CHAPTER VI
MORE PECULIAR VISITORS
"Barnaby Rudge! Fiddlesticks! That ain't his name nor nothing like it.He's Peter Piper. He's out the poorhouse or something. He ain't likeother folks. He's crazy, or silly-witted, or somethin'. How-de-do,Peter?" said Alfaretta, as Dorothy, closely followed by the littleBabcocks and the "apparition" himself, dashed down into the dust-cloudeddairy where Mrs. Chester stood still, gazing in bewilderment at thedemolished dog-churn.
Anybody might have easily been startled by the appearance of theunfortunate creature who had, also, come into the cellar; especially agirl whose head was already filled with the image of another storied"natural," as Dorothy's was. He was tall and gaunt, with an unnaturallywhite face and a mass of hair almost as white in color, though not fromage. His narrow, receding forehead was topped by a hat bestowed uponhim by some parading political band of the autumn previous, and was gaywith red cock feathers and a glittering buckle polished to the lastdegree. His clothing was also, in part, that of a parader: abrilliant-hued coat worn over his ordinary faded suit of denim. In onehand he carried the same burnt-out torch bestowed upon him with his hat,and by the other he led a cow that might once have been a calf. He didnot speak, though he evidently heard and understood Alfaretta'sgreeting, for he turned his protruding eyes from Dorothy to her andanswered by a foolish smile.
"Why, Peter Piper, what you bringin' old Brindle up here for? Who toldyou to?"
Again Peter grinned and answered nothing, but he turned his gaze fromAlfaretta to Mr. Chester, who had come to the window above, and stareduntil the gentleman fidgeted and broke the spell by saying:
"Good-afternoon, lad. 'Peter Piper,' are you? Well, I'm glad to seeyou;" then added in a voice only Dorothy, who had run in to stand besidehim, could overhear. "Wonder if he's any relation to the man whopricked his fingers picking pickled peppers!"
"Looks as if he might be, doesn't he? Only, Dad, I feel so sorry forhim."
"Oh! I'm sorry for him, too. I am sincerely. But--I'm a trifle sorry formyself, as well. I wonder--is this the beginning of things! What a powerthe press certainly is, if one little advertisement--Why, Martha,Martha! Come up here, please! Come right away."
Mrs. Chester promptly obeyed, surprised by the mingled mirth andvexation expressed by her husband's face. And came not only Martha butthe trio of Babcocks, behind her. At which father John frowned andobserved:
"I was speaking to Mrs. Chester."
"Yes, I heard you," answered Alfaretta, coolly: at which all theChesters laughed, and she joined heartily in, not dreaming that what herhost afterwards called her "perfect ease of manner" was the cause of thefun.
"Well, John, what is it? You seemed to want me."
"My dear, I always do. Never more than now when I wish you to tellme--Did you rewrite that advertisement sent to the local newspaperyesterday?"
"Rewrite it? No, indeed. Why should I? You understand such things betterthan I. So I just sealed it, with money inside to pay--By the way, thereshould be considerable change due us. I don't believe one advertisementin a country paper would cost a whole dollar: do you?"
Mr. Chester laughed now in earnest.
"No, I do not. Not that I sent, anyway. Martha, why didn't you look? Whydidn't you? My dear, you wanted it brief and I made it so. But if suchbrevity brings such an answer, so soon, why--it will fairly rain cowsbefore we're many hours older. Cows! _And_ horses! _And_ pigs! But worstof all, I've made the new Skyrie folks ridiculous in the eyes of theirfuture townsmen."
"Tell it, John. Tell it exactly as you wrote it."
So he did; and though the lady was dismayed she couldn't help smilingunder her frown, and it was a momentary relief to hear Alfaretta calmlyexplaining:
"That there cow don't belong to nobody. All her folks are dead. I meanall the folks she belonged to. She's a regular pest, ma says, an''twould be a real kindness to kill her. But nobody won't. She's too oldfor beef, or the butcher would; and she makes out to get her livin'without botherin' nobody _much_. She goes onto folkses' lawns an'nibbles till she's driv' off--summer times an' in winter, why 'mostanybody 't has a barnyard and fodder give her a little. Pa he says she'sa relict of a glorious past and is due her keep from a--a kermune--ityshe's kep' in hot water as many years as she has. Ma she says she canrecollect that old Brindle ever since she was a little girl, an' thatcow has got more folks into lawsuits than any other creatur', beast orhuman, in Riverside villages--Upper or Lower.
"Last one took her in an' done for her was Seth Winters, that livesup-mounting here, an' goes by the name o' 'Learned Blacksmith.' He'sanother crank; but ma she says he's a practical Nanarchist, 'cause helives up to his idees. He's rich, or he was; but he's give his moneyaway an' just lives in his old shop an' the woods, same as poor folks.He treats Peter Piper same as he does old Brindle. Keeps 'em both to hisplace, if they want to stay; an' don't hinder 'em none when they clearout. Pa an' him both say how 'freedom' is the 'herintage' of everylivin' thing, an' they both take it. Ma she says there's consid'abledifference in their ways, though; 'cause Seth he works, constant, an' pahe never does a stroke. Say, Peter, did Seth Winters send you an'Brindle up here?"
Peter did not answer. As if the question had roused some unsettledmatter in his clouded mind, he frowned, studied the earth at his feet,and slowly walked away. A pitiable object in the sunset of that fairsummer day, with his bedraggled scarlet feathers, and his scarletleather uniform that must have been uncomfortably burdensome in theheat.
But Brindle tarried behind and foraged for her supper by nibbling thegrass from the overgrown dooryard.
Suddenly, remembered Alfaretta:
"Ma she said I was to come home in time to get the cows in from pastureand milk 'em. She 'lowed she wouldn't get back up-mounting till realdark: 'cause she was goin' to stop all along the road, and get all thenews she could an' tell what she knows, back. Ma she's a powerful handto know what's doin', 'round. So, Baretta Babcock! Claretta Babcock! Putyour toes together; even now, an' make your manners pretty, like Ishowed you teacher learned _me_, and say good-by."
With that the amusing girl drew herself up to her tallest, squared herown bare feet upon a seam of the carpet, and bent her body forward withthe stiffest of bows. Then she took a hand of each little sister, andsaid--with more courtesy than some better trained children might haveshown:
"I've had a real nice visit, Mis' Chester, an' I enjoyed my victuals.I'll come again an' you must let Dorothy C. come to my house. I'm sorryI tipped Mr. Chester into the ditch an' that I couldn't done more towardcleanin' up that cellar that I did. Good-night. I hope you'll all havenice dreams. Too bad Peter Piper went off mad, but he'll get over it.Good-night. Come, children, come."
So the three Babcocks departed, and the silence which succeeded herdeluge of words was soothing to her hosts beyond expression. They satlong on the west veranda of the little cottage, resting and delightingin the beauty of nature and in the presence of each other. Then Dorothyslipped away and after a little absence returned with a tray of breadand butter, a big pitcher of milk, and the jar of honey Mrs. Calvert hadsent.
"Bread and honey! Fare fit for a prince!" cried father John, as the foodappeared. "And princes, indeed, we are to be able to sit and feast uponit with all this glorious prospect spread out before us."
He seemed to have entirely recovered from the shock of his fall and onhis fine face was a look of deep content. He had suffered much and hemust still so suffer--both pain of body and of mind. Poverty was his,and worse--it was the lot of his dear ones, also. To live at all, hemust run in debt; and to his uprightness debt seemed little less than acrime.
However, the present was theirs. They had no immediate needs; there wasfood for the morrow, and more; and leaning back in the old rocker Marthabrought for him, he let his fancy picture what Skyrie should be--"Sometime, 'when my ship comes in'! Meanwhile--Sing to us, Dolly darling! Ihear a whip-poor-will away off somewhere in the distance, and it's toomournful a sound for my mood. Sing the gayest, merrie
st songs you know;and, Martha dear, please do let Dorothy bring another rocker foryourself. Don't sit on that hard bench, but just indulge yourself incomfort for once."
When they were quite settled again Dorothy sang; and in listening to herclear young voice both her parents felt their spirits soothed till theyalmost forgot all care. Indeed, it seemed a scene upon which nothingsordid nor evil would dare enter; yet, just as the singer uttered thelast note of her father's beloved "Annie Laurie," there sounded upon thestone pathway below a heavy footstep and, immediately thereafter, animpatient pounding upon the kitchen door.
Since their arrival at Skyrie none of their few visitors had called solate in the day as this, and it was with a real foreboding that Mrs.Chester rose and went to answer the summons. At a nod from her father,Dorothy followed the housemistress and saw, standing on the threshold,a rather rough-looking man, whose impatience suddenly gave place tohesitation at sight of the pair before him.
"Good-evening," said Martha, politely, though still surprised. Then, ashe did not at once reply and she remembered the absurd advertisement inthe _Local_, she asked: "Did you come to see about work, or selling us ahorse, or anything?"
"H'm'm. A--Ahem. No, ma'am. 'Twasn't no horse errand brought me, thistime, though I might admit I _be_ ruther in the horse-trade myself,being's I keep livery in Lower village. 'Twas a dog--a couple ofdogs--sent me away up-mounting, this time o' day, a-foot, too, 'causeall my critters have been out so long they wasn't fit to ride nor drive,neither. Been two summer-boarder picnics, to-day, an' that took 'em.'Shoemakers go barefoot,' is the old sayin', and might as well be 'tliverymen use shanks-mares. I----"
By this time the housemistress had perceived that though the man wasrough in appearance he was not unkindly in manner and that he wasreluctant to disclose his errand. Also, if he had walked up themountain he must be tired, indeed; so she fetched a chair and offeredit, but only to have the courtesy declined:
"Thank ye, ma'am, but I--I guess you won't care to have me sit when I'vetold my job. 'Tain't to say a pleasant one but--Well, I'm the constableof Lower Riverside, and I've come to serve this summonses on that therelittle girl o' yourn. You must see to it that she's on hand at SethWinterses' blacksmith shop an' justice's office, to-morrow morning atten o'clock sharp. Here, ma'am, is the writ of subpoeny 't calls forher to be a witness in a case of assault an' battery. Leastwise, tobein' known to the critters what assaulted and battered."
Before Mrs. Chester could really comprehend what he was saying or doing,the man had thrust a paper into her hand, and had vanished. He had neverperformed an official act of which he was more ashamed; nor can wordsproperly express her amazement.