Dorothy at Skyrie

  CHAPTER XV

  CONCERNING SEVERAL MATTERS

  "O Jim! I feel so--so guilty! Just as if I had done something dreadfullywrong!" cried troubled Dorothy C. to her faithful if jealous friend, asthey were driving homeward again. The reins were in his hands this timeand he held them with an ease which left everything to the old horseitself, and which would have surprised the girl had room been left inher mind for any smaller surprises after that great one of Mrs. Cecil'squestion.

  "Don't see why," returned practical Jim. His own satisfaction was great,just then, for he had seen Herbert Montaigne driving homeward on hisbrand-new horse-rake, brilliant in red paint and purchased by thatextravagant youth expressly for the Skyrie "Bee." Herbert had forsakenthat laborious festivity, soon after the departure of Mrs. Calvert andDorothy; but not till after he had also finished all the raking therehad been for him to do. Much of the ground was so overrun with bushesand brambles that only hand-rakes were available, and to the moredifficult task of these the lad did not aspire.

  Now, at ease with his own conscience and at peace with all the world, hedrove by the gates of Deerhurst whistling his merriest, and bent uponending his rarely useful day by a row upon the river. He even caught aglimpse of Dorothy sitting in the farm wagon waiting for Jim to "makehimself tidy after his gardening," as his mistress had directed; and hadcalled out some bit of nonsense to her which she was too absorbed inthought to notice.

  "That's all right. Needn't answer if she doesn't wish! I'll see herto-morrow and get her to go on that picnic at the camp. One picnic pavesthe way to another--that's easy! I don't feel now any great longing evenfor planked shad--such a dinner I ate! But that's one good thing about adinner, little Kit! Take a few hours off and you'll be ready for thenext one! Good thing my top-lofty sister 'took a notion' to sweet Dolly!That's going to make things lots easier for my scheme, 'but I'll 'bidea wee' before I spring it on the Pater. Eh, little Kit? Aren't you abeauty? and--good luck! You're just the thing to take her, to-morrow.She told me, to-day, they hadn't a single cat. '_Not a single cat!_' Ina tone of regular heartbreak, she said it, Kit! That's why I heard yousqualling by the roadside and picked you up. Somebody dropped you,didn't he? Somebody a deal richer in cats than Dorothy C. Why, littleKit, I heard a workman telling the other day how he found a bag ofkittens, a whole bag of them, 'lost' by somebody as heartless as yourown late owner, probably, but far less wise. For the bag was a potatosack and it had the owner's name stamped in full on it. Must have lostit out the back of a wagon, the workman thought. Anyway, next day hegathered up all the stray cats and kittens he could find and in the deadof night--the dead of night, little Kit! when all dire deeds aredone!--he carried the replenished sack back and left it on the 'loser's'doorstep. Good for that workman! but, query. What became of the cats?Never mind, Kitty, I know what will become of you, and your fate willbe the happiest possible. Get up there, Slowpoke!" finished the lad,thrusting the tiny kitten he had found astray on the road into hisblouse, and urging the work horse forward. In any case it is probable hewould have picked up the lost kitten and given it a home in his father'sbarn, but it suited well with Dorothy's pathetic regret that he shouldhave found it.

  "You 'don't see why,' Jim Barlow, I feel so worried over what Mrs.Calvert asked? Then you're stupider than I thought. She is so kind, shefound and saved me--after you, of course--and she is so old and lonely.I'd love to live with her if--if there were two of me. Already she looksto me to do little things for her that nobody else seems to think shewants, and to do them without her asking. I love her. Seems if she wassort of my folks--_my own folks_ that I must have had sometime. We likethe same things. She adores Dickens, so do I. She loves outdoors, so doI. She--But there, it's no use! I can't go to live with her and leavefather John and mother Martha. It would break their hearts and mine,too! Oh! dear! I wish she hadn't asked me; then I wouldn't have had tosay 'No,' and see her beautiful old face lose all its lovely brightness.When I think how old she is, how it's but a little while she'll needme--Why, then my heart breaks in two the other way! O Jim! Isn't life aterrible, terrible perplexity?" demanded this small maid to whom "life"was, indeed, just showing its realities.

  Jim listened silently, but it wouldn't have flattered her to know thatit was her ready flow of language and the rather long words she usedwhich mainly impressed him. To his practical mind it was simplyimpossible for any right-minded girl to forsake those who had cared forher all her life, in order to gratify the whim of an old lady whom shehad known but a short time. Nor did it enter the thoughts of either ofthese young folks that the material advantages offered to Dorothy wouldbe very great. It was only a question of happiness; the happiness of theChesters or that of Mrs. Cecil.

  As they left Deerhurst behind them and still Jim had answered nothingexcept that provoking "Don't see why," Dorothy lost her patience.

  "Jim Barlow, have you lost your tongue? I think--I think you're horriblyunsympathetic!" she cried, flashing a glance upon him that was meant foranger, yet ended in surprise at his actually smiling countenance. "Idon't see anything funny in this business, if you do! What are youlaughing at?"

  Now he looked at her, his face radiant with the fun of his own thoughts,and replied:

  "Lots o' things. Fust off, Dorothy, will you correct me every time I usebad language?"

  "Bad--language! Swearing, you mean? Why, Jim, I never heard you, notonce. Huh! If I did I reckon I _would_ correct you, so quick 'twouldmake you dizzy!"

  "Pshaw! I don't mean that, silly thing! I mean--Dorothy, I want to talklike other folks: like Mis' Calvert----"

  "Then begin to call her 'Mrs.'"

  "Mrs. Calvert," answered Jim, obediently. "To you and her and Mr.Chester, talkin'----"

  "Talking, Jim. Don't clip the g's off your words!"

  He half-frowned, then laughed. She was almost too ready with hercorrections. But he went on:

  "I'm studyin'--studying--every night, as long as I dast----"

  "Dare, you mean."

  Poor Jim gasped and retorted:

  "Well, dare, then, if you say so. D-a-r-e! and be done with it! Mis', Imean Mrs., Calvert has give orders----"

  "Given orders, boy."

  "Shut up! I mean she's told the old man and woman that keeps----"

  "Who keep!"

  "That keeps the gate and lives in the lodge an' I live with 'em, if youwant to know the hull kit an' boodle of the story, she's give 'em ordersI can't have no light lit after half-past ten o'clock, 'cause I'll spilemy eyes an' break down my strength--Pshaw! as if a feller could, justa-studyin', when he's so powerful bent on't as I be! But, you know Iknow I don't talk quite the same as them 'at knows better an' has hadmore book l'arnin'," explained the young student, hopelessly relapsinginto the truck-farm vernacular.

  "Yes, Jim, I do know that you know, as you so tellingly put it. I'veseen you flush more than once when you've noticed the difference inspeech, and I'll help you all I can. I don't know much myself. I'm onlya girl, not far along in her own education, but I'll do what I can;only, Jim Barlow, don't you go and get offended when I set you right. Ifyou do you shall go on 'wallowing in your ignorance,' as I've readsomewhere. Now, that's enough 'correction' for once. Tell me the other'lots of things' you were laughing at."

  "Sure! The first one, how we're goin' to get ahead of that old Quakermiller. Mis'--Mrs.--Calvert's planned the hull--whole--business. Shedon't like him none. She stopped me an' told me things, a few. She 'lowshe's got some scheme or other, 'at ain't no good to your folks,a-lettin' good money on a wore-out farm like Skyrie. There's more in hisdoin's than has come to light yet. That's what she says. Even hissellin' your ma that jumpin' cow was a low-down, ornery trick. An' thatbull calf--no more use to such as you-all 'an a white elephant, shesays. Less; 'cause I s'pose a body'd _could sell_ a elephant, if theywas put to it. Say, Dorothy. They's a-goin' to be a circus come toNewburgh bime-by. The pictures of it is all along the fences an' walls;an', say--I'm earnin' wages now, real good ones. I told Mis', Mrs.,Calvert 't I did
n't think I ought to take any money off her, 'causeshe's give--given--me all these new clothes an' treats me so like aprince; but she laughed an' said how 'twas in the Bible that 'a laboreris worthy of his hire' and she'd be a poor sort of Christian that didn'tat least try to live up to her Bible. Say, Dorothy, she's even give meone for myself! Fact. She give it an' says she, she says: 'James, if youmake that the rule of your heart and life, you can't help being agentleman, 'at you aspire to be, as well as a good man.' Then shefetched out another book, big--Why, Dorothy! So big it's real heavy tolift! An' she called that one a 'Shakespeare.' The name was printed onit plain; an' she said the man what wrote it more years ago 'an I canhalf-tell, had 'done the thinkin' for half--the world, or more,' shesaid. And how 'if I'd use them two books constant an' apply 'em to myown life I'd never need be ashamed an' I could hold up my head in eventhe wisest company.' Say, Dorothy! Mis' Calvert knows a powerful lot,seems if!"

  "Well, she ought. She's lived a powerful long time."

  "An' I've been thinkin' things over. I don't believe I _will_ try to bePresident, like we planned. Lookin' into that Shakespeare feller's bookI 'low I'd ruther write one like it, instead."

  "O Jim! That's too delightful! I must tell father that. I must! _You_, anew _Shakespeare_! Why, boy, he's the wisest writer ever lived. I'm onlyjust being allowed to read a little bit of him, old as I am. My fatherpicks out the best parts of the best dramas and we often read themtogether, evenings. But--What are the other things you thought about,and made you laugh? That circus, too; shall you go to it, Jim? Did youever go to one?"

  "Never. _Never._ But I'm just sufferin' to go. Say, Dorothy? If I canget all my work done, an' Mrs. Calvert she don't think it's sinful wasteo' good money, an' your folks'll let you, an' it don't come on to rainbut turns out a real nice day, an' I can get the loan of Mrs. Calvert'soldest horse an' rig--'cause I wouldn't dast--dare--to ask for a youngone--an' I felt as if I could take care of you in such a terrible crowdas Ephraim says they always is to circuses, would you, will you, go withme?"

  In spite of herself Dorothy could not help laughing. Yet there wassomething almost pathetic in the face of this poor youth, possessing asmall sum of money for the first time, beset by the caution which hadhedged his humble, dependent life, yet daring--actually daring, of hisown volition--to be generous! Generous of that which Miranda Stott hadtaught him was the very best thing in the world--money! Of himself, hisstrength, his unselfishness and devotion,--all so much higher than that"money,"--he had always been most lavish; and remembering this, with asympathy wise beyond her years, Dorothy speedily hushed her laughter andanswered eagerly:

  "Indeed, I will, you dear, care-taking, cautious boy, and thank youheartily. I love a circus. Father John used to take mother Martha and meto one once every summer. Why, what a perfectly wild and giddy creatureI shall be! To a circus with you, a camp-picnic with Herbert andHelena, and this splendid farmers' 'Bee'--Hurray!"

  Jim's countenance fell. "I didn't know 'bout that other picnic," saidhe. "When's it comin' off? And what is a picnic, anyway?"

  "You'll see when we get home to Skyrie. A picnic is the jolliest thingthere is--except a circus. _Except a circus._ When it's to come off Idon't know, but when it does I mean you shall be in it, too, Jim Barlow.Yet you haven't finished about poor, dear Mr. Oliver Sands. You havewandered all over the face of the earth, as my teacher used to complainI did in writing my compositions. I didn't stick to my subject. Youhaven't stuck to yours, the Quaker man. Finish him up, for we're almostat Skyrie now."

  Comforted by her ranking of a circus as something infinitely moredelightful than even a rich boy's picnic, and because the fields ofSkyrie were, indeed, now in view, Jim resumed concerning the gentlemanin question:

  "Dorothy, that calf o' yours won't never be no good. The man give him toyou, all right, an' 'peared amazin' generous. But--he cal'lated ongettin' back more'n his money's worth. He'd tried to sell old Hannahtime an' again, so Mrs. Calvert was told, an' couldn't, 'count of herbeing so hard to keep track of. He didn't dast to sell without the calfalongside, for if he did the critter's so tearin' lively she'd 'a' gotback home to his farm 'fore he did, drive as fast as he might. But whathe planned was: your ma take the calf for a gift an' she'd have to sendto his mill to get feed an' stuff for to raise it on. To keep both cowan' calf would cost--I don't know how much, but enough to suit him allright. 'Tother side the matter, his side, you did get Hannah cheap.She's good breed, her milk'll make nice butter----"

  "It does! Splendid, perfectly splendid! Mrs. Smith showed mother how tomanage and it all came back to her, for she had only, as father says,'mislaid her knowledge' and she makes all the butter we need. Not all wewant--We could eat pounds and pounds! But it takes a good many quarts ofmilk to make a pound of butter, I've learned; and an awful lot of whatfather calls 'circular exercise' to make the 'butter come.' Motherbought one of those churns that you turn around and around, I mean adasher around and around inside the churn--I get my talk mixed up,sometimes--and it takes an hour, maybe, to turn and turn. Worse thanfreezing ice cream in a 'ten-minute' freezer, like we had in Baltimore,yet had to work all morning to get it frozen ready for Sunday dinner.Mother thinks a dash-churn, stand and flap the dasher straight up anddown till your arms and legs give out, is the best kind. But thearound-and-around is the modern sort; so, of course, she got that. IfDaisy-Jewel and Piggy-Wig didn't need so much milk themselves there'd bemore for us. And somehow, you don't make me feel very nice toward Mr.Oliver Sands."

  "Say, Dorothy. Mis' Calvert's notion is for you to sell Daisy an' buy ahorse. Will you, if you get a chance?"

  "Simple Simon! A horse is worth lots and lots more than a calf! was thatwhat she meant when she said a calf might turn into a colt? A colt is ahorse, after all. A little horse. Well, maybe she was right. I mightsell a little calf and get a little colt. But who in the world wouldbuy? Besides, despite all the trouble she makes, mother wouldn't partwith that pretty, ecru-colored cow, and Hannah will not be separatedfrom Daisy-Jewel. I mean Daisy-Jewel will not be separated from Hannah.Even a man, Mr. Oliver Sands, said that would be 'cruel.' You don't wantto have me cruel, do you, Jim Barlow?"

  "Shucks! Hannah won't mourn for no calf, longer 'n a couple of hours,'less she's different from any cow I ever see, light-complected orotherwise. As for that jumpin' notion o' hern; I'll fix her! I've beenlayin' out to do it, ever since I heard she done it, but somehow Ididn't get the chance."

  "You didn't get the chance because you never take it. I don't think it'sright, Jim Barlow, for you to work every minute of daylight, fearing youwon't do all your horrid 'duty' to your employer, then study all nightto make yourself 'fit for your friends,' as you told me. Maybe, some ofyour friends might like to see you, now and then, before you _are_'fit,'" returned Dorothy, and with that they came to the gate of Skyrieand drove over the path to the barn, the path, or driveway, which thatvery morning had been overgrown and hidden with grass and weeds, butnow lay hard and clean as if just newly made.

  "Pshaw! Somebody's been busy, I declare!" cried Jim, admiringly, andleaped out to tie Mr. Smith's "nag" in a comfortable shady place. He didnot offer to help Dorothy alight, nor did she either wait for or expectthis courtesy; but seeing mother Martha in the kitchen, ran to her withan account of her brief outing.

  The housemistress had slipped away from the few women guests leftremaining in the field where dinner had been served. Most of them hadalready left for home, their part in the day's proceedings having beenwell finished, and each a busy farmwife who had snatched a half-day fromher own crowding tasks to help the "Bee" along.

  She had made many acquaintances, she was glad to know them. She "likedfolks better than scenery," as she had once complained to her husband,during a fit of homesickness for "dear old Baltimore"; but she was verytired. The excitement of this unexpected visitation, and the varyingemotions of the day had strangely wearied her. Besides, deep down in herheart--as in father John's--lay a feeling of wounded pride. She hadbeen very happy, for a time, sh
e had found herself the center of muchkindly attention: and yet--she wished that the need for such attentionhad not existed. So she was glad now of the privacy of her kitchenwhither none would intrude; and into which Dorothy ran, full of talk andeager above all things to tell of that astonishing offer of Mrs.Calvert's to re-adopt her.

  But something stopped the words on her lips. She could not herself haveexplained why she refrained from speaking, unless it were that weary,fretful expression of Mrs. Chester's face. So, instead of bestowingconfidences, she merely said:

  "Mother dear, do come upstairs to your own pretty room and lie down.It's grown terribly warm this afternoon and you look so tired. I'll shutthe blinds and make it all dark and cool; then I'll find father John andsee if he needs me too. Come, mother, come."

  With a sudden burst of affection, such as rarely came from Mrs. Chester,that lady caught the girl in her arms and kissed her fondly, saying:

  "You are my good angel, Dolly darling! You are the brightness of mylife. Don't ever let anybody else steal you away from me, will you? Icouldn't live without you, now--and here."

  Dorothy's breath came quick and sharp. How odd this was, to have hermother touch upon that very subject lying uppermost in her own heart!Could she and Mrs. Calvert have been discussing her in this way? Well,at least, she now knew that she had been wholly right. The reluctant"No" she had given Mrs. Betty was the only word to say.