By Elsie Singmaster
KATY GAUMER. Illustrated.
GETTYSBURG. Illustrated.
WHEN SARAH WENT TO SCHOOL. Illustrated.
WHEN SARAH SAVED THE DAY. Illustrated.
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
KATY GAUMER
[Illustration: (p. 334)
"IT'S BEAUTIFUL UP HERE, ISN'T IT, KATY?"]
KATY GAUMER
BY
ELSIE SINGMASTER
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1915
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY THE CENTURY COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY ELSIE SINGMASTER LEWARS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published February 1915_
CONTENTS
I. THE GREAT NEWS 1
II. THE BELSNICKEL 17
III. THE GREAT MAN 32
IV. THE KOEHLERS' CHRISTMAS DAY 49
V. ANOTHER CHRISTMAS DAY 63
VI. THE MILLERSTOWN SCHOOL 88
VII. THE BEE CURE 105
VIII. WILLIAM KOEHLER MAKES HIS ACCUSATION FOR
THE LAST TIME 124
IX. CHANGE 143
X. KATY MAKES A PROMISE 153
XI. KATY FINDS A NEW AIM IN LIFE 159
XII. KATY BORROWS SO THAT SHE MAY LEND 169
XIII. EMPTINESS 192
XIV. KATY PLANS HER LIFE ONCE MORE 204
XV. AN OLD WAY OUT OF A NEW TROUBLE 219
XVI. BEVY PUTS A HEX ON ALVIN 235
XVII. ALVIN DOES PENANCE AND IS SHRIVEN 254
XVIII. A SILVER CHALICE 267
XIX. THE SQUIRE AND DAVID TAKE A JOURNEY BY NIGHT 281
XX. THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 300
XXI. THE SQUIRE AND DAVID TAKE A JOURNEY BY DAY 306
XXII. KATY IS TO BE EDUCATED AT LAST 321
NOTE.--The first two chapters were published as
a short story under the title of "The Belsnickel"
in the _Century Magazine_ for January, 1911.
KATY GAUMER
CHAPTER I
THE GREAT NEWS
EVERY Wednesday evening in winter Katy Gaumer went to the Millerstown
post-office for her grandfather's "Welt Bote," the German paper which
circulated among the Pennsylvania Germans of Millerstown. By six o'clock
she and Grandfather Gaumer and Grandmother Gaumer had had supper; by
half past six she had finished drying the dishes; by half past seven she
had learned her lessons for the next day; and then, a scarlet shawl
wrapped about her, a scarlet "nubia" on her head, scarlet mittens on her
hands, Katy set forth into Millerstown's safe darkness.
Sometimes--oh, the thrill that closed her throat and ran up and down her
spine and set her heart to throbbing and her eyes to dancing at sound of
that closed door!--sometimes it rained and she pushed her way out into
the storm as a viking might have pushed his boat from the shore into an
unfriendly sea; sometimes it snowed and she lifted her hot face so that
she might feel the light, cold flakes against her cheek; sometimes deep
drifts lay already on the ground and she flung herself upon them or into
them; sometimes she danced back to say a second good-bye so that she
might enjoy her freedom once more; sometimes she stole round under the
tall pine trees and knocked ponderously at the door, knowing perfectly
well that her grandmother and grandfather would only smile at each other
and not stir.
Sometimes she crossed the yard in snow to her knees to rap against the
kitchen window of Bevy Schnepp, who kept house for Great-Uncle Gaumer,
the squire. Bevy's real name was Maria Snyder, but Katy had renamed her
for one of the mythical characters of whom Millerstown held foolish
discourse, and the village had adopted the title. Bevy was little and
thin and a powerful worker. She was cross with almost every one in the
world, even with Katy whom she adored and spoiled. There was a tradition
in Millerstown that she was once about to be married, but that at the
ceremony her spirit rebelled. When the preacher asked her whether she
would obey, she cried out aloud, "By my soul, no!" and the match was
thereupon broken off. Bevy adorned her speech with many proverbs, and
she had an abiding faith in pow-wowing, and also in spooks, hexahemeron
cats, and similar mysterious creatures. She had named the squire's dog
"Whiskey" so that he could not be bewitched. She would as soon have
thrown her cabbage plants away as to have planted them in any other
planetary sign than that of the Virgin. She belonged, strangely enough,
to a newly established religious sect in Millerstown, that of the
Improved New Mennonites, who had no relation to the long-established
worthy followers of Menno Simons in other parts of the Pennsylvania
German section. It is difficult to understand how Bevy reconciled her
belief in the orthodox if sensational preaching of the Reverend Mr. Hill
with her use of such superstitious rhymes as
"Dulix, ix, ux,
Thou comest not over Pontio,
Pontio is over Pilato"--
to which she had recourse when trouble threatened.
Sometimes Katy untied "Whiskey" and they scampered wildly, crazily away
together. Katy did everything in the same unthinking, impetuous way.
Both she and Whiskey were young, both were irresponsible, both were
petted, indulged, and entirely care-free. Katy was the orphan child of
her grandparents' Benjamin; it was not strange that they could deny her
nothing. Of her mother and father she had no recollection; to her
grandparents she owed anything she might now be or might become.
To-night there was no snow upon the ground. The stars shone crisply; in
the west the young moon was declining; though it was December, the
season seemed more like autumn than like winter. Millerstown lay still
and lovely under its leafless trees; not in the quiet of perpetual
drowsiness,--Millerstown was stirring enough by day!--but in repose
after the day's labor and excitement. To the east of the village the
mountain rose somberly; to the south the pike climbed a hill toward the
church and the school-house; to the west and north lay the wide fields.
To the north might be seen the dim bulk of the blast furnace with the
great starlike light of the bleeder flame.
"I wonder what it looks like now from the top of the mountain,"
soliloquized Katy. "I would like to climb once in the dark night to the
Sheep Stable. I wonder if it is any one in all Millerstown brave enough
to go along in the dark. I wonder what the church looks like inside
without any light. I wonder--"
Awed by the quiet, Katy stood still under the pine trees at the gate.
She heard Whiskey whine to be let loose; she heard Bevy open the door of
the squire's kitchen.
"Katy, Katy Gaumer! Come here once, Katy Gaumer!"
Katy did not answer. Bevy had probably a cake for her or some molasses
candy; she could just as well put it in the putlock hole in the wall of
grandfather's house. A putlock hole is an aperture left by the removal
of a scaffolding. It is supposed to be filled in, but either the builder
of the old stone house had overlooked one of the openings, or the stone
placed there had fallen out. It now made a fine hiding-place for Katy's
treasures.
Katy had at this moment no time to give to Bevy. Her heart throbbed, her
hands clutched the gate. She did not know why she was always so thrilled
and excited when she was out alone at night.
"It is like Bethlehem," she whispered to herself, as she looked down the
street, then up at the sky. "The shepherds might be watching or the
kings might come."
Katy opened the gate.
"I love Millerstown," she declared. "I love Millerstown. I love
everybody and everything in Millerstown."
The post-office was next to the store and on the same street as
Grandfather Gaumer's. There are only three streets in the village, Main
Street and Locust and Church, and all the houses are built out to the
pavement in the Pennsylvania German fashion, so that the little
settlement does not cover much ground. Perhaps that was why Katy,
leaving Main Street and starting forth on Locust, came so soon to the
end of her spasm of affection. There did not seem to be enough of the
village to warrant any such fervent outpouring. At any rate, Katy's mood
changed.
"I am tired of Millerstown," she declared with equal fervor. "It is
dumb. It is quiet. Nothing ever happens in this place."
The residents of Locust Street were especially dull to Katy's thinking.
Dumb Coonie Schnable lived here and dumb Ellie Schindler, and Essie
Hill, whom she hated. Essie was the daughter of the pastor of the
Improved New Mennonites, of whom Bevy Schnepp was one. The preacher
himself was tall and angular and rather blank of countenance, but Essie
was small and pretty and pink and smooth of speech and by no means
"dumb." Once, being a follower of her father's religious practices,
Essie had risen in school and had prayed for forgiveness for Katy's
outrageous impudence to the teacher, and had thereupon become his
favorite forever. That Essie could really be what she seemed, that she
could like to hear her father shout about the Millerstown sinners, that
she could admire the silly, short-back sailor hat adorned with a Bible
verse, which was the head-covering of the older female members of the
Improved New Mennonite Church--this Katy could not, would not believe.
Essie was a hypocrite.
Sometimes the Improved New Mennonites might be heard singing or praying
hysterically. Katy had often watched them through the window, in company
with Ollie Kuhns and Billy Knerr and one or two other naughty boys and
girls, and had sometimes helped a little with the hysterical shrieking.
To-night the little frame building was dark, and here, as down on Main
Street, there was not a sound.
At the end of Locust Street, Katy went through a lane to Church Street,
and there again she stood perfectly still, her eyes gleaming, her ears
listening, listening, listening. On the mountain road above her, she
could see dimly a little white house, which seemed to hug the hillside
and to hold itself aloof from Millerstown. Here lived old Koehler, who
was not really very old, but who was crazy and who was supposed to have
stolen the beautiful silver communion service of Katy's church. The
children used to shout wildly at him, "Bring it back! Bring it back!"
and sometimes he ran after them. One sign of his lunacy was his constant
praying in all sorts of queer places and at queer times that the
communion service might be returned, when all he needed for the
answering of his prayer was to seek the service where he had hidden it
and to put it back in its place. The Millerstown children never carried
their mocking to his house, since they believed that he was able to set
upon them the swarms of bees that lived in hives in his little garden,
among which he went without fear. They said among themselves--at least
the romantic girls said--that he did not give his son, poor, handsome
Alvin, enough to eat.
Suddenly Katy's heart beat with a new thrill. There was no instinct
within her which was not awake or wakening. Her cheeks flushed, her
scarlet mittens clasped each other. She liked handsome Alvin because she
liked him--no better reason was given or required in Katy's feminine
soul.
"I think Alvin is grand," exclaimed Katy to herself. "I am sorry for
him. I think he is grand."
There was a sound, and Katy started. Suppose Alvin should come upon her
suddenly! She went on a few steps, then once more she stopped to listen.
Once more Millerstown was quiet, again she looked and listened.
Back in the shadows across the street stood a large, fine house, the
home of John Hartman, Millerstown's richest man. There were in that
house fine carpets and beautiful furniture. But in spite of their
possessions the Hartmans were not a happy family. Mrs. Hartman was
handsome and she had beautiful clothes and a sealskin coat to wear to
church, but she was disturbed if leaves drifted down on the grass in her
yard or if the coming of visitors made it necessary to let the sunlight
in on her thick carpets. Her only child, David, was sullen and stupid
and cross. Remembering the delightful bass singing of one Wenner in the
church choir, Katy had run away from home when a mere baby to visit the
church on a week day and from there John Hartman had driven her home.
Her grandmother to whom she had fled had insisted that he had not been
angry, but that he had only sent her back sternly and properly where she
belonged. But the impression was not quite persuaded away. Katy used to
pretend in some of her wild races that she was fleeing from John
Hartman.
Suddenly there was another sound. Some Millerstonian had opened a window
or had closed a shutter and Katy took to her heels. It amused her to
pretend once more that she was running away from John Hartman. In a
moment she had opened the door of the village store and had flashed in.
Round the stove sat four men, old and middle-aged; to the other three,
Caleb Stemmel was holding forth dismally, his voice low, dreary as his
mind, his mind dull as the dim room. Upon them Katy flashed in her
scarlet attire, her thin legs in their black stockings completing her
resemblance to a very gorgeous tanager or grosbeak. Katy had recovered
from all her thrills; she was now pure mischief and impertinence.
"Nothing," complained Caleb Stemmel, "nothing is any more like it was
when I was young."
"No, it is much better," commented the scarlet tanager.
"We took always trouble." Caleb paid no heed to the impertinent
interruption. "We had Christmas entertainments that were
entertainments--speeches and cakes and apples and a Belsnickel. But
these children and these teachers, they are too lazy and too
good-for-nothing."
Katy had no love for her teacher; she, too, considered him
good-for-nothing; but she had less love for Caleb Stemmel.
"We are going to have a Christmas entertainment that will flax [beat]
any of yours, Caleb Stemmel," she boasted.
"Yes, you will get up and say a few Dutch pieces and then you will go
home."
"Well, everything was Dutch when you were young. You ought to like
that!"
"Things should now be English," insisted Caleb. "But you are too lazy,
all of you, from the teacher down. You will be pretty much ashamed of
yourselves this year, that I can tell you."
Katy was already halfway to the door, her black legs flying. She would
waste no words on Caleb Stemmel. But now she turned and went back. Katy
was curious.
"Why this year?"
"Because," teased Caleb.
"That is a dumb answer! Why _because_?"
"Because it is some one coming."
"Who?"
"A visitor." Caleb pronounced it "wisitor."
"Pooh! What do I care for a 'wisitor'?" mocked Katy.
"This is one that you care for!"
"Who is it?"
"Don't you wish you knew?"
Katy stamped her foot.
"If you don't tell, I'll throw you with snow when the snow comes," she
threatened. Katy had respect for age in general, but not for Caleb
Stemmel.
Caleb did not answer until he saw that Danny Koser was about to tell.
"It is a governor coming," he announced impressively.
Katy drew a step closer, her face aglow. No eyes of tanager or grosbeak
could have shone blacker against brilliant plumage.
"Do you mean"--faltered Katy--"do you mean that my Uncle Daniel is
coming home once, my Uncle Daniel Gaumer?"
"The squire was here and he told us." Danny Koser was no longer to be
restrained. "Then he went to your gran'pop. He got a letter, the squire
did. What do you think of that now?"
"And what," jeered Caleb Stemmel,--"what will the governor think of
Dutch Millerstown and the Dutch entertainment and Dutch Katy; what--"
Once more had Katy reached the door at the other end of the long room.
She had a habit of forecasting her own actions; already she could see
herself pounding at the teacher's door, then racing home to her
grandfather's, her heart throbbing, throbbing, her whole being in the
glow of excitement which she loved, and of which she never had enough.
Suddenly she stopped, her hand on the latch. She had a secret, the whole
Millerstown school had a secret, but now it must be told. Every father
and mother in Millerstown would have to know if the great project,
really her great project, were to succeed. Since the news would have to
come out, it might as well be announced at once.
"We are going to have an English entertainment, Caleb Stemmel," she
cried. "It is planned this long time already; we have been practicing
for a month, Caleb Stemmel. We will have you in it; we will have you
say, 'A wery wenimous wiper jumped out of a winegar wat'; that will be
fine for you, Caleb. Aha! Caleb!"
Outside Katy paused and stretched forth her arms. There was still not a
soul in sight, there was still not a sound; she looked up the street and
down and could see the last house at each end. Then Katy started to run.
Ten minutes ago she had been only little Katy Gaumer, with lessons
learned for the morrow and bedtime near, hating the quiet village, a
good deal bored with life; now she was Katy Gaumer, the grandniece of
one of the great men of the world.
"I wonder what he will look like," said Katy. "I want to do something. I
want to be something. I want to make speeches. I want to be rich and
learned. I want to do _everything_. If he would only help me, I might be
_something_."
There was no one at hand to tell her that she was a vain child; no one
to remind her that she was only one of twenty-odd grandnieces and
nephews and that the governor of a Western State was after all not such
an important person, since there were many still higher offices in the
land. No Millerstonian would have so discounted Daniel Gaumer, who had
made his own way and had achieved greater success than any of his
Millerstown contemporaries. To Katy he was far more wonderful than the
President of the United States. If she could do well at the
entertainment--she, of course, had the longest and most important piece,
and she had also drilled the other children--if it only turned out well,
and if some one only said to the governor that success was due to her
efforts, he might persuade her grandfather to send her away to school;
he might--
But this was not the time to dream. With a fresh gasp for breath, Katy
ran on and hurled herself against the teacher's door, or rather against
the door of Sarah Ann Mohr, in whose house the teacher boarded. In an
instant she was in the kitchen where Sarah Ann and the teacher sat
together.
Sarah Ann was large and ponderous and good-natured. She was now reading
the paper and hemming a gingham apron by turns. Sarah Ann loved to read.
Her favorite matter was the inside page of the Millerstown "Star," which
always offered varied and interesting items of general news. Sarah Ann
was far less interested in the accounts of Millerstown's births and
deaths and marriages than she was in the startling events of the world
outside. Sarah Ann's taste inclined to the shocking and morbid. This
evening she had read many times about a man who had committed suicide by
sitting on a box of dynamite and lighting the fuse, and about a man
whose head was gradually becoming like that of a lion. When she observed
that the next item dealt with the remarkable invention of a young woman
who baked glass in her husband's pies, Sarah Ann laid down the paper to
compose her mind with a little sewing.
The teacher, who was small and slender and somewhat near-sighted, was
going painstakingly over a bundle of civil service examination
questions. He was only in Millerstown for a little while, acting as a
substitute and waiting for something to turn up. He was a Pennsylvania
German, but he would as soon have been called a Turk. He had changed his
name from Schreiner to Carpenter and the very sound of his native tongue
was hateful to him. He did not like Katy Gaumer; he did not like any
young, active, springing things.
Now he listened to Katy in astonishment. Katy flung herself upon Sarah
Ann.
"Booh! Don't look so scared. I will not eat you, Sarah Ann! And I am no
spook! I am only in a hurry. Teacher, I have told the people about the
English entertainment. It is out. I had to tell, because the children
must know their pieces better. Ollie Kuhns, he won't learn his until his
pop thrashes him a couple of times, and Jimmie Weygandt's mom will have
to make him learn with a stick, and then he will not know it anyhow,
perhaps, and they won't leave us have the Sunday School organ to
practice beforehand for the singing unless they know why it is, and
everybody must practice all the time from now on. You see, I _had_ to
tell."
The teacher looked at her dumbly. So did Sarah Ann.
"But _why_?" asked they together.
"Why?" repeated Katy, impatiently, as though they might have divined the
wonderful reason. "Why, because my Uncle Daniel is coming. Isn't that
enough?"
Sarah Ann laid down her apron.
"Bei meiner Seel'!" said she solemnly.
The teacher laid down his papers.
"The governor?" said he. He had heard of Governor Gaumer. He thought of
the appointments in a governor's power; he foresaw at once escape from
the teaching which he hated; he blessed Katy because she had proposed an
English entertainment. He blessed her inspired suggestion of parental
whippings for Ollie and Jimmie. "Sit down once, Katy, sit down."
It gave Katy another thrill of joy to be thus solicited by her enemy.
But now she could not stop.
"I must go first home and see my folks. Then I will come back."
At the squire's gate, Bevy Schnepp awaited her.
"Ach, come once in a little, Katy!"
"I cannot!"
"Just a little! I have something for you." Bevy put out a futile arm.
People were forever trying to catch Katy.
"No," laughed Katy. "I'll put a hex on you, Bevy! I'll bewitch you,
Bevy!"
Katy was gone, through her grandfather's gate, down the brick walk under
the pine trees to the kitchen where sat grandfather and grandmother and
the squire. Seeing them together, the two old men with their broad
shoulders and their handsome heads and the old woman with her kindly
face, a stranger would have known at once where Katy got her active,
erect figure and her curly hair and her dark eyes. All three were
handsome; all three cultivated as far as their opportunities would
allow; all three would have been distinguished in a broader circle than
Millerstown could offer. But here circumstances had placed them and had
kept them. Even the squire, whose desk was frequently littered with
time-tables, and who planned constantly journeys to the uttermost parts
of the earth, had scarcely ever been away from Millerstown.
Upon these three Katy rushed like a whirlwind.
"Is it true?" she demanded breathlessly in the Pennsylvania German which
the older folk loved, but which was falling into disuse among the young.
"Is what true?" asked grandfather and the squire together. They liked to
tease Katy, everybody liked to tease Katy.
"That my uncle the governor is coming?"
"Yes," said Grandfather Gaumer. "Your uncle the governor is coming."