TWO LITTLE COOKS
The kitchen of the log cabin had one window and a door which opened out
into what Gerry called the "back-yard part of their ledge." It was only
about fifty feet to the very edge, and Gerry crept on hands and knees to
look over, that he might see where their "back-yard went." He lifted a
face filled with awe and beckoned his sister to advance with caution.
Lying flat, the two children gazed over the rim of the ledge, straight
down a wall of rock, far below which the road could be seen curving.
"Ohee!" Julie drew back with a shudder. "What if our cabin should slide
right off this shelf that it's built on?"
"It can't, if it wants to," the boy told her confidently. "We're safe
here as anything. That's two ways a bear can't come," he continued; "but
on the other side, where the creek is, and in front, where the stone
steps are, I suppose the bear came in one of those two ways."
The small girl looked frightened. "Oh, Gerry," she said, "what if a bear
should come again? What would we do?"
"Why, Dan would shoot it, just the way Dad did," the boy replied with
great assurance. His big brother was his hero, and that he could not
perform any feat required was not to be thought of for one moment.
"But Dan hasn't a gun, has he?" Julie was not yet convinced.
"Indeed he has, silly. Do you s'pose Dad would let us come into this wild
country without guns? Dan has two in his trunk. One's a big fellow! Dad
let me hold it once, and, Oh, boy, I'm telling you it's a heavy one. I
most had to drop it, and I've got bully muscle. Look at what muscle I've
got!"
Gerry crooked his bare arm, but his sister turned away impatiently,
saying: "Oh, I don't want to! You make me feel what muscle you've got
most every day."
Julie returned to the kitchen, but Gerry followed, and, if he were
offended by her lack of interest in his brawniness, he did not show it.
He was far too interested in the subject under discussion. "That big gun
I was telling you about is the very one Dad used when he shot the
grizzly, and if it shot one bear, then of course it can shoot another
bear."
The little girl was convinced. That seemed clear reasoning, but she
interrupted when the boy began again, by saying: "Gerald Abbott, do stop
telling bear stories, and help me clean up this kitchen. Jane won't be
any more use than nothing and we might as well do things and pretend she
isn't here, the way I wish she wasn't."
"I sort of wish she hadn't come, myself," Gerry confessed. "Now, let's
see. Here's a cupboard all nailed up. I guess I can pull out the nails,
but first I'd better make a fire in this old stove. I'll have to fetch in
some wood."
"No, you won't! Not just at first. There's a box full behind the stove.
Big, knotty pieces; pine, I suppose; but maybe we do need some kindling.
Then bring me some water from the creek and I'll wash up everything. Dad
said we'd find some dishes in the cupboard, if they hadn't been stolen."
"Gee, I hope they haven't!" The boy, who was as handy about a home as was
his small sister, soon had a fire in the stove, and then, having found a
pail, he went to the creek, stealing around past the front porch and
under his sister's window as quietly as he possibly could. Although dry
twigs creaked and snapped, the two sleepers did not waken.
Such fun as those youngsters had putting the kitchen in order. In the
cupboard they found all of the dishes which their father had mentioned.
Although the china was coarse, the green fern pattern was attractive.
Gerald, standing on a chair, handed it out, piece by piece, to the small
girl, who put them in hot, sudsy water and then dried them till they
shone. Gerald, meantime, was washing the shelves. Then they replaced the
dishes and stood back to admire their handiwork.
"Oh, aren't we having fun?" Julie chuckled. "Now, we're all ready to get
the lunch."
It was one o'clock when Julie went to waken Jane, and Gerald, at the same
time, went out on the porch where Dan had been sleeping, but the older
boy was sitting up on the edge of his cot drinking in the beauty of the
scene which, to him, was an ever-changing marvel. He sprang up,
wonderfully refreshed, and going to the packing trunk, he procured a
towel.
"Hello, Jane," he called brightly to the tall girl, who appeared in the
open door. Then he gave a long whistle. "Sister," he exclaimed, love and
admiration ringing in his voice, "I hope that Jean Sawyer, who is coming
to dine with us day after tomorrow, has a heart of adamant. I pity him if
he hasn't! I honestly never saw anyone so beautiful as you are, with the
flush of slumber on your cheeks and your eyes so bright."
Jane came out smiling. This was the sort of adulation she desired and
required, but her brother felt a twinge of guilt, for, even as he had
been talking, he had seen in memory a slender, alert little creature with
eyes, star-like in their dusky radiance, gazing out at him from under
dark, curling lashes.
But they were so unlike, these two, he told himself. The one proud,
imperious, ultra-civilized; the other, a wild thing, untamed, or so she
had appeared to him in that one moment's glance, a native of the
mountains.
"Where are you going with that towel?" Jane asked him.
The lad laughingly dived again into the packing trunk and brought out
another. "Let's go to the creek to wash," he suggested. "I haven't even
seen it yet, and I'm ever so eager to feel that cold mountain water dash
into my face." Then in a low tone he whispered close to his sister's ear,
"The children have a surprise for us, Jane, and so let's be very much
surprised and not disappoint them."
Jane shrugged. To her, children and their ways had to be endured, but she
took no interest in what they did or did not do. However, she accompanied
her brother around the house.
She glanced at him with a sense of satisfaction, which was, as usual,
prompted by selfishness. If Dan seemed so much better in one day, he
might be so well by the end of a fortnight that she would not need to
remain with him. If she were sure that all was to be well with him, she
would return to Merry. The lad, not dreaming what her thoughts were,
caught her hand boyishly. "Oh, Jane," he cried as he pointed ahead, "can
you believe it, Sister-pal, that is our very own mountain stream! Isn't
it a beauty?"
The sunlight, falling between the pines, lighted the narrow, rushing,
whirling little mountain brook, which sparkled and seemed to sing for the
very joy of being. Standing on its edge, Dan looked up the mountain along
the course the brook had come. "See," he cried jubilantly, "wherever the
sunlight filters through, it gleams as though it were laughing. Dad said
that it springs out just below the rim rock. Oh, I do hope by next week I
will be able to climb up that high."
Jane's glance followed her brother's up the rough, rocky mountain side
and she shook her head. "I'll never attempt it," she decided, but Dan
whirled, laughing defiance. "I'm going to prophesy that you'll climb the
rim rock before a fortnight is over."
Then kneeling, he splashed the clear, cold water in his face and reached
for the towel that Jane held. Then he implored her to do the same. With
great reluctance she complied, and so cool and restful did she find it,
that she actually smiled, almost with pleasure.
But Dan had the misfortune to say the wrong thing just then. "I suppose
this brook, or one like it, is all the mirror that the mountain girl, Meg
Heger, has ever had," he began, when he sensed a chill in his sister's
reply.
"I certainly do not know, nor do I care." Then she added, as an
afterthought, "And I shall never find out."