AN EVENTFUL DAY
Doctor Hugh snapped on the porch lamp, carefully turning the shade to
shield Rosemary's eyes from the sudden light. He was fully dressed and
had evidently been dozing in the swing.
"Hush--don't wake Mother!" he said warningly. "What frightened you,
dear?"
Rosemary's face was quite white and her wide, startled eyes gave
eloquent testimony that she had been alarmed.
"Something wet touched me--wet and cold," she whispered. "And there
was something else moving around, too. I ran as fast as I could."
"Some of the farm animals out for a stroll," said Doctor Hugh with a
quiet assurance that his sister found most comforting. "What do you
say to going to bed now, dear, and investigating in the morning?"
"Oh, yes," agreed Rosemary. "Is it nearly morning, Hugh?"
The doctor consulted his watch.
"It is just eleven o'clock," he said quietly. "Try not to make a noise
as you go upstairs for I hope Mother is asleep. I'll turn the lamp so
that it will light you as far as the landing."
So she had been out there only two hours, thought Rosemary as she
tumbled into her own bed. Two hours!
"It seemed like two years!" she murmured, drifting off into a peaceful
sleep almost instantly.
She woke in the morning to find the others downstairs, breakfast over
and all traces of her couch under the maple tree removed.
"I know Hugh did that," she said to herself gratefully as she dressed.
Her first act had been to run to the window to see if the quilt was
spread out on the grass. "He'll never give me away, either. And I
know, too, he would have stayed out on the porch all night, if I hadn't
come in, just so he would be on hand to help me when I needed him.
Hugh is so dear to me!"
She said something of this to him late that afternoon, following him
out to the barn when he went to get the car, preparatory to making the
trip back to Eastshore. Sarah and Shirley had remained in ignorance of
the brief experiment and Winnie had proved extremely tactful, asking no
questions at all. Rosemary had learned, from the conversation of
Warren and Richard, that a cow had strayed from the pasture and a blind
old sheep had cropped the grass all night. It had been the wet nose of
the cow that touched her hand and she had clumsily dodged the sheep.
"You're so good, Hugh," said Rosemary, pretending to polish the
foredoor handle. "But I won't want to sleep outdoors ever again--did
you know I wouldn't?"
Doctor Hugh smiled a little.
"We'll all go camping some day and you'll 'love' sleeping outdoors, as
you say," he declared. "My dear little sister, I would be the last
person to try to discourage you in that effort. But Mother knew and
Winnie knew and I knew that, for a number of reasons, it isn't
practical for you to try to sleep outdoors here; neither practical nor
necessary. It wasn't a matter of sleeping outdoors, Rosemary--it was
just the same old question, 'Why can't I have my own way?' Now wasn't
it?"
Rosemary blushed, but her eyes met his honestly.
"Yes, I guess it was," she admitted. "But I'm sorry I was so
obstinate--truly I am, Hugh."
Doctor Hugh leaned forward from behind the wheel and kissed her.
"You'll make the Willis will an aid and not a hindrance yet," he
declared. "All I want to do, dear, is to save you from learning these
lessons the most painful way. Hop in and I'll drive you around to the
house," he added cheerfully.
The next morning was naturally a most busy one at Rainbow Hill. Monday
morning is apt to be a busy time anywhere, but Mrs. Hildreth, who would
sooner have dreamed of starting the day without breakfast than starting
the week without washing, saw to it that not one idle moment was
unaccounted for as far as her jurisdiction extended. She rose at four,
instead of the customary five, and Warren and Richard, alternating,
helped her with filling and emptying the tubs and lifting the heavy
boiler. Mrs. Hildreth scorned the modern washing machine and did her
clothes in the old-fashioned laborious way.
Winnie had a woman to help her wash--a Mrs. Pritchard who cheerfully
walked two miles each way--but the temptation to bleach the household
linens on the lawn in the hot sunshine appealed powerfully to the
housewifely instincts of Winnie, and Mrs. Willis declared that she
washed everything she came to, regardless of its state of cleanliness.
Certainly one would have thought that her normal wash of light summer
dresses for three girls and two women would have contented Winnie, but
the combination of soft water, soap, floods of sunshine and the washing
machine left by Mrs. Hammond proved well nigh irresistible to Winnie.
She may have been said to fairly revel in wash.
"Let's go wading, Rosemary," coaxed Shirley this Monday morning, soon
after breakfast.
"I can't--not now," said Rosemary. "I want to help Mother first and
then I must practise. Ask Sarah."
"Sarah's cross," complained Shirley. "She brought the cat in from the
barn and put her to sleep in the clothes basket and Winnie tipped her
out."
"Yes, that would make Sarah cross," agreed Rosemary. "Where is she
now?"
"I don't know," said Shirley and her tone indicated that she didn't
particularly care. "Come on and let's go wading, Rosemary."
"Rosemary is going to make the beds for Mother," interposed Mrs.
Willis. "Winnie is so busy this morning she hasn't time. Don't you
want to pick up the papers on the porch, Shirley and put the cushions
straight in the swing and bring in some fresh flowers for the glass
jar? Then, when you have it all in order, I'll come out there and sit
and make a new dress for your doll."
"Oh, yes, that will be nice!" beamed Shirley, trotting off busily.
In all that hive of industry, represented by the farm, Sarah was the
one idle figure. She sat on the fence commanding a view of the pig
pen--not the pleasantest prospect Rainbow Hill afforded, it must be
confessed--and dangled her feet moodily. She was still resentful at
the summary ejection of the barn cat from the clothes basket and, in
addition, had been worsted in an argument with Warren whose turn it was
to cultivate the corn. Sarah had wished to ride on the cultivator,
preferably in the driver's seat or, failing that, on the horse's back.
Warren had endeavored to dissuade her as tactfully as possible but
finding that tact made small impression on Sarah, had been obliged to
come out with a flat refusal.
"What a funny chicken!" said Sarah aloud, turning her attention from
the grunting pigs before her to a solitary chicken behind her, a feat
which nearly cost her her balance.
"I do b'lieve it's sick!" she declared, jumping down and walking over
to the limp-looking fowl which stared at her coldly from a glassy eye.
Sarah, in the few weeks she had spent on the farm, had really learned a
good deal about the care of the stock. To her natural love for animals
and aptitude for handling them, she had added a store of knowledge
gleaned by asking questions of the boys and Mr. Hildreth and observing
them as they went about the barns. She had faithfully tagged Mrs.
Hildreth, who took care of the poultry too, and had often seen her pick
up a chicken and examine it.
So now she picked up the apathetic bird and felt of his crop with
exploring little brown fingers.
"You're hungry, I'll bet," she informed him. "You probably didn't feel
well this morning and the other hens knocked you away from the corn.
Don't you care, I'll get you some breakfast, all for yourself."
Sarah knew where the grain bins were in the barn and she went in and
opened them all. Using her dress as an apron she selected a handful of
wheat, another of cracked corn, some buckwheat, a generous scoop of
"middlings" and a double handful of the meat scraps bought especially
for the ducks. Then out she dashed and spread the feast before the hen
who really did brighten up and eat a good deal of the grain. No one
hen could have eaten it all--and survived--and of course the other
chickens spied the feast in time, but not before the invalid had been
revived somewhat.
"Now I'll put you in a coop till you feel better," said Sarah, "so
nothing can pick on you."
She stuffed her patient into one of the feeding coops in the poultry
yard, gave her a pan of water and then, feeling more cheerful herself,
decided to go wading.
She glanced toward the house, reflected that if she went back to get
Shirley her mother might object to the wading plan or, worse yet,
Winnie set her at some useful task, and made up her mind to amuse
herself alone.
"Going wading?" called Warren cheerfully, as she skirted the cornfield
where he sat on the swaying cultivator pulled by the plodding Solomon,
both horse and boy protected from the blazing sun by straw hats.
Sarah refused to reply. She had no intention of resuming friendly
intercourse so soon after the painful episode of the morning.
"He needn't think he can boss me," she scolded, sitting down by the
brook to take off her shoes and stockings. "Ow, the water's cold!"
Like a great many older people, Sarah preferred to think a long time
before she committed herself to an icy flood. She tucked her feet
under her comfortably and gave herself up to thought.
In the grass beside her a hundred busy little ants ran to and fro and
Sarah's speculations led her to wonder whether they had ever made a
trip by water.
"I'll build them a little boat," she planned, "and give them a little
ride."
Actuated by the kindest of motives, she fashioned a rude sort of ferry
boat from a leaf and then spent twenty minutes catching passengers for
it. In her energy and haste she squashed several of the little
creatures and alas, when she finally sent a dizzy half dozen on their
voyage the leaf capsized and the passengers were drowned. This
effectually discouraged Sarah and she turned again to the prospect of
wading.
The water was so cold that the soft green grass seemed more inviting
and Sarah began to walk along the brook's edge, wincing a little now
and then as her foot struck a sharp stone. Then, without warning, she
stepped into a hole and sharp, darting tongues of fire attacked her
ankles.
"Yellow jackets! Wasps! Bees!" shrieked the unfortunate child,
flinging her shoes into the brook and her stockings clear on the other
side as she started to run. "Get away--leave me alone!"
She had stepped into a nest of yellow jackets and stirred up great
wrath. Her feet and ankles suffered the most stings, though one
furious insect lighted on her elbow and another on her wrist while a
third punctured her cheek. Running madly and crying with pain, Sarah
finally succeeded in distancing the yellow jackets, but her shoes and
stockings, as far as she was concerned, were a total loss. Nothing,
she was positive, would induce her to go back and get them.
She limped sadly to the orchard and climbed her favorite wide-branching
apple tree, to take count of her injuries. Angry, white puffy
swellings showed where each sting had exacted toll.
"There must be a million," said the suffering Sarah.
But it was cold comfort, counting the wounds, and she longed for
sympathy. Glancing through her leafy screen she saw Richard skirting
the orchard fence on his way to the barn. She turned to scramble down
and in the descent struck her elbow on the bark, the poor elbow already
tender from a vicious sting. Sarah cried out in pain, let go hastily
and tumbled to the ground.
Richard had heard her cry and he came running to pick her up.
"Good grief, you are a wreck!" he ejaculated when he saw her. "There,
there, Sarah! You haven't broken any bones--I'll brush you off and
you'll be as good as new. Don't cry like that--please don't!"