MOLLIE AT BAY
"For the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand saying unto thee,
'Fear not; I will help thee.'"--Isaiah xl, 13
Baby Doris was blissfully unaware of danger. She awoke, not with the
lark, but with the crowing of the old, dominique rooster under the
barn window.
It was dawn. Time for the children to get up and begin their day's
work. Mollie hated to rouse them. She knelt for a moment beside the
wonder-child that had been so unexpectedly given into her keeping the
night before.
"Oh, yo' darlin'--yo' wonderfulest baby!" she exclaimed, softly,
pressing one of the dimpled hands against her lips. "I never seed
ary thing so pretty in my life!"
It was then the rooster crowed and Doris opened her eyes. They were
eyes that danced, twinkled and sparkled all at once. They were
brimming over with fun. They beamed coquettishly upon Mollie for an
instant, then the rosebud lips parted and there came a sound of
laughter like the tinkle of silver bells.
"Muh--Mollie! Muh--Mollie!" the child chirruped, then laughed again
in glee over her own cleverness, for Mollie had taught her the words
before she went to sleep.
"Oh, yo' doll! Yo' angel!" cried Mollie, cuddling the little one
close in an ecstasy of joy. "An' ter think I don't even know yore
name!"
Another peal of silvery laughter greeted this statement. Just as if
names counted for anything in the life of a baby! Little Doris
didn't care that minute whether she had a name or not. She twisted
her fingers in the meshes of Mollie's hair and as suddenly released
them to throw her arms enthusiastically about her neck. She loved
this muh-Mollie. She was glad that dumpy old nurse was gone. She
had never liked her, anyway. So she cooed and kicked and wriggled
and laughed in the exuberance of her joy.
Mollie was enraptured. "Oh, baby, baby," she cried, "I'd jes' lov
ter play wif yo' all day, but ef yo' only knowed--" The girl paused
to crush the little one to her as if to protect her from threatened
evil.
Know! This beautiful child know the horrors and hardship of the
ogre's farm! Never. She must never, never know. To be beaten and
made to do hard, dirty work with those beautiful little hands! To be
frightened and hungry and punished for nothing and perhaps flung into
the bog? Oh, no, no! It must never be. Something must be done to
save her. Mollie, herself, must do it. She was old enough, now, and
strong enough to do something,--though she did not know what--to save
both herself and the children.
With feverish energy she hurried to get the children up and about
their tasks. They were all hungry. They had gone supperless to bed.
There was nothing to eat that morning save what they could steal from
the animals or eat raw in the garden. Mollie contrived, however, to
get milk for the baby.
Then another problem presented. This new baby was not weak and
passive like little Amy. This baby was robust and mischievous. She
wanted to romp and play. She could not be left to her own devices.
Someone must be with her every minute. They would have to take turns
and they must not let old Grimes catch them idling. It was going to
be difficult. Well, everything was difficult. They would just have
to manage, that's all.
"Muh-Mollie! Muh-Mollie!"
Doris kept singing the beautiful new words she had learned and
chuckling like a little witch each time after their utterance. She
felt so clever--so accomplished. And all this wonderful excitement
in this strange place! Why, it was entrancing. Children--lots of
them--running hither and thither, each one stopping now and then to
smother her with kisses or tickle her under the chin, or clap their
hands to make her laugh and show her pretty teeth. It really was the
best time she had ever had in her life. Once--twice she looked
around and called for "Daddy"; but daddy didn't come right away and
the next instant Mollie was there, so it was all right. Daddy was
probably around somewhere. Anyway, it didn't matter because they
were going to play games and Daddy didn't play games. This was a new
one. Doris clapped her hands at the spectacle.
The children all ran to a hole in the floor and disappeared into some
mysterious depth below. Doris toddled toward the place to see where
they went. She wanted to go, too.
It was then Mollie caught her up with a splendid swoop and, taking
her in her arms, went right down the hole after the children. Doris
squealed with delight and pounded Mollie's head with her pink fists.
"Oh, honey darlin', yo' mustn't," whispered Mollie. "This hain't no
place ter laugh. Ef he hyars yo' mebbe he'll make me leave yo' set
hyar alone, tied with a string ter sumpin' like he's done afore.
Honey, chile, be Mollie's good girl and shut yore eyes tight and keep
thet sweet mouf shet til we-uns all git ter th' co'n-field." Mollie
smothered the gurgles of laughter against her breast and ran, as fast
as her sturdy legs would carry her, toward the field where the other
children were already relaxing from the restraint of the loft, where
every word might be overheard.
Grimes was not yet out of bed. Ambrose would not come prowling about
until after breakfast. Before that repast could be served Mollie
must go to the house to help prepare it. For the time being the
children were free. The day was unusually warm. The day previous
had been filled with especially hard and dirty work. The children
had all slept with their clothes on. This morning they looked more
than ordinarily wretched. Mollie, scanning them, had an idea.
"How many o' yo' young-uns 'ud like ter git washed?" she asked.
There was a clamor of childish voices and a general rush toward her.
The clamor was not loud, like the merry voices heard in a children's
play-ground but a subdued, apprehensive babble that could not have
been heard beyond the confines of that corn-patch. But every child
knew what Mollie's words implied. If they hurried and kept quiet so
that no one heard them, there would be time for a quick dash into
that beautiful pool where old Walter drank and where the cow-brute
loved to stand, soaking her feet and swishing her tail during the
heat of the day.
Now, after the heavy storm of the previous night, the pool would be
fresh and clean. Mollie had stolen some soap from the house. They
would be able to cleanse the scratches and bruises and insect bites
that kept them all in misery. The children nearly overwhelmed Mollie
in their eagerness to be off. She glanced quickly toward the house,
then up at the sun. It was not yet high. There would be time.
"Run, then! Yo'-all go an' git in th' water. I'll be thar en time
ter soap yo'," she told them.
The children trooped off. Mollie came more slowly with Doris in her
arms and Leathy by the hand.
All too soon their frolic had to cease. But when they returned to
the field to hoe those interminable rows of corn they looked very
unlike the forlorn band of half-asleep, fretful and bedraggled
youngsters that had first assembled.
[Illustration: _Scene from Mary Pickford's Photoplay_. _Sparrows_.
"DO YOU MEAN SLEEP HERE AND EAT--AND--EV'RYTHING?"]
Baby Doris thought it a picnic--a glorious adventure that promised
new entertainment every minute. Throughout the day Mollie had not
the slightest trouble with her new and winsome charge. A bond of
sympathy and understanding seemed to exist between them. Each was
irresistibly drawn toward the other.
But all day Mollie was thinking of a way of escape. To dig under the
fence or to attempt to scale it would be hopeless. The children,
even if they once were outside in the road, could not walk or even
run fast enough to elude Grimes. And if any were overtaken they
would be killed or, at best, treated worse than ever.
No, whatever was undertaken must be accomplished. There must be no
failure. No coming back. If they could only take the route followed
by the sparrows, thought Mollie. Somewhere, beyond that bog, there
was safety--if only they could reach it!
And while the children worked in the corn-field and the police
scoured the countryside and Stephen was moaning with fever, Peter
Grimes learned what the newspapers had printed regarding the
kidnapping.
"Hell's banjers!" he thundered, bringing his great fist down heavily
upon the table. "Th' police is a-goin' ter make arrests."
"An' hain't thar goin' ter be no more money?" Maria asked in
amazement, not unmixed with consternation.
"Not ef Wayne doan pay thet ransom," growled Peter. "They're aimin'
ter recover th' child."
Maria turned and faced him. There are times when even a worm will
turn. Maria had been improving in proportion to their financial
condition. She wore shoes now and sometimes combed her hair. And
she didn't use her snuff dip as constantly as formerly. Maria was
getting ambitious.
"I was afeared ter hev yo' hol' thet child," she said.
"Aw, shet up. Yo' didn't know a damned thing about hit."
"I s'picioned hit. En now, ef they come hyar an' git her, they'll
git all th' young-uns--"
"Like hell they'll git her! I'll fling her so fur--" He paused and
started for the door.
"Yo'-all take keer," warned Maria. "I ben a-tellin' yo' right along
yo'll fling one too many in thet bog an--"
Peter paused and fixed his eyes upon her. "Air yo'-all a-goin' ter
shet up?" he asked. "Ef yo' hain't, I'll fling yo' in with her, d'
yo' hyar?"
Maria heard. Without another word she returned to her cooking.
Grimes strode toward the gate. Before destroying the child it would
be well to find out from Bailey and Swazey whether or not the report
was true that the ransom was not going to be paid. He knew where the
two were in hiding. It was he who had directed them to the old,
ruined cobble-stone house in which they were now secreted. He would
walk there in a few minutes after he reached the pike.
But Ambrose, who had heard the conversation between his parents, had
scudded from the kitchen chortling with glee. He had a standing
grudge against Mollie, drat her! She fought him off when he tried to
kiss her, and his paw had cuffed him because he bellowed and had
pushed him backwards and shoved his face right into the molasses on
the bread he was eating! Now, he'd fix her--now, he'd fix her!
The fat, chuckle-headed moron kept singing the words over as he
betook himself in the direction of the farm outbuildings in search of
Mollie and the beautiful baby with which she was so enraptured.
"Haw, haw, haw!" he guffawed at the mere thought of what Mollie would
say and do when she realized his purpose. He had already made her
lose her supper, and the children, too. Served her right. They were
his paw's potatoes, anyhow. Mollie had stuffed her clothes with
them. If she hadn't slapped him he wouldn't have told. When she
fought and kicked him the way she did, anybody would get mad. He
laughed again at the memory of the picture Mollie had made when his
maw shook her and the potatoes came rolling out from all parts of her
clothing. And how mad his paw was when he came and saw the potatoes!
Of course he wouldn't let her have any supper after that--not she nor
any of the children.
Still chuckling over the inefficiency of poor Mollie's pleas that she
alone be punished and not the children, Ambrose waddled about in
search of his prey.
Ah, there they were! Mollie had stood little Doris on the ground for
a minute. It was only a minute but that minute sufficed for Ambrose.
"Haw, haw, haw!" he guffawed again as he jerked the unsuspecting baby
girl up in his murderous embrace and tore with her toward the bog.
"Oh, oh, Mollie--Oh, look!" shrieked the children who had seen the
performance.
Mollie looked, then with a scream that resounded to every part of the
farm confines, she flew to the rescue of her beloved. There was
cause, indeed, for Harris Wayne to fear for his baby daughter's
safety. Her life now hung not by a thread but by the speed of
Mollie's small, naked feet and the strength of her brown young arms.
She reached the edge of the quagmire as quick as Ambrose. Had the
boy been more of an athlete he could have hurled the baby from him
without first pausing to get his breath but he was fat and clumsy.
Mollie was fleet and agile as a wild-cat. And like a wild-cat she
sprang upon him, at the risk of precipitating all three of them into
the bog. She never spoke. She fought, just as she had in the long
ago days when she had fought the ogre single handed in her attempt to
save Stephen. She clung to Ambrose's arms as she had clung to the
ogre's legs. She pulled that precious baby from him and, with the
child in her arms, fought to save herself from the fate from which
she had just rescued the baby. If she went, the baby would go with
her. Ambrose's fat, bulky form effectually blocked her way. He
stood between her and safety. One step backward and she would be in
the clutches of that sinister mass from which there was no escape.
"Oh, dear God, help me," she moaned, half aloud, as she struggled on
the very brink of death to retain her footing and fight off this
young fiend.
Just beyond Ambrose stood the huddled, frightened children,
round-eyed, trembling, not daring to utter a sound nor raise a hand
to help Mollie.
With her right hand she struck Ambrose back. She had not known she
possessed so much strength. How did it happen? Ambrose lurched
slightly to the left. He lost his balance and clutched at Mollie to
save himself. In that instant she whirled about. The movement was
unexpected and brought Ambrose himself to the edge of the mire.
Simultaneously they pulled, each seeking to break the other's hold.
Mollie won. She had fought with one hand, she held the baby with the
other, but she had won!
The suddenness with which she broke away from Ambrose sent him
plunging backwards into the bog. His frantic cries and now howls
rent the air.
Mollie, dazed and breathless, stood for a moment gasping and
horrified. The children voiced their glee. They thought it was the
result for which Mollie had been fighting. The sound of their voices
awakened her to a sense of her surroundings and the result of all of
them if anything happened to Ambrose. He must be pulled out. But
how? She looked wildly about for a rope, a stick, anything long
enough to reach him. There was nothing in sight.
Placing Doris with the other children, Mollie sped to the barn and
procured a heavy rope. When she returned, Ambrose was engulfed to
the waist. He was still howling. Maria, in the house, was too
accustomed to the sound to be disturbed by it. Peter had gone out
the big gate. For this Mollie was thankful.
"Hold yore hands up high," she called to Ambrose, "an' ketch this
rope 'fore hit falls in th' mud." The boy was in mud almost to the
arm-pits now. Every second was precious if he was to be saved.
Mollie flung the rope high. Her aim was true. Ambrose clutched it
and with desperate haste knotted it about his neck, clinging to it
with his hands that it might not choke him.
Then Mollie pulled, but it was of no use. The children ran to help
her. It seemed almost as if the suction of the mud would drag them
all down with the sinking boy. Their puny strength combined was as
nothing against its relentless grip.
"Oh, what shall we do?" wailed Mollie. Then in an inspiration she
cried: "Run, Jimmie, Bobbie--somebody--quick an' fetch Walter."
So promptly were the children accustomed to obeying the slightest
command, that almost before the words were fairly uttered little feet
were tearing toward the stable, little hands were untying the horse
and leading him out of his stall and across the yard.
It seemed to Mollie as if she were ages getting the rope fastened
securely to the animal. At last it was accomplished. Ambrose's chin
was now touching the mud. The rope about his neck was submerged.
Only his hands and his face remained visible.
"Go, Walter, go!" "Giddep!" cried the children together, striking the
horse across the flanks with such force that he started with every
ounce of his strength back toward the stable. So sudden and so
forceful was the action that it brought Ambrose up like a cork out of
a bottle and dragged him, fish-like and covered with mud, across the
ground on his stomach.
At that moment Peter entered the gate. He had reconsidered his
decision to go in search of his confederates in the kidnapping
conspiracy and decided to return home. The newspaper statement was
undoubtedly true, he reflected. That being the case he had better
not endanger his own safety by wandering about but make such
preparations at home that, if Bailey and Swazey did bring his name
into the case, any police search of his farm would reveal nothing.
"That gal, Mollie knows too much, anyway," he decided for the dozenth
time. He had been saying it for months but had kept her for two
reasons--the income which Bailey sent him monthly for her
maintenance, and the value of her service in caring for the other
children. But if Bailey was going to be sent to prison the money
would no longer come, so Mollie would best be silenced before any
police got around; she and the brat for which he had expected to
receive a thousand dollars! Peter was therefore returning home to
act upon this decision. Ambrose's howls and the commotion in the
stable-yard led him in that direction.
When he learned what had happened his rage, already at white heat,
knew no bounds.
"Give me thet brat," he commanded Mollie, as she stood, holding Doris
tight in her arms. "The boy's right, I was a-goin' ter fling her in
th' bog, an' I be a-goin' ter do hit this minnit. Gi'n her hyar, I
say; then I'm a-comin' back fer yo'."
He writhed toward her, hands extended for the baby. Mollie gave one
wild cry:
"Run, chil'en, run!"
But the children, in a panic of terror, were already scuttling up the
ladder into the loft. Never had they gone so rapidly. Mollie,
tugging Leathy and carrying the precious Doris brought up the rear.
It seemed to her that hours were consumed in getting up the ladder.
Each second was an age. She could almost feel the ogre's breath at
her back, the grip of his hands upon her shoulders.
"Oh, hurry, hurry, chil'en."
She thought she said it, but her lips uttered no sound. They were
dry and parched. Her heart was pounding. With a supreme effort she
pushed Leathy and Doris through the hole in the floor and dragged
herself up behind them.
But he was coming--the ogre! He was close upon them. Snorting and
growling forth threats, Grimes was mounting the ladder. He was
infuriated now. He would kill them all. He was roaring like a
lion--Ah! The thought was an inspiration again. Lions must be faced
bravely--with a spear. And there was the spear!
The next instant Mollie had whirled like a trapped animal at bay.
Pitchfork in hand, she was looking the ogre straight in the eye.
There was no nervousness in the manner those little brown,
work-hardened hands gripped that heavy handle. They were as steady
and taut as steel. And there was no flinching in those clear eyes.
She meant what she said.
"Doan yo' come up hyar!"
There was no threat. The prongs of that pitchfork backed by the
strength of purpose revealed in Mollie's eyes were more than
sufficient for any coward, and Grimes was a coward.
Step by step he descended, and one step, two steps came Mollie with
the pitchfork, until he was back on the stable floor. Then, still
using the pitchfork as a defense, she quickly sprang back into the
loft, seized the top of the ladder and, with the children's help,
pulled it up into the loft, and closed the hole in the floor.
They were prisoners.