SCARED
For once Elizabeth’s imagination did not lead her very far astray,
as was shown a few days later. She had mentioned the subject of the
painted umbrella to her sister Kathie but met with such mocking
laughter that she did not follow out her intention of mentioning it to
Miss Jewett, too.
“I declare, Elizabeth, you do have the craziest ideas,” said Kathie.
“One would suppose we lived in the backwoods. Who ever heard of
anyone’s being attacked by wild animals around here? There may be a fox
or two away off in the far woods, but that is all. You’re not afraid of
cows, are you? You’ll not meet anything worse on the road, I can assure
you.”
Elizabeth felt a trifle ashamed of her fancies but answered, “Bess is
afraid of cows and goats and things with horns.”
“Well, you needn’t be,” replied Kathie. “This all comes of the wild
stories you children have been writing. I think you’d better stop it.
You are such a notional, emotional sort of child that you are carried
beyond all reason once you get started on a subject. I think you had
better let up on ‘Wild Animals I Have Known.’”
“They weren’t all wild animals,” returned Elizabeth, ready to argue;
“only a very few were. Crickets aren’t wild, are they?”
“Would you call them tame?” laughed Kathie.
“They don’t bite nor sting,” continued Elizabeth. “Maybe you could call
field-mice wild. Besides, I don’t mean harmless wild animals, I mean
fierce things like wild-cats and bears.”
“One would suppose you were no older than Babs--to be afraid of bears.”
Kathie was scornful. “I suppose you imagine one might scramble up the
stairs after you in the dark. You are like the baby in the picture.”
To be called a baby, a great girl like herself, so grown up as to have
her theme read before a listening public, was too much for Elizabeth
and she came to the conclusion that she was rather foolish and that
there would never be the slightest need for a face-painted umbrella.
So she walked away and gave up the idea.
It all came back to her that very evening, however, for when she came
home from school her mother called her. “Elizabeth, I wonder if you
couldn’t take some milk down to Mrs. Traill’s. Her baby is not well and
their cow has gone dry, so I promised her I would let her have some.”
“Can’t Bert take it?” said Elizabeth, having other matters in mind.
“He is not here; your father sent him on an errand as soon as he came
in from school. It won’t take you long and it isn’t dark yet. After
this Mrs. Traill will arrange to send for it, but she cannot today. You
would do that much for a little sick baby, wouldn’t you?”
This reproof appealed to Elizabeth at once, so without saying another
word she picked up the tin can her mother had set down for her and
started off. The way to Mrs. Traill’s was down a long hill at the foot
of which was a little bridge. Just beyond this was Mrs. Traill’s small
house. She was a poor woman with two or three small children. She
had lately become a widow and was struggling hard to make both ends
meet. Mrs. Hollins often employed her and showed her many neighborly
kindnesses.
Elizabeth did not mind the walk down hill, and soon reached the house,
giving her mother’s message and taking pains to inquire after the baby.
Receiving the can back again after it was emptied, the little girl
started home, determining to stop just beyond the bridge to gather
some chestnuts which she had seen on the ground under a big tree. She
had passed the bridge and was just about to creep under the bars which
led into the field when she saw something which at first she mistook
for a large dog. She was not usually afraid of dogs but this had an
unfamiliar look so she backed away to give it a second scrutiny. The
creature advanced. Elizabeth’s eyes grew bigger and bigger, then,
shrieking, she started up the hill, the animal, inside the fence,
loping along keeping pace with her. The hill was long and steep, but
the child flew along panting, screaming, once in awhile casting fearful
looks at the beast which did not attempt to leap the stone wall between
them. All sorts of thoughts flashed through Elizabeth’s mind. She
wished for the umbrella of her fancy; she wished that Bert was there
with his gun; she wondered if she could scare off the creature by a
fixed gaze. This last took more courage than she possessed, but she
decided that she must try to drive it off in some way as her breath was
giving out and she had still some distance to go before the top of the
hill and the turn in the road should be reached. What could she do?
Pausing a second she hurled the empty can at her enemy and, gathering
energy for a final spurt, she fled on.
Before this her cries had reached the ears of the blacksmith whose shop
was the first building at the top of the hill. It was to him that Bert
had been sent on an errand, and he, too, heard the shrieks, but had no
idea it was his sister who was in trouble.
“Hallo, what’s the matter?” cried Jim Powers, the blacksmith. “Why,
Bert, it’s your sister,” he exclaimed, and in another moment had raced
to meet the little girl, Bert not far behind him.
“Here, here, what’s the trouble, sissy?” said Jim, kneeling down and
putting his arm around the frightened child. “There, don’t cry, tell us
all about it. Anybody hurt? What’s wrong?”
Having reached safety Elizabeth had only sobs for reply, but presently
gathered voice to say, “It’s there! It’s there! A great big terrible
animal.”
“Where is it?” Jim asked.
“Down--down there in the field. It followed me and I threw the can at
it.”
“Well, well, I wouldn’t be scared,” said Jim soothingly; “I reckon it
isn’t anything worse than a dog.”
“Oh, but it is.” Elizabeth was regaining her courage. “I thought it was
a dog at first, but I know it isn’t; I am sure it is a lynx.”
“By gum, you don’t say so,” returned Jim. “Run home, Bert, and tell
your father to bring his gun. I haven’t mine at the shop and he’s the
next nearest. We’ll see to this.”
Bert did not need a second bidding but was off like a shot, going full
tilt up the road towards his own house. He shouted out his news to
those he met on the way. “I say, there’s a big wild animal down in the
hollow by the bridge; we’re going to shoot it.” We? Of course “we.”
Should not the prowess of the father be shared by the son?
By the time Mr. Hollins with his rifle and his attendant squire, Bert,
had arrived at the scene of action quite a crowd had gathered.
Elizabeth and Jim Powers were first on the ground, Elizabeth keeping
very close to Jim and glancing fearfully around; for up to this time
the animal had not been discovered. There was a great deal of excited
talk, much beating around in the bushes, and some chaff.
“Don’t let it bite you, Bill,” said one big fellow to another who was
on his knees, looking under the bars; and when Bill drew away his head
suddenly there was a shout of laughter.
“Where do you suppose he’s got to?” said Jim. “How big was he, sissy?”
“Oh, he looked awfully big; as big as a bear,” Elizabeth told him.
“We’ll take a few inches off and allow him to be as big as a calf,”
responded Jim. “Have to make allowance for your size and likewise for
the size of your scare.”
“Sure you saw anything at all?” queried the man they called Bill.
“I should think I did,” returned Elizabeth, “when it followed me almost
to the top of the hill.”
Bert, who began to have doubts, since there was nothing strange to be
seen, felt a little ashamed at having brought the men there to no
purpose and was inclined to mock his sister. “I guess you dreamed it,”
he said. “I don’t believe there was anything at all but a dog. It’s
just like you, Elizabeth, to get up an excitement all for nothing.”
Elizabeth began to wish that something to frighten her brother really
might appear. “I reckon if you had seen what I did, and had been as
near to it you wouldn’t say it was imagination,” she said indignantly.
“It could easy get away before this,” said Jim, giving countenance to
Elizabeth’s story.
“Where was it you saw it first, sis?” inquired Bill.
“Right here,” Elizabeth began. “I was going to pick up some
chestnuts--” She paused suddenly and pointed with shaking finger to a
wild appletree overhanging the road. “There it is! There! There!” she
cried, her voice quavering with excitement. “Oh run, run, Bert, it
might spring on you,”--for Bert was nearest to the tree.
“Well, I’ll be switched if she ain’t right,” cried Jim, “for if there
ain’t the blamed crittur up on that there appletree.”
There was instant commotion, which proved that Elizabeth was justified
in her fears, for, sure enough, lying along a limb, switching its short
tail and gazing down at its enemies, was a great lynx, a fearsome
enough beast to alarm a less timid person than Elizabeth.
There was the sudden sharp crack of a rifle, the sound of a falling
body, then a shout went up. Elizabeth shut her eyes and held her hands
tightly over them. Scared as she had been, she was sorry for the
creature.
“You got him at the first shot,” cried Jim. “My, ain’t he a whopping
big fellow! As I said, sissy, he is as big as a calf. You wasn’t so far
out.”
“It is a lynx, true enough,” declared Mr. Hollins, “although I cannot
imagine how one could have wandered down this way, so near to human
habitations.”
“I said there’d be a mate when Neal Paine shot that there other one
back there in the woods awhile ago,” said Jim Powers. “I surmised
there’d be a pair of them. I wouldn’t wonder if they got druv out by
forest fires and come ambling down this way. There’s a good stretch of
wild country up there in the next county. These here critturs journeyed
down from Canada, likely, though I’ve heard of a few around in spots
this side the border. I guess he belongs to sissy, here, by right of
discovery. What you going to do with him, sis? Make a set of furs out
of him?”
“Oh, no!” Elizabeth could not bear the idea. Scared as she had been
she was too tender-hearted to think of wearing the skin of the animal
which she had just seen as a living, free, wild creature. “I would
much rather not,” she shook her head when her father looked at her
questioningly. “Why, I was almost acquainted with him, father, and it
wouldn’t seem right to wear the skin of a person you have known.”
The men shouted with laughter. “Well, if that don’t beat all,” cried
Jim Powers. “Skin of a person you have known. I didn’t know lynxes was
people. I’ll have to tell my wife that.”
“I think we’d better have him stuffed and present him to the State
museum,” said Mr. Hollins. “He is a fine specimen. See his short tail
and the tufts of hair on his ears. There is no doubt of his identity.”
It was quite dark by this time, and as Elizabeth insisted that she
was quite able to walk uphill again, she followed in the wake of the
procession which bore the body of the lynx to the blacksmith’s shop.
Bill Walker, having a lantern, led the way; Jim Powers and Mr. Hollins
bore the lynx on their shoulders, Bert and Elizabeth brought up the
rear. In her excitement Elizabeth did not miss the effect of this
picturesque sight. “It looks like a scene in a book,” she whispered to
Bert. “Like those hunting pictures when they bore home the trophies of
the chase.”
But Bert had no eye for the artistic, although he did admire the spoils
of the chase. “Gee, but he’s got a pretty fur,” he said. “I’ll bet Kath
will speak for it.”
“She won’t get it, then,” retorted Elizabeth, “for father is going to
have it stuffed; he said so.”
“I wouldn’t mind having it to hang up in my den,” returned Bert. “My,
wouldn’t the fellows envy me.”
“You won’t get it any more than Kathie. If anyone has it Dick will.”
“Who says so?”
“I do. Jim said it belonged to me by right of discovery.”
Bert had nothing to say to this, and they continued their way to the
blacksmith’s shop where the body of the lynx was laid in state for the
observation and comment of the entire community.
Elizabeth’s first remark when, with her father and Bert, she reached
home, was in the nature of an argument that was not to be gainsaid. “I
told you so, miss,” she exclaimed to her sister. “You made fun of me
for wanting to carry a scarifying umbrella; I only wish I had had one
this evening.”
“Why, did a cow run you?” inquired Kathie flippantly.
“Nothing of the kind,” returned Elizabeth, on her dignity, and feeling
very sure of her position. “I was attacked by a wild beast, a really,
truly one. You may believe it or not. Ask father if you think I am
making it up.” Elizabeth held her head very high and felt that she had
a perfect right to assume an important air.
“What is she talking about, Herbert?” inquired Mrs. Hollins. “And where
have you all been? Supper is ready and waiting.”
“She is pretty near the truth,” returned Mr. Hollins. “I don’t know
that she was exactly attacked, but she might have been; at any rate
she was chased by a lynx down there in the hollow by the bridge.”
“Why, father, is that really so?” cried Kathie, looking at Elizabeth
with new interest. “You poor, little child, I expect you were nearly
scared to death.”
“How did you know it was a lynx?” asked Mrs. Hollins, putting an arm
around Elizabeth.
“Because I shot it,” he made answer.
“Yes, he did,” Bert chimed in, feeling that he was not getting his
share of the glory. “I ran and told him and he came with his rifle and
we all hunted it up and there it was in a tree and father shot it. Gee!
but it was big. It’s down at the blacksmith’s shop this very minute;
you can see it there if you want to.”
Then the whole story was gone over and Elizabeth felt herself a great
heroine, for she spared none of the details of her horror and fright
when she was telling her part of the tale. In fact, she made it so
graphic that Babs was afraid to go to bed lest a lynx or some other
terrible beast should be in the closet or should creep in by the
window. Seeing the effect of her story, Elizabeth tried to soothe her
by telling her that angels with flaming swords would be near by to
destroy any evil things.
“But,” whimpered Babs, “I is afaid of ze angels, too. I wiss zey
wouldn’t have swords.”
So, as it fell to Elizabeth’s lot to put her little sister to bed that
night, she had to promise to stay with her and see that there was
nothing in or out of the room to frighten her. “I will sing ‘Glory to
Thee, my God this night,’” she promised Babs. “I always sing it to
myself when I am afraid, especially that verse that says ‘Let no ill
dreams disturb my rest nor powers of darkness me molest.’”
“Does that mean Jim Powers?” inquired Babs, lifting her head.
“No, of course it doesn’t,” Elizabeth told her. “It means things like
mosquitoes and bats.”
Babs put down her head again and listened while Elizabeth sang in her
small childish voice. But the hymn did not prove as convincing as
Elizabeth hoped, for when she had finished Babs lifted her head again.
“Is it all dead?” she asked. “Can’t it walk?”
“Of course it is dead,” Elizabeth told her; “it is as dead as a
door-nail, although I don’t know why they say that. It can’t walk nor
fly nor do anything, and it is locked up in Jim Powers’s blacksmith
shop so it couldn’t get out if it wanted to.”
This assured Babs somewhat, but she could not go to sleep till
Elizabeth lay down by her and told her a funny story about a wee,
wee little fairy that lived in a chestnut burr. She finally grew so
sleepy in the telling that she dropped off into slumber herself and
was not roused until her mother came up to bed, when she was helped in
undressing and cuddled down at last, hearing drowsily her mother say:
“Good-night, dear little girl. Your mother is very thankful she has you
safe.”
Elizabeth half lifted her arm to give her mother a hug, but it fell
back again before she could raise it to her mother’s neck, and the next
thing she knew it was broad daylight, the sun shining in her window and
Babs was tickling her to waken her up.