CHICO
Unc’ Aaron had lived on the place all his life. As it changed owners
he went with the property as one might say. His little log cabin,
where he lived alone, was near the road and not far from a small negro
settlement. He was one of the few now remaining of the old-fashioned
type who preferred the old order to the new, and was a decent,
law-abiding, self-respecting old person. He knew where the best nuts
were, where the largest persimmons grew, where the wild creatures
hid, where was the safest swimming pool, and to what point to direct
fishermen who came up for bass fishing. All these things he was
teaching Pablo, whom he took under his wing from the moment of his
arrival. As soon as Mr. Pattison became owner of the property Unc’
Aaron instituted himself as general factotum, and took his position
as a matter of course. He was always on hand to open the gate for the
automobile when it appeared with a party of jolly weekenders, and to
offer his services for any and all kinds of work. Joanne doted on him
and he considered her a guest to be specially honored.
With her grandfather and Cousin Ned as instructors, Joanne was not long
in feeling perfectly at ease on Chico, and was so confident that one
day she said to Pablo, who to be commanded was to obey, “you may put
the saddle on Chico; I am going for a little ride.” Pablo adored Chico,
but he also adored Joanne, who had plead his cause on shipboard, and
whatever he may have thought, he would never stand in the way of her
doing anything that pleased her.
So he watched her canter down the long lane toward the gate and then
returned to his work of feeding the pigs.
Joanne had been gone but a short time when along came Unc’ Aaron. He
went into the stable and at once missed Chico.
“Whar dat dere Cheeky?” he inquired.
“Miss Joanne she have him to ride,” responded Pablo.
“She ain’t gone off de place, is she?” said Unc’ Aaron.
“I am thinking she go to the road. No I know where.”
Unc’ Aaron raised his hands and moved them up and down shaking his
grizzly head meanwhile. “Who say yuh saddle dat creetur?” asked the old
man, turning a wrathful eye upon the boy.
“The young leddy say me do.”
“An’ yuh ain’t got de sense to tell nobody she gone. My lan’, boy, but
yuh is foolish. Whar Mistah Ned?”
“He and the Señor Doctor make to go in the cano.”
“In de canoe? Mebbe dey ain’t gone yet. Trabble dem laigs of yo’n down
to de lodge as fast as yuh can mek ’em go, an’ give ’em mah espects an’
ast ’em will dey wait twel I git dar. Hop lively, now.”
Pablo understood well enough to set off on a run and came upon Mr.
Pattison and Dr. Selden, to whom he delivered his message.
“What does the old chap want, I wonder,” said Mr. Pattison. “It must be
something important. I hope nothing is wrong. We’d better wait.”
“I agree with you,” returned the doctor. “I hope it is nothing about
Joanne. I always feel that she is perfectly safe when she is with Unc’
Aaron, as I supposed she was.”
Just then the old man came up panting. “I hopes yuh gemmans escuse me,”
he said, “but de little leddy have gone off ridin’ by huhse’f, an’ dey
some mighty mean trash ’roun’ dese days. Ain’t lak hit useter be when
folks could go over de face of de yearth an’ nobody moles’ dem ner mek
’em afraid. She ain’t use to ridin’ yet, Mistah Ned.”
“Which way did she go?” inquired Dr. Selden sharply.
“Ast de boy.”
“In what direction did she go?” Dr. Selden said sharply to Pablo.
“I not know, señor. She go by the road to the gate. I see no more.”
“We must follow her,” said Mr. Pattison, starting on a run toward the
stables. “We will get the horses; you go one way, uncle, and I will go
the other.”
In a few minutes the two were mounted and were off in search of the
venturesome Joanne, who, meantime, had started out quite confidently to
enjoy herself. The little pony went along quietly. The sky was blue,
the air fresh and sweet, the woods a tender green. What more delightful
than this free and glorious way of travelling? Up the road went pony
and rider till they came to the parting of the ways.
“Now, which road shall I take, the right or the left? Which shall it
be, Chico?” said Joanne. “I believe I’ll let you take your choice;
you’ll probably choose the one most familiar to you.”
She let the bridle fall loosely and Chico turned to the left. This
road led through the woods for part of the way, but presently passed
through a little settlement of poor-looking houses. Beyond this was
a schoolhouse. Some distance further along Joanne came upon a group
of rough-looking boys who, spying her and the little pony, could not
lose an opportunity of teasing and lined up across the road as she
approached, thus barring her way.
“Hey there!” cried the ringleader. “Where you going with your hobby
horse? What do you feed the little runt on?”
Joanne drew rein and sat up very straight, her heart beating fast but
her courage all to the fore. She was considering what to do when one
of the boys gave Chico a sharp cut from behind. This was something the
little pony was not used to. He pranced nervously, but at a second cut
he reared slightly. Joanne managed to keep her seat, frightened though
she was. “So, Chico, so,” she tried to quiet him.
“Get off and let us have a try at him,” cried one of the boys who had
been watching admiringly.
For answer, Joanne, her wits sharpened by the emergency, jerked Chico
around quickly to head him away from the group. “Go, Chico, go!” she
cried, giving him a slight touch of the whip, and off went Chico like
the wind. Joanne clenched her teeth and sat steadily, the boys staring
after her.
At the cross roads Dr. Selden had paused to examine the ground which
might show the impress of Chico’s hoofs and so indicate the way Joanne
had gone. But before he had completed his examination down the road
came horse and rider, Joanne’s hair flying, her eyes sparkling, her
face tense.
“Oh, Grad! Grad!” she cried at sight of him. “How did you know? How did
you know?”
“Know what?” inquired Dr. Selden frowningly.
“About me and those horrid boys.”
“So there were horrid boys,” he returned accusingly. “What do you mean,
miss, by dashing off this way by yourself? Who gave you permission?”
“Well, nobody,” returned Joanne hanging her head, but looking up from
under her lashes with a queer little smile which suggested that tears
were very near. “Nobody did because I didn’t ask any one. Oh, Grad, I
can ride, I can, I can. Did you see how I came flying down the road
like the wind? I stayed on and Chico behaved like the darling he is. I
adore him. No one can ever say again that I don’t know how to ride, for
I do.”
“That much is granted,” admitted her grandfather, “but there is this
to be said: never, never do you go off alone. Remember. Under no
circumstances must you. I forbid it absolutely. If you do so again, I
shall have to sell Chico. Now tell me about the boys.”
Joanne, now subdued by the threat to sell Chico, told her story in as
few words as possible, then lapsed into silence while her grandfather
added a postscript to his lecture.
In a few minutes they came across Mr. Pattison, who had met some one
who saw Joanne come out the gate and ride in the direction Dr. Selden
had taken. Then the story had to be told a second time and a second
warning given which reduced Joanne to tears and so worked upon the
feelings of her two cavaliers that they began to cheer her up and she
arrived at the farm in quite a serene, though still humble, frame of
mind.
On her way from the stables she took possession of her grandfather’s
hand and laid her cheek against it. “Grad, dear,” she said, “I didn’t
really mean to do wrong; I just didn’t think of anything but what fun
it would be to go cantering off all alone. I felt so free, like a
bird. Please don’t say anything to Gradda about those boys; she’d be
scared to death in the first place and in the second she’d never want
me to ride Chico again. After all, the boys were only teasing; they
didn’t do anything to hurt me.”
“It isn’t a matter to make light of,” replied Dr. Selden, “but perhaps
we’d better not tell your grandmother, for, as you say, she’d be
frightened out of her wits and wouldn’t sleep nights for thinking of
what might have happened to you.”
“But she needn’t be afraid any more that Chico would throw me or run
away with me. You might tell her that I really can ride, just to
satisfy her.”
Her grandfather smiled, but he promised.
It was a temptation to Joanne to tell the girls at school of her
adventure, but partly because she was rather ashamed of it she did not
tell, notwithstanding that she did confide to Winnie that she could
ride like the wind.
But Winnie was more interested in learning whether there was a
possibility of making the trip to the farm with the Sunflower Troop of
Girl Scouts. “Did you find out from your cousin anything about it?” she
asked eagerly.
“Oh, yes, it was one of the first things I asked him. He says we might
be able to go by way of the canal; he is going to find out. There is a
grain boat that comes down to Georgetown; he knows the man who runs
it, and he’ll ask him. The boat is loaded going down but there is
plenty of room going back. Cousin Ned says we can stay at the bungalow
and welcome, for we couldn’t make the trip there and back in a day
unless we went by automobile, then we could.”
“Oh, but it would be simply gorgeous to stay all night, such a weird
experience. I’d adore it; so would the other girls. How many could we
stow away?”
“Let me see,” Joanne considered, “there are two rooms up-stairs with
double beds; that would accommodate four, and there is a sleeping
porch down-stairs where two cots are, and there are some extra cots,
I believe, for Cousin Ned sometimes has quite a house party. I should
think eight of us could be quite comfortable.”
“Good! Miss Dodge will go with us, of course.”
“Of course. We might get in nine by a tight squeeze, but I don’t
believe we’d better say we can care for any more.”
“It is the most ravishing plan,” exclaimed Winnie, giving Joanne a hug,
“and I think it is perfectly dear of your cousin to let us come.”
“I almost learned to make griddle cakes,” Joanne told her, “but I
couldn’t get Unc’ Aaron to give me any sort of recipe.”
“Oh dear,” sighed Winnie, “you make me just wild to go to that place
of your cousin’s. It is simply adorable to think of that dear old
timey darkey and that fascinating Spanish boy. Do you believe we
might venture to tell the girls about it this afternoon? About the
possibility of our going up there, I mean.”
“I don’t see why not,” answered Joanne, “for we are bound to go
sometime or other, if not in one way in another.”
Joanne enjoyed the gymnasium at all times, but particularly when the
troop of Girl Scouts met there with their captain, Miss Dodge, or her
lieutenant, Miss Chesney. There were informal meetings, too, when
Claudia Price, their Patrol leader, read them severe lectures at which
some of the girls snickered, for they did not take Claudia seriously,
and when she called them down for not paying their dues or for being
behindhand in some of the duties imposed upon them, they were more
often ready with excuses than with apologies.
A good many of the girls had arrived when Winnie and Joanne entered the
room on this special afternoon. Some were sitting on the floor talking.
Miriam Overton was “skinning the cat,” Betty Streeter was worming her
way along through a series of square spaces at the end of the room.
Esther Rhodes was busy with some lessons for the next day. Miss Dodge
had not yet come, but presently she was there and the order came to:
“Fall in!” The girls scrambled to their feet, gave the salute to their
captain, and the pledge to the flag, and the meeting went on.
Joanne loved the military part of it, the marching, the signalling and
so on. She had begun to take special exercises and was most ambitious
to make a good showing on her measurement card. Already there was more
color in her cheeks.
The business part of the meeting over and the regular drills, Winnie
and Joanne waited their chance to broach the subject so near to their
hearts. This came at last when the question of the next hike came up.
“Oh, Miss Dodge,” said Winnie eagerly, “Joanne and I have the most
heavenly plan.”
“That sounds encouraging,” said Miss Dodge. “Suppose you divulge it. I
can guarantee that the girls will listen.”
So Winnie divulged, turning to Joanne once in a while for information.
Of course there was a great buzzing and exclaiming when she paused to
take breath, and questions came thick and fast.
“Wait, wait, girls,” said Miss Dodge. “Let’s get to the practical part
of this before we begin to talk of taking things to eat and all that.
We cannot be at all sure that it would be feasible to go by canal. In
the first place we shall have to find out how long it would take, and
on what day this grain boat will make the trip. We should have to go on
Friday afternoon and get back on Saturday, of course. If the boat did
not arrive before the middle of the night I should not want to go on
it.”
Winnie and Joanne looked at each other. “We never thought of that,”
murmured Winnie.
“But if it does go on Friday afternoon, and we are sure that it would
get there before dark we could go, couldn’t we?” spoke up Joanne.
“Oh, Miss Dodge, please say yes,” coaxed Miriam.
“I can’t, right off like that,” Miss Dodge answered, smiling. “I shall
have to investigate further. It sounds delightful, I admit, and I hope
we can make the trip, but don’t set your hearts on it.”
“How soon can we know?” asked Esther. “We ought to fix on as early a
date as possible, while the weather is mild, don’t you think so?”
“Next Friday! Next Friday!” clamored several voices.
“I’ll do my best,” promised Miss Dodge. “If I can arrange it for next
Friday I will.” And with this the girls were obliged to be satisfied,
and went off chattering excitedly.
Within a few days Miss Dodge found out that the plan would be feasible
and there was wild rejoicing. Joanne, the originator of the scheme,
was the most popular girl for the moment, and was constantly being
interviewed, having to answer more questions than she had ever had
asked her in all her life, and Cousin Ned, in his turn, was turned to
till it was a wonder that he did not regret his offer of hospitality
to such a bothersome party of girls. However, he declared himself to
be greatly interested in the undertaking and promised all sorts of
assistance, so that the girls told Joanne that he was adorable, and she
quite endorsed this opinion.
“It is the luckiest thing that the boat goes up on Friday,” she said
to Winnie, “though I suppose some other boat might take us.”
“Oh, but Mr. Pattison knows this man so well, and besides, we might not
be able to get any one else to consent to take passengers.”
“Yes, I suppose that is true,” acknowledged Joanne, “and some of the
other boatmen are very rough and I don’t believe Gradda would be
willing I should go with any but this Dawson man.”
“I can scarcely wait till Friday,” declared Winnie.
“I think I should die of despair if anything happened to upset our
plan,” responded Joanne.
Winnie laughed. “You are always so tragic, Jo. You wouldn’t die. I
wouldn’t either, though of course I’d be awfully disappointed, just as
all of us would be.”
This was on Wednesday. On Thursday the girls scanned the skies
anxiously. “I don’t like the look of those clouds,” remarked Claudia as
she joined Winnie and Joanne on their way home from school.
“Oh, but I don’t believe they amount to anything,” replied Winnie
cheerfully; “they are only wind clouds, I reckon.”
“Let us hope so,” returned Claudia oracularly.
But, alas! alas! the next morning it was raining in torrents. Winnie,
rain-coated and overshoed, was about ready to start for school when she
was called to the telephone.
“Is that you, Win?” came a doleful voice.
“Guessed it the first time,” came the cheerful response. “Do I address
Miss Joanne Selden?”
“Yes, it’s Jo speaking. Oh, Win, isn’t it awful? I was never so
disappointed in all my life.”
“Judging from the teary quality of your speech I should say you were.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Of course I am, but I’m not going to cry about it. There will be other
Saturdays and I reckon the bungalow won’t burn down meanwhile; if it
does we can camp out.”
“I don’t see how you can be so cheerful about it; to me it is simply
tragic.”
“Why, no, it isn’t. It is a disappointment but it isn’t a grief nor a
disgrace. Better hurry up and come along to school where you can bury
your woes in a stiff mathematical problem.”
“But I’m not to go to school. Gradda says it is raining too hard and
that she can’t think of allowing me to go out,” this plaintively.
“Oh well,” Winnie didn’t quite know what to say to this, for a Girl
Scout to stay in for an ordinary rain was a situation she didn’t know
how to deal with. “Chirk up, honey,” she said finally. “Practise some
of your stunts for the next rally. I’ll come in this afternoon. Sorry
you aren’t coming out. I shall miss you. Got to go off now. Good-bye.”
And she hung up the receiver.
Winnie’s suggestion was a good one, for Joanne got out her manual
and sat down by a window overlooking the rain-drenched street. As she
watched schoolgirls hurrying by with books and umbrellas she heaved
a deep sigh, then opened her little blue volume. The very first
words that caught her eye were “A Girl Scout is Cheerful under all
circumstances. Scouts never grumble at hardships, nor whine at each
other, nor frown when put out.” The color rose to Joanne’s cheeks and
she turned over the pages rapidly till she came to the one which set
forth the qualifications for a Second Class Scout. These she considered
carefully, then she threw down the book and went down-stairs humming a
little tune and saying to herself: “A Scout goes about with a smile and
singing.”
She found her grandmother in the library with her fancy work. “Gradda,”
said Joanne, “how do you hem?”
“Why, my child, what do you mean?” returned Mrs. Selden looking up.
“Well, you see, Gradda, I’ve always hated sewing, haven’t I? and have
said I would never take a needle in my hand if I could help it, and now
that I want to be a Second Class Scout in a hurry, that is one of the
things I have got to learn. I must know how to make a buttonhole, or
knit or crochet, sew a seam or hem a garment. The hemming sounded sort
of easy, and I thought I’d begin on that. Will you show me how?”
“Indeed I will,” replied Mrs. Selden with a gratified air; “sewing is
a very ladylike accomplishment and I am delighted that you want to
learn. You have always been so opposed to it that I have not insisted,
as perhaps I should have done.”
“I suppose it will bore me to extinction,” responded Joanne, “but I
mean to do it or die. When it gets to the point that I can’t stand it
any longer I can fly at something else like the Morse alphabet or the
semaphore one.”
So instead of spending the morning in a state of doleful dumps Joanne
busied herself with a needle, and, though she did throw her work on the
floor in a rage several times, at last she came to the point of being
quite satisfied with her really presentable hem and decided that it was
enough for one day.