The Second Chance

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE PIONEERS' PICNIC

  It is always fair weather When good fellows get together.

  _----Old Song._

  THE Pioneers' Picnic was the great annual social event of the SourisValley, and was looked forward to by young and old. It was held eachyear on the first day of July, on the green flats below the town ofMillford. In John Watson's home, as in many others, preparations forit began early.

  One very necessary part of the real enjoyment of a holiday is cash,cold, hard cash, for ice-cream, lemonade; and "Long Toms" can only beprocured in that way.

  Tommy and Patsey for the first time bitterly regretted their countryresidence, for if they had been in Millford, they said, they couldhave delivered parcels and run errands and have had a hundred dollarssaved easy. Pearl suggested the black bottles that were so numerousin the bush as a possible source of revenue, and so every piece ofscrub and the bluff behind the house were scoured for bottles.Thirty-seven were found, and were cleaned and boxed ready for theday.

  Then Bugsey's conscience woke up and refused to be silenced. "LibCavers ought to have them," he said sadly.

  The others scouted the idea. Bugsey was as loath to part with them asthe others; but they had their consciences under control and Bugseyhad not.

  "She couldn't take them in and sell them," said Tommy, speaking veryloudly and firmly, to drown the voice of his conscience. "It wouldn'tbe dacent, everybody knowin' where they came from, and what was inthem, and where it went to, and who it was, and all."

  Tommy had ideas on what constituted good form.

  Pearl was called upon to settle it and, after some thought, gave herdecision.

  "If you give Lib Cavers one package of 'Long Tom' popcorn and one ofgum for a present, it'll be all right. Don't tell her why yer givin'it to her--just say, 'Present from a friend,' when you hand it toher."

  "Maybe she don't like popcorn, anyway," Bugsey said, beginning tohope; "and I don't believe her ma will let her chew gum; and it don'tlook nice for little girls," he added virtuously.

  "I'll tell you what we'll do," said Tommy, who was a diplomat. "We'llgive it to her ma to give to her."

  "Offer it, you mean," corrected Patsey; '"give it' means she tuk it."

  Aunt Kate had been busy making suits for her young nephews allspring, for Aunt Kate was very handy with the needle. She had madeshirts for Teddy and Billy with elaborate "flossin'" down the front,so elaborate indeed that it threatened to upset the peace of thefamily. Billy rebelled openly, and Teddy said when he was out of hisAunt's hearing, that he would rather go without a shirt than wearthat scalloped thing. Aunt Kate was serene through it all, and toldthem how fond their Uncle Bill had been of that same pea-vinepattern. Pearl saw at once that there was going to be a family jar,and so saved the situation by getting Martha Perkins to make widesilk ties for the two boys, wide enough to hide the ramifications ofthe pea-vine--and then to avoid the uncomfortable questioning of AuntKate, she hid her glasses on the evening of June the thirtieth."Anyway," Pearl said to herself, "she might get them broke on a bigday like the 'First,' and she can see plenty without them, so shecan."

  The 'morning of July the first broke clear and sparkling, and beforesix o'clock the whole Watson family were stirring. Out in the gardenthe four little boys were pulling radishes and tying them intobunches. Mary, her hair done in many tight little pigtails, was doinga flourishing business' in lettuce. Jimmy was at the head of thegreen onion department. The Watsons had the contract of supplyinggreen vegetables to the hotel for the day.

  Pearl and Aunt Kate were sorting out clothes, while Mrs. Watson gotthe breakfast.

  Down on the river-bank John Watson was cutting down poles for the newstable that he was going to put up in the fall. There was a greatcontentment in his heart as he looked at his twenty acres of wheatand the same of oats. The season had been so favourable that althoughthe grain had been sown late, it was now well advanced. A field offifteen acres farther up the river had been cleared and ploughed andwould be in crop next year, and as he looked at his land in thesparkling morning sunshine something of Pearl's optimistic visioncame to him, and in his fancy he saw all the roots and scrub clearedaway and replaced by magnificent fields of grain, dappled with lightand shade, his pasture full of cattle, a comfortable house instead ofthe weatherworn one before him, himself and the "Missus" enjoyingpeace and plenty; and the children growing up in wisdom's ways; andPearlie--his heart's treasure, little Pearl, with the "natest fut inthe country, and the sparrow shins of her"--Pearlie getting herchance.

  "Faith, there's few of them can bate our Pearlie, I'm thinkin', ifshe can only get the chance."

  By ten o'clock active preparations began on the junior members of thefamily. Mary's hair showed that putting in fourteen hard braids thenight before is worth the trouble. She had a lovely barred muslinmade out of an old one of Aunt Kate's that she couldn't wear now,being in mourning.

  There were new suits for some, clean suits for all, and the onlydisturbance that occurred was when Danny would not "hold still" whilePearl fastened the front of his blouse; but just a hint of leavinghim at home, made a better boy of Danny at once.

  Bugsey, who was the first one dressed, went out to watch the weather,and in a short time came running in, in tears. There was a cloudcoming up, and Bugsey, the pessimist, knew it was going to rain.

  Pearl backed Danny out of the door, holding tight by his tie-strings,to look at the weather. Sure enough, black clouds had formed in thewest, and were marching relentlessly up the sky. The whole familycame out to look. In the east the sun blazed bright and unconcerned.The old pig ran past them carrying a wisp of hay in her mouth, and bycommon impulse three of the boys threw sticks after her. She was justtrying to make it rain--she couldn't go to the picnic herself, andshe'd just like to see it rain! Little whirls of wind circled aroundin the hip-yard, and there was an ominous roll of distant thunder.Loud wails broke from Bugsey, Danny, and Mary, and when the edge ofthe cloud went over the sun and the whole landscape darkened thewails became general.

  "Come into the house," commanded Pearl, "it's only goin' to be ashower and lay the dust. Cheer up, there's enough blue 'sky to make apair of pants, and it's not time for us to be goin' yet, anyway."

  The tearful family followed her into the house and sat in dolefulsilence watching the big drops that began to beat on the westernwindow.

  Pearl was a strong believer in work as a remedy for worry. Jimmy wasput to tightening up the buttons on his new suit. Tommy blackenedboots with lampblack and lard, and Bugsey, who was weeping copiously,was put to counting radishes as a little bit of "busy work."

  Pearl kept up a brave show of confidence in the weather, but Mrs.Watson's and Aunt Kate's contributions to the conversation were allof a humid character and dealt with spoiled feathers, parasols blowninside out, and muslin dresses so spattered with mud that they werenot worth bringing home.

  Pearl continued her preparations in the face of great discouragement.Aunt Kate foretold a three days' rain--it looked to be settlin' thatway, and besides, look at that old gray hen, she hadn't gone in, andthat was a sure sign of a long rain. This brought a renewed downpourin the house.

  Pearl grew desperate. "Look at all the other hens that did go in,"she said, as she tied the bows in her own hair. "I don't see thesense of taking that crazy old ike of a hen's word for it against allthe other hens that have gone in. She's a mournful old thing, and isstaying out to make the other ones feel bad, or else she don't knowenough to go in. Hurry up, Mary, and get all that stuff in; it's aquarter to eleven now, and we've got Tommy to do yet when he's donewith the boots. It's none of our business whether it rains now ornot. We're not wantin' to go just now."

  "Pearlie, dear," her mother said, "you're raisin' too many hopes inthem."

  "Hopes!" Pearl cried. "Did you say hopes, Ma? They look like a bunchwith too many hopes, settin' there blubberin' their eyes out andspoiling their looks."

  By eleven o'clock everything was ready but
the weather, and then, asif it suddenly dawned on the elements that this was hardly a squaredeal on Pioneers' Picnic day, the clouds parted right over JohnWatson's house, and a patch of blue sky, ever widening, smiled downencouragingly. Sorrow was changed to joy. Bugsey dried his eyes whenhe saw the sun shining on the Brandon Hills.

  A little breeze frolicked over the trees and flung down the raindropsin glittering showers, and at exactly a quarter past eleven theWatson family, seated on three seats in the high-boxed waggon, drovegaily out of the yard.

  "Sure, we enjoy it all the better for getting the scare," said Marythe philosopher.

  The Perkinses, in their two-seated buggy, were just ahead on theroad. Even Martha, encouraged by Pearl, was coming to the picnic.

  Behind the Watsons came the Caverses and the Motherwells.

  "Let's ask Libby Anne to ride with us," said Tommy, but Mary, withfine tact, pointed out that she would see the bottles, and it mighthurt her feelings, "for, mind you," said Mary, "she knows, young andall as she is."

  Mary was one year younger herself.

  Along every trail that led into the little town came buggies andwaggons, their occupants in the highest good humour. There was alaughing ripple in the meadowlark's song, as if he were declaringthat he knew all the time that the rain was only a joke.

  Across the river lay the Horsehoe slough, a crescent of glisteningsilver, over which wild ducks circled and skimmed and then sank intoits clear waters, splashing riotously, as if they, too, were holdingan "Old Boys' Reunion." It was the close season for wild fowl, andnobody knew it better than they.

  Coming down into the valley, innumerable horses, unhitched and tiedto the wagons, were to be seen. The rain had driven away themosquitoes, and a cool breeze, perfumed with wild roses and cowslips,came gently from the West. The Watsons drove to a clump of poplartrees which seemed to offer shade for the horses. Bugsey and Tommycarried the box of bottles to the drug-store, admonished by Pearl todrive a close bargain.

  Pearl went with Jimmy and Patsey, who took the green vegetables tothe hotel. Jimmy had been accustomed to bringing milk to the backdoor and was quite an admirer of Mr. Braden, the genial proprietor.

  Mr. Braden himself came into the kitchen just as they knocked at thedoor. He was faultlessly dressed, and in a particularly happy mood,for the first of July was one of his richest harvests, both in thedining-room and in the bar, where many a dollar would be laid on thealtar of "auld lang syne"; and besides this, Sandy Braden was reallyglad to see all the old timers, apart from any thought of makingmoney. He paid Jimmy for the vegetables, and gave him an extraquarter for a treat for himself and the others.

  Acting on a sudden impulse, Pearl said: "Mr. Braden, you know BillCavers, don't you?"

  Mr. Braden said he did.

  "Well," said Pearl, "they've all come to town to-day. Mrs. Cavershasn't been here for ever so long, but Bill promised to stay soberto-day if she'd come."

  Pearl hesitated.

  "Well, what else?" he said.

  "They're goin' to have a photo taken to send home to her folks inOntario. Mrs. Cavers is all fixed up, with her hair curled, and LibbyAnne has a new dress made out of her mother's weddin' one, and Billis lookin' fine--he hasn't been drunk since that Sunday you took himaway from the school when we were havin' church."

  Mr. Braden suddenly stopped smiling.

  "And what I want to ask you, Mr. Braden, as a real favour, is not tofill Bill up until they get the photo taken, anyway. You know how hislip hangs when' he's drunk--he wouldn't look nice in a photo to sendhome. Mrs. Cavers went all white and twitchy that day you took himaway from church. I was right behind her, and I guess that's howshe'd look in a photo if he got drunk, and she wouldn't look nice,either; and even Libby Anne wouldn't be lookin' her best, because shegets mad when her father is drunk, and says she'd like to kill you,and burn up all your whiskey, and lots of things like that that ain'treal Christian. So you see, it would spoil the whole picture if youlet him get drunk."

  Sandy Braden was not a hard-hearted man, and so, when Pearl told himall this with her eyes on him straight and honest and fearless, hewas distinctly uncomfortable.

  He tried to get a grip on himself. "Who told you to come to me aboutit?" he asked suspiciously.

  "Nobody told me," Pearl said. "I never thought of it myself until Isaw you lookin' so fine and such fine clothes on you, and you so fullof good humour, and I thought maybe you're not as bad as I alwaysthought you were, and maybe you don't know what a bad time Mrs.Cavers and Libby Anne have when Bill drinks.

  "You see," Pearl continued, after she had waited in vain for him tospeak, "you've got all Bill had anyway. You mind the money they savedto go home--you got that, I guess, didn't you? And you'll not belosin' anything to-day, for Bill hasn't got it. He gave all the moneyhe had to Mrs. Cavers--he was afraid he'd spend it--and that's whatthey're goin' to get the photo with."

  Sandy Braden continued to look at the floor, and seemed to beunconscious of her presence.

  "That's all I was wantin' to say," Pearl said at last. He looked upthen, and Pearl was struck with the queer white look in his face.

  "All right, Pearl," he said. "I promise you Bill won't get a drophere to-day." He tried to smile. "I hope the photo will turn outwell."

  "Thank you, Mr. Braden," Pearl said. "Good-bye."

  Sandy Braden went back to the bar-room and told his bartender not tosell to Bill Cavers under any consideration. The bartender, who owneda share the business, became suspicious at once.

  "Why not?" he asked.

  "Because I don't want Bill Cavers to get drunk, that's all," he saidshortly.

  "Out with it, Sandy. Who's been at you? the W. C. T. U. beeninterviewing you?"

  "That's none of your business Bob. If I choose to shut down on BillCavers it's nobody's business, is it?"

  "Well, now, I guess it's some of my business," the bartender said."Don't forget that I have a little interest in this part of thejoint; and besides, you know my principles. I'll sell to any one whohas the money--we're out for the coin, and we're not runnin' any Bandof Hope."

  "Now, see here, Bob, this man Cavers drinks up every cent he earns,and to-day I happen to know that he is trying to keep straight.They've come in to get a photo taken, and she hasn't been off thefarm for years."

  The bartender laughed.

  "Bill will take a hot photo when he gets about two finger-lengths inhim! No, it's not our business who buys. We're here to sell. That'sone thing I don't believe in, is refusin' liquor to any man. Everyman has a perfect right to as much liquor as he wants."

  Sandy Braden was about to make a spirited reply, but some one calledhim in the office and in the excitement of the day's events he forgotall about Bill Cavers until his attention was called toward him laterin the day.

  * * *

  Meanwhile the boys had disposed of their bottles to the drug-store,receiving in payment a bountiful supply of gum, licorice, anddrug-store candies, and a Union Jack for each one. There was quitea run on bottles before an hour, for the Hogan twins cornered themarket by slipping around to the alley at the back of the store andsecuring the bottles that stood in a box in the back shed. Thenthey came around to the front and sold them again, flags being theconsideration every time, for the twins were loyal sons of theDominion.

  The drug-store man had bought his own bottles twice before he foundout, but it is a proof of the twins' ability as financiers that theydid not come back after he found it out. Lots of silly little boyswould, but there is an advantage in being twins!

  Down below the town, on the river-flat, the old timers were gettingtogether. Under a grove of tall elms a group of the older men wererecounting the stirring scenes of the boom days, when flour was tendollars a bag, and sugar twenty-five cents a pound; and the big floodof '82, when the Souris, the peaceful little murmuring stream thatnow glinted through the trees below them, ran full from bank to bankand every house in Millford had a raft tied to its back door.

  In the picnic grounds, which
had been cleared out for this purposeyears before, the women, faded and worn, most of them, with many longyears on the prairie, but wonderfully brightened up by meeting oldfriends, spread their table-covers on the long, rough tables, andbrought out the contents of their baskets.

  Mrs. Watson introduced her sister-in-law to all the old friends, whoat once received her into the sisterhood, and in a few minutes AuntKate was exchanging opinions on lemon pies with the best of them.

  Then, speaking of pies, some one recalled Grandma Lowry's vinegarpies-that triumph of housewifely art, whereby a pie is made withouteggs or milk or fruit, and still is a "pie!"

  "Wasn't she a wonder? Did you ever see the beat of old GrandmaLowry?" they asked each other, looking up the hillside where they hadlaid her the year before, and hushing their voices reverently as ifthey were afraid that they might disturb her slumbers.

  "I brought some of the vinegar pies to-day," Mrs. Slater said. "Ithought it would be nice to remember her that way. She brought meover two of them the first Christmas we were in the country. I neverwill forget Grandma Lowry."

  A little old woman in black stopped cutting the cake suddenly andlooked up. Then she began to speak in a slow, monotonous voice. "Shecame to me," she said, "when my three boys were down with diphtheriain the dead of winter, and sat with my little Charlie the last nighthe was on earth. I says to her: 'Lie down, Mrs. Lowry'--she'd been uptwo nights already--but she says--I'll never forget just the way shesaid it--she says: 'Mary, I helped little Charlie to come into theworld, and if it so be that he's goin' to leave it, who's got abetter right than me to' be with him?'"

  The shade of the elm-trees was getting smaller and smaller as the sunrose higher, and some of the old-timers were sitting in the sunbefore they noticed it, so interested were they in Mr. Slater's storyof the surveying party that crossed the Assiniboine that fatefulnight in November, '79, when only five out of the eight got over.

  Then the women announced, by beating on a dishpan, that dinner wasready, and every tree and bush gave answer--it was the old miracle ofRoderick Dhu's men rising from copse and heath and cairn. Gray-hairedmen came running like boys, catching at each other's coat-tails,tripping each other, laughing, care-free, for it was Pioneers' Picnicday, and that is the one day when gladness and good-fellowship havefull play, and cares and years with their bitter memories of hail andfrost fall from them like a garment. Hungry little boys fell down outof trees, asking where was the pie! Little girls in fluffy skirtsstood shyly around until some motherly soul ushered them down theline where she said there was plenty of room and lots of good eating.

  Demure young ladies, assisted by young fellows in white aprons,poured tea and coffee from huge white pitchers, making frequentjourneys to the stove over among the trees, and sometimes forgettingto come back until some one had to go for them!

  There were roast chicken and boiled ham set in beds of crispestlettuce and parsley. There were moulds of chicken jelly with sprigsof young celery stuck in the top. There were infinite varieties ofsalads and jellies and pickles; there were platters full ofstrawberry tarts, made from last year's wild strawberries, which hadbeen kept for this very occasion; there were apple pies covered witha thick mat of scalded cream. There was Mrs. Motherwell's half-hourcake, which tradition said had to be beaten for that length oftime "all the one way"; there were layer cake, fig cake, rolledjelly cake, election cake, cookies with a hole, cookies with araisin instead of a hole; there were dough nuts, Spanish bun andginger-bread. No wonder that every one ate until they were able toeat no more.

  Pearl helped to wait on the others. Danny did not say a word, butjust laid about him. At last he called Pearl to him, and, in amuffled whisper, asked: "What is there now that I haven't had?" Pearlthen knew that he was approaching the high-water mark.

  * * *

  Having overruled Martha's objections to mingling with her fellow-menat picnics, and having persuaded her to come and see for herself ifpicnics were not a good thing, Pearl felt responsible for herenjoyment of it.

  Pearl had some anxious thoughts on the subject of a proper dress forMartha for the picnic, when she found that her best summer dress wasa black muslin, which to Pearl seemed fit only for a funeral.

  She wondered how to bring forward the subject without appearing rude,when Martha saved her from all further anxiety one day by coming overto ask her to help her to pick out a dress from the samples she hadsent for. The magazine had begun to bear fruit.

  They decided on a white muslin with a navy blue silk dot in it, andthen Pearl suggested a blue ribbon girdle with long ends, a hat likeCamilla's, a blue silk parasol, and long blue silk gloves.

  When Pearl saw Martha the day of the picnic, it just seemed too goodto be true that Martha could look so nice. She had braided her hairthe night before and made it all fluffy and wavy, and under the broadbrim of her blue hat it didn't look the colour of last year's hay atall, Pearl thought. Martha herself seemed to feel less constrainedand awkward than she ever did before. Mrs. Francis would have calledit the "leaven of good clothes."

  Pearl was wondering what she was going to do with Martha, now thatshe had got her there, when she saw Arthur Wemyss, the youngEnglishman.

  She took him aside and said: "Arthur, you are the very fellow I wantto see. I've got Martha Perkins with me to-day, and she's pretty shy,you know--never been to any of these picnics before--and I'm so busylooking after all our young lads that I haven't time to go aroundwith her. Now, I wonder if you would take her around and be nice toher. Martha's just a fine girl and young, too, if she only knew it,and she should be having a good time at picnics."

  Arthur expressed his willingness to be useful. He would be glad, hesaid, to do his best to give Miss Martha a pleasant time.

  And so it came about that Arthur, in his courteous way, escortedMartha through the throng of picnickers, found a seat for her at thetable, and waited on her with that deference that seems to come soeasy to the well-bred young Englishman.

  Arthur was an open-hearted young fellow, and finding Martha verysympathetic, told her about his plans. Thursa was coming from Englandin December to marry him, and he was going to have a house put upjust as soon as the harvest was over. His father had sent him themoney, and so he was not depending entirely on the harvest. He showedher the plan of the house and consulted her on the best position forthe cellar door and the best sort of cistern. He showed her a newphoto of Thursa that he had just received. She was a fluffy-hairedlittle thing in a much befrilled dress, holding a fan coquettishlybehind her head. Martha noticed how fondly he looked at it, and for amoment a shivering sense of disappointment smote her heart. But sheresolutely put it from her and feasted her eyes on the lovelight inhis, even though she knew it was the face of another woman that hadkindled it.

  Arthur was a wholesome-looking young man, with a beaming face ofunaffected good-humour, and to Martha it seemed the greatesthappiness just to be near him and hear his voice. She tried to forgeteverything save that he was here beside her, for this one dear sweetafternoon.

  When the thought of Thursa's coming would intrude on her, or thebitterer thought still that she was only a plain, sunburnt, countrygirl, with rough hands and uncouth ways, she forced them away fromher, even as you and I lie down again, and try to gather up theravelled threads of a sweet dream, knowing well that it is only adream and that waking time is drawing near, but holding it close toour hearts as long as we can.