THE WINTHROP COAT-OF-ARMS
Priscilla, sitting under the biggest cottonwood, was writing to Miss
Wallace, in her best handwriting, on her best stationery, in her best
style. One unconsciously brought forth the best she had for Miss Wallace.
She was telling of the Emperor and of the Cinnamon Creek ranger, sure that
Miss Wallace would be glad to add both to her collection of interesting
people. Interruptions were many. Carver, moody and silent, rode over,
looking for entertainment, and she did her best; Vivian, having reached a
halt in her daily Latin review, asked assistance; little David, Alec's
adorable son, had come over with his mother for the afternoon, and
Priscilla found him irresistible; and at last Donald, riding homeward, hot
and tired from working on the range, had stopped for rest and refreshment.
With Hannah's help Priscilla had provided the refreshment, and the ground
beneath the cottonwood was giving the rest.
"Some stationery!" said Donald, raising himself on his elbow to look at
the pile of sheets which Priscilla had placed in readiness on the grass.
"A shield and an eagle and a lion and a unicorn all at once, to say
nothing of Latin. What does it say? '_Courage--my----_'"
"_Courage is my heritage_," translated Priscilla proudly. "It's our family
coat-of-arms, and that's the motto. We've had it for years and years, ever
since the Wars of the Roses. A Winthrop was shield-bearer for Edward, Duke
of York, and Grandfather used to say we could be traced back to the Norman
Conquest."
"I see," said Donald politely, but with something very like amusement in
his blue eyes. "You New England folks are strong on crests and mottoes and
that sort of thing, aren't you?"
"No more than we should be," announced Priscilla a little haughtily. "We
are the oldest families for the most part, and I think we ought to
remember all those things about our ancestors. It's--it's
very--stimulating. The West is so excited over progress and
developing the country and all that," she finished a little disdainfully,
"that it doesn't care about family traditions or--or anything like that."
"Oh, I don't know," returned Donald. "It isn't so bad as that. We think a
fine family history is a splendid thing. I venture I'm as proud of my
Scotch forefathers as you are of the Duke of York's shield-bearer, though
we haven't any coat-of-arms, and never did have any, I guess. Only back
there you think it's a necessity to have a good ancestry, and out here we
just consider it a help. I like what Burns said about a man being just a
man. That's the way we feel out here. It isn't what you come from; it's
what you _are_, and what you can do. Family mottoes are all right, if you
live up to them. I knew a fellow at school when I was East two years ago.
He roomed with me. He had the family coat-of-arms framed and hung on the
wall. 'Twas all red and silver, and the motto was '_Ne cede
malis_'--'Yield not to difficulties.' The funny part was that he was the
biggest quitter in school. You see, I think it's you who have to uphold
the motto--not the motto that has to uphold you."
Priscilla ate a cookie silently. She wished Donald were not so
convincing.
"For instance," Donald continued, "suppose _Courage is my heritage_ were
Vivian's family motto. Do you think that fact would give Vivian an extra
amount of courage if she said it over a thousand times? I don't. All the
courage Vivian's got she's gained for herself without any motto to help
her out. And I guess that's the way with most of us in this world."
He took his hat and rose to go.
"I've got to be making for home," he said. "Dave's gone, and I've an extra
amount of work to do. Thanks awfully for the cookies, and don't think I'm
too hard on the family motto business. I can see where your motto means a
heap to you, but you're not a quitter anyway, Priscilla."
He jumped on MacDuff and rode down the lane with a final wave of his hat
as he galloped homeward across the prairie. Priscilla's cheeks grew red
as she watched him. She was not any too sure that she was not a quitter.
Disturbing memories came to trouble her--memories of occasions when she
had not proven the truth of the motto, which had fired her ancestors.
Donald was right, too, about ancestry and coats-of-arms and mottoes being
only helps. Her New England conscience told her that, and her weeks in
Wyoming corroborated her conscience. Still she was averse to admitting
it--even to Donald.
She returned to her unfinished letter, but Genius seemed on a vacation.
She could not picture the Emperor to Miss Wallace--could not give the
impression which he had indelibly stamped upon her memory as he stood
between Nero and Trajan at the palace entrance. The coat-of-arms seemed a
disturbing element. She covered it with a strip of paper, but still
thoughts would not come.
Disgruntled and out-of-sorts, she put away her letter, and started toward
the house. Carver's mood was contagious, she said to herself. In Hannah's
kitchen she found Mrs. Alec and little David, a roly-poly youngster of
three who demanded too much attention for just one mother. Priscilla,
seeing in David a sure antidote for introspection, offered to play the
part of the necessary other mother, and took him out-of-doors, much to the
relief of tired Mrs. Alec. She had no more time to think of family mottoes
or coats-of-arms. David clamored for attention, begged to be shown the
horse, the dogs, and all the live-stock which the ranch afforded.
Priscilla was an obedient guide. Nothing was omitted from the itinerary.
When David, satisfied as to the other four-footed possessions, said "Pigs"
in his funny Scotch way, pigs it was!
She led him down the hill to the corral, then off toward the right where
the pigs had their abiding-place. A pile of rocks, the crevices of which
were filled with all weeds infesting the neighborhood of pigs, offered a
vantage-ground from which they might view the landscape so alluring to
little David. With his hand in hers, she was helping him mount the rocks
one by one.
Suddenly a miniature saw-mill whirred at their feet. A swarm of bees
filled the air! Priscilla, intent upon David, had not noticed the flat
surface of the rock where the sun lay warm and bright. Warned by the
strange sound, her terrified eyes saw the snake, coiled and ready to
spring! She had a fleeting vision of a flat, cruel head, and a thousand
diamond-shaped yellow dots as she grasped little David by the neckband and
pulled him from the rocks to the corral. It was a rattlesnake! The
brakeman's prophecy had come true! In spite of Virginia's assertion that
they never came near the house, she had seen one!
Little David was crying from surprise and a sore neck. He had not seen the
snake. Priscilla was trembling in every muscle. There was no one whom she
could call. The men were on the range and in the fields; Mr. Hunter and
the girls, except Vivian, were in town; Aunt Nan was at the Keiths. The
snake must not be allowed to live. Little David might be playing around
there again, or some other child. She herself would never, never have the
courage----! She started, for suddenly in place of the sound of the
saw-mill and the vision of the diamond-shaped dots, came the memory of a
lion rampant on a field of gold, an eagle perched upon a shield, and a
unicorn surrounded by stars. As the red came back into her white cheeks,
Donald's words came back also:
"You see, you're no quitter anyway, Priscilla!"
Two minutes later Mrs. Alec and Hannah were surprised to receive into
their midst a shrieking child, borne by a most determined girl, who was
almost out of breath.
"He's all right!" she gasped. "Except his neck, I mean! I dragged him. I
had to! I'll tell you why by and by. Keep him till I get back!"
Then she flew out of the house and down the path to the stables. A
many-tined pitchfork rested against one of the sheds. It was one which
William had used that morning in turning over sod for a new flower-bed.
Priscilla in her hurried transit with David had marked the fork, and
chosen it as her best weapon. Of all those cruel tines, one must surely be
successful. Donald had told tales of forked sticks and heavy stones, but
her hands were too inexperienced for those things.
She seized the fork and ran down the path toward the rocks, not daring to
stop lest her resolve should fail her; not even waiting to plan her
attack lest the memory of that awful head should send her back to the
kitchen.
The saw-mill whirred again as she neared the rock. Apparently the snake
had not stirred since his last conquest. This time she saw his wicked
little eyes, his flattened head, and the contraction of his
diamond-covered muscles as he made ready to spring. But Priscilla sprang
first. The tines of the heavy pitchfork pierced the coils, and the only
whirr which sounded was the whirr of iron against the rock.
Priscilla, on the rock below, held the handle of the pitchfork firmly, and
tried not to look at her victim as he writhed in agony. A sickness was
creeping over her. There were queer vibrations in the air, and a strange,
singing sound in her ears. Memory brought back the picture of an evening
in Carver Standish's room at the Gordon School when she had felt the same
way. She would not faint, she said to herself, rallying all her forces.
She would die first! The snake had ceased writhing. He was surely dead.
Little David need be no longer in danger, and she--perhaps she need not
feel so unworthy when she thought of the Winthrop coat-of-arms.
She was very white when she reached the kitchen after depositing the
pitchfork and its burden by the shed. Grateful Mrs. Alec cried and held
little David closer when Priscilla, fortified by Hannah's cider, told the
story. Alec, who came in a few minutes later, was grateful, too, in his
bluff Scotch way. The snake, he said, was a whopper. He had rarely seen a
larger, and Miss Priscilla was a trump--the very bravest tenderfoot he'd
ever seen!
She had been true to her heritage, Donald said that evening--worthy to
bear the Winthrop coat-of-arms. But then he knew she wasn't a quitter
anyway. He had told her so that very afternoon.
But Priscilla's honesty was equal to all the demands placed upon it that
night. Donald's praise was but the last straw!
"All the coats-of-arms and family mottoes in the world, Donald," she said,
"couldn't have made me kill that snake. It was what you said about them,
and about me not being a quitter that did it. I think I was a quitter
until this afternoon; but now I can go and write Miss Wallace without
covering up the top of the paper. I'm going to do it before bed-time, if
you'll excuse me. Good-night!"