The Arrival
Never had any of the seven seen a storm to equal the one that followed.
The thunder was almost incessant, while the lightning played in blue
forks and flashes round a couple of stringy barks growing by the side of
the road a little farther on, darting in and out like live things at
play, until Nealie forgot half of her fear in the fascination of
watching them.
Ducky had crept under the roll of mattresses at the back of the wagon,
and was hiding there in the dark from the terror of the storm, while
Rupert and Rumple were doing valiant service, one at either end of the
wagon, in holding the curtains together, as the fierce wind kept ripping
them open, letting in sheets of rain upon the group cowering within.
Rocky had been tied by his halter to the lee side of the wagon to
prevent him from wandering under the trees and courting speedy
destruction there. He stood with bent head and bunched hindquarters, as
if in stolid resignation, although Ducky cried because he was too big to
be taken into the shelter of the tilt--to be made comfortable, as she
said. It was quite in vain that Don and Billykins sought to console her
by saying that horses rather enjoyed being out in the rain. She was
quite positive that they knew nothing about it, and told them so with
brisk decision that left them without anything more to say on the
subject. But the interest of the argument had dried her tears and taken
away so much of her fear of the storm that everyone felt it was well
worth while to have roused her to such a pitch.
It was dark before the rain ceased, and by then Rupert and Rumple were
just about wet through from their efforts at keeping the rain from the
others. There was no question of who should sleep under the wagon
to-night, for by the time sundown came they were surrounded by about two
feet of water, and although this would doubtless run off before very
long, the mud which was left behind was every bit as bad as the water
when considered in the light of a foundation for one's mattress.
So they all sat in chilly discomfort in the wagon, making a frugal
supper from damper left over from breakfast, eked out with biscuits.
Then, leaning against each other's shoulders, they tried to forget their
discomfort in sleep.
Nealie had insisted that Rupert and Rumple should strip off their wet
jackets and wrap themselves in blankets; but the worst of it was that
Rupert was wet below his jacket, which was thin, to suit the heat of the
day, and so, as might be expected, he took a violent chill, and as he
had been very unwell on the day before, his condition, when morning
dawned, fairly frightened Nealie. For he was blazing with fever, and
talking all sorts of nonsense about his mother and Aunt Judith.
It was his constant harping on the people who had died which so worried
her; because, of course, she very naturally thought that he was going to
die too.
The driving on this day was left to Sylvia and Rumple, who put
Rockefeller along at his very best pace, for they were all frightened at
Rupert's sad plight, which was to rob their arrival of all the delight
they had pictured when they should drive up to their father's house and
personally announce to him the arrival of his family.
Don and Billykins trotted along the road by the side of Sylvia and
Rumple, all four walking to ease the load, so that the wagon might get
along faster. Ducky sat on the front seat, her small face pinched to a
wistful anxiety, while Nealie knelt at the back end of the wagon trying
to soothe Rupert, who lay on a mattress wildly declaring that he must
get up, because his mother and Aunt Judith were in trouble and calling
out to him for help.
"Will dear Father be able to cure Rupert quick?" asked the little girl,
leaning forward to let her voice reach Sylvia, who walked on one side of
the horse while Rumple walked on the other.
Sylvia held up her hand with a warning gesture. "Sit up, Ducky darling,
or you will be tumbling off your perch, and we do not want any more
disasters this trip if we can help it," she said, adding: "Of course
Father will be able to make Rupert well. The poor, dear boy is only
running a temperature, you know, and the shaking of the wagon aggravates
it."
"Then it will only walk when we get home?" asked Ducky wistfully, with a
scared backward glance over her shoulder as Rupert burst into a wild
peal of laughter, and told Nealie that he had taken an engagement as a
circus rider.
"What will only walk when we get home?" asked Rumple, who had noticed
the noise Rupert was making, and was anxious to distract the attention
of Ducky if he could.
"Why, the temperature, of course. Didn't Sylvia say that it was running
now?" enquired Ducky innocently, and then was highly indignant with
Sylvia and Rumple because they burst into a peal of laughter.
"What is the joke?" demanded Don, arriving alongside in a rather
breathless condition, for he had been investigating a cross track, and
then had to hurry to catch up the wagon.
But by this time they were grave again, and, truth to tell, a little
ashamed of having laughed so much when Rupert was so ill. Then Ducky had
to be pacified, for, frightened by the nonsense her eldest brother was
talking, she had begun to cry, until Sylvia hit on the grand idea of
making her the postilion, and, helping her to scramble on to the back of
Rockefeller, let her sit there in state, pretending to drive, while the
last weary miles of the long journey slid by.
They reached the outskirts of Hammerville in the late afternoon, and
stopped at the very first house to enquire where Dr. Plumstead lived.
The woman who opened the door to them declared that she did not know.
"I don't hold with doctors, and physic, and that sort of stuff, so I
don't know nothing about them," she said ungraciously, and then shut the
door in their faces.
"Disagreeable old thing; I hope that she will be ill and want the doctor
very soon," said Billykins, shaking an indignant fist in the direction
of the closed door.
"That is very uncharitable of you," said Sylvia, "and besides, she does
not look as if she would be at all a good paying patient, and so it
would only be a bit more drudgery for dear Father, for, of course, a
doctor must go to everyone who has need of him, whether the patient can
pay or not."
"Then I shall not be a doctor, for I don't want to do things for people
who can't pay me," said Don; and then he ran up to a pleasant-faced
girl, who was weeding the garden of the next house, and asked her if she
could tell him where Dr. Plumstead lived.
"Why, yes, he has got a house on the Icksted Road, that is on the Pig
Hill side of the town," she said, standing up to survey the wagon and as
many of its occupants as chanced to be visible.
"Is it far?" demanded Don anxiously.
"Oh, somewhere about a mile! You must turn to the left when you have
passed Dan Potter's saloon; that is right in the middle of the town, so
you can't miss it. What do you want the doctor for? Is anyone bad?"
"We have come to live with him; we are his children, you know,"
explained Don, with the engaging frankness which he could display
sometimes, although as a rule he was more reserved with strangers than
Rumple or Billykins.
"His children? I didn't know that he had got any!" exclaimed the girl,
staring harder than ever at the wagon, although at present there was not
much to see, except Ducky perched astride on the big horse that Rumple
was leading, for Sylvia had retired under shelter of the tilt to make
some sort of a toilet in honour of reaching the end of the journey, and
Nealie was still ministering to the wants of Rupert to the best of her
ability.
"That is not wonderful, because, you see, we have been living in
England. But I must hurry on, and I will come to see you another day.
There are seven of us, and we are just on the tiptoe of expectation
about what Father will say when he sees the lot of us," said Don, with a
friendly nod, and then trotted away in pursuit of the wagon, which had
passed on while the girl leaned against the fence and feebly gasped, as
if her astonishment were too much for her.
Dan Potter's saloon was quite an imposing place, and very tawdry with
gilt adornments and coloured glass. They turned into a road at the left,
according to the direction given by the girl, and then followed a road
which was scarcely more than a track, and that abounded in mud puddles
of a deep and dangerous sort, where the going was so bad that Nealie was
forced to leave Rupert in the care of Sylvia, and come herself to guide
Rocky from the pitfalls of that evil place.
There were newly finished buildings that looked as if they had been run
up in the night; there were buildings in course of erection that looked
as if they would tumble down before they were finished; and there were
other buildings in process of being planned, but of which not much was
to be seen saving a forest of scaffold poles.
"What a big place it looks," said Nealie, as with an abrupt jerk she
pulled Rocky's head round in time to save him from pitching into an
unexpected hole that yawned in the path. "I had somehow got the idea
that it was only a little town, not much bigger than a village."
"It is awfully ugly though," replied Rumple, wrinkling his nose with an
air of extreme dissatisfaction. "The man that built those houses at the
end of the street ought to be condemned to live opposite to them."
"That might not be a hard sort of punishment at all," laughed Nealie;
"because, you see, if he had no eye for beauty or artistic fitness the
ugliness would not trouble him, he might even take a great deal of
satisfaction in thinking how nicely he had done them."
"There is no accounting for tastes," grumbled Rumple, who was really
more an admirer of what was beautiful than even Sylvia, who had the
reputation of being artistic.
Then he dashed off to ask a man if they were going right for Dr.
Plumstead's house, and, being told that it was the next small house that
stood alone, he rushed back to the wagon with his information.
"I wonder if Father will be at home," cried Billykins, with an eager
look on his face. "May we run forward and knock at the door, Nealie?"
"No, no; we will all go together," answered Nealie hurriedly, while a
flush rose in her cheeks, and there was a nervous look in her eyes, for
suddenly she was dreading the reception they might receive.
How forlorn they really were, those seven whom no one seemed to really
want! And yet how kind people had been to them in all that long, long
journey from Beechleigh in England. Of course, but for that bit of
absent-mindedness on the part of Rumple, Dr. Plumstead would have known
that his children were coming, and then he could have had a welcome of a
sort ready for them. As it was, it would be the naked truth which they
would have to face, and it was the fear that perhaps he would wish they
had not come that made Nealie feel so nervous, as she led Rocky along
the few remaining yards of that very bad stretch of road leading to the
doctor's house.
Sylvia had left Rupert for a few minutes and was hanging out of the
front of the wagon. Ducky still perched astride Rockefeller's broad
back, while the three younger boys were grouped close to Nealie, who
led the horse.
There was a bit of rising ground before the house, and so of necessity
the pace was slow; but at last they halted, and then stood for a moment
as if uncertain what to do next.
"Rumple, you had better knock," said Nealie in a choked tone, and then
was instantly sorry for what she had said, remembering that but for
Rumple's forgetfulness there might have been no need to knock at all.
"Let me knock," pleaded Don, wondering why Nealie looked so pale, and
Rumple seemed so scared.
"Yes, dear, you can knock, and Billykins will go with you," she said,
with a little gasp of relief.
The two small boys dashed through the gate and up the path to the door.
There had once been a garden in front of the house, but it was
wilderness pure and simple now, a choked jumble of weeds, and flowers
struggling for existence in the garden beds, and a wattle bush filled
the air with a sweet perfume which always afterwards reminded Nealie of
that moment of waiting before the house.
"There is no one at home, and the door is locked," cried Don, and then
he tried to peep in the window, but was not high enough to reach the
lowest pane.
"I expect he has been called out to a case," said Sylvia from her perch
in front of the wagon. "Nealie, can't you send the boys to find out
where Father keeps the key? I am sure that we ought to get Rupert out of
the wagon as soon as possible, for he seems to get more ill every
minute, poor dear!"
Ah, there was Rupert to be considered! Of choice Nealie would have
remained standing out in front of the house until her father's return,
however long she might have to wait, but Rupert must be cared for, and
because she feared that his life might hang on his having prompt
attention just now, she gave way to Sylvia's suggestion, and told Don to
run to the next house to ask where Dr. Plumstead kept his key when he
had to go away.
Away sped Don, nothing loath, and, entering the gate of the next garden,
rushed up to the house door and knocked loudly.
The houses in this part of Hammerville were older than those of the more
crowded streets, indeed it looked as if the place had started as a
village at the first and then on second thoughts had grown out at one
side into a busy town, while the other side remained sleepy and
village-like, each abode having its own garden and orchard in the rear.
There was a minute of waiting, and then the door was opened to Don by a
sleepy-looking Irishwoman, garbed in a very dirty pinafore.
"I don't want any firewood to-day at all, at all, thank you," she said
pleasantly, her kindly face expanding into a genial smile.
"I have not brought you firewood, but I want to know where Dr. Plumstead
keeps his key when he is called away to a patient?" asked Don, lifting
his hat with so much courtesy that the good woman was tremendously
impressed.
"He has only got one key, sir, and he always takes that with him, except
when he leaves it at home," she said, with a sudden change of manner,
because she decided that this was one of the quality, and no errand boy,
as she at first imagined.
"Can you tell us how to get in?" asked Don rather desperately. "We are
Dr. Plumstead's children, all seven of us, and I am afraid that he was
not expecting us at this minute, so he is not at home, you see."
"Dr. Plumstead with sivin children! The saints preserve us! What next!"
cried the woman, flinging up her hands in such profound amazement that
Don could not help laughing, she looked so funny.
"The what next is that we want to get into the house as quickly as
possible, because Rupert, that is my eldest brother, is not well," he
explained, wondering why everyone should be so amazed because Dr.
Plumstead had children.
"I will let you in with my key. It fits the doctor's door, which is
very convenient, because you see I do for him, and real hard work it is,
for he is a dreadful particular gentleman. But sivin children, and you
not the eldest! My word, what is the world coming to?"
As Don could not answer this question it had to go unanswered, and
instead he waited in silence while the Irishwoman took her key from a
nail in the wall, and set off across her garden, which was only one
degree less untidy than the doctor's, to open the door for the children.
"Why, the others are bigger than you, most of them!" she exclaimed in
still growing amazement, as she surveyed the group standing by the head
of the horse. "The saints preserve us! What is the world coming to?"
Again Don had to let the question go unanswered, although it seemed to
him rather rude. The woman unlocked the door of the little wooden house,
which was plain and ugly, and did not even boast a veranda, then,
dropping a curtsy to Nealie, she stood back for them to enter.