THE THREE McKENNAS
I was in advance, and as I entered the door-way through which the bear
had disappeared, I found myself in the kitchen where I had seen the
three women at their dinner. Wild confusion had been brought about in
a second. A table had been over-turned, broken dishes and tin things
were scattered on the floor, a wooden chair lay upon its back, and the
room seemed deserted. The rest of the party quickly rushed in behind
me, and great were their exclamations at the scene of havoc.
"I hope nothing has happened to the McKenna sisters," cried Mr.
Larramie. "They must have been in here!"
I did not suppose that anything serious had occurred, for the bear's
jaws were securely strapped, but with anxious haste I went into the
other part of the house. Across a hallway I saw an open door, and
from the room within came groans, or perhaps I should call them
long-drawn wails of woe.
I was in the room in a moment, and the others crowded through the
door-way behind me. It was a good-sized bedroom, probably the
"spare-room" of the first floor. In one corner was a tall and wide
high-posted bedstead, and in the very middle of it sat an elderly
woman drawn up into the smallest compass into which she could possibly
compress herself. Her eyes were closed, her jaws were dropped, her
spectacles hung in front of her mouth, her gray hair straggled over
her eyes, and her skin was of a soapy whiteness.
She paid no attention to the crowd of people in the room. Evidently
she was frightened out of her senses. Every moment she emitted a
doleful wail. As we stood gazing at her, and before we had time to
speak to her, she seemed to be seized by an upheaving spasm, the
influence of which was so great that she actually rose in the air, and
as she did so her wail intensified itself into a shriek, and as she
came down again with a sudden thump all the breath in her body seemed
to be bounced out in a gasp of woe.
"It's Susan McKenna!" exclaimed Walter. "What in the world is the
matter with her? Miss Susan, are you hurt?"
She made no answer, but again she rose, again she gave vent to a wild
wail, and again she came down with a thump.
Percy was now on his knees near the bed. "It's the bear!" he cried.
"He's under there, and he's humping himself!"
"Sacking bottom!" cried the practical Genevieve "There isn't room
enough for him!"
Stooping down I saw the bear under the bed, now crowding himself back
as far as possible into a corner. No part of his chain was exposed to
view, and for a moment I did not see how I was going to get him out.
But the first thing was to get rid of the woman.
"Come, Miss Susan," said Mr. Larramie, "let me help you off the bed,
and you can go into another room, and then we will attend to this
animal. You need not be afraid to get down. He won't hurt you."
But the McKenna sister paid no attention to these remarks. She kept
her eyes closed; she moaned and wailed. So long as that horrible demon
was under the bed she would not have put as much as one of her toes
over the edge for all the money in the world!
In every way I tried to induce the bear to come out, but he paid no
attention to me. He had been frightened, and he was now in darkness
and security. Suddenly a happy thought struck me. I glanced around the
room, and then I rushed into the hall. Genevieve followed me. "What do
you want?" she said.
"I am looking for some overshoes!" I cried. "India-rubber ones!"
Instantly Genevieve began to dash around. In a few moments she had
opened a little closet which I had not noticed. "Here is one!" she
cried, "but it's torn--the heel is nearly off! Perhaps the other
one--"
"Give me that!" I exclaimed. "It doesn't matter about its being torn!"
With the old overshoe in my hand I ran back into the room, where Mr.
Larramie was still imploring the McKenna sister to get down from the
bed. I stooped and thrust the shoe under as far as I could reach.
Almost immediately I saw a movement in the shaggy mass in the corner.
I wriggled the shoe, and a paw was slightly extended. Then I drew it
away slowly from under the bed.
Now, Miss Susan McKenna rose in the air higher than she had yet gone.
A maddening wail went up, and for a moment she tottered on the apex
of an elevation like a wooden idol upheaved by an earthquake. Before
she had time to tumble over she sank again with a thump. The great
hairy bear, looking twice as large in that room as he appeared in the
open air, came out from under the foot of the bed, and as I dangled
the old rubber shoe in front of his nose he would have seized upon it
if his jaws had not been strapped together. I got hold of the chain
and conducted him quietly outside, amid the cheers and hand-clapping
of Percy and Genevieve.
I chained Orso to a post of the fence, and, removing his muzzle, I
gave him the old rubber shoe.
"Shall I bring him some more?" cried Genevieve, full of zeal in good
works. But I assured her that one would do for the present.
I now hurried into the house to find out what had happened to the
persons and property of the McKenna sisters.
"Where are the other two?" cried Genevieve, who was darting from one
room to another; "the bear can't have swallowed them."
It was not long before Percy discovered the two missing sisters in the
cellar. They were seated on the ground with their aprons over their
heads.
It was some time before quiet was restored in that household. To the
paralyzing terror occasioned by the sudden advent of the bear
succeeded wild lamentations over the loss of property. I assured them
that I was perfectly willing to make good the loss, but Mr. Larramie
would not allow me to say anything on the subject.
"It is not your affair," said he. "The bear would have done no damage
whatever had it not been for the folly of Percy in bringing his gun--I
suppose the animal has been shot at some time or other--and my
weakness in allowing him to keep it. I will attend to these damages.
The amount is very little, I imagine, principally cheap crockery, and
the best thing you can do is to start off slowly with your bear. The
women will not be able to talk reasonably until it is off the
premises. I will catch up with you presently."
When the bear and I, with the rest of the party, were fairly out of
sight of the house, we stopped and waited for Mr. Larramie, and it was
not long before he joined us.
When we reached the hay-barn we were met by the rest of the Larramie
family, all anxious to see the bear. Even Miss Edith, who had had one
glimpse of the beast, was very glad indeed to assure me that she did
not wonder in the least that I had supposed there would be no harm in
leaving such a mild creature for a little while by the side of the
road, and I was sure from the exclamations of the rest of the family
that Orso would not suffer for want of care and attention during his
stay in the hay-barn.
I was immensely relieved to get rid of the bear and to leave him in
such good quarters, for it now appeared to me quite reasonable that I
might have had difficulty in lodging him anywhere on the premises of
the Cheltenham, and under any circumstances I very much preferred
appearing at that hotel without an ursine companion. As soon as we
reached the house I told Mr. Larramie that it was now necessary for me
to hurry on, and asked if there were not some way to the hotel which
would not make it necessary for me to go back to the main road.
The good gentleman fairly shouted at me. "You aren't going to any
hotel!" he declared. "Do you suppose we are heathens, to let you start
off at this late hour in the afternoon for a hotel? You have nothing
to do with hotels--you spend the night with us, sir! If you are
thinking about your clothes, pray dismiss the subject from your mind.
If it will make you feel better satisfied, we will all put on golf
suits. In the morning we will get your machine from the Holly Sprig,
and when you want to go on we will send you and it to Waterton in a
wagon. It is not a long drive, and it is much the pleasanter way to
manage your business."
The family showed themselves delighted when they heard that I was to
spend the night with them, and I did not object to the plan, for I had
not the slightest desire to go to a summer hotel. Just before I went
up to my room to get ready for supper, the young Genevieve came to me
upon the porch.
"Would you mind," she said, "letting me feel your muscle?"
Very much surprised, I reached out my arm for her inspection, and she
clasped her long thin fingers around my _biceps flexor cubiti._
Apparently, the inspection was very satisfactory to her.
"I would give anything," she said, "if I had muscle like that!"
I laughed heartily. "My dear little girl," said I, "you would be
sorry, indeed, if you had anything of the sort. When you grow up and
go to parties, how would you like to show bare arms shaped like mine?
You would be a spectacle, indeed."
"Well," said she, "perhaps you are right. I might not care to have
them bulge, but I would like to have them hard."
It was a lively supper and an interesting evening. Miss Edith sat
opposite to me at table--I gave her this title because I was informed
that there was an elder sister who was away on a visit. I could see
that she regarded me as her especial charge. She did not ask me what I
would have, but she saw that every possible want was attended to. As
the table was lighted by a large hanging-lamp, I had a better view of
her features than I had yet obtained. She was not handsome. Her eyes
were too wide apart, her nose needed perhaps an eighth of an inch in
length, and her well-shaped mouth would not have suffered by a slight
reduction. But there was a cheerful honesty in her expression and in
her words which gave me the idea that she was a girl to believe in.
After supper we played round games, and the nervous young lady talked.
She could not keep her mind on cards, and therefore played no game. In
the course of the evening Mrs. Larramie took occasion to say to me,
and her eyes were very full as she spoke, that she did not want me to
think she had forgotten that that day I had given her her daughter,
and although the others--greatly to my satisfaction--did not indulge
in any such embarrassing expressions of gratitude, they did not fail
to let me know the high estimation in which they held me. The little
girl, Clara, sat close to me while I was playing, every now and then
gently stroking my arm, and when she was taken off to bed she ran back
to say to me that the next time I brought a bear to their house she
hoped I would also bring some little ones. Even Percy took occasion to
let me know that, under the circumstances, he was willing to overlook
entirely the fact of my being a school-master.
After the games, when the family was scattering--not to their several
bed-chambers, but apparently to various forms of recreation or study
which seemed to demand their attention--Miss Edith asked me if I would
not like to take a walk and look at the stars. As this suggestion was
made in the presence of her parents, I hesitated a moment, expecting
some discreet objection. But none came, and I assented most willingly
to a sub-astral promenade.
There was a long, flagged walk which led to the road, and backward and
forward upon this path we walked many, many times.
"I like starlight better than moonlight," said Miss Edith, "for it
doesn't pretend to be anything more than it is. You cannot do anything
by starlight except simply walk about, and if there are any trees,
that isn't easy. You know this, you don't expect anything more, and
you're satisfied. But moonlight is different. Sometimes it is so
bright out-of-doors when the moon is full that you are apt to think
you could play golf or croquet, or even sit on a bench and read. But
it isn't so. You can't do any of these things--at least, you can't do
them with any satisfaction. And yet, month after month, if you live in
the country, the moon deceives you into thinking that for a great many
things she is nearly as good as the sun. But all she does is to make
the world beautiful, and she doesn't do that as well as the sun does
it. The stars make no pretences, and that is the reason I like them
better.
"But I did not bring you out here to tell you all this," she
continued, offering me no opportunity of giving my opinions on the
stars and moon. "I simply wanted to say that I am so glad and thankful
to be walking about on the surface of the earth with whole bones and
not a scratch from head to foot"--at this point my heart began to
sink: I never do know what to say when people are grateful to
me--"that I am going to show you my gratitude by treating you as I
know you would like to be treated. I shall not pour out my gratitude
before you and make you say things which are incorrect, for you are
bound to do that if you say anything--"
"I thank you from the bottom of my heart," I said; "but now let us
talk some more about the stars."
"Oh, bother the stars!" said she. "But I will drop the subject of
gratitude as soon as I have said that if you ever come to know me
better than you do now, you will know that in regard to such things I
am the right kind of a girl."
I had not the slightest doubt that she was entirely correct. And then
she began to talk about golf, and after that of croquet.
"I consider that the finest out-door game we have," she said, "because
there is more science in it than you find in any of the others. Your
brains must work when you play croquet with intelligent opponents."
"The great trouble about it is," I said, "that it is often so easy."
"But you can get rid of that objection," she replied, "if you have a
bad ground. Croquet needs hazards just as much as golf does. The
finest games I have ever seen were played on a bad ground."
So we talked and walked until some of the lights in the upper windows
of the house had gone out. We ascended to the porch, and just before
entering the front door she turned to me.
"I wish I could go to sleep to-night with the same right to feel
proud, self-confident, superior, that you have. Good-night." And she
held out her hand and gave mine a strong, hearty shake.
I smiled as she left me standing on the porch. This was the same spot
on which her sister Genevieve had felt my muscle. "This is an
appreciative family," I said, and, guided by the sound of voices, I
found Mr. Larramie and his son Walter in the billiard-room.