CHAPTER VIII
PIPPIN SETS BREAD AND LAYS A PLAN
The Baxters received Pippin with open arms. 'Peared like he had beenaway a week, they said, instead of just over night. They certainly hadmissed him. No, they hadn't set the dough yet: they were just thinkingof it, but they thought likely--well, hadn't he better have his supperfirst? No such great hurry, though of course 'twas _about_ time--
"Gimme five minutes," said Pippin, "and then just watch me!"
In five minutes, washed and brushed, spotless in white cap and apron,his arms bare to the shoulder, he appeared shouting for his task.
Everything was white in the bakery; shining white of tiles and vessels,soft white of scoured pine, softer white of snowy flour. The greatcaldron stood ready, under the chute that led from the upper floor.Pippin pressed a knob, and down came the flour, in a steady stream.Pretty, Pippin thought, to watch it piling up in a soft cone, fallingaway in tiny avalanches, piling up again.
Another touch; the stream is checked. Now for the salt and sugar. Nowyeast, milk and water, half and half: more whiteness, brimming in awhite pail. In it goes, with wonderful effects of bubbling and creaming,while snowy clouds float up and settle on Pippin's brown face and sinewyarms.
He touches another knob; down comes the iron dasher--this, too, shiningin white enamel--and round and round it goes, tossing, dropping,gathering, tossing again, steadily, patiently; that is the way they mixbread at Baxter's bakery.
Pippin watches it, fascinated; he never tires of the wonder of it. Butpresently Mrs. Baxter calls. "Supper, Pippin, come now! Buster'll mindElbert for you."
Elbert is the dasher, named for the brother baker who persuaded FatherBaxter to give up hand mixing and take to machinery. Pippin gives themachine a friendly pat. "Good old Elbert!" he says. "Keep it up, oldfigger-head! I'll be back, time you're ready to lay off. She's allright, Buster," as the boy enters, munching his final doughnut. "Ingreat shape, Elbert is! You want to scrape her down a mite--" give ittwenty masculine names, and a machine must still be feminine--"when shegets balled up, that's all. She's just as sensible--why, she can all buttalk, this machine can."
"Mourns good and plenty," chuckles Buster, "when she's dry."
"Lots of folks mourn when they're dry! I shall be mournin' myself if Iwait any longer for that cup o' coffee your ma's got for me. So long,old sport!"
"You said you'd tell me that story about Mike Cooney and the turkey!"
"Sure thing! But I didn't say I'd tell you when your ma was keepin'supper for me. Quit now!"
Seeing he was so late, Mrs. Baxter thought he might as well set rightdown here at the kitchen table; here was his ham and eggs and coffee,and the pie and doughnuts handy by. She'd been flustrated up all day.Had Pippin heard that there was thieves about? No, Pippin hadn't; hewanted to know if there was! Well, 'twas so. Mis' Wilkins had two piesstole last night right off the butt'ry shelf, and a jug of cider, andmatches all over the floor; and night before that they broke into AlTibbetts's store, broke open the till and made away with two dollars andseventy-five cents. There! She was so nervous she thought she shouldfly. Did Pippin think the lock was real safe on the bakery door?
Pippin, after reassuring her on this point, grew thoughtful over hissupper, so thoughtful that he was reproached for not eating a thing. Heroused himself.
"Not eatin'! Just you watch me, Mis' Baxter! Know what ailed the manthat wouldn't eat a supper like this? Well, he was dead, that was whattroubled him!"
The table cleared, Pippin washed his hands and arms at the sink, andjoined Mr. and Mrs. Baxter on the back porch. Soon two pipes werepuffing, and three rocking chairs (Buster had unwillingly gone bedward)creaked and whined comfortably. It was a soft, dark night, just coolenough for comfort, Pippin thought, and yet warm enough--well, warmenough for comfort, too. The back porch looked out on a little gully,the bed of a stream that flowed through Kingdom to join the river nearat hand. White birches grew on the steep banks--you could see themglimmering through the dark--and the place was full of fireflies; thestream murmured drowsily over its pebbles.
"Green grass!" murmured Pippin. "Now wouldn't it give you a pain tothink of leavin' this?"
They were three tired people--Mrs. Baxter had done a big ironing, andthe baker had missed Pippin sorely--and for some time were content tosit silent, rocking softly, breathing tranquilly, "just letting go," asMrs. Baxter put it. But after a half-hour of this pleasant peace,Pippin sighed, knocked the ashes from his pipe, and sat up straight inhis chair.
"Now, folks," he said, "I've got to talk."
Mrs. Baxter woke out of a comfortable doze; Mr. Baxter straightenedhimself and knocked out his own ashes. "That's right!" he said. "We'llbe pleased to hear you, Pippin. I heard you tellin' Buster, and itsounded real interestin'. Fire away!"
"Well!" said Pippin ruefully. "I'm in hopes you won't be any _too_ wellpleased, Father Baxter. The heft of what I have to say is in four words:I got to leave!"
The rocking chairs creaked with startled emphasis.
"You ain't, Pippin!"
"You don't mean it, Pippin!"
"You're jokin'! He's jokin', mother, can't you see?"
"I wish't I was!" sighed Pippin. "I tell you, Mr. and Mrs., I don't wantto leave, no way, shape, or manner; but yet I got to. Lemme tell you,and you'll see for yourselves. First place, I got to tell Mis' Baxterabout before I come here. Yes, Boss, I just plain _got_ to! I meant allalong to tell her before I left, but I've kind of put it off--thefurther I get from that feller I used to be, the worse I hate him!Well!"
Slowly and carefully Pippin rehearsed the familiar story, hidingnothing, glossing nothing over, giving what glory there was to the Lordand Elder Hadley. When he finished this part, the baker was holding oneof his hands, his wife the other, both uttering exclamations of pity,sympathy, encouragement.
_That_ wouldn't make no difference, the good people assured him, not theleast mite. "Why, he told me the very first day, mother! I didn't wantto make you nervous, so I kep' it to myself. It don't cut no ice withus, Pippin, not a--"
Pippin checked them gently; that was only the first chapter. He went onto tell of his visit to Cyrus Poor Farm (omitting only the episode ofFlora May), and of his promises to Old Man Blossom and to Jacob Bailey.
"Now you see, you nice folks--you nicest kind of folks--here I be! I_love_ bakin'--if I was to work within four walls there's nothin' elseI'd choose so soon--but it isn't so intended; I make sure of that. HereI be, promised to the Old Man to find his little gal if she's to befound (and that means if she's alive), and promised to Mr. Bailey to gethold of that boy and give him a boost. You see how 'tis, don't you?Well, of course! I knew you would! Well, now I was studyin' this out allthe way home, and the Lord took hold and showed me His idea, and I think'twill work out real good, if we have luck. I say 'we,' because youfolks have got to help."
"For pity's sake, Pippin!"
"Yes, Mis' Baxter, for pity's sake! That's the stuff. And that boy'ssake. Suppose it was Buster! This is a good boy, mind you, only weak.Suppose it was Buster! Look at here! This is the way I've worked it out.Mr. Bailey is a dandy man, and Mis' Bailey ekally so woman, but theymade a big mistake. What did that boy need? He needed other boys, andthere wasn't none round, so happened. There was old folks, and blindfolks, and wantin' folks, some good as gold and others--well, thereverse! He didn't want none of 'em; he wanted a pal! Well! He got one,and he got a crook. That was his streak of bad luck, see? And he's in itstill. Way I look at it, we got to haul him out, ain't it?"
"I'll do my part, Pippin!" said Mrs. Baxter promptly.
"Count me in!" said the baker. "I don't know what I can do, 'less it'sknead the youngster up in a batch of dough and bake him to keep him outof mischief, but count me in!"
"Well!" said Pippin. He leaned forward, a hand on the knee of either.His voice dropped to a whisper. "Now--"
He paused abruptly. Something was moving in the gully beneath them. Witha swift gesture of caution, he stole noiselessly to the
railing of theporch and looked down. All was soft darkness, save where the birchesglimmered dusky white, where the fireflies danced and shone. The streamdroned on; the night clung closer. Look! Was that a blacker shadowthere, just where the old willow overhung the stream? Was it a shadowthat moved, followed by a second stealthy shade? A twig snapped; abranch rustled. Hark! Was that a whisper, a footstep? The fireflies rosein a wild whirl, scattered, came together, resumed their rhythmic dance,filling the little glen with golden sparks. Silence fell like a mantle.