs. +Garde, “now don’t disappoint us; you do play +so well!”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Garde,” responded the thin voice, +though that wax doll sat gazing serenely forward, +and never so much as wagged a curl, +“please excuse me: I can’t play a bit, and +my throat is so sore I don’t know what to do!”</p> + +<p>“Now you know you can play ever so many +pieces right straight along without stopping,” +said Mrs. Biggar reproachfully.</p> + +<p>“Oh, do!” chimed Mrs. Garde. Her mind +flashed back to the time when pianos were an +unseen mystery to her and she wanted to play +on one so badly that a piece of sheet-iron binding +sticking from a box became a make-believe +piano, upon which she thumped with rapture. +But these retrospections were not imparted to +the Biggar family, and Miss Biggar suddenly +yielded to pressure, seated herself before, and +suffered her hands to be laid upon the polished +box.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span>“Ah!” cried Mrs. Garde when the music +started without visible assistance, “a——h! +How <i>can</i> she do it? What kind of a piano is +that!”</p> + +<p>“That’s a music-box, goosie,” replied Libbie, +descending from make-believe for an instant. +“My grandma brought it to me when +she went over the ocean. Didn’t you ever see +one?”</p> + +<p>“No, I didn’t.”</p> + +<p>It played <i>Home, Sweet Home</i>, caught its +breath, played <i>Old Uncle Ned</i>, caught its breath +again, gave a Tyrolese melody, again clicked, +played <i>Hail Columbia</i> and stopped.</p> + +<p>“That’s all,” said Libbie. “Four tunes.”</p> + +<p>“Play your pieces over, Miss Biggar.”</p> + +<p>The music-box was put through its performance +again.</p> + +<p>“Now that’s enough,” said Libbie decidedly; +“le’s play something else. Dolls is so +old.”</p> + +<p>“We might go out and run.”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t want to do that.”</p> + +<p>“There’s somebody knocked at the door.”</p> + +<p>“It’s just our cook.—What you want?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span>“Miss Calder’s sent for the little girl that’s +playing with you.”</p> + +<p>“For me?” Bluebell ran and opened the +door.</p> + +<p>“Yes; Archie’s down-stairs and says she +wants you.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to go, Libbie.”</p> + +<p>“That’s mean!”</p> + +<p>“He says,” added the messenger, “that +somebody’s come to your house.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVII<br> +<small>SOMEBODY ARRIVES</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap2">ARCHIE was standing at the foot of the +stairs. Bluebell thought him a most +agreeable man. He always treated her with +deferential indulgence.</p> + +<p>“Did Aunt Melissa send for me?” cried +Bluebell, running down-stairs with Georgiana +on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am, she did.”</p> + +<p>“And who’s come, Archie? Oh, is it father +and the baby?”</p> + +<p>“It is a very fine gentleman, and a little girl +considerable smaller than you.”</p> + +<p>“Good-by, Libbie. My father’s come!”</p> + +<p>Doctor Garde’s little girl made rapid progress +to the gate which united Mrs. Biggar’s +and Miss Calder’s grounds. Archie kept at +her heels.</p> + +<p>“Did they just get there, Archie?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span>“Just a minute ago. And besides the gentleman +and little girl there was”—</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s Liza! Liza’s come too! It was +Liza’s house where we used to live, you know.”</p> + +<p>“No, there wasn’t any lady.”</p> + +<p>“Then it’s somebody else; and maybe it +isn’t my father and the baby, either?”</p> + +<p>She paused in disappointment.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the gentleman’s your father. I heard +Miss Calder call him. Mr. Doctor Garde is the +gentleman’s name,” said Archie, punctiliously.</p> + +<p>Bluebell plunged up the side veranda. But +here her new manners seized on her. What +would father say if she ran in and grabbed +him around the neck? And there was Rocco. +She had learned enough to be a great pattern +and example to Rocco.</p> + +<p>The doctor was sunk in a haircloth chair in +the dim parlor. Roxana sat on Miss Melissa’s +knee, half afraid of her in this new place which +imaged its wonders in her swelling black eyes.</p> + +<p>Through the open folding-doors came a correct +figure in cool muslin-gingham; the bare +brown arms and collar-bones looked natural, +but the face had a new expression.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span>“Is this Bluebell?” said father, extending +his hand.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>The young lady took his hand and kissed him. +She did give the silent Rocco an extra squeeze, +but her back was towards father and the fervor +was hid from him. She drew her chair quite +close to him, too, but in every other respect +preserved the strictest propriety.</p> + +<p>“And you rode all the way on horseback +with the baby,” said Miss Calder in a pleased +flutter. “That must have been charming at +this season of the year.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said father. “I boxed the movables +and had them sent by railway.”</p> + +<p>“I am so glad you are here, Maurice.” Miss +Melissa reached for her handkerchief. “You +have no idea how much brighter the house has +been since I brought Melissa home with me.”</p> + +<p>The doctor looked pleased. He also looked +faintly disturbed.</p> + +<p>“And I am sure you will not regret the +change in—as to—I mean from a financial +point of view, for all our friends are prepossessed +in your favor already.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span>“As to that,” said the young man, “I’ll +have to prove myself able to do something, as +I did at the Rocky Fork.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and I am sure you will indeed.”</p> + +<p>“Papa, how is Liza?”</p> + +<p>The doctor started, and looked queerly at +his little girl.</p> + +<p>He said, however, “She’s quite well.”</p> + +<p>“I am learning to play the piano.”</p> + +<p>His little girl made this announcement with +the exact accent and expression of Miss Libbie +Biggar.</p> + +<p>“Are you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>He rubbed a finger across his forehead and +looked at Miss Melissa. The delicate lady +smiled.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think she has improved very +much?”</p> + +<p>“Ye-es,” said the doctor, “certainly.”</p> + +<p>He looked at his little girl.</p> + +<p>“You may entertain your father awhile if +he will excuse me, Melissa,” said Miss Calder, +putting Rocco down. “I want to have a few +changes made about tea. And if you want to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[309]</span>go to your room, Maurice, Melissa knows where +it is.”</p> + +<p>So Aunt Melissa went out, and Bluebell +longed so much to tangle and squeeze Roxana +that she was fain at least to draw her seat +beside Miss Calder’s vacant arm-chair, into +which the baby had mounted on all-fours and +wiggled about into a sitting posture.</p> + +<p>“Are you glad to see B’uebell, Rocco?”</p> + +<p>“Uh—uuh,” responded Roxana, still trying +to take her bearings in these strange +waters.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t say that—it isn’t polite,” +said Bluebell, shaking her head.</p> + +<p>Father’s square, serious face set itself to +study her. His clothes looked plain compared +to the clothes she had seen gentlemen wear in +Sharon. They really had a woodsman look. +But who could see father’s resolute chin over +his black neckcloth and not instinctively love +him? His little girl did not state the matter +in these words. Her impressions were instantaneous +and languageless. The baby did look +so funny, too. Bluebell wished one of her new +dresses was small enough for the little sister. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span>It was only that she did not want them to be +behind herself in advantages.</p> + +<p>“Have you been real well, papa?”</p> + +<p>“That isn’t polite,” said father slowly.</p> + +<p>His little girl turned red. She was beginning +to think his steady look meant disapproval, +after all, when she had tried <i>so</i> hard to learn +deportment.</p> + +<p>“What! To ask if you have been well?”</p> + +<p>“To call me ‘papa’ when you know I want +to be called ‘father.’”</p> + +<p>Bluebell’s face and ears tingled.</p> + +<p>“Libbie Biggar always says papa and +mamma when she talks about her father and +mother. They’re dead.”</p> + +<p>“Who’s Libbie Biggar?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she is such a nice little girl! She lives +next door, and has the most toys you ever saw. +A little stove and dolls and dishes, and a music-box +that plays four tunes.”</p> + +<p>“Do you like her better than you do Tildy?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe I do. But she has such +<i>pretty</i> manners, and she is <i>so</i> ladylike!”</p> + +<p>Father smiled.</p> + +<p>“Her grandma is very good to her. And +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span>there are lots of other little girls. I had a +party.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid Miss Melissa has been spoiling +you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! She wanted me to get acquainted. +Some of them wore <i>beautiful</i> dresses. We had +ice-cream. Do you know what ice-cream is, +father?”</p> + +<p>“I have tasted it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, we had ice-cream. And Libbie Biggar +just stamped her foot because I didn’t want +to dance a French Four. I didn’t know how.”</p> + +<p>“She must have pretty manners,” said +father.</p> + +<p>Bluebell colored again.</p> + +<p>“Oh, she has. She knows how to do so much +better than I do.”</p> + +<p>“Come here,” said father, extending his +hands.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIX<br> +<small>DOCTOR GARDE’S LITTLE GIRL</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">BLUEBELL approached father’s knee with +her heart swelling.</p> + +<p>“Where’s my little girl?” said he.</p> + +<p>His long light locks and serious face seemed +to hang on the outer surface of her tears. The +tears were filling her eyes so fast; she struggled +to hold them still, but a splash came down +on one of the hands with which he was holding +her waist.</p> + +<p>“Why, I’m here!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t seem to find you.”</p> + +<p>“Why, father, I don’t know what you +mean!”</p> + +<p>The cry was under full headway now. +Her figure quaked. She groped piteously for +her handkerchief, her eyes held in a +charmed gaze by his. He drew her upon +his knee. At that Roxana descended from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span>her position and claimed a right on the +other knee.</p> + +<p>Sitting opposite her afflicted sister, she +stroked the muslin-gingham dress.</p> + +<p>“Don’t t’y, Bluebell. <i>I’ve</i> tum to your +house.”</p> + +<p>“I would like to have my little girl stay a +little girl,” said father, “until Nature turns +her into a woman. I don’t say I am altogether +right.”</p> + +<p>He paused, conscious that a child will accept +its elder’s dictum without question, and believe +a thing to be unalterably good or +evil, according to the decision of the adult +who happens to be over it in authority. +“But I don’t like young ladies in short +clothes.”</p> + +<p>“I thought you’d be pleased to see me learning +fine manners,” wailed Bluebell.</p> + +<p>“<i>Don’t</i> t’y,” begged Rocco, puckering in +sympathy.</p> + +<p>“Fine manners are very nice,” said the doctor. +“But you seem to be imitating somebody +else. I can’t think it is a good thing to form +yourself after other people. I may be wrong; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span>but I like to see everybody live out his own +nature.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you want me to learn to be a little +lady?”</p> + +<p>Father looked perplexed.</p> + +<p>“I want you to learn everything which goes +to make up a finished woman. Yes, I want you +to be a lady, but”—with a pathetic tone in +his voice which had vibrated only once or twice +in her lifetime—“I wouldn’t give my honest, +simple-hearted little girl for all the fine airs +and graces in the world.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell hugged him around the neck.</p> + +<p>“That’s all I mean. Perhaps there’s a better +way to bring up girls.”</p> + +<p>“Father, I just want to be your way. And +I tried to do like the rest, for fear you’d be +’shamed of me ’side of Libbie and Orrell.” +The water-flow began to subside. Doctor +Garde wiped its straggling droppings away +with the hand which had supported his little +girl. Then she leaned on his shoulder, nearer +than she had ever been, and the arm was replaced.</p> + +<p>“They always lived in Sharon, and I thought +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[315]</span>they knew better’n I did how to behave. Their +hoops never stick out, and mine just act so +mean!”</p> + +<p>The doctor smiled again.</p> + +<p>“Must you wear hoops?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, indeed, father! I <i>have</i> to wear +them. Folks would laugh at you on the street +if you didn’t.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t think,” continued father carefully, +“that I am finding fault with Miss Calder’s +kindness, or your trying to improve.”</p> + +<p>“I thought you’d think it was nice for me +to sit up and talk like grown folks. But, father, +I won’t do it any more. Did anybody come +with you, father?” added his little girl in the +next breath.</p> + +<p>“Nobody came but Rocco and me.”</p> + +<p>“On Ballie?”</p> + +<p>“On Ballie.”</p> + +<p>“Are Tildy and Teeny well?”</p> + +<p>She was asking with bright interest now, +without aping anybody’s manners.</p> + +<p>“Very well. Tildy sent you a letter.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, father! Where is it?”</p> + +<p>“I think Liza packed it in my trunk. That’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span>probably at Newark with the other baggage.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell resigned herself to waiting with a +deep sigh.</p> + +<p>“Did they all go to g’ogr’phy school?”</p> + +<p>“I believe so. The geography school is +out.”</p> + +<p>“Father, are you glad you came here?”</p> + +<p>He looked deeply at the two on his knees.</p> + +<p>“I shall always be glad if it proves a great +benefit to my children.”</p> + +<p>“I have read ever so much. Libbie Biggar +don’t like reading.” She put her head on one +side and blushed. “Would you mind—?”</p> + +<p>“Mind what?”</p> + +<p>“Would you mind if I gave you an awful +hard hug, little father? because I’ve missed +you so, and couldn’t get along just right without +you.”</p> + +<p>It was some time after tea that Archie was +favored by visitors at the stable,—Bluebell, +Rocco and Georgiana.</p> + +<p>“I want to see her,” said Doctor Garde’s +little girl. “Which is her stall, Archie?”</p> + +<p>“Your father’s mare, ma’am?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span>“Yes. And you said somebody else came +with them. There was nobody but father and +Rocco.”</p> + +<p>“There was this very elegant creature, +ma’am. Here she is in this stall. If you stand +on the barn floor you can see her across the +manger.”</p> + +<p>Bluebell took that position with the little sister, +and then climbed into the manger among +Ballie’s oats to pat her tremulous nostril.</p> + +<p>“Do you know me?”</p> + +<p>The Arabian’s soft whinny answered her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Archie, I do think so much of her! She +fell off the Narrows all but her fore feet, and +jumped up again and kept father and me from +being killed.”</p> + +<p>Archie was duly astonished. He polished +her satin surface, and declared she was the +finest piece of horse-flesh that ever came into +the stables.</p> + +<p>“Charley and Coaly are fine animals, but +they are too fat and too lazy. Now this here +mare is all life; and look at them ears!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Archie, I’m so glad you like her! She’s +so kind.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span>“She’s most genteel,” said Archie.</p> + +<p>Bluebell did not like the word, though it was +then commonly current. She had heard Aunt +Melissa use it. She had tried herself to be +very genteel.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t say she was genteel, Archie. I +would just say she was Doctor Garde’s own +horse; and that’s enough.”</p> + +<p>“Your father’s a very fine gentleman,” declared +Archie, smiling in his excessive amiability. +“And your little sister, she’s quite a +little lady.”</p> + +<p>“Rocco,” said Bluebell to the baby when she +got her between house and barn among the +shrubbery, “I like you <i>real</i> well, and better’n +anybody in the world except father. Old honey-dew!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[319]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXX<br> +<small>TWO LETTERS</small></h2> +</div> + +<h3>I.—THE ROCKY FORK TO SHARON</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Respected frend,</p> + +<p>i take my pen in hand to let you know i am well and +hope These few lines Will find you enjoyIng the same +blessing....</p> + +<p>Christine is Writen this for me. the (Elders) is all +ripe do you mind when we plade and Teny married +them | the goggerfy school is out mr runNels brot his +Wife which made the big girls feel Bad but Teeny +sais that aint so....</p> + +<p>Printhy pancost she got the most Headmarks so she +got the prize Teeny got the prize in Spelin in the big +class | We marched the last day and i spoke mary had +a little Lamb there was 6 dialogues.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="bbox"> +<p>If you Love me as i love<br> + you no nife can cut our love<br> + into.</p> +</div></div></div> + +<p>jo hall is Well and sends his reSpecks.... When are you +coming back Eliza is Lonesome.... i am learning to +write but cant make no out yet.... mr pitzer give a +treat the last Day we got three sticks of Candy apiece +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[320]</span>The big boys did not threaten to Lock him out he done +it of his own accord i am going to send you some</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="bbox"> +<p>Mountain Tea</p> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Mother is well uncle Abram is well John Tiggard said +his long piece the Death of the flowErs Amandy Willey +sent her Respecks</p> + +<p>excuse Mistakes Mother has got her weavin Most all +done.... the Run has not been up since So no more +at present Goodbye</p> + +<p class="right">Matilda Banks.</p> + +<p>Teeny would not wright Half I wanted her to. +Mother puts this on. I got Ferns pressin in the memoiry +of Florence Kidder, write and Tell us how you +get on, our sweetins is getting Ripe. don’t you wish +you was here.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<p>remember frends as you pass by<br> + as you are now so once was i<br> + as I am now So you must be<br> + Prepare For deth and follow me.</p> + +<p>i thought I would end with some Poetry.</p> +</div></div></div> + +<h3>II.—SHARON TO THE ROCKY FORK</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="right"><span class="indentright">SHARON THE 21</span><br> + SEPTEMBER</p> + +<p>DEAR TILDY</p> + +<p>I HAD TO WAIT TILL I LEARNED TO PRINT. ALL OF +THEM LEARN TO PRINT AT THE SEMNARY PREPARATORY +DEPARTMENT. THERE IS A LETTER BOOK BUT THE LETTERS +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[321]</span>AINT TO YOU. I THOUT YOUR LETTER WAS VERY +NICE; THE MOUNTAIN TEA WAS SO GOOD. ALL THE GIRLS +WANTED SOME. THERE WAS ELIZABETH BIGGAR AND +ORRELL PRATT AND ORPA ROSE AND OTHERS TOO NUMEROUS +TO MENTION. I STUDDY THE 2ND READER +SPELLING GEOGRAPHY AND MENTAL ARITHMETIC AND +PRINTING. I LEARNED HOW TO PUT MARKS IN YOUR +WRITING. THEY PUT THEM IN BOOKS. TILDY, DID YOU +KNOW SHYLOCK IS IN SHAKESPEARE? AND GINEVRA IS +A MAN NAMED MISTER ROGERS.</p> + +<p>AUNT MELISSA IS VERY NICE, SHE MAKES SO MUCH OF +US, BUT I LOVE LIZA TOO. GIVE MY LOVE TO LIZA. ROXANA +SENDS HER LOVE. SO DOES ALL THE FAMILY. +THANK YOU FOR THE MOUNTAIN TEA. BALLIE IS WELL. +FATHER RIDES HER TO SEE SICK FOLKS. WE RIDE IN +THE CARRIDGE. ROCKKO HAS A NEW WHITE AND A +NEW PINK AND SOME GINGHAMB DRESSES. O TILDY, +DONT YOU REMEMBER GOING FOR WATER AND BLACKMAN +AND THE SPELLING AND GETING FERNS AND ALL THE +GOOD TIMES? AND THE TIME YOU AND ME CHURNED +PRINTHY PANCOST! GIVE MY LOVE TO PRINTHY AND +MANDY WILLEY AND JO HALL AND JOHN TEGARDEN AND +NERVY RIDEANHOUR AND TEENY AND ALL THE BIG BOYS +AND GIRLS. GIVE MY LOVE TO MR. PITZER. MY TEACHER +IS A LADY. TELL HIM I CAN MOST READ THE BEAUTIFUL +LETTER HE GAVE ME. TILDY, YOU MUST COME AND SEE +US. LIZA MUST COME. SO MUST YOUR MOTHER AND +TEENY. I HAVE GOOD TIMES, BUT I DONT FORGET THE +ELDER DOLLS AND ALL.</p> + +<p>MY HAND IS GETTING TIRED. GIVE MY LOVE TO YOUR +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[322]</span>MOTHER. I LOVE ALL YOU FOLKES AT THE ROCKY FORK. +TILDY, I AM COMING TO SEE YOU WHEN THEY BRING ME. +I SPOSE POOR MISS EMILY MANDEVILLE IS WITHERD TO +DUST. I WISHT YOUD GOT THE PRIZE.</p> + +<p>I WAITED TILL MY HAND GOT RESTED. MY ROOM IS +PRETTY. IT HAS PICTURES AND A BLUE CARPET. I +WISHED YOU WAS TO MY PARTY. DONT YOU REMEMBER +THE BIG STORM, TILDY, WHEN FATHER FETCHED ME +HOME? DO THE NARROWS LOOK JUST THE SAME? THEY +DONT HAVE SUNDAY SCHOOL BOOKS LIKE WE DID. +THESE HAVE NICE STORIES. FLORENCE KIDDER WAS NOT +A BIT GOOD EXCEPT THE PICTURE. I AM GOING TO PUT +IN MY PICTURE THAT AUNT MELISSA HAD TAKEN. IT IS +ON PAPER. IT IS NOT LIKE MY MOTHERS DAGARTYPE. +THIS KIND IS A NEW KIND. THEY CALL IT PHOTGRAPH. +I HAVE ONE FOR LIZA TOO. AUNT M WILL SEND IT. +ROCCO WOULD NOT HOLD STILL. THEY WILL TAKE HERS +NEXT TIME. MY HAND IS REAL TIRED. GOODBYE.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="indentright">BLUEBELL GARDE.</span><br> + DR. GARDES LITTLE GIRL.</p> + + +<figure class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> + <img src="images/i_p322.jpg" width="450" height="258" alt=""> +</figure> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="transnote"> +<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> + +<p>Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.</p> + +<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> + +<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> +</div></div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76984 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/76984-h/images/cover.jpg b/76984-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4cc74c3 --- /dev/null +++ b/76984-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/76984-h/images/coversmall.jpg b/76984-h/images/coversmall.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e5203d --- /dev/null +++ b/76984-h/images/coversmall.jpg diff --git a/76984-h/images/i_fp110.jpg b/76984-h/images/i_fp110.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a15480c --- /dev/null +++ b/76984-h/images/i_fp110.jpg diff --git a/76984-h/images/i_fp134.jpg b/76984-h/images/i_fp134.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cdd76f4 --- /dev/null +++ b/76984-h/images/i_fp134.jpg diff --git a/76984-h/images/i_fp184.jpg b/76984-h/images/i_fp184.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d85af55 --- /dev/null +++ b/76984-h/images/i_fp184.jpg diff --git a/76984-h/images/i_fp254.jpg b/76984-h/images/i_fp254.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..04bedab --- /dev/null +++ b/76984-h/images/i_fp254.jpg diff --git a/76984-h/images/i_fp46.jpg b/76984-h/images/i_fp46.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6f8c636 --- /dev/null +++ b/76984-h/images/i_fp46.jpg diff --git a/76984-h/images/i_frontis.jpg b/76984-h/images/i_frontis.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef0d73b --- /dev/null +++ b/76984-h/images/i_frontis.jpg diff --git a/76984-h/images/i_p322.jpg b/76984-h/images/i_p322.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d4ef0dd --- /dev/null +++ b/76984-h/images/i_p322.jpg diff --git a/76984-h/images/i_p9.jpg b/76984-h/images/i_p9.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4c78126 --- /dev/null +++ b/76984-h/images/i_p9.jpg diff --git a/76984-h/images/i_title.jpg b/76984-h/images/i_title.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ee8f0f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/76984-h/images/i_title.jpg diff --git a/76984-h/images/i_titlelogo.jpg b/76984-h/images/i_titlelogo.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a42197c --- /dev/null +++ b/76984-h/images/i_titlelogo.jpg |
