HOW SPRING CAME TO THE CABBAGE PATCH
"The roads, the woods, the heavens, the hills
Are not a world to-day--
But just a place God made for us
In which to play."
WHEN the last snow of the winter had melted, and the water was no
longer frozen about the corner pump, the commons lost their hard,
brown look, and a soft green tinge appeared instead. There were not
many ways of telling when spring came to the Cabbage Patch; no trees
shook forth their glad little leaves of welcome, no anemones and
snow-drops brought the gentle message, even the birds that winged
their way from the South-land hurried by, without so much as a chirp
of greeting.
But the Cabbage Patch knew it was spring, nevertheless; something
whispered it in the air, a dozen little signs gave the secret away;
weeds were springing up in the fence corners, the puddles which a
few months ago were covered with ice now reflected bits of blue sky,
and the best token of all was the bright, warm sunshine that clung
to the earth as if to love it back into beauty and life again.
One afternoon Mrs. Wiggs stood at her gate talking to Redding. It
was the first time he had been there since Christmas day, for his
first visit had been too painful for him to desire to repeat it.
"Yes, indeed, Billy kin go," Mrs. Wiggs was saying. "I'm mighty
glad you drove him by home to git on his good coat. He never was to
the fair grounds before; it'll be a big treat. How's Mr. Dick
to-day?"
"No better," said Redding; "he coughed all night."
"He was takin' a nap o' sleep when I went to clean up this mornin',"
said Mrs. Wiggs, "so I didn't disturb him. He ain't fer long, pore
feller!"
"No, poor chap," said Redding, sadly.
Mrs. Wiggs saw the shadow on his face, and hastened to change the
subject. "What do you think of Asia's fence?" she asked.
"What about it?"
"She done it herself," said Mrs. Wiggs. "That an' the pavement, too.
Mrs. Krasmier's goat et up her flowers las' year, an' this year she
'lowed she'd fix it different. Chris Hazy, that boy over yonder
with the peg-stick, helped her dig the post-boles, but she done the
rest herself."
"Well, she is pretty clever!" said Redding, almost incredulously, as
he examined the fence and sidewalk. "How old is she?"
"Fourteen, goin' on to fifteen. Asia, come here."
The girl left the flower-bed she was digging, and came forward.
"Not a very big girl, are you?" said Redding, smiling at her. "How
would you like to go up to the tile factory, and learn to do
decorating?"
Her serious face lit up with great enthusiasm; she forgot her
shyness, and said, eagerly: "Oh, yes, sir! Could I?"
Before Redding could answer, Mrs. Wiggs broke in:
"You'd be gittin' a artist, Mr. Bob! Them fingers of hers kin do
anything. Last fall she built that there little greenhouse out of
ole planks, an' kep' it full of flowers all winter; put a lamp in
durin' the cold spell. You orter see the things she's painted. And
talk about mud pictures! She could jes' take some of that there mud
under that hoss's feet, an' make it look so much like you, you
wouldn't know which was which."
Billy's appearance at this moment saved Redding from immediate
disgrace.
"You come to the office with Billy in the morning," he called to
Asia, as they started off; "we'll see what can be done."
Asia went back to her digging with a will; the prospect of work, of
learning how to do things right, and, above all, of learning how to
paint, filled her with happiness.
"If I was you I'd make that bed in the shape of a star," said her
mother, breaking in on her rejections. "Why don't you make it a
mason star? Yer pa was a fine mason; it would be a sort of
compliment to him."
"What is a mason star like?" asked Asia.
"Well, now I ain't right sure whether it 'a got five points or six.
Either way will do. Lands alive, I do believe there comes Miss
Lucy!"
Lucy Olcott had been a frequent visitor of late. Through Mrs. Wiggs
she had gotten interested in Mrs. Schultz, and often stopped in to
read to the bedridden old lady. Here, of course, she heard a great
deal about the Eichorns, the elite of the Cabbage Patch, whose
domestic infelicities furnished the chief interest in Mrs. Schultz's
life. Lucy had even stood on a chair, at the invalid's earnest
request, to count the jars of preserves in the Eichorn pantry. Later
she had become acquainted with Miss Hazy, the patient little woman
in monochrome, whose whole pitiful existence was an apology when it
might have been a protest.
In fact, Lucy became an important personage in the neighborhood. She
was sought for advice, called upon for comfort, and asked to share
many joys. Her approach was usually heralded by a shout, "That's
her a-comin'!" and she was invariably escorted across the commons by
a guard of ragged but devoted youngsters. And the friendship of
these simple people opened her eyes to the great problems of
humanity, and as she worked among them and knew life as it was, the
hard little bud of her girlhood blossomed into the great soft rose
of womanhood.
"Didn't you meet Mr. Bob up the street?" asked Mrs. Wiggs, as she
led the way into the kitchen. "Him an' Billy have jes' left, goin'
out to the fair grounds. Mr. Bob's jes' naturally the best man I
ever set eyes on, Miss Lucy! Got the biggest heart, an' always doin'
something kind fer folks. Jes' now talkin' 'bout gittin' Asia a
place at the tile fact'ry. I don't see how you missed 'em! If he'd
a sawn you with them vi'lets in yer belt, an' them roses in yer
cheeks, I bet he wouldn't 'a' went."
"Oh, yes, he would!" said Lucy, emphatically. "My roses don't appeal
to Mr. Bob."
"Well, he likes yer eyes, anyway," said Mrs. Wiggs, determined to
carry her point.
"Who said so?" demanded Lucy.
"He did. I ast him. I said they was regular star-eyes, jes' shining
blue with them black eyelashes rayin' out all 'round, an' he said
yes, that was the right name fer 'em--star-eyes."
There was a mist over the star-eyes as Lucy turned away.
"That's right; set right down there by the winder. It's so pretty
out today it makes you feel good clean down yer back."
"I believe you always feel that way," said Lucy, pulling off her
gloves. "Don't you ever worry over things?"
Mrs. Wiggs grew serious. "I'm lonesome fer Jimmy all the time," she
said simply. "Some folks goes right under when trouble comes, but I
carry mine fur an' easy."
"I don't mean grieving," said Lucy; "I mean worrying and fretting."
"Well, yes," admitted Mrs. Wiggs, taking a hot iron from the stove,
"I 've done that, too. I remember onct last winter I was tooken
sick, an' I got to pesterin' 'bout what the childern 'ud do if I
died. They wasn't no money in the house, an' they didn't know
where to git none. All one night I laid there with my head 'most
bustin', jes' worryin' 'bout it. By an' by I was so miserable I ast
the Lord what I mus' do, an' he tole me." There was absolute
conviction in her tone and manner. "Nex' mornin'," she went on,
"soon's I could I went over to the 'spensary an' ast fer the chief
doctor.
"'Doctor,' I sez, 'don't you buy corpses?'
"'Yes,' sez he, lookin' kinder funny.
"'Well,' sez I, 'I want to sell mine.'
"Then I tole him all 'bout it, an' ast him if he wouldn't take my
body after I was gone, an' give the money to the childern.
"'Will you put it in writin',' sez he.
"'Yes,' sez I, 'if you'll do the same.'
"So he drawed up the papers, an' we both signed, an' a man with a
spine in his back an' a lady with the rheumatiz witnessed it. So you
see," concluded Mrs. Wiggs, "I didn't die; you mark my words, it
ain't never no use puttin' up yer umbrell' till it rains!"
Lucy laughed. "Well, you certainly practise what you preach."
"Not always," said Mrs. Wiggs. "I'm 'feared I use' to worry some
over Mr. Wiggs. T'words the last he uster pretty often--" Here
Mrs. Wiggs tipped an imaginary bottle to her lips, and gave Lucy a
significant wink. Even in the strictest confidence, she could not
bear to speak of the weakness of the late lamented.
"But no matter how bad he done, he always tried to do better. Mr.
Dick sorter puts me in mind of him 'bout that."
"Who is Mr. Dick?"
"He's Mr. Bob's friend. Stays at his rooms sence he was took down."
"Is Mr. Redding sick?" asked Lucy, the color suddenly leaving her
face.
"No, it's Mr. Dick; he's consumpted. I clean up his room ever'
mornin' He coughs all the time, jes' like Mr. Wiggs done. Other day
he had a orful spell while I was there. I wanted to git him some
whisky, but he shuck his head. 'I'm on the water-cart,' sez he.
'Bob's drivin' it.' He ain't no fatter 'n a knittin'-needle, an'
weaker 'n water. You orter see him watch fer Mr. Bob! He sets by the
winder, all propped up with pillars, an' never tecks his eyes offen
that corner. An' when Mr. Bob comes in an' sets down by him an'
tells him what's goin' on, an' sorter fools with him a spell, looks
like he picks up right off. He ain't got no folks nor nothin'--jes,
Mr. Bob. He shorely does set store by him--jes' shows it
ever' way. That's right, too. I hold that it's wrong to keep
ever'thing bottled up inside you. Yer feelin's is like ras'berry
vineger: if you 're skeered to use 'em an' keep on savin' 'em, first
thing you know they 've done 'vaporated!"
Lucy's experience had proved the contrary, but she smiled bravely
back at Mrs. Wiggs, with a new tenderness in her face.
"You have taught me lots of things!" she said impulsively. "You are
one of the best and happiest women I know."
"Well, I guess I ain't the best by a long sight, but I may be the
happiest. An' I got cause to be: four of the smartest childern that
ever lived, a nice house, fair to middlin' health when I ain't got
the rheumatiz, and folks always goin' clean out of the way to be
good to one! Ain't that 'nough to make a person happy? I'll be
fifty years old on the Fourth of July, but I hold there ain't no use
in dyin' 'fore yer time. Lots of folks is walkin' 'round jes' as
dead as they'll ever be. I believe in gittin' as much good outen
life as you kin--not that I ever set out to look fer happiness;
seems like the folks that does that never finds it. I jes' do the
best I kin where the good Lord put me at, an' it looks like I got a
happy feelin' in me 'most all the time."
Lucy sat silent for a while, gazing out of the window. Mrs. Wiggs's
philosophy was having its effect. Presently she rose and untied the
bundle she held.
"Here is a dress I brought for Asia," she said, shaking out the
folds of a soft crepon.
"Umph, umph! Ain't that grand?" exclaimed Mrs. Wiggs, coming from
behind the ironing-board to examine it. "It does seem lucky that
your leavin's jes' fits Asia, an' Asia's jes' fits Austry; there
ain't no symptoms of them bein' handed down, neither! We all model
right after you, but it looks like Asia's the only one that ketches
yer style. Oh, must you go?" she added, as Lucy picked up her
gloves.
"Yes; I promised Mrs. Schultz to read to her this afternoon."
"Well, stop in on yer way back--I'll have a little present ready
for you." It was an unwritten law that no guest should depart
without a gift of some kind. Sometimes it was one of Asia's
paintings, again it was a package of sunflower seed, or a bottle of
vinegar, and once Lucy had taken home four gourds and a bunch of
paper roses.
"I declare I never will git no work done if this weather keeps up!"
said Mrs. Wiggs, as she held the gate open. "If I wasn't so stove
up, an' nobody wasn't lookin', I'd jes' skitter 'round this here
yard like a colt!"