Tracing the Liniment Wagon
To Wellfleet, to Orleans, to Chatham went the telephone call, to
Harwichport and then back again to the little towns on the bay side of
the Cape, for the wild-cat and its keepers did not follow a straight
course in their meanderings. It was some time before Mr. Milford
succeeded in locating them. At last he hung up the receiver announcing:
"They showed in Orleans last night all right, but it wasn't the road to
Chatham they took out of there this morning. It was to Brewster. We can
easily overtake them somewhere along in that direction and get back home
before dark."
There was one ecstatic moment for Georgina when it was made clear to her
that she was included in that "we"; that she was actually to have a share
in an automobile chase like the ones that had thrilled her in the movies.
But that moment was soon over.
"I hardly know what to do about leaving Mother," began Uncle Darcy in a
troubled voice. "She's feeling uncommon poorly to-day--she's in bed and
can't seem to remember anything longer than you're telling it. Mrs. Saggs
came in to sit with her while I was out blueberrying, but she said she
couldn't stay past ten o'clock. She has company coming."
"Couldn't you get some of the other neighbors to come in for the few
hours you'd be away?" asked Mr. Milford. "It's important you should follow
up this clue yourself."
"No, Mrs. Saggs is the only one who keeps Mother from fretting when I'm
away from her. Her side window looks right into our front yard, and
ordinarily it would be enough just for her to call across to her now and
then, but it wouldn't do to-day, Mother not being as well as common.
She'd forget where I was gone and I couldn't bear to have her lying there
frightened and worried and not remembering why I had left her alone.
She's like a child at times. _You_ know how it is," he said, turning
to Georgina. "Not flighty, but just needing to be soothed and talked to."
Georgina nodded. She knew, for on several occasions she had sat beside
Aunt Elspeth when she was in such a mood, and had quieted and pleased her
with little songs and simple rhymes. She knew she could do it again
to-day as effectually as Mrs. Saggs, if it wasn't for giving up that
exciting motor chase after the wild-cat woman. It seemed to her a greater
sacrifice than flesh and blood should be called upon to make. She sat on
the porch step, twirling her prism carelessly on its pink ribbon while
she waited for the machine to be brought around. Then she climbed into
the back seat with Uncle Darcy and the two pails of blueberries, while
Richard settled himself and Captain Kidd in front with his Cousin James.
They whirled up to the Gray Inn to leave the blueberries, and then around
down Bradford Street to Fishburn Court to attempt to explain to Aunt
Elspeth. On the way they passed the Pilgrim monument. Georgina tried not
to look at it, but she couldn't help glancing up at it from the corner of
her eye.
"You must," it seemed to say to her.
"I won't," she as silently answered back.
"It's your duty," it reminded her, "and the idea of a descendant of one
of the Pilgrim Fathers and one of the Minute-men shirking her duty. A
pretty member of the Rainbow Club _you_ are," it scoffed.
They whirled by the grim monster of a monument quickly, but Georgina felt
impelled to turn and look back at it, her gaze following it up higher and
higher, above the gargoyles, to the tipmost stones which seemed to touch
the sky.
"I hate that word Duty," she said savagely to herself. "It's as big and
ugly and as always-in-front-of-you as that old monument. They're exactly
alike. You can't help seeing them no matter which way you look or how
hard you try not to."
At the gate she tried to put the obnoxious word out of her mind by
leaning luxuriously back in the car and looking up at the chimney tops
while Uncle Darcy stepped out and went into the house. He came out again
almost immediately, crossed the little front yard and put his head in at
Mrs. Saggs' side window. After a short conversation with her he came out
to the gate and stood irresolutely fingering the latch.
"I don't know what to do," he repeated, his voice even more troubled than
before. "Mother's asleep now. Mrs. Saggs says she'll go over at twelve
and take her her tea, but--I can't help feeling I ought not to leave her
alone for so long. Couldn't you manage without me?"
And then, Georgina inwardly protesting, "I don't want to and I won't,"
found herself stepping out of the car, and heard her own voice saying
sweetly:
"I'll stay with Aunt Elspeth, Uncle Darcy. I can keep her from fretting."
A smile of relief broke over the old man's face and he said heartily:
"Why, of course you can, honey. It never occurred to me to ask a little
lass like you to stop and care for her, but you can do it better than
anybody else, because Mother's so fond of you."
Neither had it occurred to him or to either of the others that it was a
sacrifice for her to give up this ride. There was not a word from anyone
about its being a noble thing for her to do. Mr. Milford, in a hurry to
be off, merely nodded his satisfaction at having the matter arranged so
quickly. Uncle Darcy stepped back to the window for a parting word with
Mrs. Saggs.
"She'll keep an ear out for you, Georgina," he said as he went back to
the car. "Just call her if you want her for any reason. There's plenty
cooked in the cupboard for your dinner, and Mrs. Saggs will tend to
Mother's tea when the time comes. When she wakes up and asks for me best
not tell her I'm out of town. Just say I'll be back bye and bye, and
humor her along that way."
And then they were off with a whirr and a clang that sent the chickens in
the road scattering in every direction. Georgina was left standing by the
gate thinking, "What made me do it? What _made_ me do it? I don't
want to stay one bit."
The odor of gasoline cleared away and the usual Sabbath-like stillness
settled down over all the court. She walked slowly across the shady
little grass plot to the front door, hesitated there a moment, then went
into the cottage and took off her hat.
A glance into the dim bedroom beyond showed her Aunt Elspeth's white head
lying motionless on her pillow. The sight of the quiet sleeper made her
feel appallingly lonesome. It was like being all by herself in the house
to be there with one who made no sound or movement. She would have to
find something to do. It was only eleven o'clock. She tiptoed out into
the kitchen.
The almanac had been left lying on the table. She looked slowly through
it, and was rewarded by finding something of interest. On the last page
was a column of riddles, and one of them was so good she started to
memorize it so that she could propound it to Richard. She was sure he
never could guess it. Finding it harder to remember than it seemed at
first glance, she decided to copy it. She did not know where to look for
a sheet of paper, but remembered several paper bags on the pantry
shelves, so she went in search of one. Finding one with only a cupful of
sugar left in it, she tore off the top and wrote the riddle on that with
a stub of a pencil which she found on the table.
While searching for the bag she took an inventory of the supplies in the
pantry from which she was to choose her dinner. When she had finished
copying the riddle she went back to them. There were baked beans and
blueberry pie, cold biscuit and a dish of honey.
"I'll get my dinner now," she decided, "then I'll be ready to sit with
Aunt Elspeth when her tea comes."
As Georgina went back and forth from table to shelf it was in unconscious
imitation of Mrs. Triplett's brisk manner. Pattering after that capable
housekeeper on her busy rounds as persistently as Georgina had done all
her life, had taught her to move in the same way. Presently she
discovered that there was a fire laid in the little wood stove ready to
light. The stove was so small in comparison to the big kitchen range at
home, that it appealed to Georgina as a toy stove might have done. She
stood looking at it thinking what fun it would be to cook something on it
all by herself with no Tippy standing by to say do this or don't do the
other.
"I think I ought to be allowed to have some fun to make up for my
disappointment," she said to herself as the temptation grew stronger and
stronger.
"I could cook me an egg. Tippy lets me beat them but she never lets me
break them and I've always wanted to break one and let it go plunk into
the pan."
She did not resist the temptation long. There was the sputter of a match,
the puff of a flame, and the little stove was roaring away so effectively
that one of old Jeremy's sayings rose to her lips. Jeremy had a proverb
for everything.
"Little pot, soon hot," she said out loud, gleefully, and reached into
the cupboard for the crock of bran in which the eggs were kept. Then
Georgina's skill as an actor showed itself again, although she was not
conscious of imitating anyone. In Tippy's best manner she wiped out the
frying-pan, settled it in a hot place on the stove, dropped in a bit of
butter.
With the assured air of one who has had long practice, she picked up an
egg and gave it a sharp crack on the edge of the pan, expecting it to
part evenly into halves and its contents to glide properly into the
butter. It looked so alluringly simple and easy that she had always
resented Tippy's saying she would make a mess of it if she tried to do
it. But mess was the only name which could be given to what poured out on
the top of the stove as her fingers went crashing through the shell and
into the slimy feeling contents. The broken yolk dripped from her hands,
and in the one instant she stood holding them out from her in disgust,
all the rest of the egg which had gone sliding over the stove, cooked,
scorched and turned to a cinder.
The smell and smoke of the burning egg rose to the ceiling and filled the
room. Georgina sprang to close the door so that the odor would not rouse
Aunt Elspeth, and then with carving knife and stove-lid lifter, she
scraped the charred remains into the fire.
"And it looked _so_ easy," she mourned. "Maybe I didn't whack it
quickly enough. I'm going to try again." She felt into the bran for
another egg. This time she struck the shell so hard that its contents
splashed out sideways with an unexpected squirt and slid to the floor.
She was ready to cry as she wiped up the slippery stuff, but there came
to her mind some verses which Tippy had taught her long ago. And so
determined had Tippy been for her to learn them, that she offered the
inducement of a string of blue beads. The name of the poem was
"Perseverance," and it began:
"Here's a lesson all should heed--
Try, try again.
If at first you don't succeed,
Try, try again."
and it ended,
"That which other folks can do
Why with patience may not you?
Try, try again."
Tippy sowed that seed the same winter that she taught Georgina "The
Landing of the Pilgrims"; but surely, no matter how long a time since
then, Tippy should be held accountable for the after effects of that
planting. If Georgina persevered it was no more than could be expected
considering her rigorous up-bringing.
Georgina pushed the frying-pan to the back of the stove where it was
cooler, and with her red lips pursed into a tight line, chose another
egg, smote it sharply on the edge of the pan, thereby cracking it and
breaking the shell into halves. Her thumbs punched through into the yolk
of this one also, but by letting part of the shell drop with it, she
managed to land it all in the pan. That was better. She fished out the
fragment of shell and took another egg.
This time the feat was accomplished as deftly as an exoert chef could
have done it, and a pleased smile took the place of the grim
determination on Georgina's face. Elated by her success she broke another
egg, then another and another. It was as easy as breathing or winking.
She broke another for the pure joy of putting her dexterity to the test
once more. Then she stopped, appalled by the pile of empty shells
confronting her accusingly. She counted them. She had broken eight--
three-fourths of a setting. What would Uncle Darcy say to such a wicked
waste? She could burn the shells, but what an awful lot of insides to
dispose of. All mixed up as they were, they couldn't be saved for cake.
There was nothing to do but to scramble them.
Scramble them she did, and the pan seemed to grow fuller and fuller as
she tossed the fluffy mass about with a fork. It was fun doing that. She
made the most of this short space of time, and it was over all too soon.
She knew that Aunt Elspeth had grown tired of eggs early in the summer.
There was no use saving any for her. Georgina herself was not especially
fond of them, but she would have to eat all she could to keep them from
being wasted.
Some time after she rose from the table and looked at the dish with a
feeling of disgust that there could still be such a quantity left, after
she had eaten so much that it was impossible to enjoy even a taste of the
blueberry pie or the honey. Carrying the dish out through the back door
she emptied it into the cats' pan, fervently wishing that John and Mary
Darcy and old Yellownose could dispose of it all without being made ill.
Long ago she had learned to do her sums in the sand. Now she stooped down
and with the handle of her spoon scratched some figures in the path. "If
twelve eggs cost thirty cents, how much will eight eggs cost?" That was
the sum she set for herself. Only that morning she had heard Tippy
inquire the price of eggs from the butter-woman, and say they were
unusually high and hard to get because they were so many summer people in
town this season. She didn't know where they were going to get enough for
all the cakes necessary for the Bazaar.
It took Georgina some time to solve the problem. Then going back to the
kitchen she gathered up all the shells and dropped them into the fire.
Her sacrifice was costing her far more than she had anticipated. Somehow,
somewhere, she must get hold of twenty cents to pay for those eggs. Duty
again. _Always_ Duty. But for that one horrid word she would be
racing down the road to Brewster in the wake of the wild-cat woman. She
wondered if they had caught up with her yet.