[Illustration: STEENIE AND HER GRANDMOTHER.]
Steenie had little difficulty in retracing her way along the avenue as
far as that old street of the town on which her grandmother’s house
stood; but she stopped, confused.
“It was a big white house with a lion on it.” Alas! they were all big
white houses in that locality, and more than one had a “lion on it.”
“There is a white fence before it, and green blinds.”
So were there everywhere,--for this staid, aristocratic, inland borough
was nothing if not correct. Years and years before, when it was young,
its then leader of society had builded him a “mansion,” standing so
many paces back from the street, of such a width and stature. He had
placed about the yard a protecting paling, white,--to match the house;
with its green blinds which did not match the grass, but stared at it
in a hardness of tone, so utterly green, that it made nature’s color
look yellow,--maybe from envy.
The example set in that far-away time continued still. To the one big
square white house succeeded other big, square, white houses, as like
to the pattern as rule and measure could make them; to the ugly green
blinds other rows of ugly green blinds; while the original paling
stretched out far, far on either side.
Thus the great High Street of Old Knollsboro began and grew; and now
was far too loyal to its past to alter its own cleanly and roomy
monotony for any modern freaks of architecture.
It was on this thoroughfare that a strange little girl, who had never
been lost on the wide plains of Santa Felisa, now stood looking about
in awe-stricken perplexity. She began, also, to feel physically very
miserable. Clouds had obscured the sun, and the wind had risen chilly,
blowing through her light attire with a piercing breath new to her
experience, and most unpleasant. Her shoes were water-soaked, and her
feet stiff with the cold; and such a terrible forlornness suddenly
overcame her that she felt very much like crying.
“But if I cry I can’t see anything, then!” said this practical small
creature, and forthwith restrained her tears. “Well, it must be further
’n this, anyhow; an’ if I go on, maybe I’ll see a Maltese cat. Mary
Jane says her cat is pure Malty; and so--Ho! There she goes!”
Thinking wholly of the animal which was to be her guide, Steenie
pursued a fleeing object that she believed to be Mary Jane’s
possession; but she was disappointed at the very gateway of successful
capture, beneath which the cat darted and through which the child would
have followed but for the latch; about this her observant eye detected
a radical difference from that of Madam Calthorp’s.
“Hm-m, Miss Cat! You’ve run away again, I s’pose. Mary Jane says you
are always running away an’ ‘pestering the life out of her.’ An’,
maybe, you’re like me,--don’t know where you do b’long. Never mind. I
guess you’ll find your way home again; so I’ll go on.”
Steenie was so oddly and thinly clothed for that season and climate
that some curious eyes looked after her sturdy little figure, as she
passed swiftly up the street, darting questioning glances at every
residence; but nobody thought of offering guidance. For wasn’t Old
Knollsboro in morning attire? Besides, open curiosity concerning one’s
neighbors was a common thing, and belonged to the vulgar crowd which
did not inhabit High Street. So she made the full length of one side
the roadway and had crossed to return upon the other, when she spied in
the distance a bent, blue-coated old man, whom she recognized at once.
“It’s Mr. Tubbs! It truly is! Hurrah!” she cried, with a delight quite
contrasting to the terror this same person had caused her earlier
in the day. Then she sped forward till she had overtaken and thrown
herself upon her victim’s shoulders, who rebounded from the shock of
the attack with a groan horrible to hear, but which no longer daunted
the glad child. “Oh, you dear Mr. Resolved! Here you were, looking for
me, and all the time I was--”
“Wasn’t lookin’ fer ye ’t all! Oh, oh! Be ye born ter murder me
outright, er be ye not? Um--m! That’s what I’d like ter know.”
“Murder you? Why, you must be funny! How, why should a little girl
murder anybody?”
“My-soul-I-declare! But you seem boun’ ter! An’ in the name o’ common
sense, what be ye doin’ out here with no clothes on ter speak of?
Where’s yer bunnit er yer shawl?”
Shawl! Steenie had never thought of it from the moment when she took it
off and laid it on the fence. The fence! What fence? Where? All up and
down those two long rows of palings which faded into an indistinct line
and seemed to melt together in the distance, the child’s eyes searched
critically. But there was nothing in sight to suggest the shawl, which
had been only loaned by Madam Calthorp, and Steenie’s fear took a new
direction. What if it were lost?--as she had been, and the Maltese cat.
She had been trained to a very nice observance of “thine” and “mine;”
and even at Santa Felisa, where she was so universally loved and
indulged, she had never mislaid or used anything belonging to another
without permission. How dreadful to begin now with something owned by
that stern, beautiful grandmother whom she already loved so dearly, yet
who seemed too “intelligy” to return such a simple sentiment!
“Which is my grandmother’s house, Mr. Resolved? Please, will you show
me?--even if you weren’t sent after me.”
“Sent arter ye! Humph! Psst-t’ I’d like ter see myself bein’ sent arter
younguns, at my time o’ life!”
“Where, please? Quick!”
For answer the old man pushed his spectacles into their legitimate
place and looked at the questioner searchingly. “Well, I hate ter own
it, but I s’pose I’ll have ter. I ’lowed ter Mary Jane fust off, ’t ye
didn’t seem like common younguns; an’ then that fool kind o’ talk this
mornin’; an’ now, a losin’ of yerself in a plain straight road like
this. It’s a pity,--it’s a terr’ble pity.”
“Of course it is. But don’t you see? I did it just because it _is_ so
plain. I was never outside my grandmother’s house before, only when we
came. And I was so tired I didn’t notice; an’ these rows and rows look
just like a flock of sheep, each more the same than the other; and if
you won’t tell me”--A fit of shivering cut short her remarks.
“Gracious! You ain’t a ketchin’ cold, be ye? A’ready? This way, then,
suddent! Er there ye’ll be ter be nussed.” With which humble imitation
of his mistress’ sentiments, Mr. Tubbs faced about, and seizing
Steenie’s cold little hand, hurried back to their own domicile as fast
as age and lumbago would permit.
“Now, look a here. Take a notice. Ye mayn’t be bright, but ye can l’arn
sunthin’, an’ I’m boun’ ter teach ye. That gate-latch has a round quirl
on the top. See? an’ there hain’t another gate-latch has a nothin’
but a square quirl the hull endurin’ length o’ High Street. Do ye
understan’ what I’m a sayin’?”
“Why, yes, certainly. Why shouldn’t I?” laughed Steenie, forgetting her
fear of her guide in gratitude for his “kindness” in returning her to
her friends, and wondering why he thought her so slow of comprehension.
But no sooner was the “round quirled” latch lifted than she darted past
him and in at the front door, which, for an unusual thing, stood wide
open.
“Papa! Grandmother! Where are you? I’m so glad--I’m sorry--I lost it--I
was lost, too, and he’s--the loveliest great gray--Papa! Papa Calthorp!”
Her father emerged from the library, looking very pale and careworn;
but she sprang into his arms with such exuberant delight that a smile
rose to his lips. Then he clasped her close,--closer than she had
ever known him to do, and his cheek felt the chill of hers. “Why,
sweetheart, how cold you are! Where have you been?”
“Didn’t you hear, Papa, dear? I said I had been lost.”
Very speedily thereafter Steenie found herself in bed. She didn’t quite
comprehend it, and it certainly was her first experience of going into
such retirement in the daytime; but one glance at the child’s wet feet
and shivering body had alarmed Madam greatly.
“Right out of that warm climate into this, and clad as she is! This
way, Steenie, at once. Oh, your shoes! The tracks on the carpet!”
“Here, darling, I’ll carry you;” and as directly as if his eyes could
see, Mr. Calthorp bore his little girl to her own room and himself
assisted in tucking her into the thick blankets, while Mary Jane fussed
about with hot bricks and soap-stones, and Madam Calthorp administered
a dose of sage-tea, whose aroma carried the father back to the days of
his own childhood.
When the excitement had somewhat subsided, and Steenie had assured
them over and over that she was as “warm as a pepper-stew,” the
house-mistress sat down to listen to the tale which her grandchild had,
until then, vainly endeavored to tell.
“First, I’m so sorry about your shawl. I took it off, ’cause it was so
warm; an’ I don’t know where the place was. The fence is just the same,
and--”
“Never mind the shawl, Steenie; it is certain to be returned. Somebody
will find and recognize it; but what is that about a horse?”
Holding fast to her father’s hand, Steenie gave a graphic description
of the runaway, and its result. When she had finished, Madam sat in a
silence which was plainly that of a shocked dismay. Finally she spoke.
“This is even worse than I feared. No such accident must occur again.
Steenie, before another word is said, promise me that you will not go
into the street again without permission.”
“No, no, Mother!” interposed Mr. Calthorp, earnestly. “Pardon my
disputing your authority, but that will not answer. Steenie has never
known restraint, and--but let us settle all this at some other time.”
The lady sighed. She had her own ideas of how a little girl should be
brought up; but she felt her old hands inadequate to the task. She
had been so peaceful and free! Why had this trial been sent upon her?
Gravely she arose and left the room, and the relieved runaway went to
sleep to wake at the dinner hour with no worse feeling about her than
rebellion against being kept in bed when there was “nothing the matter
that ever was.”
The immediate result of that morning’s adventure, so far as Steenie was
concerned, was a suitable wardrobe. A dressmaker took up her abode in
the west chamber, and there the restless child was imprisoned during a
fortnight of bright days, while birds sang invitations to her through
the windows, and the crocuses coaxed her with their shining faces to
“come out of doors and be glad!”
But the only time she could command for that was after the crocuses and
the birds had gone to sleep, and the dressmaker had stopped work for
the day.
“Why do I need so many things, dear grandmother? I’m sure they’re
pretty; but--”
“Many, Steenie? I have never been an extravagant woman, and I certainly
shall not cultivate the habit now. But there must be two comfortable
school-frocks and three or four thinner ones; for I wish everything
to be accomplished at once that will be required during the summer.
There must be a simple dress for church and a richer one for visiting;
and--that is all. I’m sure you are the first little girl I ever knew
who didn’t like handsome clothes.”
“Oh, you haven’t known even me--that way! For I like the frocks well
enough, but not the fixing of them. I stand up, ‘being fitted,’ till my
feet ache like anything; and Miss Sessions’ knuckles have punched me
all over black and blue. She doesn’t mean it, of course; but when she
puts in a pin she jams against me like I was her lap-board. And I wish
needles hadn’t eyes! ’Cause I ’most put mine out threading ’em.”
“Why, Steenie! I thought you were a contented child! I have never heard
you complain of anything before.”
“Haven’t you? Am I complaining? But--it’s--it’s--awfully, awfully
lonesome! I wish Papa would come back! I can’t sleep nights for
wondering about his poor eyes; and how long it will take the man to fix
’em.”
“There, there! That will do. Don’t allow yourself to give way to habits
of despondency. Your father expected to be gone for two weeks, and he
has been for but for ten days. Maybe, if you go down into the kitchen,
you can see Mary Jane get supper.”
“Yes’m,” said Steenie, choking back her emotion, and turning toward the
stairs, whence, seeing her grandmother stoop to pick up a thread from
the carpet, she ran to save her the trouble, and ended by throwing her
arms about the silk-clad shoulders and giving them a hearty squeeze.
“Oh! I do love you so, Grandmother!”
“Why, Steenie? Because of the new frocks and pretty jackets?”
“Grandmother! How funny! ’Cause of nothing at all only--’cause!”
At which senseless reason the giver of it smiled merrily, and the
recipient smiled almost indulgently.
“Well, run now! To-morrow you will be at school, and a new life will
begin for you.”
“How? Am I not living now?”
“In one way, yes. But there is a world of books to which your school
training will open the door. To me, that world is everything, or was. I
find--some other things--begin to interest me now.”
“What things, Grandmother?”
“No matter, little questioner; but things utterly different from any
printed page.” When Madam Calthorp said anything that Steenie did
not understand, the latter readily attributed it to the lady’s great
“intelligence,” which she had now learned to call by its right name.
But, somehow, that little talk had set both old and young hearts to
lighter beating; and Steenie departed kitchen-ward, feeling that
“watching Mary Jane” was something interesting, even if it could not
quite equal a race on the sands with Tito.
But of that beloved animal she dared not think often. It was apt to
make a troublesome “ache” come “in her throat,” and it “didn’t do any
good.”
On the following morning, feeling very curious and happy, Steenie
entered the primary department of the great school for which Old
Knollsboro was famous. She did not know that girls “going on eleven”
usually disdained “primaries” as far beneath them, and she wouldn’t
have cared if she had; but, at the first recess, she was enlightened
on the subject by a young miss in braids, who remarked, patronizingly,
“Oh, you’re the new girl, aren’t you?”
“I’m not new,--not very. I’m over ten.”
“What? I don’t mean new that way. You just came.”
“No. I have been here ever so long. Grandmother says ’bout three weeks.”
“Don’t you feel mad to go with the little ones?”
“No. I think I like little ones best. I never saw any ’bout my size
’cept Beatrice, and--and--you,” concluded Steenie, stammering in her
confusion over saying something that even to her untrained ears sounded
“not just right.”
“My! Aren’t you polite! Well, what can you expect, my mother says, of a
girl that’s lived in California amongst cow-boys.”
“Cow-boys are nicer--nicer than--nice! I love them, every one!” cried
this loyal Santa Felisan.
“You’d ought to be ashamed!”
“Why?”
“Oh, because. Say, has Beatrice Courtenay been to see you?”
“Yes. Once.”
“You thought you did something smart, didn’t you? Ma said it was
disgraceful for a girl to get talked about like you have been.”
Steenie stared in amazement, then bethought herself of her
grandmother’s parting advice: “Be pleasant to all, as is natural to
you; but do not have much to say to any girl until you have learned her
name. I wish you to make only the right friends, and I can tell you
about all the families--if not all the children--in town. It is wise to
select your playmates from households of gentlewomen. ‘Even a child is
known by the company he keeps.’”
“Will you please tell me your name, miss girl?”
“It’s Annie Gibson. My father keeps a candy store.”
“Does he? Why does that bell ring? Isn’t the lady pretty who teaches
me? She thinks I read very well indeed, for--for--me.”
“Pooh! You’d ought to hear me! I’m in the Fifth Reader. I speak pieces,
examination days. Your dress is awful nice and stylish. I bet you
didn’t have that made in your old California. I bet your grandmother
had to give it to you.”
“Annie, you shouldn’t say ‘I bet.’ Grandmother c’rected me, myself,
for doing it. My grandmother is a very in-tell-i-gent woman, my father
says, an’ I’m to watch out for the way she talks; ’cause she never
says anything ’nelegant. But I think your frock is pretty, too. It’s
redder’n mine, an’ more ruffley, isn’t it? I think you are very nice to
look at. Your eyes are black, aren’t they? And your hair is nice an’
straight. An’ what beautiful big feet you have, an’ hands! Why, your
hands are a’most twice as big’s mine!”
Poor Annie Gibson didn’t know whether to laugh or “get mad;” but there
was no doubting the sincere and admiring curiosity with which Steenie
Calthorp examined this other specimen of girlhood; but the final tones
of the bell called both away toward the house.
Which, however, Steenie did not enter. Her attention had suddenly been
attracted by a commotion in the street, and everything new appealed to
her curiosity.
“My! I wonder what those boys are doing! What--What--What!”
With a shriek of delight that penetrated the building she was
deserting, the child darted from the enclosure,--through the crowd of
grinning boys straight to the cause of all their mirth. “My Sutro! My
Sutro! My own, ownest Tito!”
“_Caramba!_ My angel! Is it thou? At last--at last!”