CHAPTER VIAFTERNOON TEA
Mary Louise, who possessed a strong sense of humor, that evening atdinner told Gran'pa Jim of her encounter with old Mr. Cragg'sgranddaughter and related their interview in so whimsical a manner thatColonel Hathaway laughed aloud more than once. But he also lookedserious, at times, and when the recital was ended he gravely consideredthe situation and said:
"I believe, my dear, you have discovered a mine of human interest herethat will keep you occupied all summer. It was most fortunate for thepoor child that you interpreted her intent to run away from home andfoiled it so cleverly. From the little girl's report, that grim anddignified grandsire of hers has another and less admirable side to hischaracter and, unless she grossly exaggerates, has a temper so violentthat he may do her a mischief some day."
"I'm afraid of that, too," declared Mary Louise, "especially as thechild is so provoking. Yet I'm sure Ingua has a sweeter side to hernature, if it can be developed, and perhaps old Cragg has, too. Do youthink, Gran'pa Jim, it would be advisable for me to plead with him totreat his orphaned grandchild more considerately?"
"Not at present, my dear. I'll make some inquiries concerning Cragg andwhen we know more about him we can better judge how best to help Ingua.Are you sure that is her name?"
"Yes; isn't it an odd name?"
"Somewhere," said the Colonel, musingly, "I have heard it before, butjust now I cannot recollect where. It seems to me, however, that it wasa man's name. Do you think the child's mother is dead?"
"I gathered from what Ingua and the storekeeper said that she hassimply disappeared."
"An erratic sort of creature, from the vague reports you have heard,"commented Gran'pa Jim. "But, whatever her antecedents may have been,there is no reason why Ingua may not be rescued from her dreadfulenvironments and be made to become a quite proper young lady, if not amodel one. But that can only result from changing the existingcharacter of her environment, rather than taking her out of them."
"That will be a big task, Gran'pa Jim, and it may prove beyond me, butI'll do the best I can."
He smiled.
"These little attempts to help our fellows," said the Colonel, "notonly afford us pleasure but render us stronger and braver in facing ourown tribulations, which none, however securely placed, seem able toevade."
Mary Louise gave him a quick, sympathetic glance. He had surely beenbrave and strong during his own period of tribulation and the girl feltshe could rely on his aid in whatever sensible philanthropy she mightundertake. She was glad, indeed, to have discovered poor Ingua, for shewas too active and of too nervous a temperament to be content simply to"rest" all summer. Rest was good for Gran'pa Jim, just now, but restpure and simple, with no compensating interest, would soon drive MaryLouise frantic.
She conferred with Aunt Polly the next day and told the faithful blackservant something of her plans. So, when the old cook lugged a hugebasket to the pavilion for her in the afternoon, and set a small tablewith snowy linen and bright silver, with an alcohol arrangement formaking tea, she said with an air of mystery:
"Don' yo' go open dat bastik, Ma'y 'Weeze, till de time comes fereatin'. I jes' wants to s'prise yo'--yo' an' dat li'l' pooah girl whatgits hungry so much."
So, when Aunt Polly had gone back to the house, Mary Louise arrangedher table and then stood up and waved a handkerchief to signal that allwas ready.
Soon Ingua appeared in her doorway, hesitated a moment, and then randown the plank and advanced to the river bank instead of following thepath to the bridge. Almost opposite the pavilion Mary Louise noticedthat several stones protruded from the surface of the water. They werenot in a line, but placed irregularly. However, Ingua knew their lieperfectly and was able to step from one to another until she hadquickly passed the water. Then she ran up the dry bed of the river tothe bank, where steps led to the top.
"Why, this is fine!" exclaimed Mary Louise, meeting her little friendat the steps. "I'd no idea one could cross the river in that way."
"Oh, we've known 'bout that always," was the reply. "Ned Joselyn usedto come to our house ever so many times by the river stones, to talkwith Ol' Swallertail, an' Gran'dad used to come over here, to this samesummer-house, an' talk with Joselyn."
Mary Louise noticed that the old gingham dress had been washed, ironedand mended--all in a clumsy manner. Ingua's blond hair had also beentrained in awkward imitation of the way Mary Louise dressed her ownbrown locks. The child, observing her critical gaze, exclaimed with alaugh:
"Yes, I've slicked up some. No one'll see me but you, will they?" sheadded suspiciously.
"No, indeed; we're to be all alone. How do you feel to-day, Ingua?"
"The devils are gone. Gran'dad didn't 'spicion anything las' night an'never said a word. He had one o' his dreamy fits an' writ letters tilllong after I went to bed. This mornin' he said as ol' Sol Jerrems hasraised the price o' flour two cents, so I'll hev to be keerful; butthat was all. No rumpus ner anything."
"That's nice," said Mary Louise, leading her, arm in arm, to thepavilion. "Aren't you glad you didn't run away?"
Ingua did not reply. Her eyes, big and round, were taking in everydetail of the table. Then they wandered to the big basket and MaryLouise smiled and said:
"The table is set, as you see, but I don't know what we're to have toeat. I asked Aunt Polly to put something in the basket, as I was goingto have company, and I'm certain there'll be _enough_ for two, whateverit's like. You see, this is a sort of surprise party, for we won't knowwhat we've got until we unpack the basket."
Ingua nodded, much interested.
"Ye said 'tea,'" she remarked, "an' I hain't tasted tea sence Marm leftus. But I s'pose somethin' goes with tea?"
"Always. Tea means a lunch, you know, and I'm very hungry because Ididn't eat much luncheon at noon. I hope you are hungry, too, Ingua,"she added, opening the basket and beginning to place its contents uponthe table.
Ingua may have considered a reply unnecessary, for she made none. Hereyes were growing bigger every moment, for here were dainty sandwiches,cakes, jelly, a pot of marmalade, an assortment of cold meats, olives,Saratoga chips, and last of all a chicken pie still warm from theoven--one of those chicken pies that Aunt Polly could make as no oneelse ever made them.
Even Mary Louise was surprised at the array of eatables. It was averitable feast. But without comment she made the tea, the water beingalready boiling, and seating Ingua opposite her at the table she servedthe child as liberally as she dared, bearing in mind her sensitivenessto "charity."
But Ingua considered this a "party," where as a guest she was entitledto all the good things, and she ate with a ravenous haste that waspitiful, trying the while not to show how hungry she was or how goodeverything tasted to her.
Mary Louise didn't burden her with conversation during the meal, whichshe prolonged until the child positively could eat no more. Then shedrew their chairs to a place where they had the best view of the riverand woodland--with the old Cragg cottage marring the foreground--andsaid:
"Now we will have a good, long talk together."
Ingua sighed deeply.
"Don't we hev to do the dishes?" she asked.
"No; Aunt Polly will come for them, by and by. All we have to do now isto enjoy your visit, which I hope you will repeat many times while I amliving here."
Again the child sighed contentedly.
"I wish ye was goin' ter stay always," she remarked. "You folks is asight nicer'n that Joselyn tribe. They kep' us stirred up a good dealtill Ned--"
She stopped abruptly.
"What were the Joselyns like?" inquired Mary Louise, in a casual tonethat was meant to mask her curiosity.
"Well, that's hard to say," answered Ingua thoughtfully. "Ol' Mis'Kenton were a good lady, an' ev'rybody liked her; but after she diedAnn Kenton come down here with a new husban', who were Ned Joselyn, an'then things began to happen. Ned was slick as a ban'box an' wouldn'thobnob with nobody, at first; but one day he got acquainted with Ol'Swallertai
l an' they made up somethin' wonderful. I guess other folksdidn't know 'bout their bein' so close, fer they was sly 'bout it,gen'rally. They'd meet in this summer-house, or they'd meet at ourhouse, crossin' the river on the steppin'-stones; but when Ned cameover to us Gran'dad allus sent me away an' said he'd skin me if Ilistened. But one day--No, I mus'n't tell that," she said, checkingherself quickly, as a hard look came over her face.
"Why not?" softly asked Mary Louise.
"'Cause if I do I'll git killed, that's why," answered the child, in atone of conviction.
Something in her manner startled her hearer.
"Who would kill you, Ingua?" she asked.
"Gran'dad would."
"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't do that, whatever you said."
"Ye don't know Gran'dad, Mary Louise. He'd as lief kill me as look atme, if I give him cause to."
"And he has asked you not to talk about Mr. Joselyn?"
"He tol' me ter keep my mouth shet or he'd murder me an' stick my bodyin a hole in the yard. An' he'd do it in a minute, ye kin bank onthat."
"Then," said Mary Louise, looking troubled, "I advise you not to sayanything he has forbidden you to. And, if anything ever happens to youwhile I'm here, I shall tell Gran'pa Jim to have Mr. Cragg arrested andput in prison."
"Will ye? Will ye--honest?" asked the girl eagerly. "Say! that'll helpa lot. If I'm killed, I'll know I'll be revenged."
So tragic was her manner that Mary Louise could have laughed outrighthad she not felt there was a really serious foundation for Ingua'sfears. There was something about the silent, cold-featured, mysteriousold man that led her to believe he might be guilty of any crime. But,after all, she reflected, she knew Mr. Cragg's character only fromIngua's description of it, and the child feared and hated him.
"What does your grandfather do in his office all day?" she inquiredafter a long pause.
"Writes letters an' reads the ones he gits, I guess. He don't let me goto his office."
"Does he get many letters, then?"
"Heaps an' heaps of 'em. You ask Jim Bennett, who brings the mail bagover from the station ev'ry day."
"Is Jim Bennett the postman?"
"His wife is. Jim lugs the mail 'tween the station an' his own house--that's the little white house next the church--where his wife, who'sdeef-'n'-dumb, runs the postoffice. I know Jim. He says there's 'boutsix letters a year for the farmers 'round here, an' 'bout one a weekfor Sol Jerrems--which is mostly bills--an' all the rest belongs to Ol'Swallertail."
Mary Louise was puzzled.
"Has he a business, then?" she asked.
"Not as anybody knows of."
"But why does he receive and answer so many letters?"
"Ye'll hev to guess. I've guessed, myself; but what's the use? If hewas as stingy of postage stamps as he is of pork an' oatmeal, hewouldn't send a letter a year."
Mary Louise scented a mystery. Mysteries are delightful things todiscover, and fascinating to solve. But who would have thought thisquiet, retired village harbored a mystery?
"Does your grandfather ever go away from here? Does he travel much?"was her next question.
"He ain't never been out of Cragg's Crossing sence I've knowed him."
"Really," said Mary Louise, "it is perplexing."
Ingua nodded. She was feeling quite happy after her lunch and alreadycounted Mary Louise a warm friend. She had never had a friend before,yet here was a girl of nearly her own age who was interested in her andher history and sweetly sympathetic concerning her woes and worries. Tosuch a friend Ingua might confide anything, almost; and, while she wasnot fully aware of that fact just now, she said impulsively:
"Without tellin' what'd cost me my life, or lettin' anybody know what'sbecome of Ned Joselyn, I'll say they was money--lots o' money!--passedatween him an' ol' Swallertail. Sometimes the heap went to one, an'sometimes to the other; I seen it with my own eyes, when Gran'daddidn't know I was spyin'. But it didn't stick to either one, for Nedwas--" She stopped short, then continued more slowly: "When Neddis'peared, he'd spent all his own an' his wife's money, an' Ol'Swallertail ain't got enough t' live decent."
"Are you sure of that, Ingua?"
"N-o, I ain't sure o' noth'n. But he don't spend no money, does he?"
"For stamps," Mary Louise reminded her.
Then the child grew silent and thoughtful again. Mary Louise, watchingthe changing expressions on her face, was convinced she knew more ofthe mystery than she dared confide to her new friend. There was no usetrying to force her confidence, however; in her childish way she wasboth shrewd and stubborn and any such attempt would be doomed tofailure. But after quite a period of silence Mary Louise asked gently:
"Did you like Mr. Joselyn, Ingua?"
"Sometimes. Only when--" Another self-interruption. She seemed often onthe point of saying something her better judgment warned her not to."Sometimes Ned were mighty good to me. Sometimes he brought me candy,when things was goin' good with him. Once, Mary Louise, he kissed me,an' never wiped off his mouth afterwards! Y-e-s, I liked Ned, 'ceptin'when--" Another break. "I thought Ned was a pretty decent gink."
"Where did you learn all your slang, dear?"
"What's slang?"
"Calling a man a 'gink,' and words like that.""Oh. Marm was full o' them words," she replied with an air of pride."They seem to suit things better than common words; don't you think so,Mary Louise?"
"Sometimes," with an indulgent smile. "But ladies do not use them,Ingua, because they soil the purity of our language."
"Well," said the girl, "it'll be a long time, yit, afore I'm a lady, soI guess I'll talk like Marm did. Marm weren't a _real_ lady, to mymind, though she claimed she'd show anybody that said she wasn't. Realladies don't leave the'r kids in the clutches of Ol' Swallertails."
Mary Louise did not think it wise to criticize the unknown Mrs. Scammelor to allow the woman's small daughter to do so. So she changed thesubject to more pleasant and interesting topics and the afternoon worespeedily away.
Finally Ingua jumped up and said:
"I gotta go. If Gran'dad don't find supper ready there'll be anotherrumpus, an' I've been so happy to-day that I want to keep thingspleasant-like."
"Won't you take the rest of these cakes with you?" urged Mary Louise.
"Nope. I'll eat one more, on my way home, but I ain't one o' themtramps that wants food pushed at 'em in a bundle. We ain't got muchto home, but what we got's ours."
A queer sort of mistaken pride, Mary Louise reflected, as she watchedthe girl spring lightly over the stepping-stones and run up theopposite bank. Evidently Ingua considered old Mr. Cragg her naturalguardian and would accept nothing from others that he failed to provideher with. Yet, to judge from her speech, she detested her grandfatherand regarded him with unspeakable aversion.