Meg of Mystery Mountain

  CHAPTER XX. MEG AS SCHOOL-MISTRESS

  Upon arriving in Redfords, Meg Heger had at once given the letter whichhad been marked "Important! Rush!" to the innkeeper, who was about tostart for the station to meet the eastbound train. He promised the girlto attend to putting the letter on the train himself, and thus assuredthat she had served her neighbors to the best of her ability, Meg wentacross the road to the school, only to find that her good friend, TeacherBellows, was not to be there that day as he had been sent for by a dyingmountaineer in his capacity as preacher, and had left word that he wishedMeg to hear the younger children recite, and dismiss them at two, whichwas an hour earlier than usual.

  Nothing pleased the girl more than to have an opportunity to practice theart of instruction, since that was to be her chosen life work, and a veryhappy morning she had with the dozen and one pupils, queer littlespecimens of childhood, although, indeed, several of them were beyondthat, being long, lanky boys and girls in their teens. They, one and all,loved Meg devotedly and considered it a rare treat to have her in chargeof the class. This happened quite often, as, in his double capacity aspreacher as well as teacher, the kindly old man had various calls uponhis time; some of them taking him so far into the mountains that he wasobliged to be gone for days at a time.

  Meg had a charming way, quite her own, of teaching, with story and wordpictures. Even the master had to concede that she was more fitted bynature than he was to instruct the child mind. At two o'clock, when theyoung teacher dismissed her class, they flocked about her as she crossedthe road to the inn.

  The tallest among her pupils, a rancher's daughter, who was indeed as oldas Meg, put an arm lovingly about her as she said, "When yer through withyer schoolin', don't I hope yo'll come back to Redfords an' be ourteacher."

  The mountain girl laughed. "Why, Ann Skittle!" she teased. "You will bemarried, with a home of your own, by the time that I am ready to teach.You are seventeen, now, aren't you?"

  Ann's sunburned face flushed suddenly and her unexpected embarrassmentcaused Meg to believe that she had guessed more accurately than she hadsupposed. "Yeah, I'm seventeen. But I'll be eighteen before snowfall, an'then Hank Griggs an' me's goin' to be married. He's pa's hired man. A newone from Arizony."

  "Then why should you care whether or not I teach the Redford school?" Megturned at the lowest step of the inn porch to inquire. Her dark eyesseemed always to hold a kindly interest in whatever they looked upon,were it a hurt little animal or, as at that moment, a girl who had notbeen endowed with much natural intelligence.

  Ann Skittle, again visibly embarrassed, stood looking down, twisting onecorner of her apron as she said in a low voice: "Me an' Hank is like tohave kiddies an' I'd be wishin' you could teach 'em."

  Suddenly Meg leaned over and impulsively kissed the flushed face of hersurprised companion. "Of course you'll have little ones, dear," she said,and in her voice there was a note of tenderness. "No greater happinesscan come to any girl than just that; to be a mother and to have amother." She turned away to hide the tears that, mist-like, always roseto her own eyes when she thought of the mother whom she never knew. Ann,calling goodbye, walked away toward the corral back of the school whereher pony had been for hours awaiting her.

  When Meg entered the front room of the inn, her smile was as bright asever. Mrs. Bently often said that it didn't matter how gloomy the daymight be, when Meg appeared with "that lighten' up" smile of hers,somehow it seemed as though the sun had burst through, and even if thingshad been going wrong, they began to go right then and there. "Mrs.Bently," the girl said, "Pa Heger told me not to come home today withoutthe County Weekly News. It's days overdue."

  The comely woman's face brightened.

  "Wall, I've found that newspaper at last," she announced. "That man ofmine didn't have on his specks when he was sortin' the mail, I reckon.Anyhow he stuck that paper o' yer pa's 'way over into Mr. Peters' box.'Twas fetched clear out to his ranch and fetched back agin."

  "Thanks." Meg said brightly, as she took the paper. "It won't matter any.I don't suppose there's any startling news in it."

  Half way up the mountain road Meg drew rein and listened. There was not abreath of wind stirring. The sun beat down relentlessly and heatshimmered from the red-gold dust of the road ahead. The only sounds werethe humming, buzzing and wing-whirring of the multitudinous insects allabout her. Then again she heard the sound which had first attracted herattention. A pitiful little gasping cry. Leaping from her pony, shecommanded: "Pal, stand still for a moment. One of our little brothers iscalling for help."

  Although the faint cry had instantly ceased, Meg remembered the directionfrom which it had come and climbed agilely down the rocks to find thatone, having been dislodged, had caught a Douglas squirrel's tail and hadheld it captive so long that the creature was nearly starved.

  "You poor little mite," Meg said with tender sympathy as she stooped,and, after removing the heavy stone, lifted the small creature in herhands. She held it, unresisting, for a moment against her cheek, then putit into one of her saddle bags. Peering in, she said assuringly, "Don'tbe frightened. I'm going to take you to the hospital, but as soon as youare stronger, you shall have your freedom." The bead-like eyes thatlooked up out of the dark depths of the bag seemed to be moreappreciative than fearful. There was a quality in Meg's voice when shespoke to the sad and wounded that soothed and comforted even though thewords were not understood. "I'll take the newspaper out," she thought;"then his bed will be more comfortable." And, as she did so, she chancedto see a name which attracted her attention. It was a name which hadcome, within the last three days, to mean much of possible comradeship toher. It was "Daniel Abbott." Opening the paper, the girl expected merelyto read an article telling of the arrival of the Abbott family at theircabin on Redfords Peak, but, to her dismay, the story that newspapercontained was of an entirely different nature. It was a list of theproperties in the county that were tax delinquents. Meg learned from theshort paragraph that the ten acres and "cabin thereon" belonging to oneDaniel Abbott, having been for three weeks advertised as delinquent, wasto be sold for taxes on August the tenth at five o'clock unless theaforesaid taxes, amounting to the sum of twenty-five dollars, should bepaid before that hour.

  The girl stared at the printed page, unable at first to comprehend itsmeaning. Then she glanced at the sun. It was at least two-thirty. Butwhat could it mean? Surely the young man with whom she was talking butyesterday, when the children had brought him to see the baby lions,surely he had known of this and had paid the taxes. Refolding the paper,Meg started leisurely up the mountain road, but something seemed to beurging her to at least tell Dan Abbott what she had seen. Perhaps he hadnot paid the back taxes, and, if not, she might be instrumental in savinghis cabin home for him, and yet, even as she thought of it, she wasassailed with doubt. It would be impossible to reach Scarsburg, thecounty seat, before five unless one rode at top speed, and the Abbottshad neither car nor horse.

  Meg had reached the stairway hewn in the rocks, leading to the cabin,which, for so many minutes had been uppermost in her thoughts, and shedrew rein, yodeling to a tall, graceful girl whom she saw standing by apine gazing out over the valley. Jane Abbott turned and looked down,amazed that the mountain girl should have the effrontery to yodel to_her_. "Just because she mailed a letter for me does not entitle her to_my_ friendship as an equal!" Abruptly Jane turned her back and walkedaway toward the cabin. Meg's face flushed and her inclination was to rideon to her own home, but she recalled the clinging of little Julie's armsand the sweet, yearning expression in the small girl's face when she hadsaid, "Meg, I like you. I wish you were my sister instead of Jane. You'dlove me, wouldn't you?"

  Leaping from her pony, she bade him wait for her, and, taking the paper,the girl sprang, nimble as a mountain goat, up the rocky steps. Jane hadseated herself in the comfortable chair on the porch, and was readingwhen she heard hurrying footsteps. She looked up, an angry colorsuffusin
g her cheeks. This halfbreed was evidently going to force heracquaintance upon her. Well, she would soon regret it. But the proud,scornful words were never spoken.