FOXES' GULLY
When next Montgomery opened his eyes his head lay on something soft, and
he confusedly tried to understand what and where it was. But thought
seemed difficult, and he closed his lids again, wondering what made him
feel so weak, and drowsily deciding that he must be in his own bed and
this the middle of the night.
In one thing he was correct--it was the middle of the night; a later
hour than the boy had ever been absent from home, even upon the most
prolonged of fishing-trips. Yet the softness beneath his head was not
that of a pillow in its case, but the lap of a white-frocked girl, who
was holding him tenderly and sobbing as if her heart would break.
"W-w-wh-where 'm I a-at? Who's a-c-c-cr-cry--in'?"
"Oh, you darling boy! you didn't die, did you, after all! Oh, I'm so
glad, so glad, so glad! And I thought I had killed you. I'd never
killed anybody before, though stepmother said I'd tried. I mean I--I
suppose I scared you some way, I don't see how, for the minute I was
good to you and sorry, you ran away."
Montgomery moved uneasily. He began to remember events distinctly; quite
too distinctly, in fact. He had run away from that horrid girl, and he
had forgotten the ravine beyond "deserted cottage." He had fallen down
it and hit his head. He could recall the dreadful sensation of pitching
forward into a seemingly bottomless pit, and shivered afresh at the
memory.
Feeling him shiver thus, Katharine drew her white skirts around his
shoulders, and cossetted him as if he had been a baby. He tried to
wriggle away from her on to the ground beyond, but this she sturdily
prevented, and the late-rising moon cast its light just then upon a
face, oddly set and determined for that of so young a girl.
Finding himself helpless in that strange weakness, Monty ceased to
wriggle, and demanded: "How y-y-y-you get here, a-a-a-nyway?"
"Oh! I just followed. When you ran away I ran after."
"A-a-a-aunt Eu-Eu-nice let you?"
"I didn't stop to ask her permission. I saw I'd hurt your feelings, and
I couldn't let you go without telling you I was sorry. But, you see, I
never before knew anybody who stammered, and I didn't think how rude I
was to mention it. Not till Aunt Eunice pointed it out. I do beg your
pardon, sincerely. Will you forgive me?"
It was not in the spirit of any Sturtevant, past or present, to decline
an apology so sweetly and earnestly offered. Besides, that was as it
should be. Humility was the correct attitude for insignificant girls
toward such superior creatures as boys, and Monty waxed magnanimous,
replying:
"Oh, y-y-es! I'll f-f-forgive you. But I don't see. G-g-gir-ls can't run
like boys."
"Can't they, indeed? Well, you ran like a hare, and I just as fast.
There was mighty little space between us, honey, and you may believe it.
How else should I have known the way? I had to keep you in sight, of
course. It was so fearfully dark in that forest that I nearly lost you
once, but I could hear if I couldn't see; and it wasn't so bad when we
got outside again. Yet whatever should make you, a boy--a boy!--go and
hurl yourself over a precipice, when you knew all the time it was there,
while I, a girl--a girl, if you please! who didn't know a thing about
it--stopped short on the brink, amazes me. Explain it, won't you?"
"Oh, f-f-f-fudge! Must be aw-aw-awful late. Moon don't rise now t-t-till
'most m-m-morning," observed Montgomery, declining explanations, and
wondering how she had perceived his distaste for girls. Besides, he was
rapidly regaining strength, and now when he raised himself an
inspiration came to him. The inspiration found voice in the words:
"M-m-m-might's well be hung for a s-s-s-sheep as a l-l-l-lamb."
The observation was apparently so senseless and Katharine's love of
mimicry so strong that she couldn't help replying and laughing:
"J-j-j-just as w-w-well. But where's the s-s-s-s-sheep and l-l-lamb in
the case?"
Montgomery did not now resent her imitation of his very tone. He even
condescended to laugh back; then ungallantly remarked: "I wish y-y-you'd
go h-h-home."
"Meaning to Aunt Eunice's. That's exactly what I want to do. So let's be
off."
"I s-s-said y-you," corrected Master Sturtevant, rising and taking a few
cautious steps to test the state of his legs. He found them usable,
though rather wobbly about the knees, and would have started off across
the ravine's bottom had not Katharine caught and held him. She was
herself shivering violently, but only from the cold of an autumn
midnight, against which her light summer dress was small protection. She
ached from long sitting on the stony ground, and from holding the heavy
shoulders of her companion. She was frightened by the lateness of the
hour and the intense loneliness of the place; and she felt that she had
sacrificed herself for just the very meanest boy who ever lived. Though
she was not a girl who often cried, tears came then, and that worst of
all feelings--homesickness--seized her and turned her faint.
Poor Monty! Here was a situation, indeed, for a boy who despised girls!
Yet also a boy who was a gentleman by birth; so that, while his first
impulse was to run away, his second was to offer such comfort as he
could.
"W-w-what you cryin' for, a-a-anyway? I-I-I'm all right, I guess."
"Well, if you are, I'm not. I'm just as anxious to go home as you are,
only how can I? I don't know the way, and I'm afraid. I'm afraid of
everything! Of that terrible forest, of Aunt Eunice's anger, of her
refusing to keep me and sending me off to that boarding-school, of--Oh,
dear! I wish I was back in Baltimore!"
Never had the cold countenance of the second Mrs. John or those of the
round little Snowballs seemed so humanly lovable to Katharine as they
did at that moment, remembering them in her banishment.
"F-f-fudge! Q-q-quit it! If we're goin' to get scolded for part, might's
well b-b-be for the w-w-w-whole. 'Tain't far to the pool. We can go
f-f-fishin', after all, if you behave. I th-th-thought you was good as a
boy, an'--Will you?"
Kate dried her eyes. She didn't enjoy grief, and the prospect of any
novelty was delightful. She forgot that she was cold, that it was late
and she was where she should not have been at such an hour, and
exclaimed, with an eagerness equal to Montgomery's own:
"Oh, let's! I never went fishing in my life!"
"Come on, t-th-then!" cried the relieved lad, now readily taking her
cold hand and setting off with all the speed he could attain.
The moon was shining brilliantly, making every object as distinct as
day, and to the city-reared girl the scene was like fairy-land. Her
spirits rose to the highest, and none the less, it may be, because all
the time she was conscious of a certain daring and danger in their
escapade; and her pace more than outstripped Monty's as they crossed the
short distance to the river, warming themselves by their own speed, and
listening intently for the sound of voices which should have reached
them long before.
"Oh, I'm so delightfully goose-fleshy! This is the most thrilling
adventure of my life! I begin to feel as if I were part of a story-book
myself, like all the rest of Marsden!" said Kate, half-breathless with
running, when her mate came to a sudden halt among the shadows of the
trees beside the famous pool.
"S-s-s-sh!" warned the other, leaning forward at the risk of a tumble
into the still, deep water, listening and peering up and down the
stream. Then, with disappointment depicted in every line of his
suddenly weary body, he gloomily stammered: "Th-th-th-they've gone
home!"
There was nothing left but for themselves to follow; but surely, there
were never fields so wide and rough as these over which Master
Sturtevant now guided Katharine; herself, also, so tired from her day of
travel and her night of adventure; and finally, feeling as if the
stubble pierced every inch of her thin shoes, and that she could endure
the discomfort no longer, she begged:
"Oh! please do go by some road, and not on this grass any longer."
"Huh! 'T-t-tain't grass. Oat-st-st-stubble," he explained, doggedly
keeping on his way, which he knew was shorter, and for the further
reason that he could rid himself of her at Miss Maitland's back garden
fence. From there he meant to make his own rapid transit to his
grandmother's low kitchen roof and through a window to his bed, as he
fondly hoped, forgotten and unobserved. He didn't intend that any
strange girl should throw all his plans agley, for she had done more
than mischief enough already. Yet even as he spoke, he looked furtively
around and was dismayed to see how white she was, and how big and
troubled her dark eyes were. Fudge! They were even larger and finer than
his own blue ones, yet she had not once seemed conscious of the fact.
It was the Madam's opinion that "blood would tell," and the good blood
of many past Sturtevants stirred now in their descendant's veins,
rousing his unselfishness, and making him say:
"F-f-fudge! You look b-b-beat out. I'll go the road, all right. I don't
m-m-m-mind it--m-m-much, not much;" for even chivalry could not prevent
this last truthful word of regret.
So by the road they went; and by the road--retribution came. Nemesis in
the form of Moses Jones; no longer in a mood to be "uncled" by any boy,
not even Montgomery, and in his sternness grown almost unfamiliar. He
was not alone. Two neighbors were with him, and, despite the fact that
the moon was shining, all three men carried lighted lanterns. They were
overcoated and muffled to a degree, and Moses' first action was to
unfold a great shawl which he had carried on his shoulder, and wrap Kate
in it. He did this in silence, not so much as asking "by your leave,"
and not observing that he was smothering her at the same time. Then he
took hold of her arm through the folds of the shawl, and, facing about,
started back along the route he had come.
They were well outside the village limits, and a weary tramp yet lay
before them, the longer strides of the men taxing the fatigue of the
children, till it seemed to them both as if they must fall by the way.
That terrible silence, too, and the firm grip of her arm, made Kate
wonder if Mr. Jones had suddenly become a constable in fact, and if she
were the first victim to be arrested. Once she wriggled herself free
from her captor's hand, only to find herself again secured and even more
rigidly.
As for poor Montgomery, the pain and confusion had returned, and he
could think of nothing save that tormenting headache. His temple was
swollen and throbbing, and the one idea he still retained was a longing
for rest. It seemed to him that he had been hurried and tramping along
ever since he was born. That never had he done a single thing besides
lifting one heavy foot after another and planting each a bit farther
along that glaring road. The lanterns bobbed about outrageously, as if
they were trying to make him more dizzy still; and he scarcely knew when
they entered the now deserted village street and came to a halt at Miss
Maitland's gate.
There, he fancied, some women rushed out and grabbed Katharine, for he
dimly saw her borne away into the house where more dazzling lights were
gleaming. To avoid their bewildering rays he closed his eyes a moment;
and when he opened them again he found himself being carried swiftly
homeward in Moses' strong arms. He being carried! like one of Mis'
Turner's babies! More ignominy still. As if his having been coddled and
wept over by a strange little girl hadn't been mortifying enough. But
his own voice sounded queer to him as he tried to say, with
unstammering distinctness and dignity:
"You--needn't carry me n-n-none, Un-un-uncle Mose. What you doin' it
for? Put me d-d-down!"
The other two men had vanished, and there was nobody to hear Uncle
Moses' tender, troubled answer:
"Why, you poor little shaver, lie still. I don't know what's happened
ye, nor what sort of scrape you've been in. You an' that t'other one,
who's come to turn things topsyturvy. But betwixt the pair of you you've
nigh druv two old women crazy, and set the whole village a-teeter. Just
because I walked through it ringin' a bell an' cryin', like any
respectable constable would have done if I'd been one, and this 'most
makes me feel I am, just cryin': 'Child lost! Boy lost! Girl lost!' and
a couple the neighborin' men j'inin' in the search, with our lanterns
lit, sence we didn't know what sort of a hole or ditch you might fell
into--"
"F-F-Foxes' Gully!" exclaimed Montgomery, no longer resisting the relief
of walking on somebody else's feet, so to speak.
Uncle Moses stopped short, amazed and alarmed. "What? What's that you
say?"
"F-f-fell down it. An' she come to say she was s-s-s-sor-ry."
"And wasn't killed? Well now, and forever after, I'll believe in
guardeen angels! Fell down it an' wasn't killed! But what made ye?
Hadn't you any sense? Why, there's been more'n a half-dozen cattle
killed in that plaguey hollow sence I can remember. Yet you wasn't.
Well, I'm glad of it," and though this seemed a very mild expression of
his satisfaction, the sudden squeeze which Moses gave his burden
emphasized it sufficiently.
For a few minutes neither spoke again, then Monty suddenly asked: "How
many you catch, Un-un-uncle Mose?"
"Enough for breakfast. But I missed ye, sonny, I missed ye. An' I'm real
glad you wasn't killed. As for that t'other one, I declare, I wish't she
hadn't come. 'Peared like Eunice would lose her seventy senses,
a-worryin' lest the child take cold or get hurt or somethin'. And there
she has landed on her feet sound as a cat. Though speakin' of cats, Sir
Philip has had the bout of his life, and he looks pretty peaked to me.
But here we are to home, an' your grandma ain't likely to scold you none
if you just mention to her 'Foxes' Gully.' 'Twas one of the Sturtevant
calves got killed there, the very first off, an' she will remember. As
for me, a respectable hired man, kep' out of my bed like this--why,
sonny! Soon's you get over it I'll teach you a lesson you'll remember!"
So, still grumbling and petting, Moses set his burden down in Madam
Sturtevant's presence, and saw her open her lips to reprove her erring
grandson, then as suddenly close them again and strain the boy to her
heart, while her stately figure shook like an aspen. But Moses knew the
lady's temperament of old, and how her alternate severity and indulgence
had been bad for the child she idolized, and, fearing that severity
might have the upper hand now, when it was least needed, he remained
long enough to mention:
"Nothin' much the matter with the little shaver, Madam, only he fell
down Foxes' Gully, and is--he's sort of tuckered out."
Then he quietly withdrew, and of Montgomery Sturtevant he had no further
glimpse during what he himself termed "a consid'able spell."
As for Katharine, she was sound asleep long before Moses returned from
Madam Sturtevant's. To the anxiety and reproof with which she had been
received, she had, fortunately, but little to say beyond the statement
that, "I went to apologize, and I stayed to--to fish, I guess." The
relief of being safe indoors again was all she realized, just then, and
she submitted to being warmed, blanketed, and dosed with hot sage tea,
with a meek humility that won her pardon.
Indeed, when at last the dark curls rested on the pillow, and the
childish face softened in slumber, she looked so like Aunt Eunice's lost
"little John," that the lady stooped and kissed her for his sake. But
she confided to the faithful Widow Sprigg, who had also watched and
waited:
"I'm afraid, Susanna, that our peaceful days are over. While she was out
to-night, and I knew not where, and I was so troubled and anxious, I
felt that it would be wrong, really wrong to burden myself with such a
charge. For years her father left me ignorant of how his life was
passing, and it seemed to me he had no right to impose the care of his
daughter upon me, just because I had once tried to be good to him and he
had once seemed to love me. And I knew it would be hard for you and
Moses, too. We're all old together; and to rear another child--such an
odd child, at that--I wonder, is it right?"
Now it so chanced that old Susanna had been entirely won by the manner
in which Kate had chosen to be undressed and tended by the servant
rather than the statelier mistress. Also, in the old days when "Johnny"
had been with them, though the aunt had loved she had, also, reproved
him; but childless Susanna, whose own little son had died, simply loved
and never reproved. She now answered, promptly:
"Yes, Eunice Maitland, it's as right as right. She wouldn't have been
sent if she hadn't been meant, would she? And she's the cut an' dried
image of her own pa, bless him. Send her off? Course you'll do nothin'
o' the kind. If you do, I'll leave, an' you can get somebody else to
take my place. So there, that's my say-so, an' you're welcome to it."
At the thought of Katharine's mobile little face being a "cut and dried
image" of anybody Miss Eunice smiled, and her perplexity vanished--for
the time, at least. Then, hearing the kitchen door unclose, she
remarked:
"Well, I hear Moses coming in, and we three old people must get to rest.
I am surely obliged to you for the help and comfort you are to me,
Susanna, and to Moses, too. We'll do the best we can, and day by day."
"Certain, Eunice. That's the way to live, an' all's well 'at ends well,
as we hope she will--this little orphant thrust upon us without no
druther of our own, an' a bad beginnin' gen'ally makes a good ending;
an' I 'low I'd best take one more peek into the sittin'-room chamber,
afore I go to bed myself. Good night. Don't worry. I've fixed fish-cakes
for breakfast."
With which comforting assurance for the morrow, the Widow Sprigg took
herself out of the room, and quiet fell upon the old home.