AUNT HANNAH.
WITH a broken comb, which he used upon Snip’s hair as well as his own,
Seth concluded his toilet, and, neither the little woman nor the girl
having returned to the house, stood in the doorway gazing out upon as
peaceful a scene as a boy pursued by the officers of the law could
well desire to see.
On either hand ran the dusty road, not unlike a yellow ribbon upon a
cloth of green, and bordering it here and there were clumps of bushes
or groves of pine or of oak, as if planted for the especial purpose of
affording to the weary traveller a screen from the blinding sun.
The little farmhouse stood upon the height of a slight elevation from
which could be had a view of the country round about on either hand;
and although so near to the great city, there were no settlements,
villages, or towns to be seen.
Surely, the lad said to himself, he had at last arrived at “the
country,” and if all houses were as hospitable-looking, as cleanly,
and as inviting in appearance as was this one, then Pip Smith’s story
had in it considerably more than a grain of truth.
“It must be mighty nice to have money enough to live in a place like
this,” Seth said to himself. “It would please Snip way down to the
ground; but I mustn’t think of it, ’cause there’s no chance for a
feller like me to earn a livin’ here, an’ we can’t always count on
folks givin’ us what we need to eat.”
Then Aunt Hannah came out from the barn, carrying in one hand a
glistening tin pail filled with foaming milk, and in the other the
three-legged stool.
Seth ran toward her and held out his hand as if believing she would
readily yield at least a portion of her burden; but she shook her head
smiling.
“Bless your heart, my child, I ought to be able to carry one pail of
milk, seeing that I’ve done as much or more every day since I was
Gladys’s age.”
“But that’s no reason why I shouldn’t help along a little to make up
for your not bein’ mad ’cause Snip an’ me slept in the barn. Besides,
I’d like to say to the fellers that I’d carried as much milk as a
whole pail full once in my life—that is, if I ever see ’em again,” he
added with a sigh.
“Then you came from the city?”
“Yes, an’ I never got so far out in the country before. Say, it’s
mighty fine, ain’t it?” And as Aunt Hannah relinquished her hold on
the pail, Seth started toward the house without waiting for a reply to
his question.
After placing the stool bottom up by the side of the broad stone which
served as doorstep, the little woman called to Gladys:
“It’s time White-Face was taken to pasture, child.”
“Do you mean the cow?” Seth asked.
“Yes, dear.”
“Why can’t I take her to the pasture; that is, if you’ll tell me where
to find it?”
“Unfasten her chain, and she will show you the way. It’s only across
the road over yonder.”
Seth ran quickly to the barn, and having arrived at the doorway
through which Aunt Hannah disappeared when she went about the task of
milking, he halted in surprise and fear, looking at what seemed to him
an enormous beast with long, threatening horns, which she shook now
and then in what appeared to be a most vicious fashion.
Only once before had Seth ever seen an animal of this species, and
then it was when he and Pip Smith had travelled over to the Erie Yards
to see a drove of oxen taken from the cars to the abattoir.
It surely seemed very dangerous to turn loose such a huge beast; but
Seth was determined to perform whatsoever labor lay in his power, with
the idea that he might not be called upon to pay quite as much for
breakfast, and, summing up all his courage, he advanced toward the
cow.
She shook her head restively, impatient for the breakfast of sweet
grass, and he leaped back suddenly, frightened as badly of her as Aunt
Hannah had been of Snip.
Once more he made an attempt, and once more leaped back in alarm, this
time to be greeted with a peal of merry laughter, and a volley of
shrill barks from Snip, who probably fancied Seth stood in need of his
protection.
“Why did you jump so?” Gladys asked merrily.
Seth’s face reddened, and he stammered not a little in reply:
“I reckon that cow would make it kind’er lively for strangers,
wouldn’t he?”
“And you are really afraid of poor old White-Face? Why, she’s as
gentle as Snippey, though of course you couldn’t pet her so much.”
Then Gladys stepped boldly forward, and Snip whined and barked in a
perfect spasm of fear at being carried so near the formidable-looking
animal.
“Now, you are just as foolish as your master,” Gladys said with a
hearty laugh; but she allowed the dog to slip down from her arms, and
as he sought safety behind his master, she unloosened the chain from
the cow’s neck, leading her by the horn out of the barn.
Then it was that Snip plucked up courage to join the girl who had been
so kind to him, and Seth, thoroughly ashamed at having betrayed so
much cowardice, followed his example.
“I want to do something toward paying for my breakfast,” he said
hesitatingly; “but I never saw a cow before, and that one acted as if
he was up to mischief. I s’pose they’re a good deal like dogs—all
right after a feller gets acquainted with ’em.”
“Some cows are ugly, I suppose,” Gladys replied reflectively, taking
Snip once more in her arms as the little fellow hung back in alarm
when White-Face stopped to gather a tempting bunch of clover; “but
Aunt Hannah has had this one ever since she was a calf, and we two are
great friends. She’s a real well-behaved cow, an’ never makes any
trouble about going into pasture. There, she’s in now, and all we’ve
got to do is to put up the bars. By the time we get back breakfast
will be ready. Did you walk all the way from the city?”
There was no necessity for Seth to make a reply, because at this
instant an audacious wren flew past within a dozen inches of Snip’s
nose, causing him to spring from the girl’s arms in a vain pursuit,
which was not ended until the children were at the kitchen door.
The morning meal was prepared, and as Gladys drew out a chair to show
Seth where he should sit, Aunt Hannah asked anxiously:
“What does the dog do while you are eating?”
“You’ll see how well he can behave himself,” Snip’s master replied
proudly, as the little fellow laid down on the floor at a respectful
distance from the table.
Much to Seth’s surprise, instead of immediately beginning the meal,
the little woman bowed her head reverentially, Gladys following the
example, and for the first time in his life did the boy hear a
blessing invoked upon the food of which he was about to partake.
It caused him just a shade of uneasiness and perhaps awe, this
“prayin’ before breakfast” as he afterward expressed it while going
over the events of the day with Snip, and he did not feel wholly at
ease until the meal had well nigh come to an end.
Then the little woman gave free rein to her curiosity, by asking:
“Where are you going, my boy?”
“That’s what I don’t just know,” Seth replied, after a short pause.
“Pip Smith, he said the country was a terrible nice place to live in,
an’ when Snip an’ I had to come away, I thought perhaps we could find
a chance to earn some money.”
“Haven’t you any parents, or a home?” Aunt Hannah asked in surprise.
“I don’t s’pose I have. I did live over to Mr. Genet’s in Jersey City;
but he died, an’ I had to hustle for myself.”
“Had to what?” Aunt Hannah asked.
“Why, shinny ’round for money enough to pay my way. There ain’t much
of anything a feller like me can do but sell papers, an’ I don’t cut
any big ice at that, ’cause I can’t get ’round as fast as the other
boys.”
“Did you earn enough to provide you with food, and clothes, an’ a
place to sleep?”
“Well, sometimes. You see I ain’t flashin’ up very strong on clothes,
an’ Snip an’ I had a room down to Mother Hyde’s that cost us eighty
cents a week. We could most always get along, except sometimes when
there was a heavy storm an’ trade turned bad.”
“I suppose you became discouraged with that way of living?” the little
woman said reflectively.
“Well, it ain’t so awful swell; but then you can’t call it so terrible
bad. Perhaps some time I could have got money enough to start a
news-stand, an’ then I’d been all right, you know.”
“Why did you come into the country?”
“You see we had to leave mighty sudden, ’cause——”
Seth checked himself; he had been very near to explaining exactly why
he left New York so unceremoniously. Perhaps but for the “prayers
before breakfast” he might have told this kindly faced little woman
all his troubles; now, however, he did not care to do so, believing
she would consider he had committed a great crime in passing a lead
nickel, even though unwittingly.
Neither was he willing to tell so good a woman an absolute untruth,
and therefore held his peace; but the flush which had come into his
cheeks was ample proof to his hostess that in his life was something
which caused shame.
Aunt Hannah looked at him for an instant, and then as if realizing
that the scrutiny might cause him uneasiness, turned her eyes away as
she asked in a low tone:
“Do you believe it would be possible for you to find such work in the
country as would support you and the dog?”
“I don’t know anything about it, ’cause you see I never was in the
country before,” Seth replied, decidedly relieved by this change in
the subject of conversation. “Pip Smith thought there was milk an’
pies layin’ ’round to be picked up by anybody, an’ accordin’ to his
talk it seemed as if a feller might squeak along somehow. If I could
always have such a bed as I got last night, the rest of it wouldn’t
trouble a great deal.”
“But you slept in the barn!” Gladys cried.
“Yes; it was nicer than any room Mother Hyde’s got. Don’t boys like me
do something to earn money out this way?”
“The farmers’ sons find employment enough ’round home; but I don’t
think you would be able to earn very much, my boy.”
“I might strike something,” Seth said reflectively. “At any rate, Snip
an’ I’ll have to keep movin’.”
“Then you have no idea where you’re going?” And Aunt Hannah appeared
to be distressed in mind.
“I wish I did,” Seth replied with a sigh, and Gladys said quickly:
“You can’t keep walkin’ ’round all the time, for what will you do when
it rains?”
“Perhaps I might come across a barn, same’s I did last night.”
“And grow to be a regular tramp?”
“I wouldn’t be one if I was willin’ to work, would I? That’s all Snip
an’ me ask for now, is just a chance to earn what we’ll eat, an’ a
place to sleep.”
Aunt Hannah rose from the table quickly in apparently a preoccupied
manner, and the conversation was thus brought to an abrupt close.
Snip, who had already breakfasted most generously, scrambled to his
feet for another excursion into the wonderful fields where he might
chase butterflies to his heart’s content, and Seth lingered by the
open doorway undecided as to what he should say or do.
Gladys began removing the dishes from the table, Aunt Hannah assisting
now and then listlessly, as if her mind was far away; and after two or
three vain efforts Seth managed to ask:
“How much will I have to pay for breakfast an’ sleepin’ in the barn?”
“Why, bless your heart, my boy, I wouldn’t think of chargin’ anything
for that,” the little woman said, almost sharply.
“But we must pay our way, you know, though I ain’t got such a dreadful
pile of money. I don’t want folks to think we’re regular tramps.”
“You needn’t fear anything of that kind yet a while, but if it would
make you feel more comfortable in mind to do something toward payin’
for the food which has been freely given, you may try your hand at
clearin’ up the barn. Gladys an’ I aim to keep it cleanly; but even at
the best it doesn’t look as I would like to see it.”
Seth sat about this task with alacrity, although not knowing exactly
what ought to be done; but the boy who is willing to work and eager to
please will generally succeed in his efforts, even though he be
ignorant as to the proper method.
It was while working at that end of the barn nearest the house at a
time when Aunt Hannah and Gladys were standing at the open window
washing the breakfast dishes, that he overheard, without absolutely
intending to do so, a certain conversation not meant for his ears.
It is true he had no right to listen, and also true that the hum of
voices came to his ears several moments before he paid any attention
whatsoever, or made an effort to distinguish the words.
Then that which he heard literally forced him to listen for more.
It was Aunt Hannah who said, evidently in reply to a suggestion from
Gladys:
“It is a pity and a shame to see a child like that poor little lame
boy wandering about the country trying to find work, when he isn’t
fitted for anything of the kind. But how could we give him a home
here, my dear?”
“I am sure it wouldn’t cost you anything, Aunt Hannah. With three
spare rooms in the house and hardly ever a visitor to use one of them,
why couldn’t he have a bed here?”
“He can, my dear, and it’s my duty to give him a home, as I see
plainly; but you can’t imagine what a cross it will be for me to have
a boy and a dog around the old place. I have lived here alone so many
years, except after you came, that a new face, even though it be a
friendly one, disturbs me.”
“Surely you’d get used to him in a few days, and he’s a boy who tries
to do all he can in the way of helping.”
“I believe so, my dear, and, therefore, because it seems to be my
duty, I’m goin’ to ask him to stay, at least until he can find a
better home; but at the same time I hold that it will be a dreadful
cross for me to bear.”
Seth suddenly became aware that he was playing the part of a sneak by
thus listening; and although eager to hear more, turned quickly away,
busying himself at the opposite side of the barn, where it would not
be possible to play the eavesdropper in even so slight a degree.
Until now it had never come into his mind that this little woman,
whose home was so exceedingly inviting, might give him an opportunity
to remain, even for the space of twenty-four hours; but as it was thus
suggested, he realized how happy both he and Snip would be in such a
place, and believed he could ask for nothing more in this world if it
should be his good fortune to have an opportunity to stay.
There was little probability the officers of the law would find him
here, however rigorously the search might be continued, and it seemed
as if every day spent in such a household must be filled with
unalloyed pleasure.
He stopped suddenly in his work as the thought came that it had
already been decided he should have an invitation to remain, and a
great joy came into his heart just for an instant, after which he
forced it back resolutely, saying to himself:
“A feller who would bother a good woman like Aunt Hannah deserves to
be kicked. She’s made up her mind to give me a chance jest ’cause she
thinks it’s something that ought’er be done; but I ain’t goin’ to play
mean with her. It’s lucky I happened to hear what was said, else I’d
have jumped at the chance of stayin’ when she told me I might.”
At that moment Snip came into the barn eager to be petted by his
master, and wearied with the fruitless chase after foolish and
annoying birds.
“It’s tough on you, little man, ’cause a home like this is jest what
you’ve been achin’ for, an’ they’d be awful good to you,” Seth
whispered as he took the dog in his arms. “How would it be if I should
sneak off an’ leave you with ’em? I ought’er do it, Snippey dear; but
it would most break my heart to give up the only family I’ve got. An’
that’s where I’m mighty mean! You’d have a great time here, an’ by
stickin’ to me there ain’t much show for fun, unless things take a
terribly sudden turn.”
Snip licked his master’s chin by way of reply, and Seth pressed the
little fellow yet more closely, saying with what was very like a sob:
“I can’t do it, little man, I can’t do it! You must stick to me, else
I’ll be the lonesomest feller in all the world. We’ll hold on here a
spell, an’ then hustle once more. It must be we’ll find somebody
who’ll give us work, providin’ the detectives don’t nab me.”
Then he turned his attention once more to the task set him by Aunt
Hannah, and Snip sat on the threshold of the door watching his master
and snapping at the impudent sparrows, until Gladys came out with an
invitation for the dog to escort her to a neighbor’s house, where she
was forced to go with a message.
“I’ll take good care of him,” she called to Seth, as Snip ran on
joyously in advance, “and bring him back before you finish sweeping
the barn.”
“I’m not afraid of his comin’ to any harm while you keep an eye on
him; but I believe he’s beginnin’ to like you almost better’n he does
me,” Seth replied, with a shade of sorrow in his tone, whereat Gladys
laughed merrily.
Then the boy continued his work with a will, and ample evidence of his
labor was apparent when Aunt Hannah came out, looking very much like
the fairy godmothers of “once upon a time” stories, despite the
wrinkles on her placid face.
“It looks very neat,” she said approvingly. “I never would have
believed a boy could be so handy with a broom! Last spring I hired
William Dean, the son of a neighbor, to tidy up the barn and the yard;
but it looked worse when he had finished than before.”
“Have I earned the breakfast Snip and I ate?” Seth asked, pleased with
her praise.
“Indeed you have, child, although there was no reason for doing
anything of the kind. When we share with those who are less fortunate,
we are doing no more than our duty, an’ I don’t like to think that you
feel it necessary to pay for a mouthful of food.”
“It was the very nicest breakfast I ever had, Miss—Miss——”
“You may call me ‘Aunt Hannah,’ for I’m an aunt to all the children in
the neighborhood, accordin’ to their way of thinking. Would you be
contented to stay here for a while, my dear?”
“Indeed I would!” was the emphatic reply, and then Seth added,
remembering the conversation he had overheard: “That is, I would if I
could; but Snip an’ me have got to hunt for a chance to earn our
livin’, an’ it won’t do to think of loafin’ here, even though it is
such a fine place.”
Aunt Hannah smiled kindly and said, with a certain show of
determination, as if forcing herself to an unwelcome decision:
“You an’ the little dog shall stay for a while, my boy, and perhaps
you can find some kind of work nearabout; but if not, surely it won’t
increase my cost of living, for we’ll have a garden, which is what
I’m not able to attend to now I’ve grown so old. Why did you leave the
city, my child?”
Had it not been for that “praying before breakfast” Seth would have
invented some excuse for his flight; but now he could not bring
himself, as he gazed into the kindly eyes, either to utter a
deliberate falsehood or to make an equivocal reply.
“I’d like to tell you,” he said hesitatingly, after a long pause,
during which Aunt Hannah looked out across the meadow rather than at
him. “I’d like to tell you, but I can’t,” he repeated.
“I don’t believe you are a bad boy, Seth,” she said mildly, but
without glancing toward him.
The lad remained silent with downcast eyes, and when it seemed to him
as if many minutes had passed, the little woman added:
“Perhaps you will tell me after we are better acquainted. Gladys
declares, an’ I’ve come quite to her way of thinking, that you should
remain with us for a time. I don’t believe you could find work such as
would pay for your board and lodging, unless it was with an old woman
like me, and so we’re to consider you and Snip as members of the
family.”
Seth shook his head, feebly at first, for the temptation to accept the
invitation was very great, and then decidedly, as if the decision he
had arrived at could not be changed.
“Would you rather go away?” Aunt Hannah asked in surprise.
“No, I wouldn’t!” Seth cried passionately, the tears coming
dangerously near his eyelids. “I’d do anything in this world for the
sake of havin’ such a home as this; but all the same, Snip an’ I can’t
stay to bother you. We’ll leave when he comes back.”
“Listen to me, my child,” and now the little woman spoke with a degree
of firmness which sounded strangely from one so mild, “you are not to
go away this day, no matter what may be done later. We will talk about
my plan after dinner, and then perhaps you’ll feel like explaining why
you think it necessary to go further in search of work after I have
given you a chance to earn what you and the dog may need.”
Then Gladys’ voice was heard in the distance as she urged Snip on in
his pursuit of a butterfly, and Aunt Hannah went quickly into the
dwelling, leaving Seth gazing after her wistfully as he muttered:
“I never believed there was such a good woman in this world!”