CHAPTER XI
JIM BARLOW
Dorothy reread the note. Then she took off the scrawl attached to it andtore it into bits, remarking to the mastiff, or whoever might hear:
"Well, I don't want any milk. I shall never like it again. I believethat dreadful man put something in it last night--was it only lastnight?--that made me go to sleep and not know a thing was happeningafter I got into the carriage till I woke up here. Milk! Ugh!"
With a shudder of repulsion she looked over her shoulder just as asibilant, warning "S-Ssh!" came from the room behind. Then she stood upand screamed as the mastiff, likewise rising, grasped her skirt in histeeth.
"Hush! you better not let her hear you!" was the second, whisperedwarning, and though she peered into the kitchen she could see nobody,till, after a moment, she discovered a pair of dirty bare feetprotruding from under the bed that stood in one corner.
Dorothy was afraid of the dog that held her, but she was not usuallyafraid of human beings; so she called quite loudly:
"You long white boy, come out from that place. I want to talk to you!"
The dog loosened its grip long enough to growl, then took a fresh hold,as the lad cautiously drew himself into full sight and noiselessly stoodup. But he laid one grimy hand on his lips, again commanding silence,and snatching a big basket from the floor ran out of a rear door.
The girl tried to follow. Of the two human beings she had seen in thisisolated cottage the long boy seemed the gentler, and she was determinedto make him, or somebody, tell her where she was. The mastiff still heldher prisoner and she suspected he was acting upon orders. Her temperrose and with it her courage. It was absurd that she could not do as shepleased in a little bit of a country cottage like this, where there wereno locks nor bolts to hinder! So for the third time she moved, and forthe third time the dog's great teeth set themselves more firmly on herlight clothing. Clenching her small hands in her impotent wrath, shebegan to screech and yell, at the top of her voice, incessantly,deafeningly, defiantly. Pausing only long enough to renew her breath,and wondering if that old woman she could see yonder, picking berriesfrom a bed, could endure the noise as long as she could endure to makeit.
Apparently, the uproar had no further result than to tire her ownthroat; for, until she had finished gathering the strawberries from onelong row of vines, the woman did not pause. But, having reached thelimit of the bed and of the crate she moved along before her as sheworked, she suddenly stood up, lifted the crate to her head, and strodeback to the house. There she deposited her precious fruit in an outershed and entered the kitchen. From the small clock-shelf she gathered apad of writing paper, a bunch of envelopes, and a lead pencil; whichwith an air of pride, and the first semblance of a smile Dorothy hadseen upon her grim features, she offered to the child.
"Here. To write on. To your ma. He left 'em. Tige, let go!"
Instantly, the mastiff loosened his hold of Dorothy's skirts andfollowed his mistress into the strawberry patch whither she had againgone, carrying another crate filled with empty baskets. Evidently, thiswas a truck-farm and the mistress of it was preparing for market. Justsuch crates and cups, or little baskets, were now plentiful at all thecity shops where groceries were sold, and Dorothy's hopes rose at thethought that she might be taken thither with this woman when she went tosell her stuff.
"Oh! that's what she'll let me do! So what's the use of writing? And howfine those berries look! I'd like to pick some myself. I'd rather do itthan do nothing. I'll just go and offer to help."
In better spirits than she would have thought possible, even a fewmoments before, the homesick girl ran across the garden and to thewoman's side, who merely looked up and said nothing, till Dorothylifted one of the wooden cups and began to pick fruit into it.
For a brief space the other watched her closely, as the nimble littlefingers plucked the beautiful berries; till by mischance Dorothy pulledoff an entire stem, holding not only ripened fruit but several green andhalf-turned drupes. Whereupon her fingers were smartly tapped and byexample, rather than speech, she was instructed in the art of berrypicking.
"Oh! I do love to learn things, and I see, I see!" cried the novice, andsmiling up into the old face now so near her own, she began the taskafresh. Already the market-woman had resumed her own work, and it seemedincredible that such coarse fingers as hers could so deftly strip thevines of perfect berries only, leaving all others intact for a futurepicking. Also, she had a swift way of packing them in the cups that lefteach berry showing its best side and filled the receptacle withoutcrowding.
"Ah! I see! I'm getting the trick of it! And that's what mother meansby paying for a quart and not getting a quart, isn't it? Oh! howdelicious they are!" and, without asking, Dorothy popped the plumpestberry she had yet found into her own mouth.
That was a mistake, as the frown upon the woman's face promptly toldher; and with a sudden sinking of her heart she realized again that shewas, after all, a prisoner in an unknown place. She rose, apologized ina haughty manner, and would have retreated to the cottage again had shebeen permitted. But having proved herself of service, retreat was not soeasy. Again she was pulled down to a stooping posture and her cup thrustback into her hand.
"Work. Eat spoiled ones. Don't dally."
Dorothy obeyed; but alas! her self-elected task grew very wearisome. Theheat was still great and the afternoon sun shone full upon her back, andthere seemed positively no end to the berries. There were rows upon rowsof them, and the woman had only just begun when Dorothy joined her. Orso it seemed, though there were already several crates waiting in thelittle shed till the full day's crop should be garnered.
At the end of one row of vines she stood up and protested:
"I can't pick any more. I'm so tired. Please tell me where I am and whatyour name is. Tell me, too, when I can go home and the way."
"No matter. Go. Write. I'll take it. Here;" and this big woman of smallspeech held out on the palm of her great hand a half-dozen over-ripeberries, which Dorothy hesitated to accept, yet found delicious when shedid so.
"Thank you! and if you won't tell me who you are or where I am, I shallcall you Mrs. Denim, after the clothes you wear; and I shall find outwhere this farm is and run away from it at the first chance. I'd ratherthat horrid old dog would eat me up than be kept a prisoner this way. Isthat long boy your son? May I go talk to him? May he show me the wayhome to Baltimore?"
To none of these questions was any answer vouchsafed, and offendedDorothy was moved to remark:
"Humph! You're the savingest woman I ever saw! You don't waste even aword, let alone a spoiled strawberry. Oh! I beg your pardon! I didn'tmean to be quite so saucy, but I'm almost crazy to go home. I want to gohome--_I want to go home_!"
There was such misery in this wail that the long boy, weeding onions afew feet away, paused in his tedious task and raised his shock head witha look of pity on his face. But the woman seemed to know his everymovement, even though her own head was bowed above the vines, and shothim such an angry glance that he returned to his weeding with no furtherexpression of his sympathy.
Poor Dorothy C.! Homesickness in its bitterest form had come upon herand her grief made her feel so ill that she dropped down just where shewas, unable longer to stand upright. Instantly, she was snatched upagain by "Mrs. Denim's" strong arms and violently shaken. That anybody,even an ignorant stranger, should lie down in a strawberry patch andthus ruin many valuable berries was the height of folly! So, withoutmore ado, Dorothy was carried indoors, almost tossed upon the bed in thekitchen, and the paper and pencil thrown upon the patchwork quilt besideher. Then she was left to recover at her leisure, while whistling toTige to watch the girl, "Mrs. Denim" returned to her outdoor labors; norwas she seen again till darkness had filled the narrow room.
Then once again Dorothy was lifted and was now carried to a loft abovethe kitchen, where, by the dim light of a tallow candle, she was shown arude bed on the floor and a plate of food. Also, there was a bowl ofmilk, but at
this the girl looked with a shudder. She wasn't hungry, butshe reflected that people grew faint and ill without food, so she forcedherself to nibble at the brown bread, which had been dipped in molasses,instead of being spread with butter, and its sweetness gave her a greatthirst. Slipping down the stairs, she found the pail and dipper and gother drink, and it was with some surprise that she did this unreproved.
However, a snore from the bed explained why. "Mrs. Denim" was asleepand the "long boy" was invisible. At the foot of the stairs, Dorothyhesitated. Wasn't this a chance to steal away and start for home? Onceout of this house and on some road, she would meet people who woulddirect her. She had heard her father say, time and time again, that theworld was full of kindness; and, though her present circumstances seemedto contradict this statement, she was anxious to believe it true. But,as she stood there debating whether she dare run away in the darkness orwait until daylight, the sleepless Tiger gave a vicious growl andbounded in from the shed where he had lain.
That settled it. With a leap as swift as his own Dorothy sped back overthe stairs and flung herself on the "shake-down" where she had been toldto sleep; and again silence, broken only by its mistress's snores, fellupon this lonely cottage in the fields.
Dorothy's own sleep was fitful. This low room under the eaves was closeand warm. Her head ached strangely, and her throat was sore. At timesshe seemed burning up with fever, and the next instant found herselfshaking with the cold. She roused, at length, from one disturbed nap tohear the sound of wheels creaking heavily over rough ground, and to seethe attic dimly lighted.
"Can it be morning already? Is that woman going to market and not takingme, after all I begged her so?" cried the girl aloud and, hurrying fromthe bed to the low window, looked out.
It was the light of a late-rising moon that brightened the scene andthere was slowly disappearing in the distance one of those curious,schooner-shaped vehicles which truck-farmers use: and with a vain beliefthat she could overtake it, Dorothy again rushed down the stairs andplump upon the mastiff crouched on the floor below, and evidently onguard.
But, yawning and stretching his long limbs, there just then entered theshock-headed youth; and his "Pshaw!" Dorothy's "O-Oh!" and Tiger's growlmade a trio of sounds in the silent house: to which he promptly addedhis question:
"Huh? you awake?"
"Yes, yes! But I want to go with that woman! Call off the dog--I mustgo--I _must_!"
The boy did call the dog to him and laid his hand upon the creature'scollar; then he said:
"I'm glad of it."
"Glad that I'm left, you--horrid thing!" cried Dorothy, trying to runpast him and out of the door.
But she was not permitted, even had her own strength not suddenlyforsaken her: for the lad put out his free hand and stopped her.
"Glad you're awake. So's we can talk," he said; and now releasing themastiff, whom he bade: "Lie down!" he led her to the doorstep and madeher sit down, with him beside her.
"So you _can_ talk, if you want to! I thought you were tongue-tied!" sheremarked, now realizing that the wagon had passed beyond reach, butthankful to have speech with anybody, even this silly-looking fellow."What's your name?"
"Jim. Jim Barlow. I hain't got no folks. All dead. I work for her," heanswered, readily enough, and she understood that it was only from fearhe had been so silent until now.
"Are you afraid of her? Do you mean 'her' to be that dreadful woman?"
"Yep. She ain't so bad. She's only queer, and she's scared herself of_him_. What's yourn?"
"My name, you mean? Dorothy Chester. Who's 'him'? Has 'she' gone tomarket? Does she go every market day? To Lexington, or Hollins, orRichmond--which? What's her name?"
Jim gasped. His experience of girls was limited, and he didn't knowwhich of these many questions to answer first. He began with the last:and now that he had the chance he seemed as willing to talk as Dorothywas to listen. Apparently, neither of them now thought of the hour andits fitness for sleep: though Tiger had lain down before them on theflat stone step and was himself snoring, his need of vigilance past forthe time being. Said the boy:
"Stott. Mirandy Stott. Her man died. _He_ was a baby. She brung himup--good. She earned this hull truck-farm. She makes money. All for himan' he keeps her close. She sent him to school an' made a man of him.She can't read nor write. She makes her 'mark,' but he can, thefirst-ratest ever was. I can, too, some. I'm learnin' myself. I'm goin'to school some time, myself, after I leave her."
"If you're going to school, I should think it was time you began. You'rea big boy," said Dorothy. "Why don't you leave her now?"
"Well--'cause. She--I come here when my folks died an' I hadn't no otherplace. She treats me decent, only makes me hold my tongue. She hatesfolks that talk. _He_ talks fast enough, though. So I--I've just stayedon, a-waitin' my chance. I get good grub an' she don't lick me. Shelikes me, I guess, next to him. She likes him better even than she likesmoney. I don't. I'm scared of him. So's she. She does what he says everytime. That's why I said 'no milk.'"
"Who is 'he'? Does he live here? What is about the milk?"
There was nobody anywhere near them except the dog. By no possibilitycould anybody besides Dorothy hear the information next imparted: yetJim stood up, peered in every direction, and when he again sat downresumed in a whisper:
"You ain't the first one. 'Tother was a boy, real little. He cried allthe time, first off. Then 'he' fetched some white powders an' she put'em in the kid's milk. After that he didn't cry no more but he sleptmost all the time. I seen her. I watched. I seen her put one in yourn. Iliked you. I thought if you stayed you'd be comp'ny, if you was awake.That's why."
"What became of the little boy?" asked Dorothy, also whispering, andfrightened.
"He took him away. I studied out 't he gets money that way. He wouldn'tdo it, 'less he did, seems if. I guess that's what he's plannin' 'boutyou. I'll watch. You watch. Don't mad her an' she'll treat you goodenough. 'Less--'less he should tell her different. Then I don't know."
Dorothy sat silent for a long time. She was horrified to find her ownsuspicions verified by this other person though he seemed to befriendly; and her mind formed plan after plan of escape, only to rejecteach as impossible. Finally she asked:
"Where is this house? How far from Baltimore?"
"'Bout a dozen mile, more or less. Ain't no town or village nigh. That'swhy she bought it cheap, the land laying away off that way. So fur isthe reason she has to have four mules, 'stead of two, for thetruck-wagon. She makes money! All for him. Him an' money--that's thehull of her."
"Say, Jim, do you like me? Really, as you said?" demanded Dorothy, afteranother period of confused thought, her brain seeming strangely dull andstupid, and a desire to lie down and rest greater, for the present, thanthat for freedom.
"Course. I said so," he responded, promptly.
"Will you help me get away from here, back to my home? Listen. You toldme about yourself, I'll tell about myself:" and as simply as possibleshe did so. Her story fell in exactly with his own ideas, that money wasto be extorted for her restoration to her family, but his promise tohelp her was not forthcoming: and when he did not reply, sheimpatiently exclaimed: "You won't help me! You horrid, hateful wretch!"
"Ain't nuther. Hark. One thing I know if I don't know another. I won'tlie for nobody, even her or him. If I can--_if I can_--I'll help you,but I ain't promisin' nothin' more. I'll watch out. You watch, an' _if Ican_, without makin' it worse for you, I will. Now I'm goin' to bed. Youbest, too. She's found out you can work an' you'll have to. I've gotplowin' to do. I sleep out yonder, in the shed. Tige, you stay where yoube."
Without further words, Jim retreated to his bunk in the shed and Dorothyto her attic. She was now conscious only of utter weariness and aracking pain through her whole body. She was, in fact, a very sickgirl.