Mary Ware in Texas

  CHAPTER IX

  AT THE BARNABY RANCH

  "MARY WARE in TEXAS"

  "Three alert and expectant little figures sat in a row on the steps--"]

  THREE alert and expectant little figures sat in a row on the steps ofthe gray cottage, and watched for Mary's coming the next afternoon.Brud, sawing his hatchet blade up and down on the edge of the step belowhim, made deep notches in the paint while he waited. Little Sister,fuming with impatience, sat with one arm around the young hunting dogwhich squatted beside her, and made dire threats as to her conduct, incase the new teacher should refuse to let him go with them.

  He was a brown English pointer, with a white vest, and the silver plateon his collar bore the name by which he was registered among thearistocracy of dogs. The name was "Uncle August." Strangers alwayslaughed when they read that on his collar, but as Brud usually began toexplain about that time that he was a "peggydreed" dog, his sisterthought that they were laughing at the way he pronounced pedigreed.Therefore, she would gravely correct him and add the information thatone of his great gram'pas was the King of Kent and another was Rip-rap;that he was the finest bird-dog in the United States,--her pappy saidso,--and that he had been to a dog college and learned all that therewas for a dog _to_ know.

  The moment Mary appeared, the usual formula was gone through with beforethey gave her a chance for more than a bare word of greeting, and shenever knew how much her reception of Uncle August counted in her favorwith the two watching children.

  Like everybody else, she laughed when she heard his name, and put outher hand to shake the brown paw which he gravely offered. But when hecontinued to hold it out to her, and plainly showed by every way in adog's power that he liked her and wanted to emphasize his friendliness,she took his silky ears in her hands, and looking down into his wistfuleyes, praised and petted him till he wriggled all over for joy.

  Brud immediately gave her his full approval, but Little Sister, whileimpressed favorably, was not in a mood to approve anything fully.According to Meliss, "she'd done got out of bed crosswise of herselfthat mawnin'" and had continued so ever since. There was a pout on herlips when her mother called her in to kiss her good-bye, and there wasa defiant light in her eyes as she listened to the farewell instructionsdelivered to Mary through the window. She lagged behind when the othersstarted briskly off, and halfway down the hill began to drag and scrapeher feet annoyingly through the gravel. Although she hadn't the faintestintention of turning back, she stood still when they reached thefoot-bridge, and announced with a whine:

  "I'm going home! I aren't a having a happy time like mommey said Iwould!"

  Mary, who was a few steps ahead, never stopped, even to glance back overher shoulder, and Sister was obliged to follow in order to hear what shewas saying.

  "You can hardly expect to enjoy a thing before it _begins_," explainedMary, politely, in that grown-up tone that was such a novelty to Sisterwhen employed towards herself. "You've never seen the place where Mr.Metz has given us permission to build. It's where a branch of the creekcurves up through his place. It's dry now, but it is full of big, flatrocks where we can build the fire when we get to that part of theschool. Maybe we'll be ready for one as soon as next week."

  There was no response save a stifled sniffle and the patter of smallfeet which had to move briskly in order to keep up with the procession.But Brud's questions opened the way for further information which wasnot lost on the reluctant follower.

  "There's a little spring that comes bubbling out below, so that we won'thave to go far to fill our kettle. He said we might trim off some of thesmallest shoots of his willows, and he marked the trees we could chop.That's where you will find use for your hatchet. Willow switches woventogether make a fine covering for a wigwam or a Robinson Crusoe shack. Ilearned how to weave them the way the Indians do when I first went toArizona."

  It was the novelty of being talked to in that dignified, grown-up waythat drew Sister slowly but surely along after the others. As theyfollowed the creek, Uncle August, dashing on ahead, scared a rabbit outof the underbrush. He was too well trained to give chase to it, so thefrightened little cotton-tail loped away unhurt. It served its missionin life, however, as far as Mary was concerned, for it reminded her of astory which she proceeded to tell as they walked along. Sister listened,suspiciously, expecting a personal application at the end, about asulky little girl who never wanted to do anything that other people did.That was the kind Meliss always told. So did mommey, in vivacious,kindergarten style, when they had been especially naughty. Sister hatedstories, since those with a moral attached were the only kind she hadever known.

  When this tale turned out to be one of Br'er Rabbit's funny adventuresin outwitting Mr. Fox, and ended with a laugh instead of a personalapplication, she was bewildered for a moment. Then she remembered thatthis was a surprise school, and determined not to miss anything thatseemed to start out with such promise for further entertainment, shestopped dragging her feet and took up a more cheerful pace along thecreek bank, in the trail of Brud and Uncle August.

  It would have been a determined soul indeed who could have stayed morosevery long, out-of-doors in the perfect weather that had followed theNorther. It was like late October in Kentucky--sunny, yet with acrystal-like coolness that made exercise a delight.

  It had been such a short time since Mary had stepped out of her own playdays that she found herself stepping into the children's with an_abandon_ which almost equalled theirs. There was no pretense about herenjoyment at first. With a pleasure almost as deep and unalloyed as whenshe and Hazel Lee built wigwams on the edge of the Arizona desert, shewent about the building of a shack on the side of this Texas creek bank.

  The energy with which she brought things to pass was contagious. Brudand Little Sister worked like beavers to keep up with this rare, newplayfellow, who had something better than a Midas touch,--somethingwhich not only put a golden glamour over everything she said and did,but turned their little world of mimic sports into a real world oftremendous meaning and importance. For the first time in his life Brudfound himself where there were things lawful for his hatchet to cut. Forthe first time Sister was kept so busy doing delightful things thatthere was no necessity for anyone to say "don't."

  Before the week was over Mary had opened so many windows for them intothe Land of Make-believe that they began to look upon her resources forentertainment as boundless. The more she gave, the more they demanded.They never wanted to go home and would have hung on to her until darkevery evening, had it not been for the alarm-clock which she broughtwith her each day. She had no watch and was afraid to accept Jack'soffer of his, lest she should lose it in the woods. It was a little,round clock, with a bell on top, the dollar and a half kind sold incountry groceries and cross-roads stores.

  She always wound the alarm just before she hung the clock on a bush,muttering over it a mysterious charm that the children listened to withskeptical grins, yet with furtive side-glances at each other. To hersurprise they accepted the whirr and bang of the alarm-bell at fiveo'clock as the voice of Fate, which must be promptly obeyed. She oftenwondered why they did. To Mary the muttering of the abracadabra charmwas only a part of the game, one of the many little embellishments whichmade her plays more picturesque than ordinary people's, and she had nothought of the children attaching any superstitious import to it. Shedid not take into account their long association with Meliss, who waswise on the subject of hoodoos. But the fact remained that heralarm-clock was the only timepiece within their reach which they nevertampered with, and the only one whose summons they ever obeyed.

  It was probably because she had set such a hard pace for herself thatfirst week that she found it so difficult to go on afterward. A surpriseschool was a greater tax on her inventive genius than she hadanticipated. She had promised them a different plum in their pie eachday, and she lay awake at night to plan games that were instructive aswell as interesting, for she was conscientiously carrying out heragreement to teach them as w
ell as to amuse them. By the end of thesecond week the strain was almost unendurable.

  One evening she went home to find the Barnaby carriage and the graymules standing at the gate. Mrs. Barnaby had brought in some venison forthem, and waited to see Mary before taking her leave.

  "I'm waiting to hear about those little savages of yours," she said, asMary greeted her and sank limply down into a chair. "Why, you look alltuckered out. They must be even worse than people say."

  "No, they're not!" protested Mary, warmly. "I'm really proud of the wayI succeeded. The only thing is, I have to keep them busy and interestedevery moment, and they're so hungry for stories they never get enough.The poor little souls have never heard any before, and it is reallypathetic the way they listen. They'll sit as still as graven images, sointerested they scarcely breathe, till the last word is out. Thenthey'll begin, 'Oh, tell us another, Miss Mayry! Just _one_ more!Please, Miss Mayry!' They cling to me like burrs. We nearly always havea small campfire every day now, for either we're Indians or gypsies,cooking our meals, or we're witches brewing spells, or elves gatheringmagic fires for our midnight revels. They play so hard that the lasthour they always want to sit down by the embers and listen to stories.But they've nearly drained me dry now. Sometimes I come home so limp andexhausted I can scarcely move my tongue. I'm glad that to-morrow isSunday, for I've surely earned one day of rest."

  "Come out and spend it at the ranch," urged Mrs. Barnaby, hospitably."It happens that there is no service to-morrow at St. Boniface, butJames will be coming in for the mail, and will be glad to bring you outin time for dinner."

  Mary had spent two afternoons at the Barnaby ranch, driving out withMrs. Rochester, and she enjoyed them so much that she welcomed thethought of a return to the homelike old place, with its air of thriftand comfort. Jack had been better the last few days, so she eagerlyaccepted the invitation.

  Next morning Mr. Barnaby drove in for her himself with the gray mulesand the roomy old carriage. Mary, comfortably stowed away on the backseat, because it had the best springs, leaned forward to hold the reinswhile he went into the post-office. She had risen early and hurriedthrough as much of the work as she could in order that her holiday mightnot mean extra work for her mother. Now with an easy conscience shesettled herself to enjoy a care-free day, and looked forward with keenenjoyment to the seven miles' drive along the smooth country road.

  She had been sitting in a pleasant reverie some four or five minutes,when a familiar little voice close by the wheel piped out:

  "Why, there's Miss Mayry! _Where_ are you going?"

  Before she could reply, Brud and Sister and Uncle August came swarminginto the carriage, stepping on her toes, climbing up on the seat, andshowing such joy over having discovered her that it was impossible notto give them a gracious reception, even though she groaned inwardly atthe sight of them. Their prompt demand for a story the moment they wereseated was followed by the appearance of Mr. Barnaby.

  "I can't tell you any stories to-day," Mary explained, pleasantly,"because I am going visiting. But I'll tell you a lovely one to-morrow,about Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. You'll have to hop out now. Mr.Barnaby is ready to start."

  "I aren't going to hop out!" declared Sister, winding her arms aroundMary's neck in a choking clasp. Brud immediately threw his arms aroundUncle August and held him tight, regardless of the fact that Mr. Barnabywas whistling to the dog and motioning him to jump out.

  "We are a-going with you," Brud announced.

  "But you are not invited," Mary answered, in a provoked tone. "Yousurely don't care to go where you're neither asked nor wanted!"

  "Come on, Bub. I'm in a hurry," said Mr. Barnaby, kindly. He took holdof the child's arms to lift him out, but Brud, seizing the back of theseat with both hands, stiffened himself and began to cry, shrieking outbetween sobs, "I want to go with Miss Mayry! _Please_ don't put me out!Aw, Miss Mayry! _Don't_ let him put me out!"

  Immediately Sister added her tearful wails to his. Meliss, saunteringdown the street in search of the children, heard the familiar cries, andquickened her pace to a run. A crowd was gathering around the carriage.She came up in time to hear Mr. Barnaby say, good-naturedly, "Oh, well,if they're going to break their little hearts over it, let 'em comealong. _I_ don't mind!"

  "But their mother will think that something has happened to them,"protested Mary. "She'll be frantic."

  Meliss pushed her way through the crowd to the carriage. "No'm, shewon't, Miss Ma'y. She won't worry none. Her haid aches fit to bus' thismawnin'. I'll tell her _you's_ takin' keer of 'em, and she'll be onlytoo thankful to you-all for a free day."

  "It's Meliss who will be thankful for a free day," thought Mary, stillhesitating. She rebelled at the thought of her own day being spoiled,and realized that for discipline's sake the children ought not to beallowed to carry their point. Mr. Barnaby settled the question bystepping into the carriage and gathering up the reins.

  "Tell their mother I'll bring them back before night," he said toMeliss.

  The sobs and tears stopped as suddenly as they had begun. Presently Mr.Barnaby glanced back over his shoulder, saying:

  "This load doesn't seem equally divided. Here, one of you kids climbover into the front seat with me." At the invitation both children threwthemselves violently on Mary and clung to her, beginning to sniffleagain. He looked back at her with the humorous one-sided smile that shealways found irresistibly droll.

  "First time I ever came across that particular brand of youngsters.Strikes me the old Nick has put his ear marks on 'em pretty plain.You're crowded back there, aren't you, with that dog sitting on yourfeet? Here, sir! Come over here with me!"

  With one bound Uncle August sprang over on the front seat, and sat upbeside his host, looking so dignified and so humanly interested ineverything they passed that Mr. Barnaby laughed. He laid a caressinghand on him, saying, "So you're the dog that's been to college. Well, ithas made a gentleman of you, sir! I admire your manners. It's a pity youcan't pass them around the family."

  Charmed by the novelty of the drive, the children cuddled up againstMary, and were so quiet all the way to the ranch that she feltremorseful when she remembered how near she had come to depriving themof the pleasure.

  Mrs. Barnaby threw up her hands in surprise when she saw the threeself-invited guests who calmly followed Mary out of the carriage, butwhen the situation had been explained in a laughing aside, she said inher whole-souled, motherly way, "Now, my dear, don't you worry one mite!We are used to children, and we'll find some way to keep them fromspoiling your day."

  Her first step in that direction was to take them out to the kitchen andfill their hands with cookies, and send them outdoors to eat them. Shealso gave them instructions to stay out and play. A low swing and aseesaw between the kitchen and the garden gate showed where hergrand-children amused themselves hours at a time on their annual visits.When she went back into the living-room Mary had seated herself in arocking-chair with a sigh of content.

  "What a dear old room this is," she said, looking up with a smile. "Itmakes me think of Grandmother Ware's. I love its low ceiling and little,deep-set windows and wide fireplace. I could sit here all day and donothing but listen to the clock tick and the fire crackle, and rest."

  "Well, you do just that," insisted Mrs. Barnaby, hospitably. "I have tobe out in the kitchen for a while. I've got pretty fair help, but sheneeds a good deal of oversight, so you sit here and enjoy the quietwhile you can."

  The early rising and the drive had made Mary drowsy, and as soon as shewas left alone the deep stillness of the country Sabbath that filled theroom seemed to fold about her like a mantle of restfulness. She closedher eyes, making believe that she really was back at her GrandmotherWare's; that the sunshine streaming in at the open door was the sunshineof a Northern June instead of a Texas January; and that the odor oflemon verbena which reached her now and then came from an outside gardeninstead of the potted plant on the deep window-sill at her elbow. Theold place was so associat
ed in Mary's memory with a feeling ofperpetual, unbroken calm, that she had never lost one of her earliestimpressions that it was the place of "green pastures and still waters"mentioned in the Psalms.

  "Jack always said that I'll have my innings when I'm a grandmother," shesaid, drowsily, to herself. "I wonder if I'll ever get to a place whereI can always be as serene of spirit as she was, no matter what happens.I wonder if she ever had anything as upsetting as Brud and Sister to tryher nerves in her young days."

  As if in answer to her mere thought of them, the two children cameracing around the house. They fairly fell into the room, and, throwingthemselves across her lap, demanded that she come out at once and seethe peacocks. Had they said any other kind of fowl she would haveresented the intrusion more than she did, but peacocks recalled WarwickHall so pleasantly that she got up at once and went with them. She hadseen none since leaving school. These had not been near the house on herformer visits to the ranch. The stately birds strutted up and down inthe sunshine, their tails spread in dazzling gorgeousness.

  "They're Sammy's," called Mrs. Barnaby from the kitchen door. "He takesthe greatest pride in them. That cock took a prize at the last SanAntonio fair."

  Mary had met "Sammy" the last time she was at the ranch, and had heardof him ever since her first conversation with Mrs. Barnaby. He was anelderly cousin of her husband's who had made his home with them foryears. A few minutes later she came upon the old man in the barnyard.The children, having once obtained possession of her, had dragged herdown there to see a colt that they had discovered.

  Sammy was sitting on the fence in his Sunday clothes, busy with hisusual Sunday occupation of whittling. His bushy gray beard made him lookolder than Mr. Barnaby, and the keen glance he gave the children fromunder his shaggy eyebrows made them sidle away from him. They, too, hadmet him before, under circumstances which they did not take pleasure inrecalling. Only a few moments before he had caught them chasing theducks until they were dizzy, and stopped them with a sternness that madethem wary of him. They had had an encounter with him one day in townalso, soon after their arrival in Bauer. They had climbed into thewagon, which he left hitched in front of the grocery, and had pokedholes into every package he had piled on the seat, in order to discoverwhat they held. When he came out little streams of rice and sugar andmeal were dribbling out all over the wagon. When he started after themwith a threatening crack of his whip they escaped by darting into thefront door of the butcher shop and out of the back, but they always feltthat it was one of the narrowest escapes they ever made, and that a dayof reckoning would come if he ever got close enough to them to reachthem with his whip.

  It was a trifling disconcerting to come across him suddenly on thispeaceful ranch, and they pulled Mary away as soon as they could. She wasenjoying the conversation they had drifted into, starting with the colt.He spoke with a strong New England twang, and his quaint sayings andhomely comparisons suggested the types and times portrayed in theBigelow Papers.

  Despite her determination not to have her day taken up by the children,Mary found herself devoting the entire morning to their entertainment.Country sights and sounds were so new and strange to them that it seemedselfish not to answer their eager questions, and when their wanderingsaround the place led them to a deserted cabin where the Indians had oncekilled two Mexican shepherds, she repeated the thrilling story as shehad heard it from Mrs. Barnaby, with all its hair-raising details. Whenthey went in to dinner she had been answering questions and entertainingher pupils for two hours, as diligently as on any week-day.

  It was an old-fashioned "turkey dinner" to which they were summoned, andthe variety and deliciousness of the dishes may have had much to dowith the children's conduct. They were so quiet and well behaved thatMary watched them in surprise. Beyond yes and no and politely expressedthanks, Brud spoke not at all, and Sister only once. That was to say,when Mrs. Barnaby addressed her as Sister, "Call me Nancy. I'm tryingthat name now."

  Seeing the look of surprise that circled around the table, Maryexplained, feeling that Sister, as usual, was enjoying the limelightthat this peculiar custom of hers called her into.

  "Hump!" exclaimed old Sammy. "Something of a chameleon, eh? If shechanges her nature to suit her name it must keep her family busy gettingacquainted with her."

  "I think it does have some slight influence," answered Mary. "Then she'dbetter drop the name of Nancy," said old Sammy, with a solemn wag of thehead. "In an old blue poetry book that I used to read back in Vermont,it said,

  "'Little Nancy would never her mother obey, But always did choose to have her own way.'

  "She came to a frightful end, jumping up and down in her chair.

  "'In vain did her mother command her to stop. Nan only laughed louder and higher did hop,'

  till she fell over and cracked her head. The only Nancys I have everknown have all been self-willed like that."

  Garrulous Cousin Sammy was only indulging in reminiscence. He had notintended to tease the child, but she resented his remarks, and thrustingout her tongue at him, screwed up her face into the ugliest grimacepossible for her to make. Fortunately the arrival of a huge pumpkin pieturned his eyes away from her just then, for Sammy Bradford, oldbachelor though he was, had strict New England notions about the rearingof children, which he sometimes burned to put into practice for the goodof the general public.

  After dinner Mr. Barnaby retired to his room for his usual Sunday nap.Cousin Sammy took his pipe to the sunny bench outside the open door, andMrs. Barnaby provided for the children's entertainment by bringing out abox of toys that had been left behind at different times by variousgrand-children. She arranged them on a side table in the dining-room,with some colored pencils, paper and scissors.

  Brud and "Nancy," ever ready to investigate anything new, seatedthemselves at her bidding, and began to paw over the games and pictureswith apparent interest. Thereupon Mrs. Barnaby and Mary went into thenext room, and drawing two big easy chairs into the chimney corner, theysettled themselves for a long, cosy _tete-a-tete_. It was the firstopportunity Mary had had to explain to Mrs. Barnaby that she hadundertaken to teach the children in order to prevent her mother fromsewing for other people.

  They had had about ten minutes of uninterrupted quiet, when the dooropened and "Nancy" walked in with her hat and coat on. Her lips weredrawn into a dissatisfied pout, and she threw herself across Mary's lap,whining, "I don't like those old things in there! Tell us about theForty Thieves _now_!"

  "No, Nancy," said Mary, firmly, hoping to appease her by remembering touse the new name. "I told you before you came out here that I'd not tellyou a single story to-day."

  "But you already have," cried Brud, triumphantly, appearing in thedoorway also in coat and hat. "You told us about the Indians killing theshepherds."

  "Oh, but that was just a true happening that I told to explain about thecabin we were looking at," was the patient answer. "That was differentfrom sitting down on purpose to tell you a story, and I shall _not_ dothat to-day."

  "Then come and play with us," demanded Sister, seizing her by the hands,after one keen glance at her to see if she really was in earnest. "Comeon, Brud, and help me pull. We'll _make_ her come!"

  "Sh!" warned Mary, attempting to free herself, as they began shoutingand tugging at her. "I came out here to visit Mrs. Barnaby, and I'll notplay with you till to-morrow. If you don't want to make pictures or cutpaper or work the puzzle games you'll have to go outdoors and amuseyourselves. But you must not make such a noise. Mr. Barnaby is asleep."

  "Then if you don't want us to wake him up you've _got_ to play with usto keep us still!" cried Brud. "Hasn't she, Sister?"

  "Call me Nancy when I tell you!" screamed Sister, in an exasperatedtone, stamping her foot. Then, fired by Brud's suggestion, she droppedMary's hands and darted across the room to the piano, which was standingopen in the corner. It was an old-fashioned one, its rosewood caseinlaid above the keyboard with mother-of-pearl. The yellow keys were outof tune
, but they had never been touched save by careful fingers, forit was one of Mrs. Barnaby's cherished treasures. Now she rose as if shehad been struck herself, as both children began pounding upon itruthlessly with their fists, making a hideous, discordant din.

  "Stop, children! Stop, I say!" she demanded. But her commands fell onunheeding ears, and they pounded away until she laid vigorous hands onthem and forcibly dragged them away from the piano. Instantly theystruggled out of her grasp, and rushing back, pounded the keys harderthan before. Mary, who had never seen them act like this, was distressedbeyond measure that she had been the cause, even though the unwillingone, of such an invasion. She started to the rescue, thinking savagelythat they would have to be gagged and tied, hand and foot, and that shewould take pleasure in helping do it.

  Old Sammy reached them first, however, his Puritanical soul resentingboth the disobedience and the Sabbath-breaking uproar. With one swoop hecaught up a child under each arm, and carried them kicking andstruggling out-of-doors.

  "Here ye'll stay the rest of the afternoon!" he announced, in a gruffvoice, as he put them down. "There's all out-of-doors to play in, and ifyou so much as step over the door-sill into that room until I give yeleave, I'll _withe_ ye!"

  It was a mysterious threat, since neither child had ever heard the word_withe_ before, and he said it in a deep, awful voice that made Brudthink creepily of the Fee-fi-fo-fum giant in his picture-book at home,who went about smelling blood and saying, "_Dead or alive, I will havesome!_"

  For a moment they stood in awed silence, gaping at the only person whohad ever intimidated them; then Sister, in a blind rage, seized his claypipe that he had put down on the bench, and threw it with all her forceon the stone floor of the porch.

  "You let me alone!" she shrieked, as she darted away from him."You--you--you old _Billygoat_, you!" It was the sight of his gray beardthat finally suggested to her choking wrath a name ugly enough to hurlat him. Then she took to her heels down the grassy lane, Brud followingas fast as possible.

  "There's nothing for me to do but follow them," said Mary, starting intothe bedroom for her hat and coat, which had been laid away in there."I'd feel so responsible if they should get hurt, and there are so manythings on a big place like this that they are not used to."

  "Now, don't you worry," interrupted old Sammy. "I'll keep _my_ eye onthem."

  He was quite red in the face with vexation over the loss of his pipe,which lay in several pieces on the floor, and Mrs. Barnaby, knowing himwell, prevailed on Mary to come back to her easy-chair.

  "You leave them to him," she insisted, in a laughing aside. "He's so madthat he'll watch them like a hawk, just for the pleasure of pouncingdown on them again if they cut up any more didoes; but his bark is worsethan his bite, and they'll be perfectly safe with him."

  So Mary allowed herself to be drawn back to their interruptedconversation, but she could not rid herself of an uneasy feeling thatkept obtruding itself into her thoughts, even when she was mostinterested.

  If Brud and Sister had deliberately planned a revenge on the old man whohad forced them into exile and temporary obedience, they could not havechosen anything which would have hurt him worse than their next prank.Their wild chase down the lane had been brought to a sudden stop by thesight of the lordly peacock, strutting back and forth in the barn-yard,his beautiful tail spread wide in the sun. They climbed up on the gateto watch it, and, hanging over the top bar, admired it in almostbreathless ecstasy for several minutes. The iridescent shimmer of thegorgeous eyes in its tail started a dispute.

  "That's why you can't ever catch a peacock," Brud asserted, "'cause withall those eyes in its tail it can see you coming up behind it."

  "Aw, goosey," contradicted Nancy, "it sees with its two little _head_eyes. Those feather eyes in its tail can't see."

  "They can!"

  "They can't!"

  The two words were bandied back and forth, the dispute promising to goon indefinitely, till Brud's triumphant, "Ten million times _can_," wasanswered by Nancy's final, "Million billion times _can't_! So there."

  "We'll prove it," was Brud's next taunt. "Try and see if you can catchhim."

  "All right," was the willing assent. "And if the feathers come out ofhis tail as easy as they did out of Mis' Williams' red rooster, won'tthat old man be mad!"

  In the meantime Sammy had gone into the house to hunt among hispossessions for a certain corncob pipe, to take the place of the clayone just broken. The mantel-shelf in his room was as crowded as thecorner of an old junk shop, so it took some time for him to find what hewas searching for. He had taken it down and was slowly filling it, whenthe sound of a wild commotion in the barn-yard made him hurry to thedoor. Turkeys, guineas, ducks, hens,--everything that could gobble orflutter or squawk, were doing their utmost to attract someone'sattention. And the cause of it all, or, rather, the two causes, werestanding by the watering-trough, comparing the spoils of the chase. Theyhad crept up behind the peacock, despite his thousand eyes, and caughthim by the tail. Each proudly clutched a handful of long, trailingfeathers, and the bird, miserably conscious that his glory had been tornfrom him, had taken refuge under the corn-crib.

  "You outrageous little Hittites!" roared old Sammy, coming upon themsuddenly and seeing the feathers. Then a real chase began.

  A little while later, Mary paused in the middle of a sentence to say,"Listen! Didn't that sound like the children crying or calling?"

  Mrs. Barnaby, who was slightly deaf, shook her head. "No, I think not.Anyhow, Sammy is looking after them. He won't let them come to any realharm. What was it we were talking about? Oh, yes! Those heirloomcandlesticks."

  More than an hour afterward a shadow darkened the doorway for an instantas Sammy strode past it on his way across the porch.

  "Mr. Bradford," called Mary. "Do you know where the children are?"

  At her call he turned back to the door, holding out a great handful ofpeacock feathers which he was taking sorrowfully to his room.

  "Those pesky little varmints!" he exclaimed, still wrathful, "They'veteetotally ruined that cock's looks. Yes, I know where they are. I'vehad them shut up in the corn-crib till a minute ago."

  "Shut up in the corn-crib!" echoed Mary and Mrs. Barnaby in the samebreath.

  "Yes, as I told 'em, they haven't any more idea of other people's rightsthan weasels, and it's high time they are being taught."

  "Well, do you think they've learned their lesson in one dose, Sammy?"asked Mr. Barnaby, dryly, coming out from his room in time to hear hiscousin's speech.

  "That remains to be seen," spluttered Sammy, as he strode on to hisroom. "They were sniffling and snubbing considerable when I let themout. I don't think they'll chase _my_ peacock any more."

  The "sniffling and snubbing" changed into out-and-out crying as soon asthey reached Mary's side, and that was followed by heart-broken wailsand demands to be taken home. Nothing comforted them. Nothing could turnthem aside from their belief that they had been abused and must be takenback immediately to mommey.

  After nearly half an hour spent in vain attempts to silence them, Mrs.Barnaby said in sheer desperation, "Well, James, you'll just have tohitch up and take them back, even if it is so early. I hate to haveMary's visit cut short, but they'd spoil it worse if they stayed. If Ionly felt free to give them a good sound spanking now--"

  She did not finish the sentence, but looked over her spectacles sosternly that the children backed away, lest a feeling of liberty mightsuddenly descend upon her.

  As Mary pinned on her hat before the mirror in the bedroom, she turnedto her hostess with a hunted look in her eyes.

  "Do you ever get desperate over things?" she asked. "That's the way I amnow. I'm so tired of those children that the very sound of their voicessets my teeth on edge. If I only could have had this one whole day awayfrom them I might have been able to go on with them to-morrow, but nowit seems as if I can't! I just _can't_!"

  "I don't wonder, you poor child," was the sympathetic answer.


  "The worst of it is, I'm utterly discouraged," confessed Mary, almosttearfully. "I've been pluming myself on the fact that my two weeks' workhad amounted to something; that I'd really made an impression, and giventhem all sorts of good ideas. But you see it isn't worth a row of pins.They are good only so long as I'm exercising like an acrobat, mind andbody, to keep them entertained. The minute I stop they don't pay theslightest attention to my wishes."

  "Maybe you've done too much for them," said Mrs. Barnaby, shrewdlyguessing the root of the trouble. "You told them it was a surpriseschool. Let the next surprise be a different sort. Turn them loose andmake them hunt their own entertainment."

  "As they did to-day," Mary answered, with a shrug. "They'd run homehowling and their mother would think I was incapable and give my placeto someone else. No, we must have the money, so I'll have to go on andput in my best licks, no matter how I detest it."

  When she drew on her gloves she was so near to tears that the littlebloodstone ring on her hand looked so dim she could scarcely see it. Butit made her glance up with a smile into the benevolent old face aboveher, and she stripped back the glove from her finger with a dramaticgesture.

  "See?" she said, brightly, exhibiting the ring. "By the bloodstone on myfinger, I'll keep my oath until the going down of one more sun."

  "You're a brave little girl. That's what you are!" said Mrs. Barnaby,stooping to kiss her good-bye. Only that week she had read _The Jester'sSword_, from which Mary was quoting, and she knew what grimdetermination lay beneath the light tone.

  "I guess it will help you the same way it did the poor Jester, toremember that it's only one day at a time you're called on to endure.And another thing," she added, trying to put as many consoling thoughtsinto their parting as possible, "If you _do_ succeed in teaching themanything that'll help to snatch them as brands from the burning, it willcount for a star in your crown just as much as if you'd gone out andconverted the heathen on 'India's coral strand.'"

  "It's not stars in my crown I'm working for," laughed Mary. "It's forpence in my purse." Nevertheless the suggestion stayed with her all theway home. When conversation flagged, she filled the silences withpleasant snatches of day-dreams, in which she saw herself becoming tothese benighted little creatures, asleep on either side of her, theinspiration that Madam Chartley was to everyone who crossed thethreshold of Warwick Hall.

  "I've just _got_ to do something to make them see themselves as theylook to other people," she thought, desperately. "But the question is,_what_?"

  A hard problem indeed for one who, in many ways, was still only a childherself.