CHAPTER VIII--Maggie Medicine
Friend Morris and Mrs. Blake sat rocking on the broad veranda as Mr.Blake carried Lydia, waving and blowing kisses, across the road.
"Oh, Mother, what is Maggie Medicine?" called Lydia. "Friend Morris, doyou know?"
The ladies laughed and nodded, and Father said, "Listen, Lydia."
There was a sound of crunching gravel and the roll of wheels, and thenround the corner of the house stepped a little dark-brown pony, drawinga light wicker basket wagon after him, and led by Alexander, who triedin vain to repress a proud smile.
"This is thy medicine, Friend Lydia," said Friend Morris, coming forwardto the veranda steps, "a medicine that will bring back rosy cheeks tothee, I hope. Every day thee is to go for a ride--"
But Friend Morris got no farther, for Lydia lurched forward in Father'sarms and caught her round the neck.
"I love thee, Friend Morris," she whispered, "and I love thy medicine.And I will lend thee Lucy Locket for a whole day, and give thee threegreen candies for good luck beside."
"I thank thee, little Quaker," answered Friend Morris with a laugh,straightening her cap and patting Lydia's cheek. "Now, Alexander has alump of sugar for thee to give Maggie, and then he will take thee for aride."
So Lydia rather timidly fed Maggie a lump of sugar, and then Alexanderdrove her in triumph down the River Road as far as the village, where hebought a little whip with a red ribbon to be stuck in the front ofMaggie's cart, but never to be used on her, at Lydia's earnest request.
And every pleasant day after that, Lydia went for a drive with Mother orFather or Alexander. One day Friend Deborah drove Lydia far up a shadyback country road in search of a woman who wove rag rugs. Friend Morriswanted to order two blue-and-white rugs for the upper hall. The rugwoman stood at her gate as she bargained with Friend Deborah, and Lydiacould only stare at her in amazement, for the woman's hands were brightblue! She could scarcely wait until Maggie was trotting homeward to askFriend Deborah if she had seen them, too.
Friend Deborah laughed.
"It's because she dyes, Lydia," said she.
"Dies?" said Lydia, more puzzled than before.
"Yes, dyes the rags different colors, the rags that she uses for herrugs," explained Friend Deborah, slapping the reins on Maggie's back.
"Oh," said Lydia, and fell to thinking. This was a piece of news thatmust be treasured up for Sammy's delectation. He would enjoy a piece ofwork like that. How fascinating to be a different color every day!
So, one afternoon, when Sammy and Mary Ellen walked down from Robin Hillto play with Lydia, whose ankle was well now, the first thing to betalked over was the story of the rug woman.
"She lives in a little house all by herself, with three hens and a pig.Friend Deborah told me. And her hands are bright blue. And she dyes therags and makes them into rugs. We have one, and so has Friend Morris,and Friend Morris is going to have two more."
Lydia stopped, out of breath, and Mary Ellen asked:
"Where does she live? Is it far? Could we go?"
"Oh, it's far up this road," answered Lydia, pointing. "And when youcome to a little bridge, you turn past the mill, and then after a whileyou're there."
"I'm going," said Sammy, determined to see the woman with the bluehands, or perish in the attempt. "I'm going now," and he rose to hisfeet. "Want to come?"
"Oh, I do," said Lydia piteously. "I want to go dreadfully, but I can'twalk so far. My lame foot gets so tired."
"We'll carry you," announced Mary Ellen, with a decided air. "Sammy andI will make a chair of our hands and carry you."
But Sammy had a bright idea. He pointed to the open stable door, and,out of it, as if to solve their problem for them, walked MaggieMedicine, harnessed to her cart.
"Quick," said Sammy, "before any one stops us."
"Oh, Sammy, do you think we ought?" asked Mary Ellen in a little voice,a question that was not meant to be answered, for she had alreadyboosted Lydia into the cart and was scrambling in herself.
"'Fraid-cats may stay at home. We're a-going," was Sammy's reply, as hestarted Maggie down the drive with a shake of the reins and a flourishof the whip.
And while Maggie Medicine jogs peacefully along the country road,shaking her head and twitching her ears now and then as a sign to Sammyto stop jerking the reins, let us see where all the grown people werethis sunny afternoon.
In the first place, Mary Ellen and Sammy had been asked to spend theafternoon to keep Lydia company, because Father and Mother and FriendMorris were invited out to spend the day. Friend Deborah, who had goneabout her work all morning with her head tied up in a handkerchief, hadat last been forced to go to bed "to favor the faceache," as she said.Alexander, to keep the house quiet and give the children a good time,had planned a drive, but no sooner had he fastened the last strap inMaggie's harness than word came that the black colt had jumped thepasture bars and was running away.
So poor patient Alexander was racing up the hot, dusty road in onedirection, while innocent Maggie, with her load, ambled along in theother. When they came to the little bridge, Maggie saw a cool, shadyback road stretching before her in pleasant contrast to the dustyhighway, and being a wise little pony, she promptly turned in andtrotted briskly past the mill as she had done the week before withFriend Deborah. Sammy thought it was due to his skillful driving, butMaggie twitched her ear as if to say, "Don't imagine that I pay anyattention to you children, please."
On they went, until Lydia pointed to a little house, half hidden undervines, with two or three bedraggled hens scratching about in the frontyard.
"That's it," said Lydia. "I remember it. That's it."
"What shall we say when we see her?" asked Mary Ellen anxiously."Goodness, I almost wish we hadn't come."
"We'll ask her for a drink," responded Sammy, never at a loss, whosesharp eyes had spied a well round the corner of the house. "We'll have agood look at her hands, too, when she works the bucket."
The children scrambled out of the cart, and leaving Maggie to nibble theroadside grass, walked into the front yard. The house seemed deserted.There was no stir of life within doors, and without, the hens steppedabout and pecked at the ground in perfect silence. A hush fell upon thechildren. It was not nearly so much fun as they had expected. To tellthe truth, Lydia wished she were at home.
"I smell the pig," whispered Mary Ellen.
Lydia nodded.
Sammy, the venturesome, pushed round the corner of the house, andbeckoned with a grimy hand for them to follow.
"The woodshed," he exclaimed in a stage whisper. "Look, full of things."
On a bench in the woodshed stood a row of kettles, each full of acolored liquid. Sammy stuck his finger in one and drew it out drippingwith yellow dye.
"Whiz!" muttered Sammy. "Looka!"
In went another finger--this time it came out purple.
"Try it," urged Sammy; "this is great."
The girls shrank away at Sammy's approach. Unfortunately, they leanedagainst the bench, and how were they to know that this particular benchhad a weak leg? Over it went, with a frightful clashing and crashing ofkettles, and a perfect flood of gay color streamed over the woodshedfloor, generously splashing shoes and stockings in spite of a hurriedrush outside.
But at the corner of the house, the children almost wished they hadstayed in the woodshed, and allowed themselves to be drowned in a sea ofdye. For a dreadful figure rose before them, a figure whose handsdripped red, whose face was marked with red, whose apron bore the printof scarlet hands--and the dripping red hands were shaken angrily atthem, and a hoarse voice called words to them they were too frightenedto hear. It was only the rug woman, summoned by the noise from her taskof re-dipping the faded red church carpet, but the sight of her almoststopped the children's hearts from beating, and made their breath comequick.
Sammy, the boaster, he who often bragged that one day he would disposesingle-handed of six red Indian braves on the war-path, even Sammyquailed, and, with
not a thought of his companions, made a dash forMaggie, gazing over the fence with inquiring eyes, and with one boundseated himself in the cart. The girls made haste to follow, Mary Ellenwith her arm about Lydia, for the lame ankle had received a cruelwrench, and tears were rolling down Lydia's cheeks as she hopped andhobbled and stumbled along in her haste to be gone.
But at last they were safely in the cart, and Maggie, excited no doubtby Sammy's shouts and the woman's angry cries, broke into a canter thatspeedily took them out of sight and sound of the catastrophe. On spedMaggie, through the hot summer afternoon, past the mill, round thecurve, down the broad road toward home.
And there a short distance from Friend Morris's gate came running towardthem Friend Deborah and Alexander. Poor Friend Deborah held a hand toher aching face, but she was able to gasp, "Oh, children, how thee hasfrightened me!"
"And exasperated me," added truthful Alexander, as his eye traveled frompanting little Maggie, with foam-flecked mouth, to the once neat littlecart, now covered with dust, and badly stained within by spots andsplashes of dye.
Good Quaker that he was, he said no more, but he looked grave as helistened to the story the children had to tell.
"Has thee stopped to think at all of the trouble and the loss thee hascaused the poor rug woman, who never did thee any harm?" he inquiredsoberly.
The children hung their heads and did not answer. At last Mary Ellen,twisting the end of her braid, murmured, "I will give her my spendingmoney until I've paid her back," and Sammy nodded in agreement. As theyeach had a penny a week for spending money Alexander's lips twitched,but this the children did not see.
"And look at thy shoes and stockings," said Friend Deborah, who had beensurveying the three culprits as they stood before her. "What must be thestate of thy feet? Will thee ever wash them white again?"
This was too much for Lydia. Her lip had been trembling for some time,and now the thought of red and green and blue feet upset her completely.She broke into loud sobs, and cast herself down upon the roadside grass.
"My foot hurts, my foot hurts, and no one loves me." And she buried herface in the friendly clover, and cried despairingly.
Sammy was winking hard, and Mary Ellen was biting her lip and digging ahole in the dust with the tip of her strange green and purple shoe.
Alexander's kind heart melted at the sight.
"Ye cannot have gray heads on green shoulders," said he; and as FriendDeborah carried the weeping Lydia into the house for a bath and bed,Alexander helped the other two travelers upon a passing wagon and rodewith them to Robin Hill.
Lydia and Mary Ellen and Sammy never knew how Mr. Blake laughed when heheard the story. He himself went to see the rug woman, and his visit wasso satisfactory that when he left, the rug woman held out her hand,purple this time, and invited him to come again.
"You are a gentleman, sir," said she, "and you have more than paid forwhat I lost. Bring your little girl the next time you come."
But Lydia had no desire to pay that visit.
For a long time, Father's favorite question was, "Lydia, what color feetdo you prefer?" But Lydia could never see anything funny in that joke.
She quite agreed, however, with Friend Morris, who said when she heardthe story:
"I think the most sensible member of the party was Maggie Medicine, whotook thee safely there and back."
And to this Friend Lydia always nodded "yes."