they stood in front of the spring house and fitted the long key into the
padlock. “The sulphur water calls them, and the view. Isn’t it
beautiful! I want to get the Knob painted in while the haze is over it.
You young folks run along and do your climbing; I’ll whistle for you when
it’s time to go back.”
“If Talitha and Gincy were only here!” sighed Kizzie after the first long
climb. Together they stood panting for breath and watched the scene
below.
“Where’s Lalla? She beats everything for disappearing right before one’s
eyes,” Nancy Jane frowned.
“Couldn’t lose her though, that’s the beauty of it,” remarked Urilla as
they looked around behind the trees and boulders. Below, Miss Howard sat
intent upon her canvas. A tinkling cowbell was the only sound which
greeted their ears. “I’m for going on. It’s one of Lalla’s tricks;
she’s a good deal nearer than we think—probably laughing at us this
minute.”
But Lalla, when she dropped behind the rest, had taken a trail leading
off to the left. She was sure that it came back to the main trail again,
and it would give her a splendid opportunity to pop out and surprise
them. She soon found that it led around an immense boulder, that it was
steep, and grew steeper. As she paused quite breathless, the sound of
men’s voices came from behind the rock.
A clump of small evergreens made a convenient hiding-place; behind them
Lalla listened. She was not in the least alarmed, only curious. The
voices grew louder, one of them seemed to be chanting or reciting
something; it was hard to tell which. Lalla stole out a little farther
and crouched close to the rock, listening breathlessly.
“Louder, Raf, so I can hear you at this distance.” Lalla fancied she
could have touched Joe Bradshaw had not the rock projected a thin edge
between them. She sank noiselessly into a bed of tall ferns. So here
were the truants! Martin and Abner should hear about them; she would
jump out and give Joe the scare of his life.
On and on went the voices, the nearer one correcting and halting the
speaker from time to time.
Lalla listened intently; her eyes grew larger. What was Raphael saying!
She sat perfectly rigid as the truth flashed upon her. It was his speech
for the Mountain Congress, and he was to speak against Abner. No wonder
they stole away from the boys.
For some minutes Lalla sat undecided. Raphael Sloan was a formidable
opponent, and Abner new at the business of debating. If she could only
give the latter a hint—she wouldn’t tell right out. How proud Gincy
would be to have her brother win the debate. Her heart beat fast and she
listened as she had never listened before; not a word must be lost and
she must not be discovered now for the world!
“You’ll have to be ready for the rebuttal; they’ll get you on that
point—Abner’s working like a tiger.” And then there was an audible
movement on the other side of the boulder which made Lalla’s heart beat
like a trip-hammer. To her infinite relief, Raphael Sloan moved on up
the trail and Joe after him. She could hear their voices growing fainter
and fainter each moment.
Cautiously she slipped from her hiding-place and retraced her steps to a
point lower down. There was a way to cut across the other trail, but it
was through blackberry bushes, wild grapevines, and a tangle of
underbrush. Lalla did not hesitate, however; slipping and sliding, she
fairly rushed forward, not stopping for scratches nor even bruises. From
the thicket she suddenly emerged into a small opening—hardly a
clearing—in which was a tiny shack of logs. To all appearances it was
deserted, but Lalla decided to avoid it and come out just beyond. A gun
sounded very near; a hound bayed. She shrank back where the shadows were
deep, and silently threaded her way in the direction of the old trail.
It could not be many rods farther on.
For fully a half-hour she stumbled along, then she heard Nancy Jane’s
voice, and the girls fell on her with loud reproaches.
“I was exploring,” Lalla said with shining eyes, and then she told them
about the cabin. “It’s mighty secret; I’d never found it only for taking
the short cut. Folks could do stillin’ and no one be the wiser.”
“I wonder if they do make moonshine there,” said Mallie after a pause.
“We heard that shot and were worrying about you. Don’t you run away
again.”
Lalla smiled, but did not answer.
A long whistle came from below. It was repeated. “That’s Miss Howard!”
exclaimed Kizzie. “She wants us right away; see how late it’s getting.”
All the way down Lalla was very quiet. Her head was full of plans to
help Abner and find out more about the mysterious cabin. Mystery
appealed to her vivid imagination and stimulated her to immediate action.
A thin trail of smoke came up to them as they made the last steep descent
into the basin. “Oh, Lalla, Miss Howard’s getting supper and I’m so
hungry,” said Kizzie. But Lalla was thinking of the two boys—which way
could they have gone home?
XVI
THE MOUNTAIN CONGRESS
IT was several days before Lalla saw Abner alone. He was certainly
working like a tiger. He rushed over to meals, and when the boys were
dismissed, was gone like a shot, not waiting to join the groups who
visited in the yard.
It wanted a week of the Mountain Congress when she followed him into the
library one day and straight back to the stack room. There was a long
table in one corner and piles of reference books on it. Abner had
snatched his cap off and was digging for the bottom one of the nearest
pile when Lalla touched his shoulder.
“Working on your debate?” she whispered. “I hope you’ll win.”
Abner looked up gratefully. “I don’t reckon on it much—Raphael’s an old
hand, they tell me—but I’m learnin’ a lot, that’s one sure thing.”
“I’ve thought of some points which will be likely to help you.” Lalla
pushed a sheet his way. “You can never tell what they’re going to spring
on you just at the last.”
Abner took it with a look of surprise. “I didn’t know that you even knew
the subject of the debate; we’ve tried to keep it a secret.” Lalla
reddened—she had not thought of this emergency. “Of course I told
Gincy,” Abner continued, “and I know she trusts you, so it’s all right.”
He had misconstrued her evident embarrassment, and was trying to reassure
her. For one moment Lalla’s courage failed, but she was sure Abner stood
little chance of winning without some help, and there was almost no risk
of discovery, not even if Gincy told her brother that she had kept the
secret.
Lalla’s impetuous nature was capable of a good deal of
self-sacrifice—mistaken at times, but nevertheless genuine in motive.
She had a warm feeling of gratitude toward the girl who had not, by even
so much as a look, hinted at her adventures with the master key. Indeed,
Lalla felt that Gincy had entire confidence in her assurance that she
would be perfectly straightforward from that time on.
It was the mountain warfare over again, and Lalla did not feel any real
compunction about the methods. She knew instinctively, however, that
Gincy and Abner would look at it differently and was prepared for
questions.
However, they did not come. “These seem like dandy points; they might do
me a heap of good when it comes to the final touchdown.” Abner showed
her the result of his digging for the last few weeks—a whole tablet full
of notes, disorderly enough but right to the point.
Lalla glanced over them with a shrewd eye, and nodded. “Abner, they’re
splendid! But won’t you be scared half to death in front of that crowd?”
He shook his head resolutely. “I’m going to bluff it if I am; it doesn’t
do to show one’s feelings.”
“No, and Goose Creek folks aren’t the scary kind.”
“You bet they aren’t—not the girls, anyhow.” Abner spoke with
conviction.
Devotional exercises the next morning were brief. Then the excitement
began. Banners went up all over the chapel, and nominations were made
for governor of Appalachian America. There were speeches and special
music to arouse enthusiasm for the Mountain Congress.
The girls from Clay sat in the gallery—a row of bright faces keenly
watching every movement below to see what counties were represented.
“There’s Pike, and Letcher, and Magoffin!” whispered Gincy excitedly.
“And Floyd, and Knott, and Breathitt!” added Talitha.
“Perry, Harlan, Leslie, and—Oh, look at Clay! Goody! Goody!” Mallie
almost lost her balance and fell into the crowd below. Nancy Jane pulled
her back and kept a firm grip on the excited girl for some time.
“It’s awfully interesting!” sighed Lalla, her eyes growing bigger as she
watched the platform. “But I suppose the congress itself will be twice
as exciting.”
There were funny speeches from the candidates, each vying with the other
in promising favour to his particular section of the country. The
applause was frequent, and the college band played “Dixie.” Every one
filed out full of enthusiasm; they would know the result of the election
by evening.
Lalla and Gincy walked over to Memorial Hall behind Abner and Martin.
There was a grand rally out in front—practising yells and singing class
songs. The noise was deafening.
“I’m saving my voice until Friday night,” Lalla told Abner in the first
lull. “I know you’re going to beat and then you’ll hear me yell!”
Gincy smiled happily. “Abner’s going to do his best; that’s the main
thing. I’m proud to think he’s even got a chance to do it, without his
beating.”
“Of course it’s an honour to have the chance,” said Lalla, “but, Gincy,
just think how proud Goose Creek will be to have Abner come home with the
medal.”
In spite of himself Abner flushed with pleased anticipation. He was
making the fight of his life for a public honour and did not intend to be
beaten. Every word of his speech was photographed upon his brain, ready
for instant use, if—and here was the hard part—if his opponent did not
think of some entirely new line of argument.
Friday evening found the Hall alive with excitement. The girls were
divided into factions. Raphael Sloan was the best debater Bentville had
had for some time, and while Abner was popular, he was too new to inspire
general confidence. Nearly everybody—except the Goose Creek folks—was
sure of the boy who had never been defeated.
The chapel was in an uproar when the girls arrived. Occupying the centre
and front were delegates from each county to the Mountain Congress.
Class colours were everywhere in evidence. Pennants were fluttering, and
yell after yell went up when the Governor of Appalachian America—one of
the senior boys—took his seat on the platform.
Afterwards the whole thing seemed like a dream to Lalla. Raphael, tall,
dark-eyed, with the flush of anticipated victory on his face. Abner,
intense, pale at first and somewhat hesitating, but warming up with fiery
eloquence toward the last and meeting every argument with growing
confidence.
Not once did he fail in the rebuttal, nor even hesitate, and Lalla saw an
amazed look creep over Joe Bradshaw’s face as Abner answered with a
glibness born of knowledge, sweeping the very foundation from under his
opponent’s feet.
There could be but one verdict, and the Goose Creek girls saw Abner
hoisted upon strong, young shoulders and borne in triumph around the
room. Once more the pennants waved and pandemonium broke loose. This
time they joined in the yells. Lalla, in the centre of the circle of
girls, never stopped until her voice gave out.
Joe Bradshaw took his roommate’s defeat quite philosophically. He was
fond of Abner and Martin, but somewhat puzzled at the former’s quick
replies to every argument. “You did splendidly!” he said, wringing
Abner’s hand. “Clay County is right to the front to-night.”
Abner gave Lalla a quick glance of gratitude. She was watching him as he
talked to Joe and the surrounding boys, not forgetting to wave at the
home girls who found it impossible to reach him. Gincy’s eyes were full
of tears—proud ones. If her father and mother could only have been here
to see Abner beat the best debater in all the mountain counties. It
would have rewarded them for every sacrifice.
There was to be a spread in the Industrial Building for the winner.
Talitha and Martin held frequent conferences all the next day, and by
four o’clock a constant procession of boys and girls were busy carrying
parcels, bunting, and branches of pine for decoration, and making the
rooms of the Agricultural Department attractive for the evening crowd.
It was to be a great event for the Goose Creek folks, and they had
prepared accordingly. Pete Shackley guarded the chickens. “I knew
Abner’d beat, those roosters have been crowing under my bed for two
nights. I toted the box into my room the minute I bought them; there’s
no telling where they’d be to-day if I hadn’t.”
Gincy and Mallie kept the door of Number 4 securely locked, but that
precaution did not prevent savoury odours from escaping which the boys
sniffed eagerly.
“Cake!” exclaimed Martin delightedly. “Tally said Miss Browning was
going to let them use the cooking room all day. I smell fruit cookies,
too. My, but it’s going to be a spread! I wonder what Piny Twilliger’s
doing ’round here; she likes good eating, I suppose.”
“Of course, but didn’t you know she’s Abner’s cousin from Redbird?” and
Isaac Shackley grasped a big pot of ferns and moved on, leaving Martin
staring in astonishment.
Piny was so tall and snappy and altogether loud—such a contrast to
Gincy—Martin had taken a special dislike to her the very first time she
came to Harmonia. That was at the opening of the spring term and now it
was getting pretty well along toward Commencement. But the girl’s voice
did not seem to improve—it was still coarse and penetrating—she wore the
gayest colours, and Martin couldn’t enumerate all the reasons why he
disliked her, but he did.
It was growing dusk when everything was ready for the spread. They were
to serve it in the Domestic Science room at eight o’clock. Nancy Jane
had the key and was instructed to remain in charge until the ice cream
arrived, then hurry over to the Hall to dress. Nancy Jane turned on the
lights and surveyed the room with satisfaction; there was a good deal to
show for all their work. The cake was delicious, the chicken fried to a
turn. There were great plates of rolls and plenty of pickles. The long
table down the centre of the room was decorated with Abner’s class
colours, while all around, in festoons, were the orange and black of the
Mountain Society—the first typifying the brilliant autumn colouring of
the hills; the second, the wealth of coal found in their mines.
The building was far from deserted. There was a clatter of feet up and
down the bare stairs—fully a dozen boys roomed on the third floor—and
Nancy Jane locked the door to secure herself from unceremonious callers.
“They’d like to play some game on us—those seniors,” she thought.
“They’re pretty sore because a new pupil carried off the honours.”
It was seven o’clock, but the cream had not come, and Nancy Jane was in a
quandary. Some one rattled the door knob. “Who is it?” she asked.
“Piny, Piny Twilliger. Let me in; I’ve come to take your place and let
you get dressed. Martin had a message that the cream wouldn’t be here
for half an hour yet. There wasn’t another soul ready, so Gincy asked me
to come.”
Nancy Jane unlocked the door to let in—was it really Piny? The tall
figure was attired in a bright red muslin much beruffled. A brilliant
bow with generous outstanding loops surmounted the dozen or more puffs of
hair, and excitement lent additional colour to cheeks that were always
flushed.
Nancy Jane hurried over to the Hall and up to her room. She didn’t even
take time to ask Gincy why she had sent Piny Twilliger to guard the
precious cream. It wouldn’t do to say much about kinfolk. But all the
time she was hurrying into her white dotted lawn, she wondered if
anything would happen to their eatables. Surely some of the girls would
be ready in a few minutes.
It was almost a quarter of eight when Nancy Jane ran down the front
stairs. She rapped lightly at several doors, but there was no response.
Evidently everybody who belonged to the Mountain Society had gone. It
was only a short distance to the Industrial Building, and she ran across
the campus toward the lights. There was the buzzing of excited
voices—the front walk seemed thronged with students. What could have
happened? Nancy Jane felt an awful premonition of disaster. Of course
it was the cream. Piny must have left her post and some of the boys
carried it off.
“Is that you, Nancy Jane?” It was Mallie’s voice. “The cake’s
gone—every scrap! Some one rapped on the door and Piny went out; it was
the boys with the cream, and while they were talking some one tore the
screen and jumped in the side window and took every smitch of cake off
the table. Piny’s rushing ’round like a hornet and vows she’ll find out
who did it before she sleeps a wink to-night. But I don’t believe she
can; it’s either eaten up or hidden by this time.”
Nancy Jane listened in dismay. All their lovely frosted cake gone! She
ran into the room looking for Piny—somehow she wanted to hear the whole
story from her lips.
But among the babel of voices Piny’s could not be heard. She had
disappeared completely and did not hear Martin’s angry comment. “I
shouldn’t wonder if she had hidden it herself; she’d think that was a
great joke.”
“Hush, Martin,” said Talitha, “Piny isn’t mean if she is fond of a joke.”
But Martin’s eyes continued to flash as he walked out into the dark,
around the building, and looked up at the outside stairs. They were
built more as a fire-escape, but the boys on the upper floor often used
them. Martin stood in the shadow of the wood-working department and eyed
the row of lighted windows. A dark object was crouched on the upper step
and as he eyed it intently, it rose and began a noiseless descent.
Martin edged as close as he dared. It passed the lower window and he
saw, to his utter amazement, that it was Piny Twilliger, who seemed in
great haste to get down. He intercepted her as she reached the ground.
“What is it, Piny?” he whispered.
“I’ve found them!” she gasped, “and the cake isn’t eaten yet. Get all
the boys together you can. Some will have to watch the door of their
room—it’s Seth Laney and that crowd. You’d better get the Shackley boys
and go up on the outside—that’s the only way you’ll get in. While the
rest are making an awful racket in the hall to attract their attention,
you can climb in the window.”
“You do beat everything!” exclaimed Martin, quite conscience-smitten to
think he had ever suspected Piny. “You’re a regular general! You bet
we’ll get that cake,” and he ran around the building and into the big
front entrance like a shot.
It took only a minute to plan the campaign as outlined by Piny. There
was an instant siege—within ten minutes an unconditional surrender—and
the cake was saved. Borne down in triumph by Martin and Abner, they
paused in front of her with a low bow. “Madam,” they said, “the honour
belongs to you. Have a piece.”
But Piny laughingly refused to be made a heroine of, and waited until
every one else was served. She blushed furiously when they toasted her
in lemonade for her presence of mind and courage. “I reckon hit wan’t
much,” she said, modestly disclaiming all honours. “I’d promised to
watch things, an’ I wan’t goin’ to be beaten nohow.”
The spread was a great success. Afterwards, Abner walked back to the
Hall with Gincy and Lalla. “You helped me a lot,” he assured the latter.
“I worked up all those notes you gave me and they seemed to strike the
nail on the head. I don’t see how you ever thought of them.”
“That wasn’t anything,” said Lalla, “you had a dozen points a good deal
better than mine. I’m glad the decision was unanimous for you, though;
it was a bigger honour.”
“I didn’t know you helped Abner,” remarked Gincy as they sat in her room
waiting for the warning bell to ring. “I’m so proud of him and grateful
to you. Miss Howard says you do splendidly in your work this term,
Lalla.”
“You always say such nice things,” answered Lalla, evading Gincy’s eye.
“There isn’t another girl in Bentville who has encouraged me the way you
have. I guess I remember, and—” She broke off suddenly. Perhaps after
all she would better tell Gincy the truth about the debate.
Gincy listened, her hard-working hands tightly clasped, and a sinking at
her heart. It was just plain cheating and the Gooch family had never
done anything like that. Of course Abner didn’t know or he never would
have used the paper Lalla gave him—that was one comfort. Then Gincy
thought of Raphael. Perhaps after all the medal really belonged to him;
but how could she straighten it all out? Why were there so many tangles
in life, anyhow?
“Gincy,” said Lalla, abruptly changing the subject, “that Mr. Gantley has
come back. Talitha told me this evening and I forgot to tell you. The
college folks found him up in that shack on the mountain, and they told
him he’d got to go to work or they’d lock him up, and then they gave him
a job in the garden. You needn’t worry about the family any more.”
Lalla ran to her room at the sound of the bell, leaving Gincy in a brown
study. If she told it might get Lalla and Abner into all kinds of
trouble. Perhaps they would even have the debate all over again with a
new subject, or Abner might have to give up the medal in disgrace. There
were so many terrible possibilities, Gincy slept little that night.
Early the next morning she arose fully decided on a course of action.
Miss Howard should settle it; she could hardly wait to find her.
The little teacher listened patiently. “I’ll tell you this evening.
Come to my room at half-past seven; meanwhile don’t worry.”
Somewhat comforted, Gincy went about her work. Promptly at seven she
presented herself at Miss Howard’s door. “I just couldn’t wait another
minute,” she said by way of apology.
“You don’t need to,” was the assurance. “It’s all right. Professor Ames
says the decision might not have been unanimous, but Abner would have
received the medal anyhow on his main argument. It isn’t necessary that
anything be said about it except to Lalla. We want her to cultivate
higher ideas of honour than those she has been used to at home.”
Gincy left the room jubilant; a great burden had rolled off her mind.
She could go to bed with a clear conscience and make up the sleep she had
lost the night before.
XVII
KID SHACKLEY GETS A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD
THE Shackley cabin stood high and dry above the bed of Goose Creek; for,
while there was nothing to fear from the narrow, trickling stream of
summer, the moody, tempestuous torrent of spring threatened everything
within reach, and Enoch Shackley was a cautious man.
It was ten o’clock, but the flickering of flambeaux, the sound of
hurrying feet over the bare floor of the long living-room, the uneasy
tugging of old Bob at his chain, and a saddled mule in front of the door,
indicated some unusual nocturnal adventure.
Presently, far in the distance could be heard the creak of a jolt wagon
and the sound of voices singing “Sourwood Mountain.”
The cabin door suddenly flew open and Kid Shackley appeared. He was a
chunky, muscular boy, a worthy successor of his father, when the
blacksmith should grow too old to follow his trade. “They’re comin’,
mammy! Good-bye, I’ll tell you and pappy all ’bout hit when I git back.
Looks like a feller kin hear ter Kingdom Come in the night time.”
His place in the doorway was filled by a tall, gaunt figure in a meagre
dress of blue calico, who peered out anxiously after him. “Ain’t ye
hongry, son? Whar d’ye reckon ye’ll git yore breakfast?”
“Sam Gooch ’lows we’ll be at Redbird somewhar near the Twilligers—Eli’s
kin. Likely they’ll want ter go on ’count of Piny. We’ll get ter the
Branch ’bout sun-up.”
Kid was in the saddle now, facing the newcomers. The jolt wagon with its
oxen threading along the stony bed of Goose Creek—a lantern hung in front
of the driver—cast long shadows which seemed to multiply like those of a
mysterious moving caravan. They filled the gorge.
“G’lang, Billy,” and Kid was slowly descending the steep incline to join
the travellers who suddenly halted.
“Come on, come on!” chorused the voices from below.
Kid greeted the half-dozen occupants of the wagon in true mountain
fashion. “Howdy, Dan Gooch,” to the man guiding the oxen, “you’re here
on time. I heerd our rooster speakin’ up a spell back. He reckoned
’twas mornin’ by the clatter.”