TWO GIRLS AND A CALF
Having gone to the kitchen to fill the bottle with milk, which she had
set to warm, Miriam accompanied her guest to the barn. As she walked by
the side of Dora, with the bottle in one hand and the other holding up
her voluminous silk robe, it was well for her peace of mind that no
stately coachman sat upon a box and looked at her.
In a corner of the lower floor of the barn they found the calf,
lying upon a bed of hay, and covered by a large piece of mosquito
netting, which Miriam had fastened above and around him. Dora
laughed as she saw this.
"It isn't every calf," she said, "that sleeps so luxuriously."
"The flies worried the poor thing dreadfully," said Miriam, "but I take
it off when I feed it."
She proceeded to remove the netting, but she had scarcely done so, when
she gave an exclamation that was almost a scream.
"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" she cried; "I believe it is dead," and down she sat
upon the floor close to the calf, which lay motionless, with its head and
neck extended. Down also sat Dora. She did not need to consider the
hay-strewn floor and her clothes; for although she wore a very tasteful
and becoming costume, it was one she had selected with reference to barn
explorations, field strolls, and anything rural and dusty which any one
else might be doing, or might propose. No one could tell what dusty and
delightful occupation might turn up during an afternoon at Cobhurst.
"Its eye does look as if it were dead," she exclaimed. "What a pity!"
"Oh, you can't tell by that eye," said Miriam, over whose cheeks a few
tears were now running. "Dr. Tolbridge says it has infantile ophthalmia
in that eye, but that as soon as it gets strong enough, he can cure it.
We must turn up its other eye."
She took the little creature's head in her lap, with the practicable eye
uppermost. This slowly rolled in its socket, as she bent over it.
"There is life in it yet," she cried; "give me the bottle." The calf
slowly rolled its eye to the position from which it had just moved, and
declined to consider food.
"Oh, it must drink; we must make it drink," said Miriam. "If I open its
mouth, will you put in the end of that tube? If it gets a taste of the
milk, it may want more. We must not let it die. But you must be careful,"
she continued. "That bottle leaks all round the cork. Spread part of my
skirt over you."
Dora followed this advice, for she had not considered a milk-stained lap
among the contingent circumstances of the afternoon. Holding the bottle
over the listless animal, she managed to get some drops on its tongue.
"Now," said Miriam, "we will put that in its mouth, and shut its
jaws, and perhaps it may begin to suck. It will be perfectly dreadful
if it dies."
The two girls sat close together, their eyes fixed upon the apparently
lifeless head of the bovine infant.
"See!" cried Miriam, presently, "its throat moves; I believe it is
sucking the milk."
Dora leaned over and gazed. It was indeed true; the calf was beginning to
take an interest in food. The interest increased; the girls could see the
milk slowly diminishing in the bottle. Before long the creature gave its
head a little wobble. Miriam was delighted.
"That is the way it always does, when its appetite is good. We must let
it drink every drop, if it will."
There they sat on the hard, hay-strewn floor, one entirely, and the other
almost entirely covered with purple silk, their eyes fixed upon the
bottle and the feeding calf. After a time the latter declined to take any
more milk, and raised its head from Miriam's lap.
"There," she cried; "see, it can hold up its own head. I expect it was
only faint from want of food. After this I will feed it oftener. It was
the bread-making that made me forget it this time."
"Let us wait a minute," said Dora, who was now taking an earnest and
womanly interest in the welfare of this weakling. "Perhaps after a while
it may want some more." And so they continued to sit. Every motion of the
calf's head, and every effort it made to bend its legs, or change its
position, sent sparkles of delight into Miriam's eyes, and brightened
Dora's beautiful face with sympathetic smiles.
Dora had taken up the bottle, and was about to give the calf an
opportunity to continue its repast, when suddenly she stopped and sat
motionless. Outside the barn, approaching footsteps could be plainly
heard. They were heavy, apparently those of a man. Dora dropped the
bottle, letting it roll unheeded upon the floor; then pushing Miriam's
skirt from her lap, she sprang to her feet, and stepped backwards and
away from the little group so quickly, that she nearly stumbled over some
inequalities in the floor. Miriam looked up in astonishment.
"You needn't be frightened," she said. "How red you are! I suppose it is
only Ralph."
"I was afraid it was," said Dora, in a low voice, as she shook out her
skirts. "I wouldn't have had him see me that way for anything."
Now Miriam was angry. There was nothing to be ashamed of, that she could
see, and it was certainly very rude in Miss Bannister to drop her
bottle, and nearly push her over in her haste to get away from her and
her poor calf.
The person who had been approaching the barn now entered, but it was
not Ralph Haverley. It was a shorter and a stouter young man, with
side whiskers.
"Why, Herbert!" exclaimed Dora, in a tone of surprise and disappointment,
"have you got back already?"
Her brother smiled. "I haven't got back," he said, "for I haven't been
anywhere yet. I had not gone a mile before one of the springs of the
buggy broke, and it keeled over so far that I came near tumbling out. It
happened at a place where there were no houses near, so I drew the buggy
to the roadside, took out the horse, and led him back. I heard voices in
here, and I came in. I must go and look for Mr. Haverley, and ask him to
lend me a vehicle in which we may return home."
Dora stood annoyed; she did not want to return home; at least, not so
soon. She had calculated on Herbert making a long stay with Mrs. Dudley.
"I suppose so," she replied, in an injured tone; "but before we say
anything else, Herbert, let me introduce you to Miss Haverley."
She turned, but in the corner to which she directed her eyes, she saw
only a calf; there was no young person in silk attire. The moment that
Miriam perceived that the man who came in was not her brother, but the
brother of some one else, her face had crimsoned, she had pushed away the
unfortunate calf, and, springing to her feet, had darted into the shadows
of an adjoining stall. From this, before Dora had recovered from her
surprise at not seeing her, Miriam emerged in the costume of a neatly
dressed school-girl, with her skirts just reaching to the tops of her
boots. It had been an easy matter to slip off that expansive silk gown.
She advanced with the air of defensive gravity with which she generally
greeted strangers, and made the acquaintance of Mr. Bannister.
"I am sure," she said, when she had heard what had happened, "that my
brother will be very glad to lend you the gig. That is the only thing we
have at present which runs properly."
"A gig will do very well, indeed," said Mr. Bannister. "We could not want
anything better than that; although," he continued, "I am not sure that
my harness will suit a two-wheeled vehicle."
"Oh, we have gig harness," said Miriam, "and we will lend you a horse,
too, if you like."
Dora now thought it was time to say something. She was irritated because
Herbert had returned so soon, and because he was going to take her away
before she was ready to go; and although she would have been delighted to
have a drive in the Cobhurst gig, provided the proper person drove her,
she did not at all wish to return to Thorbury in that ridiculous old
vehicle with Herbert. In the one case, she could imagine a delightful
excursion in she knew not what romantic by-roads and shaded lanes; but in
the other, she saw only the jogging old gig, and all the neighbors asking
what had happened to them.
"I think," she said, "it will be well to see Mr. Haverley as soon as
possible. Perhaps he knows of a blacksmith's shop, where the buggy can
be mended."
Herbert smiled. "Repairs of that sort," he said, "require a good deal of
time. If we waited for the buggy to be put in travelling condition, we
would certainly have to stay here all night, and probably the greater
part of tomorrow."
In the sudden emotions which had caused her to act almost exactly as Dora
had acted, Miriam had entirely forgotten her resentment toward her
companion.
"Why can't you stay?" she asked. "We have plenty of room, you know."
The man of business shook his head.
"Thank you very much," he replied, "but I must be in my office this
evening. I think I shall be obliged to borrow your gig. I will walk over
to the field--"
"Oh, you need not take the trouble to do that," said Miriam. "They are
way over there at the end of the meadow beyond the hill. The gig is here
in the barn, and I can lend it to you just as well as he can."
"You are very kind," said Herbert, "and I will accept your amendment. It
will be the better plan, because if I saw your brother, I should
certainly interfere with his work. He might insist upon coming to help
me, which is not at all necessary. Where can I find the gig, Miss
Haverley?"
Miriam led her visitors to the second floor.
"There it is," she said, "but of course you must have the harness
belonging to it, for your buggy harness will not hold up the shafts
properly. It is in the harness room, but I do not know which it is. There
is a lot of harness there, but it is mostly old and worn out."
"I will go and look," said Herbert. "I think it is only part of it that I
shall need."
During this conversation Dora had said nothing. Now as she stood by the
old gig, toppling forward with its shafts resting upon the floor, she
thought she had never seen such a horrible, antediluvian old trap in her
life. Nothing could add so much to her disappointment in going so soon,
as going in that thing. If there had been anything to say which might
prevent her brother from carrying out his intention, she would have said
it, but so far there had been nothing.
She followed the others into the harness room, and as her eyes glanced
around the walls, they rested upon a saddle hanging on its peg. Instantly
she thought of something to say.
"Herbert," she remarked, not too earnestly, "I think we shall be putting
our friends to a great inconvenience by borrowing the gig. You will never
be able to find the right harness and put it on so that there will not be
an accident on the road, and Mr. Haverley or the man will have to be
sent for. And, besides, there will be the trouble of getting the gig back
again. Now, don't you think it will be a great deal better for you to put
that saddle on the horse, and ride him home, and then send the carriage
for me? That would be very simple, and no trouble at all."
Mr. Bannister turned his admiring eyes upon his sister.
"I declare, Dora," he said, "that is a good practical suggestion. If Miss
Haverley will allow me, I will borrow the saddle and the bridle and ride
home; I shall like that."
"Of course you are welcome to the saddle, if you wish it," said Miriam;
"but you need not send for your sister. Why can't she stay with me
to-night? I think it would be splendid to have a girl spend the night
with me. Perhaps I oughtn't to call you a girl, Miss Bannister."
Dora's eyes sparkled. "But I am a girl, just as you are," she exclaimed,
"and I should be delighted to stay. You are very good to propose it.
Herbert is an awfully slow rider (I believe he always walks his horse),
and I am sure it would be after dark before the carriage would get here."
"Do let her stay," cried Miriam, seizing Dora's arm, as if they had been
old friends; "I shall be so glad to have her."
Mr. Bannister laughed.
"It is not for me to say what Dora shall do," he replied. "You two must
decide that, and if I go home to report our safety, it will be all
right. It is now too late for me to go to Mrs. Dudley's, especially as I
ride so slowly; but I will drive there to-morrow, and stop for Dora on
my return."
"Settled!" cried Miriam; and Dora gazed at her with radiant face. It was
delightful to be able to bestow such pleasure.
In two minutes Mr. Bannister had brought in his horse. In the next minute
all three of the party were busy unbuckling his harness; in ten minutes
more it had been taken off, the saddle and bridle substituted, and Mr.
Bannister was riding to Thorbury.
Dora of the sparkling eyes drew close to Miriam.
"Would you mind my kissing you?" she asked.
There was nothing in the warm young soul of the other girl which in the
least objected to this token of a new-born friendship.
As Dora and Miriam, each with an arm around the waist of the other,
walked out of the barn and passed the lower story, the calf, who had been
the main instrument in bringing about the cordial relations between the
two, raised his head and gazed at them with his good eye. Then perceiving
that they had forgotten him, and were going away without even arranging
his mosquito net for the night, he slowly turned his clouded visual organ
in their direction, and composed himself to rest.