Dixie Martin, the Girl of Woodford''s Cañon

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE AN UNWELCOME GUEST

  As Ken descended the trail leading to his log-cabin home, he wassurprised to see a horse and buggy just leaving the drive. In it was noother than the banker from Genoa, who was so loved by the Martinchildren. He did not seem to see the boy, who hurried on down the trail,his heart filled with dread lest the keeper of their income had beenthere to report that once again it had diminished.

  This fear was confirmed, or so he believed, when he saw Dixie run out ofthe house and toward him, an expression on her face which plainly toldher brother that her heart was perplexed or dismayed.

  "Dix, what's the matter? Is the money all gone? I say, Sis, if it'sthat, don't take it hard. I can go to work driving sheep over to theValley Ranch any day! Mr. Piggins said so last week."

  "'Tisn't money," the girl replied, smiling almost tremulously, "It'ssomething different." Then she glanced toward the open door of the cabinand drew her brother farther away, but he paused and looked back. "Isthat Carol crying in there? Why don't you tell me what's happened? Ican't understand at all."

  As soon as they were out of hearing, the small girl told the story ofrecent events. "Just after you had gone up to see teacher," she began,"I was cooking the porridge when Carol called that Mr. Clayburn wasdriving in, and that that horrid Sylvia was with him. Carol hadn'tfinished dressing yet, and so she was up in the loft, looking out thelittle window.

  "I ran to the door, and, sure enough, that was who it was. Mr. Clayburnseemed to be terribly worried about something, and that peaked littlegirl of his looked as though she'd 'most cried her eyes out.

  "When the buggy stopped, he left little Sylvia on the seat, and he camein and said: 'Dixie Martin, I've come to ask you to do me a great favor.I'm in deep trouble, and no one at this hour can help me as much as youcan.' Of course I said, 'Mr. Clayburn, I'll do just anything I can'; andhe said, 'I knew you would, Dixie.' Then he told me that his wife hadbeen taken suddenly and very seriously ill, and that she was in a Renohospital, and that he would have to stay there for a time to be nearher, and that he wanted to leave Sylvia with us. Oh, Ken, I just had tosay that of course we would take her, even though I knew how Carol feelsabout her, and so that's what happened. It's Sylvia in there crying, andCarol's up in the loft. I climbed up to tell her 'bout everything, andshe said I needn't expect her to come down-stairs as long as that horridsnippy Sylvia Clayburn is in the house. She declared she'd stay up thereand starve unless I'd take her breakfast up to her. Oh, Ken, what shallwe do? You can't blame Carol, 'cause you know Sylvia was mean and horridwhen our little sister was in her home."

  The older brother was indeed puzzled.

  He did not blame Carol, for she had been most unkindly treated by themother and daughter. "I guess we'll have to just do what we can, Dix,"he said. "Mr. Clayburn's one of the best friends we've got, and for hissake we'll have to put up with that--that little minx of his."

  Dixie had been looking thoughtfully down into the sunlit valley. Shecould see a group of white buildings partly hidden by cottonwood trees.In her gold-brown eyes was the far-away expression which often suggestedto Miss Bayley that the soul of the girl was beholding a vision. Theboy's gaze followed hers. Then he turned toward his sister as he saidgently: "I know what you're doing. You're trying to remember ifGrandmother Piggins ever said anything that would help us. Aren't you,Dix?"

  The girl nodded; then, her eyes alight, she suddenly exclaimed as shecaught his free hand,--the other still held the history: "Ken Martin, Ihave it! I just knew I'd remember something. Once when Sue came homefrom boarding-school she said that she just hated her room-mate. She wasgoing to be as mean as she could, hoping that the new pupil would ask tohave her room changed. But Grandma Piggins said: 'Sue, just to pleaseme, will you try my way for one week? If it doesn't work, then you maytry your own.' Of course Sue would do anything to please her dear oldgrandmother. Then she asked what she was to do.

  "Grandma Piggins said: 'It's a game of make-believe. First, pretend, inyour own heart, that you like the new pupil, and that you are glad sheis your room-mate, and then treat her just as you would if you thoughtshe was the nicest girl you knew, and, by the end of the week, you mayfind that the pretend has come true.'"

  "How did it turn out?" the boy inquired.

  "They're still room-mates," Dixie told him. Then she added: "But comeon, Ken, we'd better go in. Nobody's had any breakfast, and it's almostschool-time." The little mother sighed. "I don't see how I can go toschool this morning," she said. "I can't leave Carol up in the loft andSylvia down-stairs crying her heart out, and neither of them speaking toeach other."

  "I'll go to school and take Baby Jim and tell teacher that maybe youthree girls will be along in the afternoon." Then he added, in a lowvoice, as they walked toward the cabin, "If I were you, Dix, I'd askCarol to play Grandma Piggins's game, but if Sylvia's as horrid as Iguess she is, it'll take a lot of 'magination to play it."

  "Maybe Carol will. Anyway, I'll ask her," and, with a new hope in herheart, the little mother of them all entered the kitchen and began todish up the porridge for the long-delayed breakfast.

  But, try as the little mother might to be cheerful, the meal was adismal one.

  Baby Jim, usually so sunny, seemed to be affected by the dolefulatmosphere, and suddenly began to sob as though his little heart wouldbreak.

  "Dear me! Dear me!" poor Dixie sighed as she glanced across the room towhere Sylvia sat in a miserable heap, her head hidden on her arms,silent now, except for an occasional sob that shook her frail body.

  Up-stairs in the loft there was no sound, and Dixie wondered if Carolhad covered her head with the quilt and was softly crying. How shelonged to go up and comfort her, but she was needed just then in thekitchen.

  Taking the small boy out of his high-chair, Dixie looked helplesslyacross the table at Ken, who was gulping down the porridge as though itwere hard to swallow.

  "Gee, Sis," he said, "what can be the matter with Jim? He's too littleto understand. I don't see why he's crying so hard. Is there a pinpricking him, maybe?"

  "No-o, that's one thing that couldn't happen," the girl answered withjustifiable pride. "When he pulls a button off, I stop right that minuteand sew it back on, so I never have to use pins." Then she added, "Once,when young Mrs. Jenkins spanked her baby just 'cause he was crying,Grandma Piggins said the best way to quiet a little fellow was to givehim something pleasant to think about."

  Then Ken had an inspiration. "I say, Jimmy-Boy," he began, leaning overand peering into the tear-wet face that was half hidden on Dixie'sshoulder, "if you'll eat every spoonful of your milk and porridge, BigBrother will let you ride on Pegasus and hold the reins all by your veryown self."

  The dearest desire of the small boy was to reach that age when he wouldbe considered old enough to sit, unsupported, upon the back of thegentle, jogging creature, hold the reins, and drive alone. Ken's offerhad been an inspiration, for the little fellow's tears ceased, and hisface, which Dixie kissed till it was rosy, beamed up at her with itssunniest smile. Then, once more in his high-chair, he fulfilled hisshare of the bargain by eating porridge to the very last mouthful.

  Dixie glanced gratefully over at Ken, managing to say softly as shepassed him on her way to the stove, "Stay very close to Pegasus whenJimmy takes his first ride, won't you?" Then she added, as she noted anexpression of reproach in her brother's eyes, "Of course, Ken, I knowthat you would, anyway."

  Five minutes later the two boys, hand in hand, went outdoors to feed the"live-stock," which consisted of a goat, Pegasus, the burro, Topsy andher kittens, the three little hens, and Blessing, the pig. As soon asthe door closed behind them, Dixie went across the room and placed herhand on the bent head. "Sylvia," she said kindly, "won't you come to thetable and have some breakfast?"

  There was no response. The child curled up in the chair did not stir.Pity filled the heart of the older girl, and impulsively she knelt, and,putting her arm about th
e frail figure, she said tenderly: "Don't grieveso hard, Sylvia. Your father told me your mother is sure to get well.You can go home again in two short weeks."

  Then the unexpected happened. The child lifted a face that was moreangry than sorrowing, and sitting erect, she exclaimed vehemently, "I'mnot crying about my mother. I'm crying 'cause I just hate my father.He'd no right to bring me to this poor folks' cabin. My mother told himI was to be put in a boarding-school where children from the bestfamilies go. My mother don't want me to associate with poor folks'families. O dear! O dear! What shall I do?"

  The sobbing began afresh, but there was a chill in the heart of theolder girl, who, almost unconsciously, held herself proudly. "Well," shesaid rather coldly, "since it's only yourself you are pitying, I wishyour father had taken you somewhere else, but he didn't. He wanted youhere with us, and so I suppose you will have to stay."

  Then she asked hopefully, "Sylvia, couldn't you try to be happy here,for your father's sake, just two little weeks? Won't you try, dearie?"

  "No, I won't!" the pale, spoiled child snapped without looking up. "AndI'm not going to stay, neither."

  Dixie sighed, and, turning, she started toward the ladder that led tothe loft. Was Carol going to be as stubborn as Sylvia was, she wondered.