CHAPTER VIII
A WALK AND ITS ENDING
It was with great surprise that the dwellers in the houses along the waysaw the contestants in a case of law returning from the trial in themost harmonious manner.
First came the Montaigne equipage, with Mrs. Montaigne and Helena uponthe back seat, the latter sitting stiffly erect and haughty, the formerchatting most pleasantly with the cripple facing her. Behind thecarriage walked Mrs. Calvert and Mrs. Chester, both in the gayest ofspirits and talking volubly of household matters; as mother Marthaafterward described it:
"Might have been plain Mrs. Bruce, or Jane Jones herself, Mrs. Cecilmight, she was that simple and plain spoke. She's going to have hercurrant jell' made right away, even whilst the currants are half green.Says she's read it was better so, and though she's afraid her oldcook'll 'act up' about it she's bound to try. She said that when a bodygets too old to learn--even about cookin'--it's time to give up living.Land! She's not one that will give it up till she has to! I never sawanybody as full of plans as that old lady is. You'd think she was juststarting out in life instead of being so nigh the end of it, and I guessshe thought I was s'prised to hear her tell. Because she caught melooking at her once, right sharp, and she laughed and said: 'I'm one ofthe people who can't settle down, I'm so many years young!' Why, shemight have been Dolly, even, she was so full of fun over the way thatlawsuit ended. I know 'twas that that pleased her so, though she nevermentioned it from the time we left the shop till we got back to Skyrie.Well, green currants _may_ make the jell' solider, but I shall wait tilljust before the Fourth, as I always have, to make mine: and I'm thankfulfor the few old currant bushes that still grow along that east wall.Almost any other kind of shrub'd have died long ago, neglected as thingshave been, but you can't kill a currant bush. More'n that, when I get myjell' done I'm going to send Mrs. Calvert a tumbler and compare notes.I reckon mine'll come out head, for I never was one to take up witheverything one reads in the papers, nor cook books, either."
Which shows that, despite her previous objections to it, that morning'sexcursion to the haunts of justice proved a very enjoyable one to therather lonely little woman from the city, who found the enforced quietof the country one of her greatest privations.
Following their elders came also Dorothy C. and Herbert, who had slippedfrom his saddle to walk beside his new acquaintance, and she was alreadychatting with him as if they had always known each other. To both theworld of "outdoors" meant everything. To him because of the gunning,fishing, riding, and rowing; to her because of its never-ending marvels,of scenery, of growing things, and of the songs of birds.
"I tell you what--Steady, Bucephalus!" cried Herbert to the restlessanimal he led and whose prancing made Dorothy jump aside, now and then,lest she should be trampled upon. "I tell you what! The very next time Igo out fishing in the _Merry Chanter_, my catboat, I'll coax sister togo, too, and you must come with us. If she will! But Helena's such a'fraid-cat and Miss Milliken--she's my sister's governess--is about asbad. There's some excuse for Helena because she is real delicate. Nervesor chest or something, I don't know just what nor does anybody else, Ifancy. But the Milliken! Wait till you see her, then talk about nerves.Say, Miss Dorothy----"
"I'm just plain Dorothy, yet."
"Good enough. I like that. I knew you were the right stuff the minute Ilooked at you. I--you're not a goody-good girl nor a 'fraid-cat, now areyou?" demanded Herbert, anxiously.
"No, indeed! I'm not a bit good. I wish I were! And I'm not often afraidof--_things_. But I am of folks--some folks," she answered with a littleshudder.
"Yes, I know about that. Just like a story out of a book, your beingstolen was. But never mind. That's gone by. Do you like to fish?"
"I never fished," said Dorothy, with some decision.
"You'll learn. The old Hudson's the jolliest going for all sorts offish. There's an old fellow at the Landing generally goes out with meand the rest the boys. He's a champion oarsman, old as he is, and asfor--Say! Ever taste a planked shad?"
"No, never."
"You shall! Old Joe Wampers shall fix us one the first time we go out onthe river. He can cook as well as he can fish, and some of us fellowshad a camp set up on the old Point, last year. I haven't been over thereyet, this summer, but it's all mine anyhow. When it came fall and theothers had to go back to school they--well, they were short on cash andlong on camp, so I bought them out. You like flowers? Ever gather anywater lilies?"
"Like them? I just love them, _love them_! Of course, I never gatheredwater lilies, for I've always lived in the city. But I've often--I mean,sometimes--bought them out of pails, down by Lexington Market. Five orten cents a bunch, according to the size. I always tried to save up andget a big bunch for mother Martha on her birthday. I used to envy theboys that had them for sale and wish I could go and pick them formyself. But--but I've seen pictures of them as they really grow,"concluded Dorothy C., anxious that Herbert should not consider her tooignorant.
However, it was not the fact that she had never gathered lilies whichhad caught his attention; it was that one little sentence: "to save up."He really could scarcely imagine a state of things in which anybodywould have to "save" the insignificant amount of five or ten cents, inorder to buy a parent a bunch of flowers. Instantly, he was filled withkeen compassion for this down-trodden little maid who was denied the useof abundant pocket money, and with as great an indignation against theparents who would so mistreat a child--such a pretty child as Dorothy C.Of course, it was because the niggardly creatures were only parents byadoption; and--at that moment there entered the brain of this younggentleman a scheme by which many matters should be righted. Thesuddenness and beauty of the idea almost took his breath away, but hekept his thought to himself and returned to the practical suggestion ofplanked shad.
"Well, sir,--I mean, Dorothy,--a planked shad is about the mostdelicious morsel a fellow ever put in his mouth. First, catch your shad.Old Joe does that in a twinkling. Then while it's still flopping, hescales and cleans it, splits it open, nails it on a board, seasons itwell with salt and pepper, and stands it up before a rousing fire we'vebuilt on the ground. U'm'm--Yum! In about half or three-quarters of anhour it's done. Then with the potatoes we've roasted in the ashes andplenty of bread and butter and a pot of coffee--Well, words fail. You'llhave to taste that feast to know what it means. All the better, too, ifyou've been rowing for practice all morning. Old Joe Wampers coachescollege crews even yet, and once he went over with Columbia to Henley.That's the time he tells about whenever he gets a chance. 'The time ofhis life' he calls it, and that's not slang, either. Say. What's tohinder our doing it right now? This very afternoon--morning, for thatmatter, though it's getting rather late to go before lunch, I suppose.I'll tell you! Just you mention to your folks that you're going on theriver, this afternoon, and I'll coax mother to make Helena and theMilliken go, too. Then I'll ride right away down to the Landing and getold Joe warmed up to the subject. He's getting a little stiff in thejoints of his good nature, but a good dose of flattery'll limber him upconsiderable. Besides, when he hears it's for that real heroine of akidnapping story everybody was talking about, he'll be willing enough.I'll tell him you never tasted planked shad nor saw one cooked, andhe'll just spread himself. 'Poor as a June shad,' he said yesterday,when I begged for one, though that's all nonsense. They're good yet.Will you?"
He paused for breath, his words having fairly tumbled over each other intheir rapidity, and was utterly amazed to hear Dorothy reply:
"No, thank you, I will not. Nothing would tempt me."
"Why, Dorothy Chester! What do you mean?" he asked, incredulous thatanybody, least of all an inexperienced girl, should resist the temptingprospect that he had spread before her.
"I wouldn't _touch_ to taste one of those horrible 'flopping' fish! Icouldn't. I wouldn't--not for anything. I should feel like a murderer.So there!"
"Whew! George and the cherry tree! You wouldn't? 'Not for anything?' Noteven for a chance to
sail along over a lovely piece of water, dabblingyour hand in it, and pulling out great, sweet-smelling flowers? 'Course,_you_ needn't see the shad 'flop.' I only said that to show how fresh weget them. Why, I coaxed even dad over to camp once and I've alwayswanted Helena to go. Pshaw! I _am_ disappointed."
"I don't see why nor how you can be much. You didn't know me till anhour ago--or less, even. And I'm disappointed too. You didn't look likea boy who would"--Dorothy paused and gave her new acquaintance acritical glance--"who would _kill_ things!"
"Nor you like a silly, sentimental girl. 'Kill things!' Don't you evereat fish? Or beef? or dear little gentle chickens?" demanded thisteasing lad, as he quieted his horse and prepared to mount, though atthe same time managing to keep that animal so directly in Dorothy's paththat she had to stand still for a moment till he should move aside.
She frowned, then laughed, acknowledging:
"Of course I do. I mean I have; but--seems to me now as if I never wouldagain."
"Well, I'm sorry; and--Good-morning, Miss Chester!"
Away he went, lifting his hat in the direction of the people ahead,looking an extremely handsome young fellow in his riding clothes, andsitting the fiery Bucephalus with such ease that lad and steed seemedbut part and parcel of each other. Yet his whole manner was now one ofdisapproval, and the acquaintance which had begun so pleasantly seemeddestined to prove quite the contrary.
"He's a horrid, cruel boy! Kills birds and things just for fun! He isn'thalf as nice as Jim Barlow, for all he's so much better looking andricher. Poor Jim! He felt so ashamed to have made everybody so muchtrouble. I wish--I wish he'd come with us instead of that Herbert:"thought the little maid so unceremoniously deserted by her new friend.
"She's just a plain, silly, 'fraid-cat of a girl, after all!" were thereflections of the young horseman, as he galloped away, and with thesehe dismissed her from his mind.
Now it happened that Mrs. Calvert liked young folks much better than shedid old ones, and the conversation which she had rendered so delightfulto Mrs. Chester, during that homeward walk, was far less interesting toherself than the fragments of talk which reached her from the girl andboy behind her. So when the hoofs of Bucephalus clattered away in anopposite direction, she turned to Dorothy and mischievously inquired:
"What's the matter, little girl? Isn't he the sort of boy you like? Youdon't look pleased."
Dorothy's frown vanished as she ran forward to take the hand held towardher and she answered readily enough, as she put herself "in step" withher elders:
"I would like him--lots, if he didn't--if he wasn't such a _killer_. Ilike his knowing so much about birds and animals--he says he can whistlea squirrel out of a tree, any time, and that's more than even Jim cando. At least I never heard him say he could. And Jim Barlow will notkill anything. He simply will not. Even old Mrs. Stott had to kill herown poultry for the market though she'd strap him well for refusing. Allthe reason he'd tell her was that he could not make anything live, so hedidn't think he'd any right to make it die. Mrs. Calvert, have--have youforgiven poor Jim for letting the dogs get away? and me too? Because Iknow he feels terrible. I do, and it makes me sort of ashamed to haveyou so kind to me when it was part my carelessness----"
"There, there, child! Have done with that affair. It was more amusingthan annoying, for a time, and after I found my Danes were safe; but Ihate old stories repeated, and that story is finished--for the present.There'll be more to come, naturally. One can't make a single newacquaintance without many unexpected things following. For instance:John Chester riding so familiarly in Archibald Montaigne's carriage andtalking--Well, talking almost as his little daughter has been doing withher new friend. I overheard Mrs. Montaigne mention something abouthaving once been a patient at a hospital in our city and that was the'open sesame' to 'Johnnie's' confidence. Oh! it's a dear old world,isn't it? Where enemies can change into friends, all in one morning: andwhere people whom we didn't know at breakfast time have become ourintimates by the dinner hour. This is a glorious day! See. We are almostat the turn of the road that leads to Skyrie. Slowly as we have come ithasn't taken us long. I'm glad I walked. It has done me good and--givenmy neighbors yonder a chance to know one another."
"I'm glad, too. I haven't enjoyed myself so much since we moved here,only, of course, when Dolly got home," responded Mrs. Chester. "Yet whatan angry, disgusted woman I was when I went over this road before,lawsuit-wards, so to speak."
They were almost at the corner when Dorothy cast a last glance backwardand exclaimed:
"I don't see Jim anywhere. Why do you suppose he didn't come? Where doyou suppose he is?"
"Well, little girl, my supposing is that he felt himself not one withany of our party. 'Neither hay nor grass' he would likely express it.That's for his not coming. As for where he is now I suppose, to a degreethat is certainty, that he is--doing his duty! From my briefacquaintance with the lad I judge that to be his principal idea. Hisduty, this morning, would have been the transplanting of the celeryseedlings, which yesterday's events delayed. If we could look throughthe trees between us and my vegetable garden I believe we should see himbending over the rows of little green plants, oblivious to all that'sgoing on around him, so intent is he on making up for lost time and notcheating his employer by wasting it. Jim Barlow is all right. I wasangry enough with him yesterday, for a while, but I can do him justice,to-day."
Her guess at his whereabouts was correct. The lad had hurried away fromSeth Winters's office and was already well along with his work whilethey were thus discussing him. But both his new mistress and Dorothypromptly forgot him when they came to that turn of the road they hadbeen approaching and the view beyond lay open to them.
For an instant everybody stopped, even the coachman checked his horsesin amazement, though he as swiftly resumed his ordinary impassiveexpression and drove forward again at the risk of disaster.
"What in the world! It looks like a--a funeral! Or the county fair!Whatever does that mean?" cried Mrs. Cecil, who was the first to voiceher astonishment. Yet she wondered if she heard aright when, claspingher hands in dismay, Mrs. Chester almost shouted to her husband infront--riding backwards and thus unable to see at what they all soearnestly gazed:
"John, John! That dreadful advertisement!"