CYRUS POOR FARM
Another lifelong possession for Pippin was that first supper at Cyrus
Poor Farm. "I never forget a good meal!" he was wont to say. "It's one
of the gifts, or so I count it; we've no call to forget 'em, just
because we've eat 'em up. I think about 'em oftentimes, travelin', and
enjoy 'em over again."
The long table was set in the wide doorway of the shed, "for coolth,"
Mrs. Bailey said. All around were piles of fragrant wood, birch and oak,
with here and there a precious little store of apple wood, fruit of
Jacob's thrifty pruning and thinning. The table itself, in the full
light of the westering sun, glowed with many colors: rosy pink of boiled
ham, dull brown of baked potatoes, rich russet of doughnuts, all set off
by the vivid red of the Turkey cotton tablecloth.
Pippin drew a long breath as he surveyed his plate, heaped with the
solids of this repast, the lighter eatables ranged round it in nappies
shaped like a bird's bath. "Lord, _make_ me thankful!" he ejaculated.
"If I wasn't thankful, Mr. Bailey, sir, I'd ask you to take me by the
scruff and heave me out, I would so!"
"Well, son, well!" responded Jacob comfortably. "We aim to set a good
table, m' wife an' I; glad it suits you. You see," he added, "we have
advantages over many other institutions. Some of our inmates is payin'
boarders, sir, payin' boarders, and behooves us set palatable food
before 'em. Why, some of us pays as high as two dollars a week, don't
we?" He smiled round the table. Pippin flung a quick glance, saw two
sharp noses proudly lifted, two pairs of eyes gleaming with
satisfaction, while the serene dignity of the blind man's countenance
proclaimed him third of the paying boarders.
"I've allers paid where I boarded!" said Miss Lucilla Pudgkins.
"I would scorn to do otherwise!" said Aunt Mandy Whetstone.
"And others that doesn't pay in money pays in help!" Jacob Bailey went
on calmly; "so you see we're all comfortable! A little more of the ham,
Pippin? Pass your plate!"
"I don't know," said Pippin, complying, "I don't really know as I ever
eat a ham to compare to this, Mr. Bailey. It's--it's _rich_, that's what
it is!"
A new voice spoke from the bottom of the table, that of a fat old man
with a game leg. "I claim," he said huskily, as if there were crumbs in
his throat, "that it's the second best ham I've ever ate here."
"The _third_ best!" said the blind man calmly. "The fire got low on me
one night, and the smoke was checked. We had a ham last year and one
five years ago that was some better than this."
"Green grass!" ejaculated Pippin in amazement. "Do you mean to tell
me--"
"We're right proud of Mr. Brand here to the Farm!" said Mrs. Bailey
gently. "Wantin' his sight has give him wonderful powers of smell and
taste--and touch, too. He has smoked our hams and bacon for twenty
years, haven't you, Mr. Brand?"
"I have, ma'am!" said the blind man proudly.
"We make good profit out'n 'em," said Jacob. "Far and near, folks wants
our hog p'dooce. Mr. Brand is money in the bank for the Farm and for
himself, too."
As they left the table, a little cold hand was slipped into Pippin's.
"Sing!" said the girl. "Please sing for Flora May!"
"Why, sure!" Pippin was beginning; but Jacob Bailey broke in kindly but
firmly:
"Not the minute he's finished his supper, he can't sing, Flora May!" he
said. "Beside, I promised old Mr. Blossom to fetch Pippin in to see
him."
"Old Mr. _who_?" cried Pippin.
"He said you'd know the name," chuckled Jacob. "This way, Pippin! He's
pretty feeble, the old man is. Keeps his bed mostly, now."
For one moment Pippin hung back. Another! First Nipper, and now--Old Man
Blossom, too! Old boozer, old snipe! Was he goin' to meet up with these
folks right along, think? Wouldn't he ever get rid of 'em?
"Shut up! If the Lord can stand 'em, I expect you can!" and Pippin
followed Mr. Bailey into a clean bare little room, where, propped on
pillows, lay a clean old man. He looked eagerly up as Jacob entered.
"You got him with you?" he asked querulously. "You got Pippin? I heard
his voice--"
"You did, Daddy Blossom!" Pippin advanced and took the hand that was
plucking nervously at the coverlet. "You heard Pippin, and now you see
him! Well! well! And who ever thought of meetin' up with you here,
Daddy? And sick, too! but if I had to _be_ sick, I wouldn't ask no
pleasanter place--" He turned to smile at Jacob Bailey, but Jacob had
disappeared, and the door was closing softly.
"Pardoned out!" whispered the old man in his weak fretful voice.
"Pardoned out, 'count of age and sickness. I ain't a well man, Pippin;
my vitals is all perished; but that ain't what I want to say. I want you
to help me! Say you'll help me, Pippin! I was always friends with you
over There--" he nodded vaguely--"and now I'm old and sick, you'll help
me, won't you?"
"Sure!" Pippin drew a stool beside the bed and sat down. "Put a name to
it, Old Man! What can I do for you?"
"Find my little gal, Pippin, my Mary: you rec'lect her? Sure you do! She
used to bring me candy, and poke it in betwixt the bars with her little
hand--flowers too, she'd bring: sure you rec'lect little Mary, Pippin?"
Pippin did not, but there was no need of saying so.
"What about her, Old Man?"
"I want her! I ain't a well man, nor yet I ain't goin' to be well, and I
want my little gal; I want you to find her, Pippin, and bring her to
me."
"Sure!" said Pippin comfortably. "Where would I be likely--"
"I don't know!" cried the old man wildly. "That--" he gave a brief and
vivid sketch of his wife's character--a wholly inaccurate sketch--"never
would tell me where she sent her. She died herself, and a good job, too,
and she sent word to me that Mary was well and doin' well, but now she'd
got shet of me she was goin' to keep her shet. Now what a way that was
to talk to a father! If little Mary knowed where I was, she'd come like
a shot, but she don't know, nor I don't know--You find her, Pippin! You
rec'let the little gal: you'll find her, won't you?"
"Sure!" said Pippin. For some moments he sat absently, running his
fingers through his brown curls. Taking out the little file, he
considered it unseeingly, tried to whistle a tune on it, and failing,
returned it to its hiding place. Then, waking from his reverie, he put
the old man through a sharp examination. The answers were feeble and
uncertain, but he learned something. Eighteen year old, or mighty nigh
it. Yes, red hair, or--naw! it might be darker by now, like her ma's
was; color of--there! 'member old Mis' Jennings that lived just over the
way from There? Well, sir, she had a heifer, kind o' red brown, like a
hoss chestnut when you break it open; and her skin the white of one,
too, kind o' soft and creamy; and her eyes like her'n too (the heifer's,
Old Man Blossom meant), big and soft and blue with a kind of brown in
'em too--there! he'd know her, Pippin would, by the dimple right corner
of her little mouth. Cur'us thing that was. When she wasn't more than a
baby, 'bout two year old, he gave her a little sunshade--she see her
Ma's and hollered for it, and he said she should have one of her own;
pink it was, and she carried it like the Lady of the Land, sir. But
bimeby she tumbles down, and the p'int of it went right through her
cheek. That's right; instead of a scar, it made a dimple, paint him sky
blue striped if it didn't. Prettiest little gal--hair would curl round
your finger like 'twas a stick--
The whisper broke into crying, and Pippin had to soothe him and sing
"The Factor's Lady, or the Turkish Garland," all through to restore
tranquillity. But when Pippin rose to go, the old man clutched him with
trembling fingers.
"Whisper!" he said. "Whisper, Pippin! The way you go to work--the way
I'd go to work if I wasn't perished in my vitals"--he consigned his
vitals to a warm region--"is, take Brand along!"
"Brand?" repeated Pippin.
"The blind man! he has eyes in his fingers. He can--he can tell the way
the wind blew yesterday by feelin' of it to-day. If I'd had Brand I'd
never been nabbed, and I'd be rollin' in gold to-day, and goin' in my
automobile to find my little gal. But you get Brand along, Pippin! talk
him round first, he's never been in the sportin' line, but--"
"Hold on! hold on!" Pippin loosed the clutching hands gently, and laid
the poor old sinner, still gasping and whispering back on the pillow.
"Old Man, you're makin' one big mistake. I'm not in the line any more; I
guess not!" He threw back his head and laughed joyously. "You didn't
know I found the Lord, did you? Well, I have, and there's no more sport
in mine. But--I'll tell you! I'm runnin' a wheel at present,
knife-grindin', you know. Why--I've got Nipper's wheel! Nipper was a pal
of yours, wasn't he?"
"Nipper's wheel? Where's Nipper? Is he here?"
"He's dead, and before he went he gave me his wheel. It's a real
handy--what now?"
He paused, for the old man, after staring at him a moment, broke into a
fit of cackling, wheezing laughter.
"Nipper's wheel!" he gasped. "He's got Nipper's wheel, and he's found
the Lord, and he isn't in the line no more! Gorry to hemlock, this is
rich! You took me in complete, Pippin, you did so! Go on! You're all
right!"
He grew purple in the face, and his eyes rolled. Pippin stepped to the
door.
"Mr. or Mrs. Bailey!" he called quietly. "Mr. Blossom is having a fit!"
Mrs. Bailey, hastening in, surveyed the situation with practised eyes;
lifted the patient, thumped his back gently, administered remedies,
enjoined silence.
"You've ben talkin' too much, Mr. Blossom; it always brings on a spasm,
and you hadn't ought to. Now lay down and take a nap, that's a good
soul."
Obeying a glance of her kind gray eyes, Pippin slipped out, leaving the
old man still gasping and gurgling. Many more of them kind, Pippin
reflected, would carry the old geezer off, sure thing. He was on the
blink, no two ways to that. "Loony too! Hear him laffin' fit to bust
when I told him Nipper was dead! Now what do you know about that? That's
loony, you see, that is! Behooves me find that little gal pooty quick if
I'm goin' to find her. And how--in--Moses' meal-chist--am I goin' to
find her?"
Pondering deeply, he went back into the kitchen. The table had been
cleared and covered with its decent between-meals cloth of red and white
check; beside it, facing the door, sat Miss Amanda Whetstone and Miss
Lucilla Pudgkins, diligently mending stockings. These ladies, as has
been seen, were paying boarders, and "demeaned themselves accordin'," as
they would have said. They helped Mrs. Bailey in housework, mending,
etc., but always with a touch of condescension and the understanding
that it was "to accommodate." In person they were well contrasted. Miss
Whetstone was a thin active little woman, with eyes like black glass and
thin lips puckered in a sub-acid smile. She was always neat as wax, in
dresses of black and white striped print, the lines so near together
that they seemed to waver constantly. ("Throw her away!" Flora May often
besought her "Uncle Bailey." "Please throw her away! She dazzles!") But
every one knew Aunt Mandy had a black silk in her trunk, and a tatting
collar that the minister's wife might have been glad to possess.
Miss Lucilla Pudgkins was billowy in figure and was addicted to purple
print, with a string tied round the middle to show that she knew where
the waist line ought to be. Her face might have been made by a clever
boy out of a large red apple; and if Aunt Mandy's eyes were like glass,
Miss Lucilla's were like china, two blue china buttons plumped into the
red, on either side of the queerest button of a nose that ever was seen,
Pippin thought. She wore a rather pathetic "front," which was seldom
quite straight; in fact, she was a pathetic figure altogether, poor Miss
Lucilla, but she did not know it, so all was well. She never forgot that
at sixteen she had been Queen of the May at a Sunday school festival,
and her trunk still held, under the scanty stock of petticoats and
aprons, the white muslin frock of her great day. Miss Lucilla was a
little greedy, and somewhat foolish, though not so foolish as Aunt Mandy
thought her; the attitude of the two towards each other was usually an
armed truce, except on occasions of general conflict, when they never
failed to combine against the common enemy--usually Mr. Wisk, the fat
man, who was greedy too.
The two ladies looked up eagerly as Pippin entered. How was Mr. Blossom?
Miss Whetstone asked. He sounded something awful. Was it the death
spasm, did Mr. Pippin think? They had been expecting it any day, and
wishing his folks would come. Wasn't it awful?
"He's all right!" Pippin reassured her. "Choked up a bit, but Mis'
Bailey knows how to handle him. He'll rest easy now, poor old skeezicks.
How long has he ben this way, ladies?"
"Sit down, do, Mr. Pippin!" Miss Whetstone hastened to make room for him
beside her. "That cheer is comfortable; set right down, now do so! He
has been having those spasms ever since he come, a month and more ago,
but none so bad as this. Be you kin to him?"
"Me? Not much!" Pippin shook his head vigorously.
"I only asked because one likes to know, you know, about the folks one
has to associate with. Of course you can keep yourself to yourself, and
oftentimes so do, but any one ought to be sociable when they can, I
claim."
"Sure thing!" murmured Pippin absently, his eyes glancing over the
speaker's head to where Flora May sat rocking in her corner, her hands
folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on him with a curious intentness. She
seemed to be calling him, he thought, though she made no sound. He
nodded, with a friendly glance which said "Presently!" Impossible to go
at this moment, for Miss Whetstone evidently had more to say. She was
bridling, and making little clucking noises in her throat, expressive
(to herself, at least), of delicacy of feeling. Now speech came,
preluded by a genteel titter, and accompanied by a glance round the
room, which took in the blind man quietly whittling splints in his own
special corner, and Flora May, rocking by the window, the latter with a
compassionate depreciatory shrug of Miss Whetstone's shoulders.
"We aim to be as select here as circumstances allow," said the lady. "Of
course it is a town institution, I am well aware of that; but Cyrus is a
select neighborhood, and there's no one feels any call to take boarders
_except_ Mr. Bailey. You can see for yourself how it is, Mr. Pippin. The
house is large and his own family small. He is well connected, Jacob is;
his mother was own cousin to mine, and so--we thought, me and Miss
Pudgkins, we'd like you to understand just how we come to be here. Not
but what we could of went anywhere we pleased, if we _had_ pleased!"
Pippin was aware of a certain wistfulness in the two pairs of eyes fixed
on him. Now wouldn't that give you a pain? Poor old ladies!
"I bet you could, ma'am!" he responded heartily. "I expect you could
pass all your time visitin' round, and find your welcome runnin' ahead
of you like a houn' dog. But if you searched the country over, I bet you
wouldn't find as pleasant a place as this. You show your taste, is what
I would say."
The wistful eyes brightened as they exchanged glances. There was a point
to make with this young man; it had to be made with every newcomer.
People _must_ know that they were here for convenience' sake, and that
alone!
"I knew he would understand!" cried Miss Pudgkins. "He has that way. I
see it first thing. And bein' as it is, Mr. Pippin, we try to keep up
the _tone_, you see. Now Mr. Blossom--you say he's no kin to you? Well,
to speak my mind--and Miss Whetstone holds with me--Mr. Blossom is _not_
just the kind Cyrus folks is accustomed to. Has he--has he led a good
life, are you aware?"
Pippin smiled at her. "Well, no, lady, he ain't; not exactly to call it
_good_, you know; not what _you_ would call good, though there never was
as much harm in the Old Man as in lots of others. But anyway," he added,
"he's on the blink now, you see, liable to croak 'most any day, I should
judge, so it don't so much matter, does it?"
"Liable to--I beg your pardon?"
"I beg yours. No expression to use to ladies. Pass away is what I would
say. I expect his trick is about up, what say? Dandy place to pass away
in, too, when your time's come. Excuse me, ladies, I see Mr. Bailey--"
Pippin saw also his opportunity of escape, and with a little bow of
apology, and appreciation, slipped out of the door, thinking to join his
host who had just walked past it. But Jacob Bailey had already
disappeared in the shed, and it was Flora May's turn. She had followed
Pippin, and now stood before him, looking up at him with clear, lovely,
empty eyes: empty, yet with that curious shining intentness he had
noticed before.
"Sing now for Flora May!" said the girl.
"I will!" Pippin assured her. "Just the moment Mrs. Bailey gets through
with Mr. Blossom, we'll have us a reg'lar singsong, we will so. Real
fond of singin', ain't you, Miss Flora May? Say, that's a dandy necklace
you have on! Them beads are carved elegant, they sure are."
Flora May lifted the beads and glanced carelessly at them. They were of
some hard nut wood, each one adorned with flowers and fruit in delicate
carving: a pretty ornament enough.
"Uncle Brand made them for me," she said. "Take them!" She had slipped
the necklace off and was pressing it into Pippin's hand. He took it and
examined it admiringly, then put it gently back over the girl's head.
"I thank you a thousand times!" he said. "I couldn't wear 'em myself,
not travelin' like I am, you see, and I like to see 'em round your neck,
they look so pretty. It's young ladies ought to wear joolry, you know."
He smiled at her, but her eyes met his anxiously.
"You are not goin' away?" said the girl. "You are goin' to stay? I'll
give you my eagle feathers if you will stay. I'm tired of the folks
here."
"Now what a way that is to talk! You're just jokin' though, I see. It
_would_ be a joke if you was tired of Mr. and Mrs. Bailey, wouldn't it
now?"
"I'll give you the white duck, if you'll stay!" she went on in her sweet
monotonous voice, which yet was strangely eager. "Uncle Bailey gave it
to me, it's mine. I'll give you everything I've got if you'll stay."
At this moment, to Pippin's infinite relief, Mr. Bailey emerged from the
shed. He laid his hand on the girl's shoulder; instantly her whole form
relaxed and she drooped into her customary attitude of listless
indifference.
"Anything wrong, little gal?" asked Jacob Bailey, kindly. Flora May
shook her head and turned away with a pettish movement of her shoulders.
"She was wantin' me to sing for her," said Pippin. "I will, too, Mr.
Bailey, sir, soon as ever you and Mis' Bailey are ready. I don't mean to
brag of my singin', don't you think that, but it's what has ben give me,
and about all I have to give when folks is so dandy to me as what you
folks have been here. So if agreeable, sir, say the word and I'll tune
up!"