THE FLIGHT OF THE SPARROWS
"Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow
that flieth by day."--Ps. sci, 5
Mollie dropped, exhausted, upon the floor. The children clustered
about her. Some were crying. All were tired and hungry. Little
Doris, not in the least understanding what all the excitement had
been about, crept forward and patted Mollie's cheek with the palm of
her much-soiled little hand.
"Muh-Mollie!" she lisped, then snuggled into her lap and embraced her
with such ardor that Mollie was forced to respond, tired and
trembling though she was.
But youth revives quickly. Mollie was now keyed up to such a pitch
that she could not be still a moment.
"We-uns has getter do sumpin', now!" she exclaimed, turning for
encouragement toward the eldest of the children. "I cain't hol' back
thet ole ogre only fer ter-night. Gi'n termorrer he'll kotch us,
shore. An' I cain't see no way ter git out 'cept over thet bog; an'
I ben a-figurin' all day erbout hit. Ther hain't no use'n our
a-settin' hyar a-waitin' fer God ter come an' do somethin'. We-uns
has gotter do hit our own selfs. He's a-goin' ter watch over us,
same es He does th' sparrows an' take keer on us an' see thet
nawthin' hurts us, but hits we-uns an' not Him thet's got ter git th'
soon start. I hain't afeerd now, o' nawthin'. I tol' you-all down
thar in th' co'n field 'bout th' Good Shepherd who come las' night
whilst you-all war a-sleepin'. Well, I l'arned a lot, jist a-lookin'
at Him.
"An' ter-day I ben a-watchin' th' sparrows. I ben a-watchin' them
ever sence I war es leetle es Leathie an' a-thinkin' thet when I war
big 'nough I'd fin' out whar they go when they fly straight-a-way
over th' bog. I hain't never seed ary one fall. He holts 'em up.
An' ef He'll holt sparrows up He'll holt little chil'en up. All we
hafter do es hang on ter trees an' things like th' birds. Willie has
l'arnt yo'-all how ter do thet. Now ef we-all hold together, an'
take thet thar rope we used ter-day, an' fling hit acrost frum one
tree ter 'nother, so thet we kin keap aholt on hit, I feel thet we'll
git just whar them sparrows git an' whar thet air, ole Grimes cain't
never come."
The children listened, breathless with anticipation. The theory was
excellent. The tree stunts appealed to them. The fear of Grimes
spurred them in their eagerness to put the plan into operation.
"S'pose'n he gits arter us," suggested one of the boys.
"We mustn't gi'n him a chanst," returned Mollie. "We must git Ole
Walter outter th' gate an' git his key ter th' gate an' fling hit
inter th' bog. I'll do thet. I'll do hit whilst he's a-sleepin'. I
know whar hit is. Hit's with his pants. His pants hang 'side his
bed. I see 'em mornings when I go ter help Maria an' he ain't up
yit. I'll git th' key."
There were many other things to be thought of. Mollie would have to
carry Doris on her back. The baby must be tied on very, very
securely. Then there was Johnnie. It would be hard for him, with
his mis-shapen foot and his crutch, but Johnnie was not sickly. He
was as strong and sturdy as any and he could climb trees almost as
well as Willie. His crutch could be used if any of them slipped and
someone had to extend a helping hand. They could extend the crutch
instead of the hand. It would be longer and stronger. The alert,
childish minds were working swiftly and in perfect harmony. What one
did not think of the others did.
"Yo' boys'll hev ter help Leathy, an' take keer on her. She's th'
least-un, 'ceptin' Honey, an' I'll hev her on my back," said Mollie.
In lieu of any other name for the new baby, Mollie had called her
Honey, and by that name the children now knew her.
Some of the boys wanted to start at once. Mollie was firm in her
opposition. Despite her youth, she had an old head. She had been
made old by the experiences through which she had passed.
"No," she counseled. "Not till jist 'fore sun-up. We gotter hev
light 'nuff ter see whut we air a-doin'. An' when we air ready ter
go, I--golly, we-all's got ter git acrost thet thar bog en such a
swivvet he won't be able ter tell one o' us frum t'other."
Then she made the little ones all say their prayers and lie down for
a bit of rest, promising to call them in plenty of time. But for
herself there was no rest. For hours she mounted guard. From the
darkness and quietness of the Grimes dwelling it finally became
evident that the ogre had gone to rest and would not disturb them
again that night.
The undertaking Mollie proposed was so hazardous that no person of
mature years would ever have conceived it. The idea of dragging a
dozen small children, including a cripple and a baby, strung together
by a rope and equipped only with a small, wooden crutch, across those
man-eating swamps and quagmires was so beyond the bounds of
reasonable possibility that the mere mention of it to any denizen of
the locality would have been considered proof of the person's mental
irresponsibility.
Of this, however, Mollie was blissfully unaware. From her viewpoint
and under existing circumstances it was the only way out and she was
going that way. Through the hours she watched the stars. Then, just
before the first faint streaks of dawn lighted the sky she went from
bed to bed, and from child to child, whispering the words that
brought each little dreamer up with a start, eager to put their plan
into action.
It was still dark. That intense darkness that comes just before dawn
and everything was very, very still.
The plans had been well laid and the children well instructed. Their
training in obedience was a wonderful asset. There was no talking,
no confusion. Like a band of busy little gnomes they worked,
silently, swiftly. Burlap bags were filled with straw and hay. They
were for Walter to walk on, that the thud of his hoofs might not
arouse the ogre. The little boys attended to that part of the work.
The girls looked after the baby while Mollie attended to everything.
Very softly, stealthily they extended the ladder and crept down into
the stable. Walter was sleepy but he loved the children and yielded
willingly to their soft persuasions. The old horse seemed to sense
that something wonderful was occurring and that much depended upon
him. And while the boys led him slowly, with padded hoofs across the
yard to the gate and the other children made their way noiselessly
toward the edge of the bog where they were to await Mollie and the
boys, the brave girl crept, little by little, into the home of the
monster, across the kitchen floor and up the narrow stairs leading to
that dark, windowless alcove where the ogre slept.
He was snoring, loudly. She could hear him. She could also hear
Ambrose's heavy breathing from the small alcove adjoining. She did
not hear Maria but she hoped and prayed that she, also, might be
sleeping with equal soundness. It was very dark. If she stubbed her
bare toes on anything that hurt she must make no sound, no move for a
moment. But she escaped that danger.
At the door of the room she paused again to listen. Then she stole
in, oh, so lightly! No fairy could have been more still. Her hand
reached out toward the bed post where the ogre's trousers were wont
to hang, ready to be donned with speed if the great bell rang in the
night. He moved heavily in his sleep. Mollie stood rigid, her heart
in her mouth. But he continued snoring. Maria groaned and snuffled.
She was dreaming. She thought, probably, that she was being beaten.
Again Mollie's hand reached toward the bed post. This time she was
successful. The trousers were there. She detached them with the
lightness of touch and deftness of a little bird struggling with a
string for its nest. Then she turned. If the ascent of the stairs
had been dangerous the descent was more so. She wanted to go fast
and dared not. Every creak seemed as loud as a thunderclap. But
nothing happened. She reached the door in safety and fairly shot
across the yard to where the boys were waiting with the horse.
She did not see the window back of her--that small, glass window that
Grimes had had put into the alcove where Ambrose slept and which was
not there the night Mollie and Stephen had said their childish
prayers, beseeching guardian angels to watch over them in that dark
and fearsome place. And now Ambrose, like a young imp, was peering
out at the array of tiny, dark outlines which dotted the yard as far
as he could see. Something had creaked, he thought. He was not yet
accustomed to that new window. He thought the wind might break it,
or something. So he got up to examine it. And what he saw terrified
him.
Not for a moment did he think the children could be trying to escape.
There was no place to escape to. This must be some kind of an army
of robbers. They were stealing Walter. Or else the police his Paw
had been talking about had come to arrest them. It was this last
thought which terrified him sufficiently to make him cower in silence
long enough for the brave little band of children to eject the horse
from the home where he, as well as they, had never known happiness,
and send him at a canter down the road to the pike. Then the gate
was re-locked and the ogre's pants, with the key attached, were
thrown in the bog.
It took but a moment to secure baby Doris to Mollie's back. The
child laughed and crowed with delight at such a novel way of playing
"ridey-horse."
"Quick, Willie, fling th' rope up to the limb o' thet tree yan,"
ordered Mollie.
Away went the heavy rope. It caught and tightened upon the limb of a
tall tree standing upon a tiny oasis of more solid ground well out in
the bog. Thank God! It held.
"Now, chil'en," said Mollie, "we-uns has all said our pra'rs. We's
tol' God whut we air a-goin' ter do an' axed Him ter holt us up. So
we doan need ter git skeered. Jist leave arything ter Him an' keep
a-goin'. Now! Yo' air all fixed tight. I'll go fust."
And Mollie, with Harris Wayne's baby girl strapped on her back,
looked fearlessly up at the heavenly glow far in the east and stepped
off into the bog, her hands clutching the rope to which they were all
tied.
And from the house came a wild cry of alarm.
"Paw--Paw--Git up! Th' young-uns is doin' sumpin'. Hit wa'n't
police. Hit war Mollie. She's got 'em in th' bog!"