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REELS AND SPINDLES
_A Story of Mill Life_
BY
EVELYN RAYMOND
AUTHOR OF "A DAUGHTER OF THE WEST," "A LITTLE LADY OF THE HORSE," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK T. MERRILL
[Illustration: Logo]
BOSTON AND CHICAGO
W. A. WILDE COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1900,
BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
REELS AND SPINDLES.
[Illustration: "SHE PULLED A BOOK FROM HER POCKET AND BEGAN TO READ."]
PREFACE.
It was love for others which made Amy Kaye make use of the first
opportunity which offered, even though it was an humble one and she was
handicapped by ignorance. But having once decided what course was right
for her, she followed it with a singleness of purpose and a thoroughness
of effort which brought a prompt success. The help she was to others was
no small part of this success. For in an age of shams and low ideals the
influence of even one sincere girl is far-reaching; and when to that
sincerity she adds the sympathy which makes another's interests as vital
to her as her own, this influence becomes incalculable for good.
It is the author's hope that the story of "Reels and Spindles" may aid
some young readers to comprehend and make their own this beauty of
simplicity and this charm of sympathy which are the outcome of
unselfishness.
E. R.
BALTIMORE, April 3, 1900.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A BYWAY OF THE ARDSLEY 11
II. THE MILL IN THE GLEN 23
III. FAIRACRES 33
IV. HALLAM 47
V. A KINSMAN OF THE HOUSE 60
VI. SETTLEMENTS 70
VII. THE "SPITE HOUSE" OF BAREACRE 82
VIII. NEEDS AND HELPERS 93
IX. THE WATERLOO OF BONAPARTE LAFAYETTE 105
X. HOME-MAKING 117
XI. THE YOUNG OLD MAN AND OLD YOUNG GIRL 130
XII. BAD NEWS FROM BURNSIDE 142
XIII. AMY PAYS A BUSINESS CALL 154
XIV. PEPITA FINDS A NEW HOME 167
XV. FACING HARD FACTS 181
XVI. AMY BEGINS TO SPIN 192
XVII. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF BALAAM 210
XVIII. THE FASCINATION OF INDUSTRY 224
XIX. MOTIVES AND MISUNDERSTANDINGS 236
XX. IN THE OLD HOME 248
XXI. A PECULIAR INVITATION 264
XXII. TWO WANDERERS RETURN 279
XXIII. FREDERIC KAYE'S WELCOME HOME 292
XXIV. FAIRACRES IS CLOSED 304
XXV. MYSTERIES AND MASTERIES 315
XXVI. A PICNIC IN THE GLEN 324
XXVII. A DOUBLE INHERITANCE IN A SINGLE DAY 333
XXVIII. ONE WONDERFUL AUTUMN DAY 345
XXIX. CONCLUSION 363
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"She pulled a book from her pocket and began to
read" _Frontispiece_ 12
"'Take care! You'll drop sperm on the rug, tipping
that candlestick so!'" 68
"'Then I'm glad, glad that you are to have Pepita'" 173
"She so gently manipulated the swollen ankle and bound
it with the lotions" 262
"He began to gather up the coins" 334
REELS AND SPINDLES.
CHAPTER I.
A BYWAY OF THE ARDSLEY.
The white burro had a will of her own. So, distinctly, had her mistress.
As had often happened, these two wills conflicted.
For the pair had come to a point where three ways met. Pepita wanted to
ascend the hill, by a path she knew, to stable and supper. Amy wished to
follow a descending road, which she did not know, into the depths of the
forest. Neither inclined toward the safe middle course, straight onward
through the village, now picturesque in the coloring of a late September
day.
"No, Pepita. You must obey me. If I'm not firm this time, you'll act
worse the next. To the right, amiable beastie!"
Both firmness and sarcasm were wasted. The burro rigidly planted her
forefeet in the dust and sorrowfully dropped her head.
Amy tugged at the bridle.
"Pepita! To--the--right! Go on. In your native Californian--_Vamos!_"
The "Californian" budged not, but posed, an image of dejection. The
happiness of life had departed; the tale of her woe seemed pictured in
every hair of her thickly coated body; she was a broken-hearted donkey.
Amy Kaye was neither broken-hearted nor broken-spirited, and she was
wholly comfortable. Her saddle was soft and fitted well. The air was
delightful. She pulled a book from her pocket and began to read. In five
minutes she was so absorbed that she had forgotten Pepita's little
mannerisms.
After a while the "Californian" moved her head just enough to gain a
corner-wise glimpse of a calm and unresponsive face beneath a scarlet
Tam; and evidently realizing that she had become a mere support to the
maid who owned her, uttered her protest.
"Bra-a-ay! Ah-umph! Ah-umph--umph--mph--ph--h!"
Amy read on.
Pepita changed her tactics. She began to double herself together in a
fashion disconcerting to most riders; whereupon Amy simply drew her own
limbs up out of harm's way and waited for the burro's anatomy to settle
itself in a heap on the ground.
"All right, honey."
Then she resumed her book, and the beast her meditations. Thus they
remained until the rumble of an approaching wagon caused the now
submissive animal to rise and move aside out of the road.
Again Amy tested the bridle, and found that she might now ride whither
she pleased.
"Is it so, beloved? Well, then, that's right; and when you do right
because I make you, it is one lump of sugar. Open your mouth. Here. But,
Pepita, when you do right without compulsion, there are always two
lumps. Into the forest--go!"
Pepita went. Suddenly, swiftly, and so recklessly that Amy nearly slid
over her head.
"Very well! What suits you suits me. I'm as good a sticker-on as you are
a shaker-off. Besides, a word in your ear. It would be quite the proper,
story-book sort of thing for you to try and break my neck, as a
punishment, since I'm almost running away."
Though she had always lived within a few miles of the spot the girl had
never before visited it. That she did so now, without knowledge of
anybody at home, gave her a sense of daring, almost of danger, as new as
it was fascinating. True, she had not been forbidden, simply because
nobody had thought of her wandering so far afield; yet the habit of her
life had been such as to make anything out of the common seem strange,
even wrong.
"However, since I'm here, I'll see what there is to see and tell them
all about it afterward--that is, if they will care to hear," she ended
her remark to the burro with a sigh, and for a bit forgot her
surroundings. Then she rallied, and with the spirit of an explorer,
peered curiously into all the delightful nooks and corners which
presented; not observing that the road grew steadily more steep and
rough, nor that Pepita's feet slipped and stumbled, warningly, among the
loose stones, which were so hidden by fallen leaves that Amy could not
see them. Along the sides, seasoning at convenient intervals, were rows
of felled timber, gay with a summer's growth of woodbine and clematis,
now ripened to scarlet and silvery white.
Amy was an artist's daughter. At every turn her trained eye saw
wonderful "bits" of pictures, and she exclaimed to Pepita:--
"If father were only here! See that great rock with its gray-green
lichens and its trailing crimson tendrils! Just that on a tiny canvas,
say six by eight or, even, eight by twelve, how it would brighten
mother's room!"
The "Californian" kicked the leaves impatiently. She had no eye for
"bits" of anything less material than sugar, and she had long since
finished her one lump; she was tired of travelling in the wrong
direction, with her head much lower than her heels, and she suddenly
stopped.
It was quite time. Another step forward would have sent them tobogganing
into a brawling stream. With a shiver of fear Amy realized this.
"O-oh! Oh! You knew best, after all! You wouldn't come till I made you;
and now--how shall we get out! Hark! What's that?"
The burro had already pricked up her ears. There was a shout from
somewhere.
Amy managed to slide off and fling herself flat against the slope. When
she tried to climb back to a less dangerous spot the twigs she clutched
broke in her hands and the rocks cut her flesh. The adventure which had
been fascinating was fast becoming frightful.
"Hil-loa! Hil-l-loa!"
Clinging desperately to the undergrowth, she managed to move her head
and look down. Far below in the ravine somebody was waving a white
cloth.
"Hilloa, up there!"
She was too terrified to speak; yet, after the salute had reached her
several times, she dared to loose one hand and wave a returning signal.
"You--just--hold on! I'll come--and get--you!"
As "holding on" was all that either Amy or Pepita could do just then,
they obeyed, perforce; although, presently, the burro had scrambled to a
narrow ledge, whence she could see the whole descent and from which, if
left to herself, she would doubtless have found a way into the valley.
They clung and waited for so long that the girl grew confused; then
tried to rally her own courage by addressing the "Californian."
"It's so--so absurd--I mean, awful! If that man doesn't come soon, I
shall surely fall. My fingers ache so, and I'm slipping.
I--am--slipping! Ah!"
Fortunately, her rescuer was near. He had worked his way upward on all
fours, his bare feet clinging securely where shoe-soles would have been
useless. He approached without noise, save of breaking twigs, until he
was close beside them, when Pepita concluded it was time to bid him
welcome.
"Br-r-r-ray! A-humph! A-humph--umph--mph--ph--h!"
The climber halted suddenly.
"Sho-o!"
Also startled, Amy lost her hold and shot downward straight into the
arms of the stranger, who seized her, croaking in her ear:--
"Hilloa! What you up to? Can't you wait a minute?"
Then, with a strong grasp of her clothing, he wriggled himself sidewise
along the bank to a spot where the rock gave place to earth and shrubs.
"Now catch your breath and let her go!"
The girl might have screamed, but she had no time. Instantly, she was
again sliding downward, with an ever-increasing momentum, toward
apparent destruction, yet landing finally upon a safe and mossy place;
past which, for a brief space, the otherwhere rough stream flowed
placidly. She caught the hum of happy insects and the moist sweet odor
of growing ferns, then heard another rush and tumble. But she was as yet
too dazed to look up or realize fresh peril, before Pepita and the other
stood beside her.
"Sho! That beats--huckleberries!"
Amy struggled to her feet. She had never heard a voice like that, which
began a sentence with mighty volume and ended it in a whisper. She
stared at the owner curiously, and with a fresh fear. "He looks as queer
as his voice," she thought.
She was right. His physique was as grotesque as his attire; which
consisted of a white oilskin blouse, gayly bordered with the national
colors, trousers of the most aggressive blue, and a helmet-shaped hat,
adorned by a miniature battle-axe, while a tiny broom was strapped upon
his shoulders.
"Huh! pretty, ain't I? The boys gave 'em to me."
"Did--they?"
"Yes. You needn't be scared. I shan't hurt you. I'm a Rep-Dem-Prob."
"Ah, indeed?"
"Yes. I march with the whole kerboodle. I tell you, it's fun."
It was "Presidential year," and Amy began to understand, not only that
the lad before her was a "natural," but, presumably, that he had been
made the victim of village wit. She had heard of the "marching bands,"
and inferred that the strange dress of her rescuer was made up by
fragments from rival political uniforms.
"Yes. I'm out every night. Hurrah for Clevey-Harris!"
"You must get very tired."
"No. It's fun. I drag the gun carriage. That's on account o' my
strength. Look a' there for an arm!" And he thrust out his illy
proportioned limb with a pitiable pride.
"I see. But now that you've helped me down the bank, will you as kindly
show me the way home?"
"Never slid that way before, did you? Only thing, though. I'll show you
all right if you'll let me ride your donkey. Funny, ain't she? Make her
talk."
"I think she's very pretty; and you may ride her, certainly, if she will
let you."
A puzzled and angry expression came over the youth's face as he looked
toward the burro, who had already begun to make hay for herself out of
the lush grasses bordering the Ardsley.
"Make her talk, I say."
"She'll do that only to please herself. She's rather self-willed, and
besides--"
"Who do _you_ march with?"
"March? _March!_ I?"
"Yes."
"Why, nobody. Of course not. Why should you think it?"
The lad scrutinized her dress and gazed abstractedly upon the white
"Californian." Just then, a "parade" was the dominant idea in the poor
fellow's limited intelligence. Amy's simple white flannel frock, with
its scarlet sash, and the scarlet cap upon her dark curls, suggested
only another "uniform." The girls with whose appearance he was familiar
were not so attired.
Neither did they ride upon white donkeys. Yet a donkey of venerable and
unhappy appearance did nightly help to swell the ranks of the country's
patriots, and the beast which he knew enjoyed a sort of honor: it drew
an illuminated "float" wherein rode a greatly envied fifer.
"What makes you ask that?" again demanded Amy, now laughing; for she had
just imagined what her mother's face would express, should her daughter
become a part of a "parade."
"Oh! because."
Pepita now took share in the conversation. "Br-r-rr-a-y! Ah-huh-um-umph!
Ah-umph--u-m-ph--ah-umph--umph--mph--ph--h-h-h!" she observed.
Never was a remark more felicitous. The lad threw himself down on the
grass, laughing boisterously. Amy joined, in natural reaction from her
former fear, and even the "Californian" helped on the fun by observing
them with an absurdly injured expression.
"She is funny, I admit; though she is as nothing compared to her
brother Balaam. If you like that kind of music, you should hear their
duet about breakfast time. Which is the shortest way to some real road?"
"Come on. I'll show you."
"Thank you; and, you are so tall, would you mind getting me that bunch
of yellow leaves--just there? They are so very, very lovely I'd like to
take them home to put in father's studio."
"What's that? Where's it at? Who are you, anyhow?"
"Amy Kaye."
"I'm 'Bony,'--Bonaparte Lafayette Jimpson. Who's he?"
"My father is Cuthbert Kaye, the artist. Maybe you know him. He is
always discovering original people."
The speech was out before she realized that it was not especially
flattering. Her father liked novel models, and she had imagined how her
new acquaintance would look as a "study." Then she reflected that the
lad was not as pleasing as he was "original."
"No. I don't know him. He don't live in the village, I 'low?"
"Of course not. We live at Fairacres. It has been our home, our family's
home, for two hundred years."
"Sho! You don't look it. An' you needn't get mad, if it has. I ain't
made you mad, have I? I'd like to ride that critter. I'd like to, first
rate."
Amy flushed, ashamed of her indignation against such an unfortunate
object, and replied:--
"I'd like to have you 'first rate,' too, if Pepita is willing. You get
on her back and show me which way to go, and I'll try to make her behave
well. I have some sugar left. That turning? All right. See, Pepita,
pretty Pepita! Smell what's in my fingers, amiable. Then follow me, and
we'll see what--we shall see."
"Bony" was much impressed by Amy's stratagem of walking ahead of the
burro with the lump of sugar held temptingly just beyond reach. For the
girl knew that the "Californian" would pursue the enticing titbit to the
sweetest end.
Yet this end seemed long in coming. For more than a mile their path lay
close to the water's edge, through bogs and upon rocks, over rough and
smooth, with the bluff rising steeply on their right and the stream
preventing their crossing to the farm lands on its left. But at length
they emerged upon a wider level and a view that was worth walking far to
see.
Here the lad dismounted. He was so much too large for the beast he
bestrode that he had been obliged to hold his feet up awkwardly, while
riding. Besides, deep in his clouded heart there had arisen a desire to
please this girl who so pleased him.
"Hmm. If you like leaves, there's some that's pretty," he said, pointing
upward toward a brilliant branch, hanging far out above the stream.
"Yes, those are exquisite, but quite out of reach. We can get on faster
now; and tell me, please, what are all those buildings yonder? How
picturesque they look, clustered amid the trees on the river's bank."
Her answer was a rustle overhead. She fancied that a squirrel could not
have climbed more swiftly; for, glancing up, she discovered the witless
youth already upon the projecting branch, moving toward its slender
tips, which swayed beneath his weight, threatening instant breakage.
Below him roared the rapids, hurrying to dash over the great dam not
many yards away.
"Oh! how dare you? Come back--at once!"
"Scare you, do I? Sho! This is nothing. You just ought to see what I can
do. Catch 'em. There you are. That's prettier than any. Hello! Yonder's
a yellow-robin's nest. Wait. I'll get it for you!"
Amy shut her eyes that she might not see; though she could not but hear
the snapping of boughs, the yell, and the heavy splash which followed.