Being kept indoors by the rain was not altogether a privation. At least,
the three girls staying at the Big House did not find it such.
They became acquainted with Mammy Dilsey during that first day of rain.
At least, the girls from the North did; Nettie had been a pet of the old
woman for years.
Dilsey was full of old-time stories--just such stories as were calculated
to enthrall girls of the age of Ruth Fielding and her friends. For even
Ruth, with all her good sense and soberness, loved to hear of pretty
ladies, in pretty frocks, and with beautifully dressed gentlemen dancing
attendance upon them, such as in the old times often filled Merredith
House.
Mammy Dilsey insisted she could remember when men really dressed in
satin and lace, and wore wonderfully fluted shirt-bosoms, and fine linen
and broadcloth. The pre-Civil War ladies, of course, with their
crinolines, and tiny bonnets, and enormous shade-hats must have looked
really beautiful. The girls listened to the tales of the parties at the
Big House almost breathlessly.
"An' dat time de Gov'nor come--de _two_ Gov'nors come," sighed Mammy
Dilsey. "De Gov'nor ob No'th Ca'lina an' de Gov'nor ob So'th Ca'lina----"
"I know what they _said_ to each other--those two governors," interrupted
Helen, her eyes dancing. "My father told me."
"I dunno wot dey _said_," said Mammy Dilsey, who did not know the old
joke. "But I sho' knows how dey _looked_. Dey was bof such big,
upstandin' sort o' men. My-oh-my! Ah tells yo', chillen, dey was a big
_breed_ o' men in dese pahts in dem days--sho' was.
"Ma Miss Rachel, she been a li'le tinty gal in dem days. Ah car's her in
ma arms 'mos' de time. Her maw was weakly-like. An' I could walk up an'
down de end o' dis big verandah wid dat mite ob a baby, an' see all dat
went on.
"My-oh-my! de splendid car'ages, an' de beautiful horses, an' de fine
ladies an' gemmen--dere nebber'll be nothin' like it fo' ol' Mammy Dilsey
t' see ag'in twill she gits t' dat Hebenly sho' an' see dat angel band
wot de Good Book talks about."
Incidents of this great party at the Merredith plantation, and of other
famous entertainments there, were still as fresh in Mammy Dilsey's mind
as the occurrences of yesterday.
"Oh, goodness," sighed Helen, "there never will be any fun for girls
again. And nowadays the boys only care to go to baseball games, or to go
hunting and fishing. They refuse to come at _our_ beck and call as they
used to in these times Mammy Dilsey tells about."
"I guess we make _ourselves_ too much like _them_selves," laughed Ruth.
"That's why the boys of to-day are different. If chivalry is dead, we
women folks have killed it."
"I don't see why," pouted Helen.
"Oh, my dear!" cried her chum. "You want to have your cake and eat it,
too. It can't be done. If we girls want the boys to be gallant and dance
attendance on us, and cater to our whims--as they certainly did in our
grandmothers' days--we must not be rough and ready friends with them:
play golf, tennis, swim, run, bat balls, and--and talk slang--the equal of
our boy friends in every particular."
"You're so funny, Ruthie," laughed Nettie.
"Lecture by Miss Ruth Fielding, the famous woman's rights advocate,"
groaned Helen.
"I am not sure I advocate it, my dear," sighed Ruth. "'I, too, would
love and live in Arcady.'"
"Goodness! hear her exude sentiment," gasped Helen. "Who ever thought to
live till _that_ wonder was born?"
"Maybe, after all, Ruth has the right idea," said Nettie, timidly. "My
cousin Mapes says that he finds lots of girls who are 'good fellows';
but that when he marries he doesn't want to marry a 'good fellow,' but a
_wife_."
"Horrid thing!" Helen declared. "I don't like your cousin Mapes,
Nettie."
"I am not sure that a girl might not, after all, fill your cousin's
'bill of particulars,' if she would," Ruth said, laughing. "'Friend
Wife' can still be a good comrade, and darn her husband's socks. I
guess, after all, not many young fellows would want to marry the kind of
girl his grandmother was."
The trio of girls did not spend all their rainy hours with Mammy Dilsey,
or in such discussions as the above. Besides, now and then the sun broke
through the clouds and then the whole world seemed to steam.
The girls had the big porch to exercise upon, and as soon as it promised
any decided change in the weather there were plans for new activities.
Across the river was a place called Holloways--actually a small island.
It was quite a resort in the summer, there being a hotel and several
cottages, occupied by Georgetown and Charleston people through the hot
season.
Mrs. Parsons thought that her young guests would become woefully lonely
and "fair ill of Merredith," if they did not soon have some social
diversion, so it was planned to go to Holloways to the weekend "hop"
held by the hotel guests and cottagers.
This was nothing like a public dance. Mrs. Parsons would not have
approved of that. But the little coterie of hotel guests and the
neighbors arranged very pleasant parties which the mistress of the
Merredith plantation was not averse to her young folks attending.
As it happened, she herself could not go. A telegram from her lawyers in
Charleston called Mrs. Parsons to the city only a few hours before the
time set for the party to start for Holloways.
"Now, listen!" cried Aunt Rachel. "You girls shall not be
disappointed--no, indeed! Mrs. Holloway will herself act as your chaperon
and will take good care of you. We should remain at her hotel over
night, in any case."
"But we won't have half so much fun if you don't go, Mrs. Parsons,"
Helen said.
"Nonsense! nonsense! what trio of girls was ever enamored of a strict
duenna like me?" and Mrs. Parsons laughed. "I'll send one of the boys on
ahead with a note to Mrs. Holloway to look out for you and Jeffreys will
drive you over and come after you to-morrow noon. I believe in girls
sleeping till noon after a party."
"But how are you going to the station, Aunt Rachel?" cried Nettie.
"I'll ride Nordeck. And John shall ride after me and bring the horse
back. Now, scatter to do your own primping, girls, and let Mammy Dilsey
'tend to me."
In half an hour Mrs. Parsons was off--such need was there for haste. She
went on horseback with a single retainer, as she said, riding at her
heels. Although the weather appeared to have cleared permanently, the
creeks were up and Mr. Lomaine reported the river already swollen.
Mrs. Parsons had been wise to ride horseback; a carriage might not have
got safely through some of the fords she would be obliged to cross
between the plantation and the railroad station.
On the other hand, the girls bound for Holloways were not likely to be
held back, for there were bridges instead of fords. All in their party
finery, Ruth and Helen and Nettie started away from the Big House in the
roomy family carriage, and with them went Norma, Nettie's own little
colored maid, with her sewing kit and extra wraps.
The road to the bridge which spanned the wide river led directly past
the cotton warehouse. Ruth had not been there since her conversation
with Mr. Jimson; but the warehouse boss had sent her word twice that
Curly Smith seemed to be contented and desired to remain.
Both of the Northern girls were extremely anxious to see the boy from
Lumberton. Ruth looked every day, now, for a letter from Mrs. Sadoc
Smith; and she hoped the stern old woman would relent and ask her
grandson to return.
The river was, as Mr. Lomaine had said, very high. The brown, muddy
current was littered with logs, uprooted trees, fence rails, pig-pens,
hen houses, and other light litter wrenched from the banks during the
last few days. Ruth said it looked quite as angry as the Lumano, at the
Red Mill, when there was a flood.
Jeffreys had brought the carriage to a full stop on the bank overlooking
the stream and the warehouse. The water surged almost level with the
shipping platform. There had been a reason for Mr. Jimson's shifting all
the cotton in storage to the upper end of the huge building. He had
foreseen this rain and feared a flood.
Suddenly, just as Jeffreys was about to drive on, Helen uttered a
scream, and pointed to a drifting hencoop.
"See! See that poor thing!" she cried.
"What's the matter now, honey?" asked Nettie. "I don't see anything."
"On the roof of that coop," Ruth said quickly espying what her chum saw.
"The poor cat!"
"Where is there a cat?" cried Nettie, anxiously. She was a little
near-sighted and could not focus her gaze upon the small object on the
raft as quickly as the chums from the North.
"Dear me, Nettie!" cried Helen, in exasperation. "If you met a bear he'd
have to bite you before you'd know he was there."
"Never mind," drawled the Southern girl, "I am not being chased and
knocked down by deer----Oh! I see the poor kitty."
"I should hope you did!" Helen said. "And it's going to be drowned!"
"No, no," Ruth said. "I hope not. Can't it be brought ashore? See! that
coop is swinging into an eddy."
"Well, Ruthie Fielding!" cried Helen, "you're not going to jump
overboard in your party dress, and try to get that poor cat, I should
hope!"
"There's a boy who can get her!" exclaimed Nettie, standing up in the
carriage, and being able to see well enough to espy a figure on a small
raft down by the loading dock.
"Oh, Nettie! ask him to try!" gasped Ruth.
"Hey, boy!" called Nettie. "Can't you save that poor cat for us?"
The boy turned, and both Ruth and Helen recognized the curly head--if not
the shockingly ragged garments--of Henry Smith. He waved a reassuring
hand and pushed off from the platform.
Mr. Jimson came running from the interior of the warehouse and shouted
after him.
"There! I hope we haven't got him into more trouble," mourned Ruth.
"And he can't get the cat," wailed Helen, in a moment. "The current is
taking the raft clear out into midstream."
Curly was working vigorously with the single sweep, however, and he
finally brought the cumbersome craft to the edge of the eddy where the
hencoop with its frightened passenger whirled under the high bank.
"Yo' kyant git that cat, you fool boy!" bawled Jimson. "And yo'll lose
my raft."
"Oh, Mr. Jimson!" cried Nettie. "We do want him to save that cat if he
can."
"But he'll lose a mighty good oar, an' that raft," complained the boss.
"Never mind," said Nettie, firmly. "You can make another oar and another
raft. But how are you going to make another cat?"
"I'll be whip-sawed!" exclaimed the long and lanky man. "Who ever heard
the like of that? There's enough cats come natcher'lly without nobody's
wantin' t' make none."
The girls laughed at this, but they were anxious about the cat. And, the
next moment, they began to be anxious about the boy.
Curly threw away the oar and plunged right into the eddy. He had little
clothing on, and no shoes, so he was not greatly trammeled in swimming
to the drifting hencoop. But once there, how would he get the cat
ashore?
However, the boy went about his task in quite a manful manner. He
climbed up, got one arm hooked over the roof and reached for the wet and
frightened cat. The poor creature was so despairing that she could not
even use her claws in defense, and Curly pulled her off her perch and
set her on his shoulder.
There she clung trembling, and when Curly let himself down into the
water again she only uttered a wailing, "Me-e-ou!" and did not try to
scratch him. He struck out for the shore, keeping his shoulders well out
of the water, and after a fight of a minute or two, brought the cat to
land.
Once within reach of the land, the cat leaped ashore and darted into the
bushes; while Jimson helped the breathless Curly to land.
"There! yo' reckless creatuah!" exclaimed the man. "I've seen folks
drown in a current no worse than that. Stan' up an' make yo' bow t' Miss
Nettie, here," and he turned to Nettie, who had got out of the carriage
in her interest.
Ruth and Helen stayed back. They did not wish to thrust themselves on
the notice of Curly Smith. Nettie told Jimson to see that the saturated
boy had a new outfit.
"And don't let him get away till Aunt Rachel returns from Charleston and
sees him. She'll want to do something for him, I know," she added.
The boy glanced shyly up at the girls and suddenly caught sight of Ruth
and Helen in the background. Like a shot he wheeled and ran into the
bushes.
"Oh! catch him!" gasped Ruth. "Don't let him run away, Mr. Jimson."
"He's streakin' it for my shack, I reckon," said the boss. "Mis
Jimson'll find him some old duds of mine to put on."
"But maybe he won't come back," said Helen, likewise anxious.
"Ya-as he will. I ain't paid him fo' his wo'k here," chuckled Jimson.
"He'll stay a while longah. Don't fret about that."
Nettie got back into the carriage, which went on toward the bridge. As
they crossed the long span the girls saw that the current was roaring
between the piers and that much rubbish was held upstream by the bridge.
The bridge shook under the blows of the logs and other debris which
charged against it.
"My! this is dangerous!" cried Helen. "Suppose the bridge should give
way?"
"Then we would not get home very easily," laughed Nettie.
It was not a laughing matter, however, when they came later to the
shorter span that bridged the back water between the island where the
hotel was situated, and the shore of the river. Here the rough current
was level with the plank flooring of the bridge, and as the carriage
rattled over, the girls could feel that the planks were almost ready to
float away.
"We'll be marooned on this island," said Ruth, "if the water rises much
higher."
"Who cares?" laughed Nettie, to whom it was all an exciting adventure
and nothing more. With all her natural timidity she did not look ahead
very far.
Jeffreys and the footman were in a hurry to get back. The instant the
girls and their little maid got out at the hotel steps, the coachman
turned the horses and hastened away.
A little, smiling woman in a trailing gown came down the steps to
welcome the party from Merredith. "I am Mrs. Holloway," she said. "I am
glad to see you, girls. Jake reached here about an hour ago and said
Mrs. Parsons could not come. It is to be deplored; but it need not
subtract any from your pleasure on the occasion.
"Come in--do," she added. "I will show you to your rooms."