Dorothy

  CHAPTER XII

  DOROTHY'S ILLNESS

  "Measles."

  This was the one-word-verdict announced by Mrs. Stott's lips, as a fewhours later, she stood beside the bed in the kitchen and sternlyregarded the girl whom she had just brought from the attic and laidthere. She didn't look pleased, and poor Dorothy had never felt soguilty in her life--nor so wretched. Yet she plucked up spirit enough toretort:

  "I didn't get them on purpose!"

  Then she covered her eyes with her hands and fell to weeping,remembering mother Martha's tenderness whenever she had "come down" withany childish disease. Remembering, too, how father John had teased herabout being such a "catcher." "Such a sympathetic child nobody must havechicken pox, scarlatina, or even mumps, but you must share them! Well,a good thing to get through all your childish complaints in yourchildhood, and have done with them!" Almost she could hear his dearvoice saying those very words and see the tender smile that belied theirjest. Oh! to feel herself lifted once more in his strong arms! and toknow that, no matter what was amiss with her, he never shrank fromfondling or comforting her.

  This woman did shrink, yet how could it be from fear of infection toherself? Besides, she made Jim stay wholly outside in the shed; and thusthe acquaintance begun during the night was suddenly suspended. Still,though there was real consternation in her mind, the farm mistress wasnot unkind. It may be that she felt the shortest way to a recovery was,also, the least expensive one to herself; and immediately she went towork upon her patient, after one more question:

  "Know anybody had 'em?"

  "Yes. Lots. Half my class," answered Dorothy, defiantly.

  "Hmm. Yes. Measles," commented Mrs. Stott, as she put on her sunbonnetand went out to rummage in her sage bed for fresh sprigs with which tomake a tea. This she forced Dorothy to drink, scalding hot; next shecovered her up with the heavy quilt, fastened the windows down, andordered Tige to take up his post beside the bed. Then she commanded:"Stay in that bed. Get out, take cold, die. Not on my hands."

  "Suppose she doesn't care if I do die on the hands of somebody else!"reflected the patient, but said nothing aloud. Yet she watched the womando a strange thing--go to the door at the foot of the attic stairs, lockit, and put the key in her pocket. Then she went out of the cottage andtook Jim with her.

  Left alone with the dog, Dorothy C. had many sad thoughts; but soonbodily discomfort banished her more serious anxieties and she becamewholly absorbed in efforts to find some spot on that hard couch whereshe might rest.

  "I'll get up! I can't bear this heat!" she cried, at last, and tossedthe heavy covers from her. But no sooner had she done so than a heavychill succeeded and she crept back again, shivering. Thus passed themorning and nobody came near; but at noon when the farm woman re-enteredthe kitchen Dorothy's piteous plea was for "Water! Water!" and she hadbecome oblivious to almost all else save the terrible thirst.

  With the ignorance of her class the now really alarmed Mrs. Stottrefused the comforting drink, only to see her charge sink back in astate of utter collapse; and, thereafter, for several days, the childrealized little that went on about her. On the few occasions when shedid rouse, she was so weakly patient that even the hard-natured womanwho nursed her felt her own heart softened to a sincere pity. Curiously,too, Tiger became devoted to her. He would stand beside the bed and lickthe wan hand that lay on the quilt, as if trying to express hissympathy; and his black, cool nose was grateful in her hot palm.

  Miranda Stott smiled grimly over this new friendship and, for thepresent, did not interfere with it. Dorothy couldn't get away then, evenwith the mastiff's connivance; but her hostess most heartily regrettedthat the girl had ever come. She had perplexities of her own, now, whichthis enforced guest and her illness greatly increased; and, as shegradually returned to strength, Dorothy often observed a deep frown onthe woman's face and, in her whole bearing, a strange attitude oflistening and of fear.

  One afternoon, when Miranda and Jim were hard at work in the fieldbeyond the house and Dorothy still lay upon the bed, though for thefirst time dressed in her own clothes, which her nurse had found time tolaunder, the girl fancied that she heard a groan from somewhere.

  "Why, Tige, what's that?" she asked, half rising and listening intently.

  He answered by a thump of his tail on the boards and his head turnedsidewise, with his ears pricked up. Evidently, he, too, had caught thesound, and was puzzled by it.

  A moment later, Dorothy was certain she heard a movement of somebody inthe room overhead. There was but one, she knew, and it covered theentire width of the small house, for she had seen that during her briefoccupation of it. Who could it be?

  Half-frightened and wholly curious she crossed from the bed to the doorand looked out. Yes, the two other inmates of the cottage were still inthe field, setting out celery plants, as she had heard them discussingat dinner.

  Tiger kept close beside her and, now that she was upon her feet again,seemed doubtful whether he were to remain her friend or again become herwatchful enemy. She settled that question, however, by her loving pat onhis head and the smile she gave him. His attentions to her, while shehad lain so weak and helpless, had won her own affection and made herfeel that she would never again be afraid of any dog.

  Suddenly Mrs. Stott looked round and saw the girl in the doorway. Thenshe at once stood up, said something to Jim, and hurried to the house:demanding, as she reached it and with evident alarm:

  "What's the matter?"

  Dorothy smiled. She had been so dependent on this woman that she hadlearned to really like her, and she answered brightly:

  "Nothing but fancies, I reckon! I thought, Tiger, too, thought, we heardsomebody in the room upstairs. Then we came to the door and saw you wereboth outdoors, so there couldn't have been, could there? You never haveburglars in this out-of-the-way place, do you? My darling mother Marthais always looking out for them and there's none ever came. Oh! I'm soglad to be well, almost well, once more. You'll let me go home to her,won't you? The very next time you go to market? I've been such a troubleI'm sure you'll be glad to be rid of me!" and Dorothy impulsively caughtat the woman's hand and kissed it.

  For an instant Miranda Stott looked as if she could have been "knockeddown with a feather." A kiss was as unknown and startling a thing to heras it was possible to imagine and it disconcerted her. But her answerwas:

  "Yes, I'm glad too. I'll fetch a chair. Do you good."

  So she caught up a chair in one strong hand, leaving a muddy impressupon it; and, seeing this, covered her other hand with her apron, thenthrust it under Dorothy's arm and so piloted her out to the celerypatch. There were no trees allowed to grow in that utilitarian spot,except here and there a fruit tree; and under the sparse shade of aslender plum-sapling Dorothy was made to sit, while Jim went on with hisdropping of tiny seedlings into holes filled with water. Mrs. Stott hadgone again to the house and for a moment the boy and girl were free totalk, and all her own old interest in gardening returned. Besides, shewanted to learn all she could about it, so that she might be useful whenshe, at last, got to that home "in the country" where they were allgoing so soon.

  "Why do you do that, Jim?" she asked, intently watching his long fingersstraighten the fine roots of the plants, then drop them into theprepared drill.

  "Why, to make 'em grow. 'Cause it's the way," he answered, surprisedthat anybody should ask such a foolish question.

  "Oh, I see. You drill a place with a wooden peg, then you pour waterinto it, then you plant the plant. Hmm. That's easy. I'll know how tomake our celery grow, too."

  Jim looked up. "Where's your celery at?"

  "I reckon it's 'at' a seed store, yet. 'Cause we haven't got there. Say,Jim, were you afraid you'd 'catch' the measles? the reason why youdidn't come into the kitchen at all."

  The lad laughed, slyly.

  "No, I wasn't. She was, though. 'Cause I've had 'em. She didn't know an'I didn't tell her. Stayin' out in the barn I had time to myself. Ilearned myself six
more words. Hear me?"

  "Maybe I don't know them myself. Then I shouldn't know if you spelledthem right or wrong," she cautiously answered. "If I had a book I'd hearthem, gladly."

  Jim forgot that he was never expected to pause in any labor on hand andstood up: his thin body appearing to elongate indefinitely with surpriseas he returned:

  "Why--but _you've_ been to school! Anybody could hear 'em off a book. Icould hear 'em myself that way! Pshaw!" and into this mild expletive heput such a world of contempt that Dorothy's cheeks tingled.

  "Go ahead. Maybe I know them, but--you'd better work; Mrs. Stott iscoming."

  The woman was, indeed, almost upon them and listening suspiciously towhat they might be saying; and though there was scorn in her expressionthere was also relief. She couldn't understand what any farm hand neededof "book learning," but it sounded harmless enough when Jim pronouncedthe word: "Baker. B-a-k-e-r, baker," and the girl applauded with a clapof her hands and the exclamation: "Good! Right! Fine! Next!"

  Back on his knees again, the lad cast a sheepish glance toward hisemployer, as if asking her permission to continue. She did not forbidhim, so he went on with: "Tinker. T-i-n, tin, k-e-r, ker, tinker."

  Again Dorothy commended him and was thankful that her own knowledge wassufficiently in advance of his that she should not be put toshame--"without a book." Also, by the time the ambitious youth hadrecited his new lesson of six words, in their entirety, both he andDorothy were in a fine glow of enthusiasm. She, also, loved study andfound it easy; and she longed with all her heart that she could putinside this Jim's head as much as she already learned.

  Then he was sent away to attend to the cattle for the night, to see thatthe market-wagon was again packed, and to put all utensils safely undercover. Because she could afford no waste, or thought she couldn't,Miranda Stott took better care of her farm implements than most farmersdid; and if indoors there was much to be desired in the way of neatness,out-of-doors all was ship-shape and tidy. She finished the celeryplanting herself, and Dorothy wondered if there were people enough inthe world to eat all those plants, after they were grown. Then Mirandatook the chair from Dorothy and said:

  "Come, I want my bed again. I'll fix you outside." And as if somefurther explanation were needed, added: "It's healthier. You've got toget well, quick."

  "Oh! I want to. I am, almost, already. It is so good to be out of doors,and--are you going to take me home, to-night, when you drive in?"

  "No. Take letter. See?" answered this laconic woman, and led the girlinto the barn and into what had been a small harness-room partitionedfrom one side. This had, evidently, been prepared for occupation andthere was a suspicious air of wisdom on Jim's face, as Dorothy passedhim, fastening the cattle-stanchions, betraying that this barn bedroomwas a familiar place to him.

  "Why, it is a bedroom! If the bed is only a pile of hay! There aresheets on it and a pillow and a blanket. My! It smells so sweet andoutdoor-sy!" cried Dorothy, thinking how much more restful such a couchwould be than that hot feather bed in the kitchen, on which she had lainand tossed.

  "Yours. Stay here now. Jim'll bring your supper, and a chair. Fetch thepaper, boy," she concluded, as he departed for the cellar under thecottage which was used for a dairy.

  Then Mrs. Stott went away, Tiger nestled up to her--as if offering hissociety--and the still weak girl dropped down on the sweet-smelling bedand felt almost happy, even though still refused a return home.

  "Well, it's something to be let to write to mother. I was so sick Ihaven't done it often; but if, as that Mr. Smith said, she knew I wassafe she won't worry much. Not so very much. But, oh! How I want her,how I want her!"

  The farm-mistress herself brought back the chair and paper, and waitedwhile Jim followed with the supper of bread and cold meat. He added apitcher of water without bidding, and, supposing him to have finished,his mistress left the place. Indeed, she seemed so changed andpreoccupied that Dorothy wondered and pitied. Her own sorrows wereteaching her the divine gift of compassion, and though she was thiswoman's prisoner she longed to share and soothe the distress she was soevidently suffering.

  But she dared not. With a gesture of despair, Mrs. Stott suddenly threwboth hands outward, then hurried away into the cottage, leaving the boyand girl staring after her. Even Jim did not tarry, though he longed todo so; yet he managed to whisper, in his own mysterious fashion:

  "It's _him_. He's got 'em. They're goin' hard--he's old."