XIV
Judith Adjusts The Situation
Mary had been a member of the Yellett household for something over a week,and the intellectual conquest of her Brobdingnag pupils seemed as hopelessas on that first day. School seemed to be regarded by them as a sort ofneutral territory, admirably adapted for the settlement of long-standinggrudges, the pleasant exchange of practical jokes, peace and warconferences; also as a mart of trade, where fire-arms, knives, bear andelk teeth might be swapped with a greater expenditure of time andconversation than under the maternal eye. "Teacher," as she was understoodand accepted by the house of Yellett, undoubtedly filled a long-felt want.Presiding over a school of six-imp power for a week, however, had humbledMary to the point of seriously considering a letter to the homegovernment, meekly asking for return transportation. But this was beforefeminine wile had struggled with feminine vanity, and feminine wile wonthe day. School still continued to open at six, from which early andunusual hour it continued, without recess or interruption, till noon, whendinner pleasantly invaded the scholastic monotony, to the infinite reliefof all parties concerned.
Mary had dismissed her pupils a few minutes before the usual hour, on aparticularly bad day, that she might rally her scattered faculties andpresent something of a countenance to the watchful eye of Mrs. Yellett.Every element of humor had vanished from the situation. The inverted tubwas no longer a theme for merriment in her diary; home-life without ahouse was no longer a diverting epigram; she had closed her eyes that shemight not see the mountains in all their grandeur. In her present mood ofabject homesickness the white-capped peaks were part and parcel of theaffront. With head sunk in the palms of her hands, and elbows resting onthe inverted tub, Mary presented a picture of woe, in which the wickedelement of comedy was not wholly lacking. Looking up suddenly, she sawJudith Rodney advancing. The first glimpse of her put Mary in a morerational mood.
"I'm so glad to see you! Behold my class-room appointments! They may seema trifle novel, but, for that matter, so are my pupils," began Mary,determining to present the same front to Judith that she had to Mrs.Yellett. But Judith was not to be put off. She looked into Mary's eyes anddid not relax her gaze until she was rewarded with an answering twinkle.Then Mary laughed long and merrily, the first good, hearty laugh since thebeginning of her teaching.
"Tell me," Mary broke out, suddenly, "or the suspense will kill me, whowrote that lovely letter--on such good quality Irish linen, too? Snob thatI was, it was the letter that did it."
"So you have your suspicions that it was not a home product?"
"You didn't do it, did you?"
"Oh no; though I was asked, and so was Miss Wetmore, I believe. Of coursepoor Mrs. Yellett had no other recourse, as I suppose you know. I chose tobe disobliging that time, and was sorry for it afterwards--sorry when Iheard about the letter that really went! Do you find the sheep-wagon sovery dreadful?"
"I thought," laughed Mary, "that it was going to be like a picture I sawin a magazine, Mexican hammocks, grass cushions, and a lady pouring teafrom a samovar; instead it was the sheep-wagon and 'Do you sleep light ordark?' There is Mrs. Yellett calling us to dinner. Shall I have a chanceto talk to you alone afterwards?"
"I've come all the way from Dax's to see you," explained Judith, withcharacteristic directness. "We have all the afternoon."
"Really!" Mary displayed a flash of school-girl enthusiasm. "I feel as ifI could almost bear the scenery."
Presumably Judith was a favorite guest of the Yellett household, and notwithout reason. She took her place in the circle about the homely,steaming fare, with an ease and grace that suggested that dining off theground was an every-day affair with her, and chairs and tablesundreamed-of luxuries. Mary envied her ready tact. Why could she not meetthese people with Judith's poise--bring out the best of them, as she did?The boys talked readily and naturally--there was even a flavor to what theysaid. As for herself, try never so conscientiously and she would beconfronted by frank amusement or shy distrust. Even "paw" beamed at Judithappreciatively as he consumed his meal with infinite, toothless labor. TheSpartan family became almost sprightly under the pleasantly stimulatinginfluence of its guest.
"What kind of basques are they wearing this summer, Judy?" inquired Mrs.Yellett, regarding her guest's trim shirt-waist judicially. "I reckon themloose, meal-sack things must be all the go since you and Miss Mary bothhave 'em; but give me a good, tight-fittin' basque, every time. How's anyone to know whether you got a figure or not, in a thing that never hitsyou anywhere?" questioned the matriarch, not without a touch of prideanent her own fine proportions.
"You really ought to have a shirt-waist, Mrs. Yellett. You've no idea ofthe comfort of them, till you've worn them."
"I don't see but I'll have to come to it." Her tone was frankly regretful,as one who feels obliged to follow the behests of fashion, yet, in sodoing, sacrifices a cherished ideal. Mary Carmichael choked over hercoffee in an abortive attempt to restrain her audible hilarity. Judith,without a trace of amusement, was discussing materials, cut, and buttons;the plainswoman had proved herself the better gentlewoman of the two.
"Get me a spotty calico, white, with a red dot, will you, the next timeyou're over to Ervay? Buttons accordin' to your judgment; but if you couldget some white chiny with a red ring, I think they'd match it handsome."She frowned reflectively. "You're sure one of them loose, hangy things 'dbecome me? Then you can bring it over Tuesday, when you come to the hunt."
"What hunt?" asked Judith, in all simplicity.
"Why, the wolf-hunt. Peter Hamilton come here three days ago and madearrangements for 'em all to have supper here after it was done. 'Lowedthere was a young Eastern lady in the party, Miss Colebrooke, who couldn'twait to meet me. Course you're goin', Judy? You've plumb forgot it, orsomethin' happened to the messenger. Who ever hyeard tell of anythin'happenin' in this yere county 'thout you bein' the very axle of it?"
Judith had not betrayed her chagrin by the least change of countenance. Tothe most searching glance every faculty was intent on the shirt-waist withthe ringed buttons. Yet both women felt--by a species of telepathy whollyfeminine--that Judith was deeply wounded. Loyal Sarah Yellett decided thatHamilton's guests would get but a scant supper from her if her friendJudith was to be unfavored with an invitation, while Judith, in her ownwarm heart, resented as deeply as Peter's slight of herself, his tale ofMiss Colebrooke's impatience to meet Mrs. Yellett. The matriarch'sdominant personality evoked many a smile even from those most deeplyconscious of her worth; but it wasn't like Peter to make a spectacle ofhis ruggedly honest neighbor. Nevertheless she remarked, coolly:
"I sha'n't be able to bring your shirt-waist things up Tuesday, I'mafraid, Mrs. Yellett, but I'll try to bring them towards the end of theweek." Then, with a swift change of subject, "How are the boys getting onwith their education, Miss Carmichael?"
The boys looked at Mary out of the corners of their eyes. Their prowess inthe field of letters had not been publicly discussed before. MaryCarmichael, emboldened by Judith's presence, looked at her tormentors witha judicious glance.
"The girls are doing fairly well," she replied, suppressing the mischiefin her eyes, "but the boys, poor fellows, I think something must be thematter with them. Did they ever fall on their heads when they were babies,Mrs. Yellett?"
"Not more than common. All babies fall on their heads; it's as common ascolic."
"Poor boys!" said Mary, with a manner that suggested they were miles away,rather than within a few feet of her. "Poor boys! I've never seen anythinglike it. They try so hard, too, yet they can make nothing of work thatwould be play for a child of three. They must have fallen on their headsharder than you supposed, Mrs. Yellett."
"Perhaps their skulls were a heap frailer than I allowed for at the time,"said Mrs. Yellett, with similar remoteness, yet with a twinkle that showedMary she understood the situation.
"An infant's skull doesn't stand much knocking about, I suppose, Mrs.Yellett?"
"Not a great deal, if there ain't plenty of vinegar and brown paper handy,and I seldom had such fancy fixings in camp. It's too bad my boys shouldbe dumb 'n account of a little thing like vinegar and brown paper."
"Maw, they be dumb as Injuns," declared Cacta, preening herself, while theMessrs. Yellett reapplied themselves to their dinner with ostentatiousinterest.
"Well, well!" said Mrs. Yellett; "it be a hard blow to me to know that mysons are lackings; there's mothers I know as would give vent to theirdisapp'inted ambition in ways I'd consider crool to the absent-minded. Nowhearken, the whole outfit of you! Any offspring of mine now present andforever after holding his peace, who proves feebleminded by the end of thecoming week, takes over all the work, labor, and chores of such offspringas demonstrates himself in full possession of his faculties, the matter tobe reported on by the gov'ment."
No sovereign, issuing a proclamation of war, could have assumed a moreformidable mien than Mrs. Yellett, squatting erect on the prairie, crownedby her rabbit-skin cap. Mary and Judith, with bland, impassiveexpressions, noted the effect of the mandate. There was not the faintestsymptom of rebellion; each Brobdingnag accepted the matriarch's edictwithout a murmur.
With an air of further meditation on the efficacy of brown paper andvinegar at the crucial moment, Mrs. Yellett suddenly observed:
"The lacking, like the dog, may be taught to fetch and carry a book; butto learn it he is unable."
"Maw, does it say that in the Book of Hiram?" asked Clematis.
"It says that, an' more, too. It says, 'The words of the wise are anexpense, but the lovin' parent don't grudge 'em.'"
Mary Carmichael had noticed, as her alien presence came to be less of acheck on Mrs. Yellett's natural medium of expression, that she was muchaddicted to a species of quotation with which she impartially adorned herconversation, pointed family morals, or administered an occasionalreproof. These family aphorisms were sometimes semi-legal, sometimessemi-scriptural in turn of phrase, and built on a foundation of homelyphilosophy. They were ascribed to the "Book of Hiram" and never failed ofsalutary effect in the family circle. But the apt quotations that she hadjust heard piqued Mary's curiosity more than before.
"Do you happen to have a copy of the Book of Hiram, Mrs. Yellett?" sheasked, in all innocence, supposing that the 'homely apothegms were to befound at the back of some patent-medicine almanac. Judith Rodney listenedin wonder. The question had never before been asked in her hearing.
"I lost mine." Mrs. Yellett folded her arms and looked at her questionerwith something of a challenging mien.
"What a pity! I've been so interested in the quotations I've heard youmake from it."
"What's the matter with 'em?" she demanded, pride and apprehension equallycommingled.
Judith Rodney rushed to the rescue:
"Nothing is the matter with them, Mrs. Yellett," she said, with herdisarming smile, "except that there is not quite enough to go around."
The matriarch had the air of gathering herself together for somethingreally worth while. Then she tossed off:
"''Tain't always the quality of the grub that confers the flavor, butsometimes the scarcity thereof.'"
Perhaps it has been the good-fortune of some of us to say a word of praiseto an author, while unconscious of his relationship to the book praised.Mark the genial glow radiating from every feature of our auditor! How wefeel ourselves anointed with his approval, our good taste and criticalfaculty how commended! It is a luxury that goes a long way towardsmitigating the discomfitures caused by the reverse of this unctuousblunder.
"The Book of Hiram," said Mrs. Yellett, angling for time, "is a book--it dosurprise me that it escapes your notice back East. You ever heard tell ofthe Book of Mormon?"
Mary assented.
"Well, the Book of Hiram is like the Book of Mormon, only a heap moreundefiled. The youngest child can read it without asking a singleembarrassing question of its elder, and the oldest sinner can read itwithout having any fleshly meditations intrudin' on his piety."
The Yellett family had by this time dispersed itself for the afternoon,and the matriarch and the two girls started in to clear away the meal andwash the dishes.
"That's the kind of book for me," continued Mrs. Yellett, vigorouslyswishing about in the soapy water. "Story-books don't count none with methese days. It's my opinion that things are snarled up a whole lot toomuch in real life without pestering over the anguish of print folks. Fleshand blood suffering goes without a groan of sympathy from the on-lookers,while novel characters wade to the neck in compassion. I've pondered onthat a whole lot, seem' a heap of indifference to every-day calamity, andthe way I assay it is like this: print folks has terrible fanciful layoutsgiven to their griefs and worriments by the authors of their being. Thetrimmings to their troubles is mighty attractive. Don't you reckon I'd bewillin' to have a spell of trouble if I had a sweeping black velvet dressto do it in? Yes, indeed, I'd be willin' to turn a few of them shades ofanguish, 'gray's ashes,' 'pale as death,' and so on, if they'd give me thedress novel ladies seems to have for them special occasions."
"But you used to like novels, you know you did, Mrs. Yellett," observedJudith Rodney.
"Yes, I didn't always entertain these views concernin' romance. Youwouldn't believe it, but there was a time when I just nacherally wentcareerin' round enveloped in fantasies. I was young then--just about thetime I married paw. Every novel that was read to me, I mean that Iread"--Mrs. Yellett blushed a deep copper color through her many coats oftan--"convinced me that I was the heroine thereof. And, nacherally, Iturned over to paw the feachers and characteristics of the hero in saidbook I happened to be enjoyin' at the time. Paw never knew it, butsometimes he was a dook, and it was plumb hard work. Just about as hard asropin' a mountain-lion an' sayin', 'remember, you are a sheep from thistime henceforth, and trim your action accordin'.' I'd say to paw, 'Let'swalk together in the gloaming, here in this deserted garden'; and pawwould say, 'Name o' Gawd, woman, have you lost your mind? It's plumb threehundred and fifty miles to the Tivoli beer-garden in Cheyenne, and itain't deserted, either!'
"Then I'd wring my hands in anguish, same as the Lady Mary, an' paw woulddeclare I was locoed. He seemed a heap more nacheral when I pretended hewas 'Black Ranger, the Pirate King.' His language came in handy, and hiscartridge-belt and pistol all came in Black Ranger's outfit. Yes, it was aheap easier playing he was a pirate than a dook. All this happened back toSalt Lake, where me an' paw was married."
Mrs. Yellett looked towards the mountain-range that separated her from theMormon country, and her listeners realized that she was verging perilouslyclose to confidences. Mary Carmichael, who dreaded missing any detail ofthe chronicle that dealt with paw in the role of apocryphal duke, hastenedto say:
"And you lost your taste for romance, finally?"
"In Salt Lake I was left to myself a whole lot-there was reasons why Ididn't mingle with the Mormon herd. Paw was mighty attentive to me, butthem was troublous times for paw. I pastures myself with the fleetin'figures of romance the endoorin' time and enjoys myself a heap. When pawwasn't a dook or a pirate king, unbeknownst to himself, like as not he wasSir Marmaduke Trevelyun, or somebody entitled to the same amount of dog.
"'Bout this time a little stranger was due in our midst, and the woman whocame to take care of me was plumb locoed over novels, same as me, onlyworse. She just hungered for 'em, same as if she had a longin' forsomething out of season. She brought a batch of them with her in hertrunk, we borrowed her a lot more, some I don't know how she come by. Butthey didn't have no effect; it was like feedin' an' Injun--you couldn'tstrike bottom. She read out of 'em to me with disastrous resultshappenin', an' that cured me. The brand on this here book that effected mychange of heart was _The Bride of the Tomb_. I forget the name of the girlin that romance, but she was in hard luck from the start. She couldn'thead off the man pursooin' her, any way she turned. She'd wheel out of hisway cl'ar across country, but he'd land thar fust an' wait for her, asmile on his satanin
e feachers.
"I got so wrought up along o' that book, an' worried as to the outcome,'most as bad as the girl. Think of it! An' me with only three baby-shirtsan' a flannel petticoat made at the time! Seemed 's if I couldn't hustlemy meals fast enough, I just hankered so to know what was goin' to happennext! I plumb detested the man with the handsome feachers, same as thegirl. Me an' her felt precisely alike about him. And when he shut her upin the family vault I just giv' up an' was took then an' there, an' mewithout so much as finishin' the flannel petticoat! I never could endurethe sight of a novel since. Perhaps that's why Ben is so dumb about hisbooks--just holds a nacheral grudge against 'em along of my havin' toborrow slips for him."
"Has the Book of Hiram anything to say against the habit of novel reading,Mrs. Yellett?" inquired Judith, demurely.
She paused for a moment. "It's mighty inconvenient that I should havemislaid that book, but rounding up my recollections of it, I recallsomething like this: 'Romance is the loco-weed of humanity.'"
"So you don't approve of the Mormon Bible?" ventured Mary.
"I jest nacherally execrates Mormonism, spoken, printed, or in action,"she said, with an emphasis that suggested the subject had a strongpersonal bearing. "I recall a text from the Book of Hiram touching onMormon deportment in particklar an' human nature at large. It says, 'Whereseveral women and one man are gathered together for the purpose of servingthe Lord, the man gets the bulk of the service."
She broke off suddenly, as if she feared she had said too much. "Judy,"she demanded, "is Mis' Dax busy with Leander now?"
"Not more than usual," smiled Judith.
"Jest tell her for me, will you, that I want to hire her husband to dosome herdin'; Leander's handy, 'n' can work good an' sharp, if he is aninfidel. An' I like to have him over now an' then, as you know, Judy. Asthe Book of Hiram says, 'It's neighborly to ease the check-rein of agentled husband.' But you tell him I don't want to hear any of hisever-lastin' fool argufyin' 'bout religion. Leander 'd stop in the middleof shearin' a sheep to argue that Jonah never came out o' the whale'sbelly. I ain't no use for infidels, 'less they're muzzled, which Leandermos' generally is."
With the feeling that there was an excellent though unspoken understandingbetween them, the two girls walked together to the top of the path thatwandered away from camp towards a bluff overlooking wave after wave offoot-hills, lying blue and still like a petrified sea.
"I'm still dying to know who wrote that letter," begged Mary.
"It was written by a lady who is very anxious to return to Washington, andshe took that means of getting one more vote. Her husband is going to runfor the Senate next term. We hear a good deal of that side of politics,you know."
"It was certainly convincing," remarked the victim of the letter. "Myaunts detected many virtues in the handwriting."
"But now that you are really here, isn't it splendid? Mountains are suchgood neighbors. They give you their great company and yet leave you yourown little reservations."
"But I fear I can never feel at home out-of-doors," Mary announced, withsuch a rueful expression that they both smiled.
"Perhaps, then, it depends on the frame of mind. I've had longer than youto cultivate it."
Mary looked towards the mountains, serene in their strength. "Awesome asthey are," she laughed, "they don't frighten me nearly as much as Ben andNed. They are really very difficile, my pupils, and I feel so ridiculoussitting up back of that tub, teaching them letters and the spelling offoolish words, when they know things I've never dreamed of. The other day,out of a few scratches in the dust that I should never have given a secondglance, one of them made out that some one's horses had broken the corraland one was trailing a rope. Whereupon my pupil got on a horse, went insearch of the strays, and returned them to men going to a round-up. Afterthat, the spelling of cat didn't seem quite so much of an achievement asit had before."
"But they need the spelling of cat so much more than you need tounderstand trail-marks. Why don't you try a little strategy with them?Perhaps a bribe, even? It seems to me I remember something in historyabout the part played in colonization by the bright-colored bead."
Sundry wood-cuts from a long-forgotten primer history of the United Statescame back to Mary. In that tear-stained, dog-eared volume, all explorers,from Columbus down to Lewis and Clarke, were unfailingly depicted in theattitude of salesmen displaying squares of cloth to savages apparently inurgent need of them.
"How stupid of me not to remember Father Marquette concluding negotiationswith a necklace!"
"Frankly plagiarize the terms of your treaty from Pere Marquette, andthere you are!"
"You are so splendid!" said Mary, impulsively, remembering Judith's ownsorrows and the smiling fortitude with which she kept them hidden. "Youmake me feel like a horrid little girl that has been whining."
Judith looked towards the mountains a long time without speaking.
"When you know them well, they whisper great things that little folk can'ttake away."
She turned back towards camp, walking lightly, with head thrown back. Marywatched her. Yes, the mountains might have admitted her to their company.