The Best of Gene Stratton-Porter

  Billy slid from Wesley’s arms and walked toward Margaret until he reached the middle of the room. Then he stopped, and at last sat on the floor. Finally he lay down and closed his eyes. “This feels more like my bed; if only Jimmy and Belle was here to crowd up a little, so it wasn’t so alone like.”

  “Won’t I do, Billy?” asked Wesley in a husky voice.

  Billy moved restlessly. “Seems like—seems like toward night as if a body got kind o’ lonesome for a woman person—like her.”

  Billy indicated Margaret and then closed his eyes so tight his small face wrinkled.

  Soon he was up again. “Wisht I had Snap,” he said. “Oh, I ist wisht I had Snap!”

  “I thought you laid a board on Snap and jumped on it,” said Wesley.

  “We did!” cried Billy. “Oh, you ought to heard him squeal!” Billy laughed loudly, then his face clouded.

  “But I want Snap to lay beside me so bad now—that if he was here I’d give him a piece of my chicken, ’fore I ate any. Do you like dogs?”

  “Yes, I do,” said Wesley.

  Billy was up instantly. “Would you like Snap?”

  “I am sure I would,” said Wesley.

  “Would she?” Billy indicated Margaret. And then he answered his own question. “But of course, she wouldn’t, cos she likes cats, and dogs chases cats. Oh, dear, I thought for a minute maybe Snap could come here.” Billy lay down and closed his eyes resolutely.

  Suddenly they flew open. “Does it hurt to be dead?” he demanded.

  “Nothing hurts you after you are dead, Billy,” said Wesley.

  “Yes, but I mean does it hurt getting to be dead?”

  “Sometimes it does. It did not hurt your father, Billy. It came softly while he was asleep.”

  “It ist came softly?”

  “Yes.”

  “I kind o’ wisht he wasn’t dead!” said Billy. “’Course I like to stay with you, and the fried chicken, and the nice soft bed, and—and everything, and I like to be clean, but he took us to the show, and he got us gum, and he never hurt us when he wasn’t drunk.”

  Billy drew a deep breath, and tightly closed his eyes. But very soon they opened. Then he sat up. He looked at Wesley pitifully, and then he glanced at Margaret. “You don’t like boys, do you?” he questioned.

  “I like good boys,” said Margaret.

  Billy was at her knee instantly. “Well say, I’m a good boy!” he announced joyously.

  “I do not think boys who hurt helpless kittens and pull out turkeys’ tails are good boys.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t hurt the kittens,” explained Billy. “They got mad ’bout ist a little fun and scratched each other. I didn’t s’pose they’d act like that. And I didn’t pull the turkey’s tail. I ist held on to the first thing I grabbed, and the turkey pulled. Honest, it was the turkey pulled.” He turned to Wesley. “You tell her! Didn’t the turkey pull? I didn’t know its tail was loose, did I?”

  “I don’t think you did, Billy,” said Wesley.

  Billy stared into Margaret’s cold face. “Sometimes at night, Belle sits on the floor, and I lay my head in her lap. I could pull up a chair and lay my head in your lap. Like this, I mean.” Billy pulled up a chair, climbed on it and laid his head on Margaret’s lap. Then he shut his eyes again. Margaret could have looked little more repulsed if he had been a snake. Billy was soon up.

  “My, but your lap is hard,” he said. “And you are a good deal fatter ’an Belle, too!” He slid from the chair and came back to the middle of the room.

  “Oh but I wisht he wasn’t dead!” he cried. The flood broke and Billy screamed in desperation.

  Out of the night a soft, warm young figure flashed through the door and with a swoop caught him in her arms. She dropped into a chair, nestled him closely, drooped her fragrant brown head over his little bullet-eyed red one, and rocked softly while she crooned over him—

  “Billy, boy, where have you been?

  Oh, I have been to seek a wife,

  She’s the joy of my life,

  But then she’s a young thing and she can’t leave her mammy!”

  Billy clung to her frantically. Elnora wiped his eyes, kissed his face, swayed, and sang.

  “Why aren’t you asleep?” she asked at last.

  “I don’t know,” said Billy. “I tried. I tried awful hard cos I thought he wanted me to, but it ist wouldn’t come. Please tell her I tried.” He appealed to Margaret.

  “He did try to go to sleep,” admitted Margaret.

  “Maybe he can’t sleep in his clothes,” suggested Elnora. “Haven’t you an old dressing sacque? I could roll the sleeves.”

  Margaret got an old sacque, and Elnora put it on Billy. Then she brought a basin of water and bathed his face and head. She gathered him up and began to rock again.

  “Have you got a pa?” asked Billy.

  “No,” said Elnora.

  “Is he dead like mine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did it hurt him to die?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Billy was wide awake again. “It didn’t hurt my pa,” he boasted. “He ist died while he was asleep. He didn’t even know it was coming.”

  “I am glad of that,” said Elnora, pressing the small head against her breast again.

  Billy escaped her hand and sat up. “I guess I won’t go to sleep,” he said. “It might ‘come softly’ and get me.”

  “It won’t get you, Billy,” said Elnora, rocking and singing between sentences. “It doesn’t get little boys. It just takes big people who are sick.”

  “Was my pa sick?”

  “Yes,” said Elnora. “He had a dreadful sickness inside him that burned, and made him drink things. That was why he would forget his little boys and girl. If he had been well, he would have gotten you good things to eat, clean clothes, and had the most fun with you.”

  Billy leaned against her and closed his eyes, and Elnora rocked hopefully.

  “If I was dead would you cry?” he was up again.

  “Yes, I would,” said Elnora, gripping him closer until Billy almost squealed with the embrace.

  “Do you love me tight as that?” he questioned blissfully.

  “Yes, bushels and bushels,” said Elnora. “Better than any little boy in the whole world.”

  Billy looked at Margaret. “She don’t!” he said. “She’d be glad if it would get me ‘softly,’ right now. She don’t want me here ’t all.”

  Elnora smothered his face against her breast and rocked.

  “You love me, don’t you?”

  “I will, if you will go to sleep.”

  “Every single day you will give me your dinner for the bologna, won’t you,” said Billy.

  “Yes, I will,” replied Elnora. “But you will have as good lunch as I do after this. You will have milk, eggs, chicken, all kinds of good things, little pies, and cakes, maybe.”

  Billy shook his head. “I am going back home soon as it is light,” he said. “She don’t want me. She thinks I’m a bad boy. She’s going to whip me—if he lets her. She said so. I heard her. Oh, I wish he hadn’t died! I want to go home.” Billy shrieked again.

  Mrs. Comstock had started to walk slowly to meet Elnora. The girl had been so late that her mother reached the Sinton gate and followed the path until the picture inside became visible. Elnora had told her about Wesley taking Billy home. Mrs. Comstock had some curiosity to see how Margaret bore the unexpected addition to her family. Billy’s voice, raised with excitement, was plainly audible. She could see Elnora holding him, and hear his excited wail. Wesley’s face was drawn and haggard, and Margaret’s set and defiant. A very imp of perversity entered the breast of Mrs. Comstock.

  “Hoity, toity!” she said as she suddenly appeared in the door. “Blest if I ever heard a man making sounds like that before!”

  Billy ceased suddenly. Mrs. Comstock was tall, angular, and her hair was prematurely white. She was only thirty-six, although she appeared fifty. But there was a
n expression on her usually cold face that was attractive just then, and Billy was in search of attractions.

  “Have I stayed too late, mother?” asked Elnora anxiously. “I truly intended to come straight back, but I thought I could rock Billy to sleep first. Everything is strange, and he’s so nervous.”

  “Is that your ma?” demanded Billy.

  “Yes.”

  “Does she love you?”

  “Of course!”

  “My mother didn’t love me,” said Billy. “She went away and left me, and never came back. She don’t care what happens to me. You wouldn’t go away and leave your little girl, would you?” questioned Billy.

  “No,” said Katharine Comstock, “and I wouldn’t leave a little boy, either.”

  Billy began sliding from Elnora’s knees.

  “Do you like boys?” he questioned.

  “If there is anything I love it is a boy,” said Mrs. Comstock assuringly. Billy was on the floor.

  “Do you like dogs?”

  “Yes. Almost as well as boys. I am going to buy a dog as soon as I can find a good one.”

  Billy swept toward her with a whoop.

  “Do you want a boy?” he shouted.

  Katharine Comstock stretched out her arms, and gathered him in.

  “Of course, I want a boy!” she rejoiced.

  “Maybe you’d like to have me?” offered Billy.

  “Sure I would,” triumphed Mrs. Comstock. “Any one would like to have you. You are just a real boy, Billy.”

  “Will you take Snap?”

  “I’d like to have Snap almost as well as you.”

  “Mother!” breathed Elnora imploringly. “Don’t! Oh, don’t! He thinks you mean it!”

  “And so I do mean it,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I’ll take him in a jiffy. I throw away enough to feed a little tyke like him every day. His chatter would be great company while you are gone. Blood soon can be purified with right food and baths, and as for Snap, I meant to buy a bulldog, but possibly Snap will serve just as well. All I ask of a dog is to bark at the right time. I’ll do the rest. Would you like to come and be my boy, Billy?”

  Billy leaned against Mrs. Comstock, reached his arms around her neck and gripped her with all his puny might. “You can whip me all you want to,” he said. “I won’t make a sound.”

  Mrs. Comstock held him closely and her hard face was softening; of that there could be no doubt.

  “Now, why would any one whip a nice little boy like you?” she asked wonderingly.

  “She”—Billy from his refuge waved toward Margaret—”she was going to whip me ’cause her cats fought, when I tied their tails together and hung them over the line to dry. How did I know her old cats would fight?”

  Mrs. Comstock began to laugh suddenly, and try as she would she could not stop so soon as she desired. Billy studied her.

  “Have you got turkeys?” he demanded.

  “Yes, flocks of them,” said Mrs. Comstock, vainly struggling to suppress her mirth, and settle her face in its accustomed lines.

  “Are their tails fast?” demanded Billy.

  “Why, I think so,” marvelled Mrs. Comstock.

  “Hers ain’t!” said Billy with the wave toward Margaret that was becoming familiar. “Her turkey pulled, and its tail comed right off. She’s going to whip me if he lets her. I didn’t know the turkey would pull. I didn’t know its tail would come off. I won’t ever touch one again, will I?”

  “Of course, you won’t,” said Mrs. Comstock. “And what’s more, I don’t care if you do! I’d rather have a fine little man like you than all the turkeys in the country. Let them lose their old tails if they want to, and let the cats fight. Cats and turkeys don’t compare with boys, who are going to be fine big men some of these days.”

  Then Billy and Mrs. Comstock hugged each other rapturously, while their audience stared in silent amazement.

  “You like boys!” exulted Billy, and his head dropped against Mrs. Comstock in unspeakable content.

  “Yes, and if I don’t have to carry you the whole way home, we must start right now,” said Mrs. Comstock. “You are going to be asleep before you know it.”

  Billy opened his eyes and braced himself. “I can walk,” he said proudly.

  “All right, we must start. Come, Elnora! Good-night, folks!” Mrs. Comstock set Billy on the floor, and arose gripping his hand. “You take the other side, Elnora, and we will help him as much as we can,” she said.

  Elnora stared piteously at Margaret, then at Wesley, and arose in white-faced bewilderment.

  “Billy, are you going to leave without even saying good-bye to me?” asked Wesley, with a gulp.

  Billy held tight to Mrs. Comstock and Elnora.

  “Good-bye!” he said casually. “I’ll come and see you some time.”

  Wesley Sinton gave a smothered sob, and strode from the room.

  Mrs. Comstock started toward the door, dragging at Billy while Elnora pulled back, but Mrs. Sinton was before them, her eyes flashing.

  “Kate Comstock, you think you are mighty smart, don’t you?” she cried.

  “I ain’t in the lunatic asylum, where you belong, anyway,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I am smart enough to tell a dandy boy when I see him, and I’m good and glad to get him. I’ll love to have him!”

  “Well, you won’t have him!” exclaimed Margaret Sinton. “That boy is Wesley’s! He found him, and brought him here. You can’t come in and take him like that! Let go of him!”

  “Not much, I won’t!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “Leave the poor sick little soul here for you to beat, because he didn’t know just how to handle things! Of course, he’ll make mistakes. He must have a lot of teaching, but not the kind he’ll get from you! Clear out of my way!”

  “You let go of our boy,” ordered Margaret.

  “Why? Do you want to whip him, before he can go to sleep?” jeered Mrs. Comstock.

  “No, I don’t!” said Margaret. “He’s Wesley’s, and nobody shall touch him. Wesley!”

  Wesley Sinton appeared behind Margaret in the doorway, and she turned to him. “Make Kate Comstock let go of our boy!” she demanded.

  “Billy, she wants you now,” said Wesley Sinton. “She won’t whip you, and she won’t let any one else. You can have stacks of good things to eat, ride in the carriage, and have a great time. Won’t you stay with us?”

  Billy drew away from Mrs. Comstock and Elnora.

  He faced Margaret, his eyes shrewd with unchildish wisdom. Necessity had taught him to strike the hot iron, to drive the hard bargain.

  “Can I have Snap to live here always?” he demanded.

  “Yes, you can have all the dogs you want,” said Margaret Sinton.

  “Can I sleep close enough so’s I can touch you?”

  “Yes, you can move your lounge up so that you can hold my hand,” said Margaret.

  “Do you love me now?” questioned Billy.

  “I’ll try to love you, if you are a good boy,” said Margaret.

  “Then I guess I’ll stay,” said Billy, walking over to her.

  Out in the night Elnora and her mother went down the road in the moonlight; every few rods Mrs. Comstock laughed aloud.

  “Mother, I don’t understand you,” sobbed Elnora.

  “Well, maybe when you have gone to high school longer you will,” said Mrs. Comstock. “Anyway, you saw me bring Mag Sinton to her senses, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did,” answered Elnora, “but I thought you were in earnest. So did Billy, and Uncle Wesley, and Aunt Margaret.”

  “Well, wasn’t I?” inquired Mrs. Comstock.

  “But you just said you brought Aunt Margaret to!”

  “Well, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “That’s the reason I am recommending more schooling!”

  Elnora took her candle and went to bed. Mrs. Comstock was feeling too good to sleep. Twice of late she really had enjoyed herself for the first in sixteen years, and greediness
for more of the same feeling crept into her blood like intoxication. As she sat brooding alone she knew the truth. She would have loved to have taken Billy. She would not have minded his mischief, his chatter, or his dog. He would have meant a distraction from herself that she greatly needed; she was even sincere about the dog. She had intended to tell Wesley to buy her one at the very first opportunity. Her last thought was of Billy. She chuckled softly, for she was not saintly, and now she knew how she could even a long score with Margaret and Wesley in a manner that would fill her soul with grim satisfaction.

  Chapter 8

  Wherein the Limberlost Tempts Elnora, and Billy Buries His Father

  Immediately after dinner on Sunday Wesley Sinton stopped at the Comstock gate to ask if Elnora wanted to go to town with them. Billy sat beside him and he did not appear as if he were on his way to a funeral. Elnora said she had to study and could not go, but she suggested that her mother take her place. Mrs. Comstock put on her hat and went at once, which surprised Elnora. She did not know that her mother was anxious for an opportunity to speak with Sinton alone. Elnora knew why she was repeatedly cautioned not to leave their land, if she went specimen hunting.

  She studied two hours and was several lessons ahead of her classes. There was no use to go further. She would take a walk and see if she could gather any caterpillars or find any freshly spun cocoons. She searched the bushes and low trees behind the garden and all around the edge of the woods on their land, and having little success, at last came to the road. Almost the first thorn bush she examined yielded a Polyphemus cocoon. Elnora lifted her head with the instinct of a hunter on the chase, and began work. She reached the swamp before she knew it, carrying five fine cocoons of different species as her reward. She pushed back her hair and gazed around longingly. A few rods inside she thought she saw cocoons on a bush, to which she went, and found several. Sense of caution was rapidly vanishing; she was in a fair way to forget everything and plunge into the swamp when she thought she heard footsteps coming down the trail. She went back, and came out almost facing Pete Corson.

  That ended her difficulty. She had known him since childhood. When she sat on the front bench of the Brushwood schoolhouse, Pete had been one of the big boys at the back of the room. He had been rough and wild, but she never had been afraid of him, and often he had given her pretty things from the swamp.