NEW FRIENDS TROT IN.
Next day Ben ran off to his work with Quackenbos's "Elementary History
of the United States" in his pocket, and the Squire's cows had ample
time to breakfast on wayside grass before they were put into their
pasture. Even then the pleasant lesson was not ended, for Ben had an
errand to town, and all the way he read busily, tumbling over the hard
words, and leaving bits which he did not understand to be explained at
night by Bab.
At "The First Settlements" he had to stop, for the school-house was
reached and the book must be returned. The maple-tree closet was easily
found, and a little surprise hidden under the flat stone; for Ben paid
two sticks of red and white candy for the privilege of taking books
from the new library.
When recess came great was the rejoicing of the children over their
unexpected treat, for Mrs. Moss had few pennies to spare for sweets,
and, somehow, this candy tasted particularly nice, bought out of
grateful Ben's solitary dime. The little girls shared their goodies
with their favorite mates, but said nothing about the new arrangement,
fearing it would be spoilt if generally known. They told their mother,
however, and she gave them leave to lend their books and encourage Ben
to love learning all they could. She also proposed that they should
drop patch-work and help her make some blue shirts for Ben. Mrs. Barton
had given her the materials, and she thought it would be an excellent
lesson in needle-work as well as a useful gift to Ben--who, boy-like,
never troubled himself as to what he should wear when his one suit of
clothes gave out.
Wednesday afternoon was the sewing time, so the two little B's worked
busily at a pair of shirt sleeves, sitting on their bench in the
door-way, while the rusty needles creaked in and out, and the childish
voices sung school-songs, with frequent stoppages for lively chatter.
For a week, Ben worked away bravely, and never shirked nor complained,
although Pat put many a hard or disagreeable job upon him, and chores
grew more and more distasteful. His only comfort was the knowledge that
Mrs. Moss and the Squire were satisfied with him, his only pleasure the
lessons he learned while driving the cows, and recited in the evening
when the three children met under the lilacs to "play school."
He had no thought of studying when he began, and hardly knew that he
was doing it as he pored over the different books he took from the
library. But the little girls tried him with all they possessed, and he
was mortified to find how ignorant he was. He never owned it in words,
but gladly accepted all the bits of knowledge they offered from their
small store; getting Betty to hear him spell "just for fun;" agreeing
to draw Bab all the bears and tigers she wanted if she would show him
how to do sums on the flags, and often beguiled his lonely labors by
trying to chant the multiplication table as they did. When Tuesday
night came round the Squire paid him a dollar, said he was "a likely
boy," and might stay another week if he chose. Ben thanked him and
thought he would, but the next morning, after he had put up the bars,
he remained sitting on the top rail to consider his prospects, for he
felt uncommonly reluctant to go back to the society of rough Pat. Like
most boys he hated work, unless it was of a sort which just suited him;
then he could toil like a beaver and never tire. His wandering life had
given him no habits of steady industry, and while he was an unusually
capable lad of his age, he dearly loved to loaf about and have a good
deal of variety and excitement in his life.
Now he saw nothing before him but days of patient and very
uninteresting labor. He was heartily sick of weeding; even riding Duke
before the cultivator had lost its charms, and a great pile of wood lay
in the Squire's yard which he knew he would be set to piling up in the
shed. Strawberry-picking would soon follow the asparagus cultivation,
then haying, and so on all the long, bright summer, without any fun,
unless his father came for him.
On the other hand, he was not obliged to stay a minute longer unless he
liked. With a comfortable suit of clothes, a dollar in his pocket, and
a row of dinner-baskets hanging in the school-house entry to supply him
with provisions if he didn't mind stealing them, what was easier than
to run away again? Tramping has its charms in fair weather, and Ben had
lived like a gypsy under canvas for years, so he feared nothing, and
began to look down the leafy road with a restless, wistful expression,
as the temptation grew stronger and stronger every minute.
Sancho seemed to share the longing, for he kept running off a little
way and stopping to frisk and bark, then rushed back to sit watching
his master with those intelligent eyes of his, which seemed to say,
"Come on, Ben, let us scamper down this pleasant road and never stop
till we are tired." Swallows darted by, white clouds fled before the
balmy west wind, a squirrel ran along the wall, and all things seemed
to echo the boy's desire to leave toil behind and roam away as
care-free as they. One thing restrained him,--the thought of his
seeming ingratitude to good Mrs. Moss, and the disappointment of the
little girls at the loss of their two new play-fellows. While he paused
to think of this, something happened which kept him from doing what he
would have been sure to regret afterward.
Horses had always been his best friends, and one came trotting up to
help him now, though he did not know how much he owed it till long
after. Just in the act of swinging himself over the bars to take a
short cut across the fields, the sound of approaching hoofs,
unaccompanied by the roll of wheels, caught his ear, and pausing, he
watched eagerly to see who was coming at such a pace.
At the turn of the road, however, the quick trot stopped, and in a
moment a lady on a bay mare came pacing slowly into sight,--a young and
pretty lady, all in dark blue, with a bunch of dandelions like yellow
stars in her button-hole, and a silver-handled whip hanging from the
pommel of her saddle, evidently more for ornament than use. The
handsome mare limped a little and shook her head as if something
plagued her, while her mistress leaned down to see what was the matter,
saying, as if she expected an answer of some sort:
"Now, Chevalita, if you have got a stone in your foot, I shall have to
get off and take it out. Why don't you look where you step and save me
all this trouble?"
"I'll look for you, ma'am; I'd like to!" said an eager voice so
unexpectedly that both horse and rider started as a boy came down the
bank with a jump.
"I wish you would. You need not be afraid; Lita is as gentle as a
lamb," answered the young lady, smiling, as if amused by the boy's
earnestness.
"She's a beauty, anyway," muttered Ben, lifting one foot after another
till he found the stone, and with some trouble got it out.
"That was nicely done, and I'm much obliged. Can you tell me if that
cross-road leads to the Elms?" asked the lady, as she went slowly on
with Ben beside her.
"No, ma'am; I'm new in these parts, and I only know where Squire Allen
and Mrs. Moss live."
"I want to see both of them, so suppose you show me the way. I was here
long ago, and thought I should remember how to find the old house with
the elm avenue and the big gate, but I don't."
"I know it; they call that place the Laylocks now, 'cause there's a
hedge of 'em all down the path and front wall. It's a real pretty
place; Bab and Betty play there, and so do I."
Ben could not restrain a chuckle at the recollection of his first
appearance there, and as if his merriment or his words interested her,
the lady said, pleasantly: "Tell me all about it. Are Bab and Betty
your sisters?"
Quite forgetting his intended tramp, Ben plunged into a copious history
of himself and new-made friends, led on by a kind look, an inquiring
word, and sympathetic smile, till he had told everything. At the
school-house corner he stopped and said, spreading his arms like a
sign-post:
"That's the way to the Laylocks, and this is the way to the Squire's."
"As I'm in a hurry to see the old house, I'll go this way first, if you
will be kind enough to give my love to Mrs. Allen, and tell the Squire
Miss Celia is coming to dine with him. I wont say good-by, because I
shall see you again."
With a nod and a smile the young lady cantered away, and Ben hurried up
the hill to deliver his message, feeling as if something pleasant was
going to happen, so it would be wise to defer running away, for the
present at least.
[Illustration: BEN TAKES THE STONE FROM LITA'S FOOT.]
At one o'clock Miss Celia arrived, and Ben had the delight of helping
Pat stable pretty Chevalita; then, his own dinner hastily eaten, he
fell to work at the detested wood-pile with sudden energy, for, as he
worked, he could steal peeps into the dining-room, and see the curly
brown head between the two gray ones as the three sat round the table.
He could not help hearing a word now and then, as the windows were
open, and these bits of conversation filled him with curiosity, for the
names "Thorny," "Celia," and "George" were often repeated, and an
occasional merry laugh from the young lady sounded like music in that
usually quiet place.
When dinner was over, Ben's industrious fit left him, and he leisurely
trundled his barrow to and fro till the guest departed. There was no
chance for him to help now, since Pat, anxious to get whatever trifle
might be offered for his services, was quite devoted in his attentions
to the mare and her mistress till she was mounted and off. But Miss
Celia did not forget her little guide, and spying a wistful face
behind the wood-pile, paused at the gate and beckoned with that winning
smile of hers. If ten Pats had stood scowling in the way Ben would have
defied them all, and vaulting over the fence he ran up with a shining
face, hoping she wanted some last favor of him. Leaning down, Miss
Celia slipped a new quarter into his hand, saying:
"Lita wants me to give you this for taking the stone out of her foot."
"Thanky, ma'am; I liked to do it, for I hate to see 'em limp,
'specially such a pretty one as she is," answered Ben, stroking the
glossy neck with a loving touch.
"The Squire says you know a good deal about horses, so I suppose you
understand the Houyhnhnm language? I'm learning it, and it is very
nice," laughed Miss Celia, as Chevalita gave a little whinny and
snuggled her nose into Ben's pocket.
"No, miss, I never went to school."
"That is not taught there. I'll bring you a book all about it when I
come back. Mr. Gulliver went to the horse-country and heard the dear
things speak their own tongue."
"My father has been on the prairies where there's lots of wild ones,
but he didn't hear 'em speak. I know what they want without talkin',"
answered Ben, suspecting a joke, but not exactly seeing what it was.
"I don't doubt it, but I wont forget the book. Good-by, my lad, we
shall soon meet again," and away went Miss Celia as if she was in a
hurry to get back.
"If she only had a red habit and a streamin' white feather, she'd look
as fine as Melia used to. She _is_ 'most as kind and rides 'most as
well. Wonder where she's goin' to. Hope she _will_ come soon," thought
Ben, watching till the last flutter of the blue habit vanished round
the corner, and then he went back to his work with his head full of the
promised book, pausing now and then to chink the two silver halves and
the new quarter together in his pocket, wondering what he should buy
with this vast sum.
Bab and Betty meantime had had a most exciting day, for when they went
home at noon they found the pretty lady there, and she had talked to
them like an old friend, given them a ride on the little horse, and
kissed them both good-by when they went back to school. In the
afternoon the lady was gone, the old house all open, and their mother
sweeping, dusting, airing in great spirits. So they had a splendid
frolic tumbling on feather beds, beating bits of carpet, opening
closets, and racing from garret to cellar like a pair of distracted
kittens.
Here Ben found them, and was at once overwhelmed with a burst of news
which excited him as much as it did them. Miss Celia owned the house,
was coming to live there, and things were to be made ready as soon as
possible. All thought the prospect a charming one; Mrs. Moss because
life had been dull for her during the year she had taken charge of the
old house; the little girls had heard rumors of various pets who were
coming, and Ben, learning that a boy and a donkey were among them,
resolved that nothing but the arrival of his father should tear him
from this now deeply interesting spot.
"I'm in _such_ a hurry to see the peacocks and hear them scream. She
said they did, and that we'd laugh when old Jack brayed," cried Bab,
hopping about on one foot to work off her impatience.
"Is a _faytun_ a kind of a bird? I heard her say she could keep it in
the coach-house," asked Betty, inquiringly.
"It's a little carriage," and Ben rolled in the grass, much tickled at
poor Betty's ignorance.
"Of course it is. I looked it out in the dic., and you mustn't call it
a _payton_ though it _is_ spelt with a p," added Bab, who liked to lay
down the law on all occasions, and did not mention that she had looked
vainly among the f's till a school-mate set her right.
"You can't tell _me_ much about carriages. But what I want to know is
where Lita will stay?" said Ben.
"Oh, she's to be up at the Squire's, till things are fixed, and you are
to bring her down. Squire came and told Ma all about it, and said you
were a boy to be trusted, for he had tried you."
Ben made no answer, but secretly thanked his stars that he had not
proved himself untrustworthy by running away, and so missing all this
fun.
"Wont it be fine to have the house open all the time? We can run over
and see the pictures and books whenever we like. I know we can, Miss
Celia is so kind," began Betty, who cared for these things more than
for screaming peacocks and comical donkeys.
"Not unless you are invited," answered their mother, locking the front
door behind her. "You'd better begin to pick up your duds right away,
for she wont want them cluttering round her front yard. If you are not
too tired, Ben, you might rake round a little while I shut the blinds.
I want things to look nice and tidy."
Two little groans went up from two afflicted little girls as they
looked about them at the shady bower, the dear porch, and the winding
walks where they loved to run "till their hair whistled in the wind,"
as the fairy-books say.
"Whatever shall we do! Our attic is so hot and the shed so small, and
the yard always full of hens or clothes. We shall have to pack all our
things away and never play any more," said Bab, tragically.
"May be Ben could build us a little house in the orchard," proposed
Betty, who firmly believed that Ben could do anything.
"He wont have any time. Boys don't care for baby-houses," returned Bab,
collecting her homeless goods and chattels with a dismal face.
"We sha'n't want these much when all the new things come; see if we
do," said cheerful little Betty, who always found out a silver lining
to every cloud.