Dorothy

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE BITER BIT

  Even healthy Dorothy had rarely slept as soundly as she did that night,there in the airy barn on her bed of hay; and she had lain down as soonas she had finished her brief letter to her mother--which like thosethat had gone before it would travel no further than Mrs. Stott's rangefire.

  She woke in the morning to find it much later than usual when she wasroused and that it was only Jim who was calling her. He did so softly,yet with evident excitement; and as soon as possible the girl got out ofher hostess's too big nightgown and into her own clothes, still freshfrom yesterday's laundering. Then she opened the door and ran to thetrough of water, used for the cattle; and after a liberal ducking of hercurly head, shook herself dry--for want of a better towel. Afterwards,to the barnyard, calling eagerly:

  "Jim! O Jim!"

  "Here I be. Don't holler. I'll come, soon's I take the milk in. Ithought you'd sleep till doomsday!" he replied, still in a low tone, yetwith less caution than he usually displayed.

  She sat down on the barn door sill and waited. She had a strongreluctance to enter the cottage which was tightly closed and where shehad so greatly suffered. So that it was with real delight she saw thelad was bringing a plate with him, as he returned, and guessed it to beher breakfast.

  "Oh! how nice! I'll love to picnic out here, but how does it happen?and, Jim, what makes you so sober? Is--is she sick? Didn't she go tomarket last night? Tell--talk--why can't you? I want to hear everything,every single thing. I didn't know--I went to sleep--What a funny wagonit is, anyway!"

  The big vehicle stood in the yard before them, its shafts resting on theground; and the four mules used to draw it were feeding in the pasturebeyond. Dorothy thought it wonderful how anybody, most of all a woman,could drive four mules, as Miranda did, without reins to guide them, yetmake them so obedient to her will. The wagon, also, was a curiosity toher, though she had often seen similar ones on the streets at home.

  It was a large affair, rising several feet upwards from its box, itsends projecting; forward over the dashboard and, at the rear, backwardbeyond a step and a row of chicken crates. The top was of canvas, thathad once been white, and the tall sides were half of a brick-red, halfof bright blue. Its capacity was enormous, and so prolific was thetruck-farm that it was always well filled when it made its city trips.

  "Have you had your breakfast, too, Jim?" asked Dorothy, rathercritically inspecting hers, which did not at all suggest the daintycooking of mother Martha.

  "Yep. All I wanted. He--I reckon he's powerful sick."

  "Can't you sit down by me for company? I feel so good this morning. I'dlike somebody to talk to."

  "A minute, maybe. I can make it up later."

  "Jim Barlow, I think you're a splendid boy. I never saw anybody sofaithful to such a horrid old woman. You never waste a bit of time, youonly study when you ought to sleep, and yet--yet I didn't like you atall when I first saw you. When I get home and my father gets well, I'mgoing to tell him or the minister all about you, and ask them to get youa better place. To send you to school, or do anything you like."

  The lad flushed with pleasure, and vainly tried to keep the bare feet ofwhich he was so conscious out of sight in the hay upon the barn floor,where, for this brief moment, he dared to linger. Dorothy saw themovement and laughingly thrust forth her own pink toes, fresh from anablution in the trough, and from which she had had to permanentlydiscard her ragged ties.

  "That's nothing. We're both the same. Anyway, a barefooted boy came tobe president! Think of that. President James Barlow, of the UnitedStates! I salute you, Excellency, and request the honor of your sharingmy brown-bread-and-treacle!"

  Then she laughed, as she had not done for many days; from the sheerdelight of life and the beautiful world around her. For it wasbeautiful, that first June day, despite the ugly cottage which blottedthe landscape and the sordid implements of labor all about.

  To his own amazement, the orphan farm boy laughed with her, as he didnot know he could, as he surely never had before. This girl's coming hadopened a new world to him. She had commended his ambition and made lightof the difficulties in way of its achievement. She had assured him that"learning is easy as easy!" and she knew such a lot! She didn't scornhim because he was uncouth and ill-clad; and--Well, at that moment hewas distinctly glad that she was barefooted like himself.

  Recklessly forgetting that he was "using the time I was hired for"--thehire being board and lodging, only--he dropped down on the step andwatched as she ate, so daintily that he could think of nothing but thesparrows on the ground. And as she ate she also talked; which in itselfwas wonderful. For he--Well, he couldn't talk and eat at the same time.It was an accomplishment far beyond him, one that had never been taughtat the table of Miranda Stott. She not only chattered away but she madehim chatter, too, now, in this unwonted freedom from his mistress's eye.

  "Who's 'him'? Why, he's _hern_," he explained. "Her son, you know."

  "No, I don't know. I know nothing--except that I'm a stolen little girlwho's lost everybody, everything in the world she loves!" cried poorDorothy, suddenly overcome in the midst of her gayety by the thought ofher own sorrows.

  Jim had never known girls and their ways, but he had the innatemasculine dread of tears, and by the look of Dorothy's brown eyes he sawthat tears portended. To change the subject, he answered her questiondefinitely:

  "He's the man what brought you here. _That's_ him. He's _hern_."

  "That man--_Smith_? He here? In the cottage yonder? Then--_good-bye_!"

  Reckless of the sharp stones and stubble of the barnyard that so cruellyhurt her tender feet, the girl was up and away; only to find herselfrudely pulled back again and to hear Jim's familiar:

  "Pshaw! He can't harm you none. He's dreadful sick. He come----"

  Here the lad paused for some time, pondering in his too honest heart howmuch of his employer's affairs he had the right to make known, even tothis Dorothy. Then having decided that she already knew so much therecould be no danger in her learning more, he went on:

  "He come one night whilst you was so sick. She fetched him in the wagonan', 'cause you was in her bed, she put him up-attic, in yourn. Ain'tbut them two rooms, you know, an' the shed where I did sleep but don'tnow. I don't know what he'd done but--somethin' 't made him scared ofstayin' in the city. He's been that way afore an' come out here, 'torest' he called it. 'To hide,' seems if, to me. 'Cause he'd never go outdoor, till me or his ma'd look round to see if anybody was comin'.Nobody does come. Never did, only them he fetched, or her did."

  Again a shudder of fear and repulsion swept over Dorothy, and again shewould have run away but Jim's next words detained her.

  "He can't move, hair ner hide. He's ketched them measles offen you an'he's terrible bad. She thinks he's goin' to die an', queer, but now shedon't care for nothin' else. Her sun's riz an' sot in him, an' he'streated her mean. Leastways, _I_ call it mean. She don't. She'd 'boutlie down on the floor an' let him tramp all over her, if he'd wanted to.She's goin' round, doin' things inside there, but she's clean forgot howit's berry-day agin an' the crop wastin'.

  "So 'm _I_ wastin' time, an' she claims that's money. I didn't know,afore, whuther 'twas him er money she liked best, but now I guess it'shim. If you was a mind you could help pick berries for her. _If you wasa mind_," said Jim, rising and shouldering a crate of cups, thenstarting for the strawberry patch.

  Dorothy C. looked after him with some contempt. He seemed a lad ofmighty little spirit. To work like a slave even when there was nobody todomineer over him! Indeed, she fancied that he was even more diligent inbusiness now than he had been before. It was very strange.

  "It's all strange. Life's so strange, too. They say 'Providence leads.'Well, it seems a queer sort of leading that I should be sent to do anerrand and then that I should be so silly as to go with a man my folksdidn't know--and get stolen. That's what I am, now: just a stolen child,of no use to anybody. Why? Why, too, should my father John be let
to getan 'ataxious' something in his legs, so he had to lose his place? Andmother Martha have to give up her pretty house she loves so, and go awayoff to the country where she doesn't know anybody? Why should I comehere to this old truck-farm and a horrid woman and a horrider man andget the measles and give them to him? Was it just to learn how to plantthings? I wondered about that the time I watched them do the celery.Well, I could learn so much out of books. I needn't be kidnapped to doit! And why on earth should I feel so sorry now for that woman in there?Just 'cause she loves her son, who's the wickedest man I ever heard of.And that Jim boy! I--I believe I'm going to hate him! Just positivelyhate. He makes me feel so--so little and mean. Just as if I hadn't aright to sit on this old barn door sill and do nothing but eat mybreakfast. A horrid breakfast, too, to match the horrid woman and thehorrid house and the horrider man, and the horridest-of-all-boys, Jim!"

  With that Dorothy's cogitations came to a sudden end. No poorinsignificant farm lad should put her to shame, in the matter ofconscience, or generosity, or honor, or any other of those disagreeablehigh-sounding things! She'd show him! and she'd pick those oldstrawberries, if her back did get hot and the sun make her head ache! Nosuch creature as that Jim Barlow should make her "feel allwiggley-woggley inside," as she had used to feel when she had been realsmall and disobeyed mother Martha.

  Why she shouldn't run away and try to find her home, now that Mrs. Stottwas out of sight, puzzled even herself. Yet, for some reason, she darednot. She had no idea of the direction in which that home lay, and therewas no house visible anywhere, strain her eyes as she might to discoverone at which she might ask protection.

  The truck-farm seemed to be away off, "in the middle of nowhere." Acrooked lane ran northward from it and Dorothy knew that this muststrike a road--somewhere. But dear old Baltimore must be miles and milesdistant; since Mrs. Stott spent so many hours in going to and from itwith her produce, and in her bare feet the child felt she couldn't makethe journey and endure. More than that, down deep in her heart was akeen resentment of the fact that, despite her own letters written andsent by the farm-woman, mother Martha had made no response beyond thatverbal one conveyed by "Mr. Smith," that everything was "all right" andthat, in the prospect of gaining her "fortune" Dorothy was wise tosubmit to some unpleasant things for the present.

  Then would arise that alternate belief that she had been "kidnapped,"and instantly following would come the conviction that she might be muchworse dealt with if she attempted escape. If "Mr. Smith" was wickedenough to steal her, as she in this mood believed, he would stop atnothing which would save himself from discovery and punishment.

  Jim Barlow was tormented by none of these shifting moods. His nature wassimple and held to belief in but two things--right and wrong. He must dothe one and avoid the other. This necessity was born in him and he couldnot have discussed it in words, or even thoughts, as did the imaginativeDorothy C. the questions that perplexed her.

  At that particular moment he knew that the "right" for him was to savehis employer's berries from decay, even though this meant no reward forhim save a tired back and a crust of bread for dinner. But rewardsdidn't matter. Jim _had_ to do his duty. He couldn't help it.

  Now Dorothy watching from the barn doorway saw this and thought that"duty" was "the hatefullest word in the English language. It alwaysmeans something a body dislikes!" Yet, so strong is example, that almostbefore she knew it the little girl had picked her gingerly way over therough ground to the lad's side and had petulantly exclaimed:

  "Give me some cups then! I hate it! I hate here! I--I want to go home!But--_give me some cups_!"

  Jim didn't even notice her petulance. He handed her a pile of "empties"and went on swiftly gathering the berries without even raising his head,though one long hand pointed to the row upon which she should begin. Hewas pondering how these same berries were to be marketed; whether theanxious woman in the cottage loved money so well she would leave apossibly dying son to sell them for herself; or if she would trust thebusiness to him. The last possibility sent a thrill of pride throughhim. If she would! If she only would, he would drive the hardestbargains for her, he would bring home more of the beloved cash than sheexpected, he would prove himself altogether worthy of trust. He knew theway, she had taken him with her once, at a Christmas time, when sheneeded his help in the extra handling. It had been a revelation tohim--that wonderful Christmas market; with all its southern richness andplenitude, its beautifully decorated stalls, its forests of trees andmountains of red-berried holly, and over and above all the gay goodnature of every human creature thronging the merry place.

  That had been Jim's one glimpse, one bit of knowledge what Christmasmeant, and though he knew that this was a far different season, theglamour of his first "marketing" still hung over the place where he hadbeen so briefly happy. Why, even Miranda Stott, moved by the universalgood will of that day, had spent a whole cent, a fresh, new, good cent,upon a tin whistle, and given it to her helper. She had done more; shehad allowed him to blow upon it, on their long ride home, to theastonishment of the mules and his own intense, if silly, delight.Suddenly, into these happy memories and hopes, broke Dorothy's voice:

  "A 'penny for your thoughts,' Sobersides! And see? since you made mepick berries I made up my mind to beat you. I have. I've filled fivecups while you've been filling three. Your hands are so big, I s'pose,you can't help being slow!"

  Unmoved by her gibes, which he quite failed to understand, he rose andtook her cups from her. He had reached the end of his row and must passto another, else he might not have wasted so much time! But he was gladof her swiftness and felt that she would almost make up for Mrs. Stott'sabsence from the field; and encouragingly remarked:

  "Take the next row, beyond mine, when you get that one done."

  "Huh! A case of 'virtue' and its 'own reward'! The more I work thelonger I may work, eh? Generous soul! But, I don't work for nothing, asyou do. Behold, I take my pay as I go!" and so saying, Dorothy plumped amagnificent berry into her mouth--as far as it would go! For the fruitwas so large it easily made more than the proverbial "two bites."

  Jim laughed. He couldn't help it. She looked so pretty and so innocent,though he--well, he wouldn't eat a single berry that was not given tohim. He didn't even warn her not to eat more, yet, somehow, she nolonger cared to do so.

  Dorothy never forgot that busy day. Miranda did not appear, except atrare intervals, to give some advice but not once to reprove. Her coarse,masculine face was so sad, so empty of that greed which had been itschief blemish, that tender-hearted Dorothy was moved to lay her hand onthe mother's arm and say:

  "I'm so sorry for you. Sorry I gave anybody you love the measles."

  The market-woman looked at the child half-seeing, half-comforted by thissympathy, till the last words, apparently just penetrating to herconsciousness, she rudely shook off the little hand with a look ofbitter hatred. Then she went back into the house, and for the rest ofthat day the boy and girl were left to themselves.

  At noon, which he told by the sun, Jim made a little fire in one cornerof the field and roasted some potatoes under it. Then he fixed acrotched stick above the blaze, hung on a tin pail and boiled some eggs;and these with some bread made their dinner. Their supper was the same,and both had appetites to give the food a relish.

  At dusk Miranda came out, ordered Dorothy into the harness room and tobed, and this time she closed the door upon her, turning the woodenbutton which fastened it upon the outside. Indignation made nodifference--Dorothy's wishes were ignored as if they had not beenexpressed, and the farm-woman's manner was far harsher than it had beenat any time. So harsh, indeed, that the girl was terribly frightened andwondered if she were going to be punished in some dreadful way for herunconscious infection of "Mr. Smith."

  The hope that Jim might be sent to market in place of his mistress andthat he would take her with him died in her heart. She did not realize,till she heard her prison door slam shut, how deeply she had cherishedthis hope; even this be
lief that she was passing her last day on thetruck-farm; and when the climax of her disappointment was reached byhearing Tiger ordered to lie down outside her door and "Watch!" shethrew herself on the hay-bed and sobbed herself to sleep.

  "H-hsst!"

  Dorothy sat up, freshly alarmed by this warning sound.

  "Why! It's daylight! I must have slept all night! That's Jim--andnothing's happened! I'm alive, I'm well, I feel fine!"

  Delighted surprise at this state of things promptly succeeded her firstalarm, and when to the "H-hsst!" there followed the fumbling of somebodywith the door's button, she sprang to her feet and asked:

  "That you, Jim? Time to get up, already?"

  She had not undressed, and hurried to push the door open, but could notimagine what was the matter with the "long boy." He had a newspaper inhis hand which he wildly waved above his head, then held at arm's lengththe better to study, while between times, he executed a crazy dance, hisbare feet making no sound upon the hay-littered floor.

  A second later, Dorothy had rushed at him, seized the paper from hishand, recognized that it was father John's favorite daily, and found herown gaze startled by the sentence that had caught his:

  FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD!