XXIV

"OLD PUT"

"Where 's Rose?" said the Doctor as he came in that Saturday evening,

and heard no welcoming voice from the library or the stairs.

"She came home from the opera with a frightful headache and has gone to

bed. She said she did n't want any dinner, but I have insisted upon her

having some toast and tea," replied his wife.

"Humph!" growled the Doctor; "Our wild rose can't stand such hot-house

atmosphere. When does the Fenlicks' ball come off?"

"Next Wednesday; it will be a superb affair. Rose showed me her card

the other day, and if you will believe me, it's full, although Jack

Sherrill gets the lion's share."

"How do you think things are coming on there, wifie?"

"Why, he's devoted to her whenever he can be; you know what Mrs.

Pearsell told us about last summer, but--"

"But what?" said the Doctor, a little impatiently. "Generally, wifie,

you can see prospective wedding-cake if two young people so much as look

twice at each other."

Mrs. Heath laughed and nodded. "Yes, I know; but in just this case, I

don't know. You can't tell anything by her--and I fear, hubbie, that

Jack Sherrill is n't quite good enough for her."

"Not quite good enough for her!" The Doctor almost shouted in his

earnestness. "Jack Sherrill not quite good enough for--"

"Sh--sh, dear!" His wife held up her hand in warning. "Someone might

hear."

"Let 'em hear, then," growled the Doctor. "I say Rose is n't a bit too

good for him.--Look here, wifie,--" he drew her towards him and down

upon the arm of his easy-chair, "Jack's all right every time--do you

understand? _All right!_"

"Ye-es," admitted his wife rather reluctantly. "I know he 's a great

favorite of yours. But Mrs. Grayson says he 's in a very fast set at

Harvard--

"Now look here, wifie, don't you let those women with their eternal

hunger for gossip say anything to you about Jack. I tell you there is

n't another fellow I know, who, placed as he is, can set up so many

white stones to mark his short life's pathway as John Sherrill's only

son. For heaven's sake, give him the credit for them. I know what I

saw on Mount Hunger a year ago, and I know and believe what I see."

"Well, I only hope he won't flirt with her--" began Mrs. Heath. Her

husband interrupted her:

"Flirt with her!" The Doctor chuckled. "I'll warrant Jack won't do any

flirting with her--it 'll be the other way round sooner than that! Just

say good-night to Rose for me when you go up stairs, and tell her if she

is n't down bright and early Sunday morning, I 'll prescribe for her."

But there was no need for the Doctor's prescription; for Rose was down

for breakfast, and although white cheeks and heavy eyes caused the

Doctor to draw his eyebrows together in a straight line over the bridge

of his nose, nothing was said of there being any need for a

prescription. But after breakfast he drew her into the library and

placed her in an easy-chair before the blazing fire.

"There now," he said in his own kindliest tones, "sit there and dream

while wifie makes ready for church, and after that you shall go with me

for an official drive. The air will do you good. I can't send such

white roses"--he patted her cheek--"back to Mount Hunger; what would

mother say?"

To his amazement Rose buried her face in both hands; a half-suppressed

sob startled him.

"Why, Rose-pose! What's the matter, little girl? Headachey--nerves

unstrung--too much opera? Here, come into the office where we shan't be

disturbed, and tell me all about it."

But Rose shook her head, lifted it from her hands, and smiled through

the welling tears.

"I 'm a perfect goose, but--but--I believe I 'm getting just a little

bit homesick for Mount Hunger, and I 'm not going to stay for Mrs.

Fenlick's ball. I know mother needs me at home--I can just feel it in

her letters, and I know I want--I want her."

"Don't blame you a bit, Rose,--but is n't this rather sudden? Any

previous attacks?"

"No--and I know it seems dreadfully ungrateful to you and dear Mrs.

Heath to say so, and it is n't that--I 'd love to be with just you two;

but it's this dreadful feeling comes over me, and I know I ought to go."

"And go you shall, Rose," said the Doctor, emphatically, but oh! so

kindly and understandingly. "Go back to all the dear ones there--and

when you come again, don't give us the tail-end of your visit, will

you?"

"Indeed, I won't," answered Rose, earnestly, "and if it were only you

and Mrs. Heath, I 'd love to stay, but--but--"

"No need to say anything more, Rose, wifie and I understand it

perfectly--" ("I wish the dickens I did!" was his thought)--"Tell wifie

when she comes down, and meanwhile I 'll send round for the brougham and

we 'll take a little drive in the Park before office hours."

Rose patted his hand, and her silence spoke for her.

"Here 's a pretty kettle of fish!" said the Doctor to himself as he went

to the telephone. "I wish I could get to the bottom of it."

And thus it came about that a cool, dignified note, not expressive of

any particular regret, was mailed to Cambridge on Sunday afternoon, and

a long letter to Mount Hunger telling them to be sure to meet her on

Tuesday at Barton's, and filled with wildly enthusiastic expressions of

delight in anticipation of the home-coming. And on Tuesday afternoon,

as the train sped onwards, following the curves of the frozen

Connecticut, and the snow-covered mountains on the Vermont side began to

crowd its banks, Rose felt a lightening of the heart and an uplifting of

spirits.

The bitterness and shame and shock she had experienced, in consequence

of that one little bite of the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of

Good and Evil, seemed to diminish with every mile that increased the

distance between her and the frothing whirlpool of the great city's

gayeties. All the way up, until the mountains loomed in sight, there had

been hot, indignant protest in her thoughts. At first, indeed, it had

been hatred.

"I hate it all--hate it, _hate_ it!" she found herself saying over and

over again after the good-byes had been said at the station, and Hazel

and Mr. Clyde and Doctor Heath had supplied her with flowers and

magazines for the long day's journey. It was all she could think or

feel at the time; but soon the little pronoun changed, and the thought

grew more bitter:

"I hate him! How could he--how dared he do as he did! Because I am

poor, I suppose. Oh! I wish I could make him pay for it. I wish I

could make him love me really and truly, and then just _scorn_ him! But

what a fool I am--as if he _could_ love after what I heard--oh, why did

I hear it! I wish I may never see his face again, and I wish I 'd

stayed at home where I belong--I hate him!"--And so on "da capo" hour

after hour, and the incessant chugetty-chug-chug of the express

furnished the rhythmic, basal tone for the bitter motive.

It was long after lunch time, and the train of thought had not changed,

when Rose's eye fell upon the dainty basket Martin had placed in the

rack.

"This is a pretty state of mind to go home to Martie in!" she said to

herself, rising and taking down the basket. "I have n't eaten a good

meal since last Saturday at lunch, and I 'm--why, I believe I 'm

hungry!"

She opened the basket, and loving evidence of Minna-Lu's admiration

tempted her to pick a little here and there--a stuffed olive or two, a

roast quail, a delicate celery sandwich, a quince tart, a bunch of

Hamburg grapes. Soon Rose was feasting on all the good things, and her

harsh thoughts began to soften. How kind they all were! And _they_

truly loved her--and what had they not done for her comfort and

pleasure! Rose, setting her pretty teeth deep into a third quince tart,

looked out of the window and almost exclaimed aloud at the sight. The

vanguard of the Green Mountains closed in the upper end of the

river-valley along which they were speeding. It was home that was

behind all that! The thought still further softened her.

What? Carry her bitterness and disappointed pride back into that dear,

peaceful home? Not she! "They shall never know--never!" she said to

herself--"I 'm not Molly Stark for nothing, and there are others in the

world beside Jack Sherrill." And so she continued to speak cold comfort

to herself for the next four hours until the brakeman called "Barton's

River!"

There beyond the platform was the old apple-green pung!--and yes! father

and March and Budd and dear old Chi anxiously scanning the coaches.

Home at last! and such a home-coming! How busy the tongues were for a

week afterwards! How wildly gay was Rose, who kept them laughing over

the many queer doings of the metropolis, over Wilkins and Minna-Lu and

Martin and Mrs. Scott! And how lovingly she spoke of Hazel's charming

hospitality and of Mr. Clyde's thoughtfulness for her pleasure,

although, as she mentioned his name, a wave of color mounted to the

roots of her hair at the ugly thought that would intrude. Chi listened

with all his ears, enjoying it with the rest; but once upstairs in his

room over the shed, he would sit down on the side of his bed to ponder a

little the gay doings of his Rose-pose among the "high-flyers," and then

turn in with a sigh and a muttered:

"'T ain't Rose-pose. I knew how 't would be.--There 's a screw loose

somewhere; but she's handsome!--handsome as a picture, 'n' I 'd give a

dollar to know if she 's cut that other one out."

"Valentines seem kind of scarce this year," he remarked rather grimly, a

few days after her arrival, as late in the afternoon, he returned from

Barton's with little mail and no boxes of flowers. "It's the sixteenth

day of February, but it might be Fast Day for all that handful of mail

would show for it!" He placed the package on Mrs. Blossom's work-table

at which Rose was sitting busy with some sewing. They were alone in the

room.

Rose laughed merrily. "Goodness, Chi! you want us to have more than our

share. We had a perfect deluge last year when Hazel was here; you know

it makes a difference without her. You said yourself that there was a

good deal of bulk, but it was pretty light weight--don't you remember?"

Chi elevated one bushy eyebrow. "I ain't forgot; but I don't know about

it's bein' any _Deluge_--it appeared to me it was a Shadrach, Meshach,

'n' Abednego kind of a business--" He gave the back log a kick that

sent the sparks up the chimney in a grand pyrotechnic show. "Seems as if

I could see those posies, now, a-shrivellin' in the fireplace. Never

thought you treated those innocent things quite on the square,

Rose-pose!"

Rose's head was bent low over her work. Chi went on, bracing himself to

the self-imposed task of enlightening her:--

"I don't want to meddle, Rose, in anybody's business, but it ain't set

well with me ever since--the way you treated those roses; 'n', after

all, we 're both members of the Nobody's Business But Our Own Society,

'n' if anybody 's goin' to meddle, perhaps I 'm the one. I 've thought

a good many times you would n't have been quite so harsh with 'em, if

you had n't overlooked this in your flare-up--" He drew out of his

breast pocket a card--Jack 's--with the verse on the back. "Read that,

'n' see if you ain't dropped a stitch somewhere that you can pick up in

time." He handed her the card.

Rose looked up surprised, but with burning cheeks. She took the card,

read the verse, turned it over on the name side, and rose from her

chair. Every particle of color had left her face. She went over to the

fireplace, and, bending, dropped the little piece of pasteboard upon the

glowing back-log.

"The sentiment belongs with the roses, Chi; don't let's have any more

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego business--I 'm tired of it." She spoke

indifferently; then, resuming her seat, called out in a cheery voice:

"Martie, won't you come here a minute, and see if I have put on this

gore right?"

"I 'll come, dear."

Chi, nonplussed, irritated, repulsed, set his teeth hard and abruptly

left the room.

Outside in the shed he clenched his fist and shook it vigorously at the

closed door of the long-room: "--By George Washin'ton!" he muttered, "I

'll make you pay up for that, Rose Blossom. You can't come any of your

high-flyers' games on me-- Just you put that in your pipe and smoke it!

Thunderation! what gets into women and girls, sometimes?" He seized the

milk-pails from the shelf and hurried to the barn nearly running down

Cherry in his wrathful excitement.

"Look out there, Cherry! You 're always getting round under foot!" he

said, harshly, and stumbled on, regaining his balance, only to be met by

Budd in the barn.

"Just clear out now, Budd! I ain't goin' to stand your foolin'. Let

alone of that stanchion," he roared. "Always worryin' the cow if she

looks once at you sideways. Get _up_, there--" His right boot helped

the amazed cow forwards into the stall, and the milk drummed into the

pail as if the poor creature were being milked by a dummy-engine with

more pressure of steam on than it could well stand.

Budd flew into the woodshed and found Cherry still standing, in a

half-dazed condition, where Chi had left her. They compared notes

immediately to the detriment and defamation of Chi's character. Then

they carried their budget of woe to their mother.

"Chi is worried, children; you must n't mind if he is a little cross now

and then. He feels dreadfully about the prospect of this war, as we all

do, and that's his way of showing it."

"Well, if he's going to be so cross at us, I wish he 'd clear out an' go

to war!" retorted Budd, smarting under the unjust treatment.

"I 'm only afraid he will if we have one," said Mrs. Blossom, sadly.

"But, oh, I hope and pray we may be spared that!"

But Budd continued to grumble, and Cherry to be suspiciously sniffy,

until their father's return; and then at the supper table they listened

greedily to all the talk of their elders, that had for its absorbing

theme the prospective war.

As the spring days lengthened, and the sun drew northward, the tiny

cloud on the country's peaceful horizon grew larger and darker, until it

cast its shadow throughout the length and breadth of the land, and men's

faces grew stern and troubled and women prayed for peace.

With the lengthening days Chi showed signs of increasing restlessness.

"It ain't any use, Ben," he said, one soft evening in early May, as the

family, with the exception of the younger children, sat on the porch

discussing the latest news, "I 've got to go."

"Oh, Chi!" broke from Mrs. Blossom and Rose. They cried out as if hurt.

Mr. Blossom grasped Chi's right hand, and March wrung the other.

"I can't stand it," he went on; "we 've been sassed enough as a nation,

'n' some of us have got to teach those foreigners we ain't goin' to turn

the other cheek just coz we're slapped on one. When I wasn't higher

than Budd, my great-grandfather--you remember him, Ben, lived the other

side of the Mountain--put his father's old Revolution'ry musket (the

one, you know, Rose-pose, as I 've used in the N.B.B.O.O.) into my

hands, 'n' says: 'Don't you stand no sass, Malachi Graham, from no

foreigners.--Just shoot away, 'n' holler, "Hands off" every time, 'n'

they 'll learn their lesson easy and early, 'n' respect you in the end.'

And I ain't forgot it."

"Chi," Mrs. Blossom's voice was tremulous, "you won't go till you 're

asked, or needed, will you?"

"I ain't goin' to wait to be asked, Mis' Blossom; I 'd rather be on hand

to be refused. That's my way. So I thought I 'd be gettin' down along

this week--"

"This week!" Rose interrupted him with a cry and a half-sob. "Oh, Chi!

dear old Chi! _must_ you go? What if--what if--" Rose's voice broke,

and Chi gulped down a big lump, but answered, cheerily:

"Well, Rose-pose, _what if_? Ain't I Old Put? 'n' ain't you Molly

Stark? 'n' ain't Lady-bird Barbara Frietchie?--There, just read that--"

he handed a letter to March, who gave it back to him, saying, in a husky

voice, that it was too dark to read.

"Well, then we 'll adjourn into the house, 'n' light up.--There now," he

said, as he lighted the lamp and set it on the table beside March,

"here's your letter, Markis, read ahead."

March read with broken voice:

4 EAST --TH STREET, NEW YORK,

May 5, 1898.

DEAR FRIEND CHI,--I never thought when I joined the N.B.B.O.O. Society,

that I 'd have to be really brave about real war;--and now dear old Jack

is going off to Cuba with Little Shaver and all those cow-boys,--and

it's dreadful! Uncle John is about sick over it, for, you know, Jack is

all he has. Papa is going to keep the house open all summer; he says

there is no telling what may happen.

We have made no plans for the summer, for our hearts are so heavy on

Jack's account--his last year in Harvard, too! He told me to tell you he

would find out if there is a chance for you in the new cavalry regiment

he has joined. He looked so pleased when I told him; he read your

letter, and I told him how you wanted to go with him, and he said: "Dear

old Chi, I'd like to have him for my bunkie"--and told me what it meant.

He told me to tell you to be prepared for a telegram at any moment.

I must stop now; papa wants me to go out with him. Give my love to

_all_, and tell Mother Blossom and Rose I will write them more

particulars in a few days.

If you come to New York, you know a room will be ready for you in the

home of your

Loving friend,

HAZEL CLYDE.

There was silence for a while in the room; then Mr. Blossom spoke:

"How are you going, Chi?"

"I 'm goin' to jog along down with Fleet, 'n' take it kind of

easy--thought I 'd cross the Mountain, 'n' strike in on the old

post-road; 'n' follow on down by old Ticonderogy,--I 've always wanted

to see that,--then across to Saratogy 'n' Albany, 'n' foller the river.

You can't go amiss of New York if you stick to that."

Again there was a prolonged silence. Chi hemmed, and moved uneasily on

his chair, while he fumbled about in his trousers' pocket. He pulled

out a piece of crumpled, yellow paper.

"S'pose I might just as well make a clean breast of it." He tried to

laugh, but it was a failure. "Jack's telegram came along last night,

'n' I thought, maybe I 'd better be gettin' my duds together to-night,

Mis' Blossom, as 't will be a mighty early start--before any of you are

up," he added, hastily.

The two women broke down then, and Mr. Blossom and March followed Chi

out to the barn.

The household, save for the younger children, was early astir--before

sunrise. Mrs. Blossom had prepared a hearty breakfast, and Rose was

rolling up a few pairs of her father's stockings to put in the netted

saddle-bag which Chi was wont to use in hunting.

"Tell March to call Chi, Rose," said her mother. "His breakfast is

ready, I hear him in the barn."

Rose ran out in the dawning light to find her father and March just

coming towards the house.

"Why, where 's Chi?" she cried.

For answer, her father pointed to the woodlands. She looked just in

time to see in the soft gray of the early morn the horse and rider rise

to the three-railed fence that separated the pasture from the woodlands.

He was following the trail he had indicated to Jack--"through the woods

'n' acre or two of brush, 'n' then some pretty steep sliding down the

other side, 'n' a dozen rods or so of swimmin', 'n' a tough old clamber

up the bank--"

Some ten days afterward, late on a warm afternoon in May, there rode

into New York City by the way of the Bronx and Harlem, a middle-aged man

on a bright bay horse. The animal's gait was a noticeable one, a long,

loping gallop, that covered the ground in a manner that roused the

admiration of the drivers on the speedway. The tall, loose-jointed body

of the rider apparently loped along with the horse--their movements were

identical. The saddle was an old-fashioned cavalry one of the early

sixties. A netted saddle-bag and a rolled rubber coat were fastened to

the crupper. A light-weight hunting rifle was slung on a strap over the

man's shoulder. At the northern entrance to the Park he drew rein

beside a mounted policeman.

"Can you tell me if I 'm on the right track to this house?"

He took a card from the pocket of his dusty blue flannel shirt and

handed it to the policeman.

The city guardian nodded assent. "But you can't take that gun along

with you; you 're inside city limits and liable to arrest."

"'Gainst the law, hey? Well, I 've come from a pretty law-abiding

state, 'n' ain't goin' to get into rows with you fellers--" He laid a

brown, knotty, work-roughened finger on the policeman's immaculate blue

coat--"I 'd trust that color as far as I could see. Where shall I leave

the rifle?"

The city guard unbent as the kindly voice yielded such undefiant

obedience to his demand. "You can leave it with me now,--I 'm off my

beat by seven, and live over east of this--" he handed back the

card--"and I 'll leave it at the house if you 're going to be there."

"All right, that 'll suit me. Yes, I 'm goin' to put up there for a day

or two, maybe."

"Off on a hunting trip?"

"You bet--goin' on a big, old, U.S.A. hunt for a lot of darned

foreigners in Cuby."

The policeman held out his hand and grasped the stranger's. "You're one

of them?"

"Yes, I come down to join a cavalry regiment. Jack Sherrill, he

belongs, too. Great rider--can't be beat. Ever seen him round here on

Little Shaver?"