HOW PEARL WATSON WIPED OUT THE STAIN
Mrs. Motherwell felt bitterly grieved with Polly for failing her just
when she needed her the most; "after me keepin' her and puttin' up with
her all summer," she said. She began to wonder where she could secure
help. Then she had an inspiration!
The Watsons still owed ten dollars on the caboose. The eldest Watson
girl was big enough to work. They would get her. And get ten dollars'
worth of work out of her if they could.
The next Saturday night John Watson announced to his family that old
Sam Motherwell wanted Pearlie to go out and work off the caboose debt.
Mrs. Watson cried, "God help us!" and threw her apron over her head.
"Who'll keep the dandrew out of me hair?" Mary said tearfully, "if
Pearlie goes away?"
"Who'll make me remember to spit on me warts?" Bugsey asked.
"Who'll keep house when ma goes to wash?" wee Tommy wailed dismally.
Danny's grievance could not be expressed in words. He buried his tousy
head in Pearl's apron, and Pearl saw at once that her whole house were
about to be submerged in tears, idle tears.
"Stop your bleatin', all of yez!" she commanded in her most
authoritative voice. "I will go!" she said, with blazing eyes. "I will
go, I will wipe the stain off me house once and forever!" waving her
arm dramatically toward the caboose which formed the sleeping apartment
for the boys. "To die, to die for those we love is nobler far than wear
a crown!" Pearl had attended the Queen Esther cantata the winter
before. She knew now how poor Esther felt.
On the following Monday afternoon everything was ready for Pearl's
departure. Her small supply of clothing was washed and ironed and
neatly packed in a bird-cage. It was Mary who thought of the bird-cage
"sittin' down there in the cellar doin' nothin', and with a handle on
it, too." Mary was getting to be almost as smart as Pearl to think of
things.
Pearl had bidden good-bye to them all and was walking to the door when
her mother called her back to repeat her parting instructions.
"Now, mind, Pearlie dear, not to be pickin' up wid strangers, and
speakin' to people ye don't know, and don't be showin' yer money or
makin' change wid anyone."
Pearl was not likely to disobey the last injunction. She had seventeen
cents in money, ten cents of which Teddy had given her, and the
remaining seven cents had come in under the heading of small sums, from
the other members of the family.
She was a pathetic little figure in her brown and white checked dress,
with her worldly effects in the bird-cage, as she left the shelter of
her father's roof and went forth into the untried world. She went over
to Mrs. Francis to say good-bye to her and to Camilla.
Mrs. Francis was much pleased with Pearl's spirit of independence and
spoke beautifully of the opportunities for service which would open for
her.
"You must keep a diary, Pearl," she said enthusiastically. "Set down in
it all you see and feel. You will have such splendid opportunities for
observing plant and animal life--the smallest little insect is
wonderfully interesting. I will be so anxious to hear how you are
impressed with the great green world of Out of Doors! Take care of your
health, too, Pearl; see that your room is ventilated."
While Mrs. Francis elaborated on the elements of proper living, Camilla
in the kitchen had opened the little bundle in the cage, and put into
it a pair of stockings and two or three handkerchiefs, then she slipped
in a little purse containing ten shining ten-cent pieces, and an
orange. She arranged the bundle to look just as it did before, so that
she would not have to meet Pearl's gratitude.
Camilla hastily set the kettle to boil, and began to lay the table. She
could hear the velvety tones of Mrs. Francis's voice in the library.
"Mrs. Francis speaks a strange language," she said, smiling to herself,
"but it can be translated into bread and butter and apple sauce, and
even into shoes and stockings, when you know how to interpret it. But
wouldn't it be dreadful if she had no one to express it in the tangible
things of life for her. Think of her talking about proper diet and aids
to digestion to that little hungry girl. Well, it seems to be my
mission to step into the gap--I'm a miss with a mission"--she was
slicing some cold ham as she spoke--"I am something of a health talker,
too."
Camilla knocked at the library door, and in answer to Mrs. Francis's
invitation to enter, opened the door and said:
"Mrs. Francis, would it not be well for Pearl to have a lunch before
she starts for her walk into the country; the air is so exhilarating,
you know."
"How thoughtful you are, Camilla!" Mrs. Francis exclaimed with honest
admiration.
Thus it happened that Pearlie Watson, aged twelve, began her journey
into the big unknown world, fully satisfied in body and soul, and with
a great love for all the world.
At the corner of the street stood Mrs. McGuire, and at sight of her
Pearl's heart stopped beating.
"It's bad luck," she said. "I'd as lief have a rabbit cross me path as
her."
But she walked bravely forward with no outward sign of her inward
trembling.
"Goin' to Sam Motherwell's, are ye?" the old lady asked shrilly.
"Yes'm," Pearl said, trembling.
"She's a tarter; she's a skinner; she's a damner; that's what she is.
She's my own first cousin and I know HER. Sass her; that's the only way
to get along with her. Tell her I said so. Here, child, rub yer j'ints
with this when ye git stiff." She handed Pearl a black bottle of
home-made liniment.
Pearl thanked her and hurried on, but at the next turn of the street
she met Danny.
Danny was in tears; Danny wasn't going to let Pearlie go away; Danny
would run away and get lost and runned over and drownded, now! Pearl's
heart melted, and sitting on the sidewalk she took Danny in her arms,
and they cried together. A whirr of wheels aroused Pearl and looking up
she saw the kindly face of the young doctor.
"What is it, Pearl?" he asked kindly. "Surely that's not Danny I see,
spoiling his face that way!"
"It's Danny," Pearl said unsteadily. "It's hard enough to leave him
widout him comin' afther me and breakin' me heart all over again."
"That's what it is, Pearl," the doctor said, smiling. "I think it is
mighty thoughtless of Danny the way he is acting."
Danny held obstinately to Pearl's skirt, and cried harder than ever. He
would not even listen when the doctor spoke of taking him for a drive.
"Listen to the doctor," Pearl commanded sternly, "or he'll raise a
gumboil on ye."
Thus admonished Danny ceased his sobs; but he showed no sign of
interest when the doctor spoke of popcorn, and at the mention of
ice-cream he looked simply bored.
"He's awful fond of 'hoo-hung' candy," Pearlie suggested in a whisper,
holding her hand around her mouth so that Danny might not hear her.
"Ten cents' worth of 'hoo-hung' candy to the boy that says good-bye to
his sister like a gentleman and rides home with me."
Danny dried his eyes on Pearl's skirt, kissed her gravely and climbed
into the buggy beside the doctor. Waterloo was won!
Pearl did not trust herself to look back as she walked along the deeply
beaten road.
The yellow cone-flowers raised their heads like golden stars along the
roadside, and the golden glory of the approaching harvest lay upon
everything. To the right the Tiger Hills lay on the horizon wrapped in
a blue mist. Flocks of blackbirds swarmed over the ripening oats, and
angrily fought with each other.
"And it not costin' them a cent!" Pearl said in disgust as she stopped
to watch them.
The exhilaration of the air, the glory of the waving grain, the
profusion of wild flowers that edged the fields with purple and yellow
were like wine to her sympathetic Irish heart as she walked through the
grain fields and drank in all the beauties that lay around, and it was
not until she came in sight of the big stone house, gloomy and bare,
that she realised with a start of homesickness that she was Pearl
Watson, aged twelve, away from home for the first time, and bound to
work three months for a woman of reputed ill-temper.
"But I'll do it," Pearl said, swallowing the lump that gathered in her
throat, "I can work. Nobody never said that none of the Watsons
couldn't work. I'll stay out me time if it kills me."
So saying, Pearl knocked timidly at the back door. Myriads of flies
buzzed on the screen. From within a tired voice said, "Come in."
Pearl walked in and saw a large bare room, with a long table in the
middle. A sewing machine littered with papers stood in front of one
window.
The floor had been painted a dull drab, but the passing of many feet
had worn the paint away in places. A stove stood in one corner. Over
the sink a tall, round-shouldered woman bent trying to get water from
an asthmatic pump.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" she said in a tone so very unpleasant that Pearl
thought she must have expected someone else.
"Yes'm," Pearl said meekly. "Who were ye expectin'?"
Mrs. Motherwell stopped pumping for a minute and looked at Pearl.
"Why didn't ye git here earlier?" she asked.
"Well," Pearl began, "I was late gettin' started by reason of the
washin' and the ironin', and Jimmy not gettin' back wid the boots. He
went drivin' cattle for Vale the butcher, and he had to have the boots
for the poison ivy is that bad, and because the sugar o' lead is all
done and anyway ma don't like to keep it in the house, for wee Danny
might eat it--he's that stirrin' and me not there to watch him now."
"Lord! what a tongue you have! Put down your things and go out and pick
up chips to light the fire with in the morning."
Pearl laid her bird-cage on a chair and was back so soon with the chips
that Mrs. Motherwell could not think of anything to say.
"Now go for the cows," she said, "and don't run them home!"
"Where will I run them to then, ma'am?" Pearl asked innocently.
"Good land, child, have I to tell you everything? Folks that can't do
without tellin' can't do much with, I say. Bring the cows to the bars,
and don't stand there staring at me."
When Pearl dashed out of the door, she almost fell over the old dog who
lay sleepily snapping at the flies which buzzed around his head. He
sprang up with a growl which died away into an apologetic yawn as she
stooped to pat his honest brown head.
A group of red calves stood at the bars of a small field plaintively
calling for their supper. It was not just an ordinary bawl, but a
double-jointed hyphenated appeal, indicating a very exhausted condition
indeed.
Pearl looked at them in pity. The old dog, wrinkling his nose and
turning away his head, did not give them a glance. He knew them. Noisy
things! Let 'em bawl. Come on!
Across the narrow creek they bounded, Pearl and old Nap, and up the
other hill where the silver willows grew so tall they were hidden in
them. The goldenrod nodded its plumy head in the breeze, and the tall
Gaillardia, brown and yellow, flickered unsteadily on its stem.
The billows of shadow swept over the wheat on each side of the narrow
pasture; the golden flowers, the golden fields, the warm golden
sunshine intoxicated Pearl with their luxurious beauty, and in that
hour of delight she realised more pleasure from them than Sam
Motherwell and his wife had in all their long lives of barren
selfishness. Their souls were of a dull drab dryness in which no flower
took root, there was no gold to them but the gold of greed and gain,
and with it they had never bought a smile or a gentle hand pressure or
a fervid "God bless you!" and so it lost its golden colour, and turned
to lead and ashes in their hands.
When Pearl and Nap got the cows turned homeward they had to slacken
their pace.
"I don't care how cross she is," Pearl said, "if I can come for the
cows every night. Look at that fluffy white cloud! Say, wouldn't that
make a hat trimming that would do your heart good. The body of the hat
blue like that up there, edged 'round with that cloud over there, then
a blue cape with white fur on it just to match. I kin just feel that
white stuff under my chin."
Then Pearl began to cake-walk and sing a song she had heard Camilla
sing. She had forgotten some of the words, but Pearl never was at a
loss for words:
The wild waves are singing to the shore
As they were in the happy days of yore.
Pearl could not remember what the wild waves were singing, so she sang
what was in her own heart:
She can't take the ripple from the breeze,
And she can't take the rustle from the trees;
And when I am out of the old girl's sight
I can-just-do-as-I-please.
"That's right, I think the same way and try to act up to it," a man's
voice said slowly. "But don't let her hear you say so."
Pearl started at the sound of the voice and found herself looking into
such a good-natured face that she laughed too, with a feeling of
good-fellowship.
The old dog ran to the stranger with every sign of delight at seeing
him.
"I am one of the neighbours," he said. "I live over there"--pointing to
a little car-roofed shanty farther up the creek. "Did I frighten you? I
am sorry if I did, but you see I like the sentiment of your song so
much I could not help telling you. You need not think it strange if you
find me milking one of the cows occasionally. You see, I believe in
dealing directly with the manufacturer and thus save the middleman's
profit, and so I just take what milk I need from So-Bossie over there."
"Does she know?" Pearl asked, nodding toward the house.
"Who? So-Bossie?"
"No, Mrs. Motherwell."
"Well, no," he answered slowly. "You haven't heard of her having a fit,
have you?"
"No," Pearl answered wonderingly.
"Then we're safe in saying that the secret has been kept from her."
"Does it hurt her, though?" Pearl asked.
"It would, very much, if she knew it," the young man replied gravely.
"Oh, I mean the cow," Pearl said hastily.
"It doesn't hurt the cow a bit. What does she care who gets the milk?
When did you come?"
"To-night," Pearl said. "I must hurry. She'll have a rod in steep for
me if I'm late. My name's Pearl Watson. What's yours?"
"Jim Russell," he said. "I know your brother Teddy."
Pearl was speeding down the hill. She shouted back:
"I know who you are now. Good-bye!" Pearl ran to catch up to the cows,
for the sun was throwing long shadows over the pasture, and the
plaintive lowing of the hungry calves came faintly to her ears.
A blond young man stood at the bars with four milk pails.
He raised his hat when he spoke to Pearl.
"Madam says you are to help me to milk, but I assure you it is quite
unnecessary. Really, I would much prefer that you shouldn't."
"Why?" Pearl asked in wonder.
"Oh, by Jove! You see it is not a woman's place to work outside like
this, don't you know."
"That's because ye'r English," Pearl said, a sudden light breaking in
on her. "Ma says when ye git a nice Englishman there's nothing nicer,
and pa knowed one once that was so polite he used to say 'Haw Buck' to
the ox and then he'd say, 'Oh, I beg yer pardon, I mean gee.' It wasn't
you, was it?"
"No," he said smiling, "I have never driven oxen, but I have done a
great many ridiculous things I am sure."
"So have I," Pearl said confidentially, as she sat down on a little
three-legged stool to milk So-Bossie. "You know them fluffy white
things all made of lace and truck like that, that is hung over the beds
in rich people's houses, over the pillows, I mean?"
"Pillow-shams?" he asked.
"Yes, that's them! Well, when I stayed with Camilla one night at Mrs.
Francis's didn't I think they were things to pull down to keep the
flies off ye'r face. Say, you should have heard Camilla laugh, and ma
saw a girl at a picnic once who drank lemonade through her veil, and
she et a banana, skin and all."
Pearl laughed heartily, but the Englishman only smiled faintly.
Canadian ways were growing stranger all the time.
"Say," Pearl began after a pause, "who does the cow over there with the
horns bent down look like? Someone we both know, only the cow looks
pleasanter."
"My word!" the Englishman exclaimed, "you're a rum one."
Pearl looked disappointed.
"Animals often look like people," she said. "We have two cows at home,
one looks like Mrs. White, so good and gentle, wouldn't say boo to a
goose; the other one looks just like Fred Miller. He works in the mill,
and his hair goes in a roll on the top; his mother did it that way with
a hair-pin too long, I guess, and now it won't go any other way, and I
know an animal that looks like you; he's a dandy, too, you bet. It is
White's dog, and he can jump the fence easy as anything."
"Oh, give over, give over!" the Englishman said stiffly.
Pearl laughed delightedly.
"It's lots of fun guessing who people are like," she said. "I'm awful
smart at it and so is Mary, four years younger'n me. Once we could not
guess who Mrs. Francis was like, and Mary guessed it. Mrs. Francis
looks like prayer--big bug eyes lookin' away into nothin', but hopin'
it's all for the best. Do you pray?"
"I am a rector's son," he answered.
"Oh, I know, minister's son, isn't that lovely? I bet you know prayers
and prayers. But it isn't fair to pray in a race is it? When Jimmy
Moore and my brother Jimmy ran under twelve, Jimmie Moore prayed, and
some say got his father to pray, too; he's the Methodist minister, you
know, and, of course, he won it; but our Jimmy could ha' beat him easy
in a fair race, and no favours; but he's an awful snoopie kid and prays
about everything. Do you sing?"
"I do--a little," the Englishman said modestly.
"Oh, my, I am glad," Pearl cried rapturously. "When I was two years old
I could sing 'Hush my babe lie,' all through--I love singin'--I can
sing a little, too, but I don't care much for my own. Have they got an
organ here?"
"I don't know," he answered, "I've only been in the kitchen."
"Say, I'd like to see a melodeon. Just the very name of it makes me
think of lovely sounds, religious sounds, mountin' higher and higher
and swellin' out grander and grander, rollin' right into the great
white throne, and shakin' the streets of gold. Do you know the 'Holy
City,'" she asked after a pause.
The Englishman began to hum it in a rich tenor.
"That's it, you bet," she cried delightedly. "Just think of you coming
all the way across the ocean and knowing that just the same as we do. I
used to listen at the keyhole when Mrs. Francis had company, and I was
there helping Camilla. Dr. Clay sang that lots of times."
The Englishman had not sung since he had left his father's house. He
began to sing now, in a sweet, full voice, resonant on the quiet
evening air, the cows staring idly at him. The old dog came down to the
bars with his bristles up, expecting trouble.
Old Sam and his son Tom coming in from work stopped to listen to these
strange sounds.
"Confound them English!" old Sam said. "Ye'd think I was payin' him to
do that, and it harvest-time, too!"
When Dr. Clay, with Danny Watson gravely perched beside him, drove
along the river road after saying good-bye to Pearl, they met Miss
Barner, who had been digging ferns for Mrs. McGuire down on the river
flat.
The doctor drew in his horse.
"Miss Barner," he said, lifting his hat, "if Daniel Mulcahey Watson and
I should ask you to come for a drive with us, I wonder what you would
say?"
Miss Barner considered for a moment and then said, smiling:
"I think I would say, 'Thank you very much, Mr. Watson and Dr. Clay, I
shall be delighted to come if you have room for me.'"
Life had been easier for Mary Barner since Dr. Clay had come to
Millford. It was no longer necessary for her to compel her father to go
when he was sent for, and when patients came to the office, if she
thought her father did not know what he was doing, she got Dr. Clay to
check over the prescriptions.
It had been rather hard for Mary to ask him to do this, for she had a
fair share of her father's Scotch pride; but she had done too many hard
things in her life to hesitate now. The young doctor was genuinely glad
to serve her, and he made her feel that she was conferring, instead of
asking, a favour.
They drove along the high bank that fell perpendicularly to the river
below and looked down at the harvest scene that lay beneath them. The
air was full of the perfume of many flowers and the chatter of birds.
The Reverend Hugh Grantley drove swiftly by them, whereupon Danny made
his presence known for the first time by the apparently irrelevant
remark:
"I know who Miss Barner's fellow is! so I do."
Now if Dr. Clay had given Danny even slight encouragement, he would
have pursued the subject, and that might have saved complications in
the days to come.