interest him. He brushed himself as he went. The band was playing
madly, and the young woman in the stiff skirts was standing by her
horse ready to mount. The crowd did not stop laughing; Bud inclined
his head to dust his knickerbockers, and then in a tragic instant he
saw what was convulsing the multitude with laughter. The outer seam of
the right leg of his velveteen breeches was gone, and a brown leg was
winking in and out from the flapping garment as he walked. Wildly he
gathered the parted garment, and it seemed to him that he never would
cover the ground between the ring and the benches. In the course of
several aeons--which the other boys measured by fleeting minutes--the
wave of shame that covered Bud subsided. Pins bound up the wounds in
his clothes. He drew a natural breath, and was able to join the mob
which howled down the man who announced the concert.
After that the inexorable minutes flew by until the performance ended.
In the menagerie tent Bud and his friends looked thirstily upon the
cool, pink "schooners" of lemonade, and finally, when they had spent
a few blissful moments with the monkeys and had enjoyed a last, long,
lingering look at the elephants, they dragged themselves unwillingly
away into the commonplace of sunshine and trees and blue sky. Only the
romantic touch of the side-show banners and the wonder of the gilded
wagons assured them that their memories of the passing hour were not
empty dreams.
The boys were standing enraptured before the picture of the fat woman
upon the swaying canvas. Bud had drifted away from them to glut his
eyes upon the picture of the snakes writhing around the charmer. The
North-enders had been following Bud at a respectful distance, waiting
for the opportunity which his separation from his clan gave to them.
They were enforced by a country boy of great reputed prowess in
battle. Bud did not know his danger until they pounced upon him. In an
instant the fight was raging. Over the guy ropes it went, under the
ticket wagon, into the thick of the lemonade stands. And when Piggy
and Abe and Jimmy had joined it, they trailed the track of the storm
by torn hats, bruised, battle-scarred boys, and the wreckage incident
to an enlivening occasion. When his comrades found Bud, the argument
had narrowed down to Bud and the boy from the country, the other
wranglers having dropped out for heavy repairs. The fight, which had
been started to avenge ancient wrongs, particularly the wrongs of the
bill-board, only added new wrongs to the list. The country boy was
striking wildly, and trying to clinch his antagonist, when the town
marshal--the bogie-man of all boys--stopped the fight. But of course
no town marshal can come into the thick of a discussion in Boyville
and know much of the merits of the question. So when the marshal of
Willow Creek saw Bud Perkins putting the finishing touches of a good
trouncing on a strange boy, and also saw Bill Pennington's boy, and
Henry Sears's boy, and Mrs. Carpenter's boy, and old man Jones's boy
dancing around in high glee at the performance, he quietly gathered in
the boys he knew, and let the stranger go.
[Illustration: _The other 'wranglers ... dropped out for heavy
repair_.]
Now no boy likes to be marched down the main street of his town with
the callous finger of the marshal under his shirt-band. The spectacle
operates distinctly against the peace and dignity of Boyville for
months thereafter. For passing youths who forget there is a morrow
jibe at the culprits and thus plant the seeds of dissensions which
bloom in fights. It was a sweaty, red-faced crew that the marshal
dumped into Pennington's grocery with, "Here, Bill, I found your boy
and these young demons fightin' down 't the circus ground, and I took
'em in charge. You 'tend to 'em, will you?"
Mr. Pennington's glance at his son showed that Piggy was unharmed. A
swift survey of the others gave each, save Bud, a bill of health. But
when Mr. Pennington's eyes fell on Bud, he leaned on a show-case and
laughed till he shook all over; for Bud, with a rimless hat upon a
towselled head, with a face scratched till it looked like a railroad
map, with a torn shirt that exposed a dirty shoulder and a freckled
back, with trousers so badly shattered that two hands could hardly
hold them together,--as Mr. Pennington expressed it, Bud looked like a
second-hand boy. The simile pleased Pennington so that he renewed his
laughter, and paid no heed to the chatter of the pack clamoring to
tell all in one breath, the history of the incident that had led to
Bud's dilapidation. Also they were drawing gloomy pictures of the
appearance of his assailants, after the custom of boys in such cases.
Because his son was not involved in the calamity, Piggy's father was
not moved deeply by the story of the raid of the North-enders and
their downfall. So he put the young gentlemen of the Court of Boyville
into the back room of his grocery store, where coal-oil and molasses
barrels and hams and bacon and black shadows of many mysterious
things were gathered. He gave the royal party a cheese knife and a
watermelon, and bade them be merry, a bidding which set the hearts of
Piggy and Abe and Jimmy and Mealy to dancing, while Bud's heart, which
had been sinking lower and lower into a quagmire of dread, beat
on numbly and did not join the joy. As the time for going home
approached, Bud shivered in his soul at the thought of meeting Miss
Morgan. Not even the watermelon revived him, and when a watermelon
will not help a boy his extremity is dire. Still he laughed and
chatted with apparent merriment, but he knew how hollow was his
laughter and what mockery was in his cheer. When the melon was eaten
business took its regular order.
[Illustration: _When Mr. Pennington's eyes fell on Bud, he leaned on a
show-case and laughed till he shook all over_.]
"Say, Bud, how you goin' to get home?" asked Abe.
Bud grinned as he looked at his rags.
"Gee," said Mealy, "I'm glad it ain't me."
"Aw, shucks," returned Bud, and he thought of the stricken Ananias in
the Sunday-school lesson leaf as he spoke; "run right through like I
always do. What I got to be 'fraid of?"
"Yes, Mr. Bud, you can laugh, but you know you'll catch it when you
get home."
This shaft from Jimmy Sears put in words the terror in Bud's heart.
But he replied: "I'll bet you I don't."
Bud's instinct piloted him by a circuitous route up the alley to the
kitchen door. Miss Morgan sat on the front porch, waiting for the boy
to return before serving supper. He stood helplessly in the kitchen
for a minute, with a weight of indecision upon him. He feared to go
to the front porch, where Miss Morgan was. He feared to stay in the
kitchen. But when he saw the empty wood-box a light seemed to dawn.
Instinct guided him to the woodpile, and the law of self-preservation
filled his arms with wood, and instinct carried him to the kitchen
wood-box time and again, and laid the wood in the box as gently as if
it had been glass and as softly as if it had been velvet. Not until
the pile had grown far above the wainscoting on the kitchen wall, did
a stick crashing to the floor tell Miss Morgan that Bud was in the
house.
But there is a destiny that shapes our ends, and just as the falling
wood attracted Miss Morgan's attention, it was diverted by a
belligerent party at her front gate. This belligerent party was
composed of two persons, to wit: one mother from the north end of
Willow Creek, irate to the spluttering point, and one boy lagging as
far behind the mother as his short arm would allow him to lag. The
mother held the short arm, and was literally dragging her son to Miss
Morgan's gate to offer him in evidence as "Exhibit A" in a possible
cause of the State of Kansas vs. Henry Perkins. Exhibit A was black
and blue as to the eyes, torn as to the shirt, bloody as to the nose,
tumbled and dusty as to the hair, and as to the countenance, clearly
and unquestionably sheep-faced. The mother opened the bombardment
with: "Miss Morgan, I just want you to look at my boy."
[Illustration: "_Miss Morgan, I just want you to look at my boy_."]
Miss Morgan looked in horror, and exclaimed: "Well, for mercy sakes!
Where on earth's he been?"
And the leader of the war party returned: "Where's he been? Well, I'll
tell you where he's been. And I just want you to know who done this."
Here Exhibit A got behind a post. The recital of the details of his
catastrophe was humiliating. But the mother continued: "Henry Perkins
done this. I don't believe in stirring up neighborhood quarrels and
all that, but I've just stood this long enough. My boy can't stick his
nose out of the door without that Perkins boy jumpin' on him. If you
can't do anything with that Perkins boy, I'll show him there's a law
in this land."
Miss Morgan wilted as the speech proceeded. She had voice only to say,
"I'm sure there's some mistake;" and then remembering the crash of the
wood on the kitchen floor, she called: "Henry, come here!"
As Bud shambled through the house, the spokesman of the belligerents
replied: "No, there isn't no mistake either. My boy is a good little
boy, and just as peaceable a boy as there is in this town. And because
I don't allow him to fight, that Perkins boy picks on him all the
time. I've told him to keep out of his way and not to play with Henry
Perkins, but he can't be runnin' all over this town to keep--"
And then Exhibit B, with scratched face, tattered raiment, and grimy
features, stood in the doorway. The witness for the State looked in
dumb amazement at the wreck. Miss Morgan saw Bud, and her temper
rose--not at him, but at his adversary. Exhibit A sulkily turned his
face from Exhibit B, and Exhibit B seemed to be oblivious of the
presence of Exhibit A; for the boys it was a scene too shameful for
mutual recognition. Miss Morgan broke the heavy silence with: "Henry,
where on earth have you been?"
"Been t' the circus," replied the boy.
"Henry, did you blacken that little boy's eyes, and tear his clothes
that way?" inquired Miss Morgan when her wits returned.
"Why--no'm--I didn't. But he was one of four fellers that picked on me
comin' home from the circus, and tried to lick me."
"Willie," demanded the head of the attacking posse, "did you pick a
fight with that Perkins boy?"
"Oh, no 'm, no 'm! I was just playin' round the tent, me and
another boy, and Bud he come up and jumped on us." And then to add
verisimilitude to his narrative, he appended: "Him and four other
boys."
"Henry," asked Miss Morgan, as she surveyed the debris of Henry's
Sunday clothes, and her womanly wrath for the destroyer of them began
to boil, "Henry, now tell me honestly, is this little boy telling the
truth? Now, don't you story to me, Henry."
"Honest injun, Miss Morgan, I cross my heart and hope to drop dead
this minute if I ain't tellin' you the way it was. Him and them
North-enders, why they come along and called me names, and he tried to
hit me, and I just shoved him away like this," and Henry executed a
polite pantomime. "And I was swingin' my arms out to keep 'em all from
hittin' me, and he got in the way, and I couldn't help it. And they
was all a pickin' on me, and I told 'em all the time I didn't want to
fight."
But Exhibit A kept looking at his mother and shaking his head in
violent contradiction of Bud, as the story was told.
Miss Morgan asked: "Who scratched your face so, Henry?"
"Him; he's all the time fightin' me."
"No, ma, I didn't. You know I didn't."
Exhibit A and Exhibit B were still back to back. Then Exhibit B
responded: "Miss Morgan, you ast him if he didn't cuss and damn me,
and say he was goin' to pound me to death if I ever come north of
Sixth."
To which the leader of the raiders returned in great scorn: "The very
idea! Just listen at that! Why, Miss Morgan, that Perkins boy is the
bully of this town. Come on, Willie, your pa will see if there is no
law to protect you from such boys as him." Whereupon the war party
faced about, and walked down the sidewalk and away.
Miss Morgan and Bud watched the North End woman and her son depart.
Miss Morgan turned to Bud, and spoke spiritedly: "Now, Henry, don't
ever have anything to do with that kind of trash again. Now, you won't
forget, will you, Henry?"
[Illustration: "_Now, Henry, don't ever have anything to do with that
kind of trash again_."]
Bud examined his toes carefully, and replied, "No 'm."
In the threshold she put her hand on the boy's shoulder, and
continued: "Now, don't you mind about it, Henry. They sha'n't touch
you. You come and wash, and we'll have supper."
When a boy has a woman for a champion, if he is wise, he trusts her to
any length. So Bud went to the kitchen, picked up the water-bucket,
and went to the well, partly to keep from displaying a gathering wave
of affection for his foster-mother, and partly to let the magnificence
of the wood-box burst upon her in his absence. When he returned, he
found Miss Morgan pointing toward the wood-box and beaming upon him.
Bud grinned, and fished in his pocket for the coin.
[Illustration: "_Here's a dollar I got for ridin' the trick mule.... I
thought it would be nice for the missionary society_."]
"Here's a dollar I got for ridin' the trick mule," he faltered. "I
thought it would be nice for the missionary society." That he might
check any weak feminine emotions, he turned his attention to the
supper-table, and blurted: "Gee, we're goin' to have pie, ain't we? I
tell you, I'm mighty pie hungry."
[Illustration: "_Gee, we're going to have pie, ain't we_."]
The glow of Miss Morgan's melted heart shone upon her face. Through a
seraphic smile she spoke: "It's apple pie, too, Henry--your kind." As
she put the supper upon the table, she asked: "Did you have a good
time at the circus, Henry?"
The boy nodded vehemently, and said: "You bet!" and then went on,
after a pause, "I guess I tore my pants a little gettin' off of that
mule; but I thought you'd like the dollar."
It was the finest speech he could make. "I guess I can mend them,
Henry," she answered; and then she asked, with her face in the
cupboard, "Sha'n't we try some of the new strawberry preserves,
Henry?"
As she was opening the jar she concluded that Henry Perkins was an
angel--a conclusion which, in view of the well-known facts, was
manifestly absurd.
[Illustration]
"THE HERB CALLED HEARTS-EASE"
Did you hear him? I dare say that boy lives a merrier life and wears
more of the herb called hearts-ease in his bosom than he that is clad
in silk and velvet.--_From the Observations of "Mr. Great Heart_."
It was dusk in Boyville. The boys at a game of hide-and-seek filled
the air with their calls:
"Bushel of wheat, and a
Bushel of rye--
All t' ain't ready
Holler aye.
All in ten feet of my base is caught: All eyes open."
Or
"One--two--three for me."
Or
"All's out's in free."
Among the trees they scampered; into hay-stacks they wormed; over
barrels and boxes they wiggled; they huddled under the sunflowers and
the horse-weeds. It was a royal game, but as the moon rose it merged
into pull-away. That game flourished for a while and transformed
itself by an almost imperceptible evolution into a series of races
down the dusty road. But when the moon's silver had marked itself upon
the grass, the boys were lying prone on a hay-cock behind the royal
castle. They chattered idly, and the murmur of their talk rose on
the just-felt breeze that greets the rising moon, like the ripple of
waters. But the chatter was only a seeming. For in truth the boys were
absorbing the glory of the moonlight. And the undertones of their
being were sounding in unison with the gentle music of the hour. Their
souls--fresher from God than are the souls of men--were a-quiver with
joy, and their lips babbled to hide their ecstasies. In Boyville it
is a shameful thing to flaunt the secrets of the heart. As the night
deepened, and the shy stars peeped at the bold moon, the boys let
their prattle ebb into silence. Long they lay looking upward--with the
impulse in their souls that prompted the eternal question that Adam
left unanswered, that David cried in passion across his harp, that the
wise men of the world have left locked in mystery--the question of the
Whence, the Why, and the Whither.
As the moon climbed high into the arc of the Heavens, the company upon
the hay-cock dispersed, one by one, till a solitary boy remained.
After he had gazed at the moon awhile a thrill of sheer madness set
him to tumbling, head over heels, upon the fresh hay. Life was full of
gladness for him, and his throat cramped with a delicious longing for
he knew not what. He wondered vaguely if it were not something new
and unimaginably good to eat. It was the nearest he could come to a
defining of the longing. Of course no one can define it. It is that
which quickens the blood of all young creatures--the rosebud, the
meadow-lark, the dragon-fly, the colt, the boy and the maiden, bidding
them glorify God with the show and the example of their comeliness.
The boy rose from the hay and skipped under the trees, over the
fantastic figures of the moon-spun carpet. He waved his arms, and
there came to his throat a simple song, which he chanted croakingly,
lest some one should hear him and laugh. He stopped, and sitting on a
fence looked at a great white cloud that was mounting the western sky.
His soul was listening to the faraway music from the breakers of the
restless rising sea of ambition, and the rush of life and action, that
were flooding into the distant rim of his consciousness. The music
charmed him. Tears came to his eyes, he knew not why. But we, whom
this mighty tide has carried away from that bourne whereon the boy's
feet strayed so happily--we know why the far-seeing angels gave him
tears.
A dog in some distant farm-yard was baying at the moon. A whining
screech owl sent a faint shudder of superstitious fear over the boy.
For a long time he sat on the fence absorbing the night sounds--the
claque of the frogs, the burring of the crickets, the hum of the water
on the mill-dam far down the valley, and the occasional call of some
human voice, ringing like a golden bell in the hush of the night. It
was after nine and the boy was deep in his trackless revery. A woman
called,--
"Win-nee, Win-nee, oh, Winnie."
The spell upon him was almost too delicious to break; but he roused
himself to reply,--
"Yessum. All right."
Then the mother's voice continued: "Now wash your feet, Winnie, and
wipe 'em dry; don't come to bed with dirty feet."
Slowly the boy climbed to the earth. He shuffled through dew, but his
feet were still too dirty. He stood in the tub of water by the pump,
rubbing one foot with the other, and his eyes turned moonward. The
thrall of the night caught him again. In a hazy stupor he sat on the
kitchen step drying his feet. When he got up, Piggy Pennington gazed
for a moment at a star--a pale star which hovered timidly over the
chimney of the home which sheltered his Heart's Desire. With the
lunacy upon him, he flung to the star a bashful kiss. Then he grinned
foolishly and came to himself with a grunt, as he ran up stairs to his
room. He was ashamed to face the south breeze that fanned his bed.