[Illustration: STEENIE AND TITO.]
Sutro and Tito, indeed!
The former in the full glory of his holiday Mexican costume, looking a
little the worse for a long journey; the latter in exuberant spirits
over his release from the car which he had occupied for nearly a week,
padded and luxurious though it had been. The extravagant caresses of
one old friend, and the pleading, loving neighings of the other, were
met by an ecstatic response, which told how greatly they had been
missed.
“Oh! How--Why--I’m so glad I shall--cry!”
“Santa Maria! We part no more, _mi niña_ [my little one].”
“But how could you come? You darlings!”
“How? Save on that horrible railway train, _de veras_, indeed! But thy
Tito suffered not at all, he. Bob and the boys sent him to thee, their
Little Un; for, in verity, he was of no use to the Lord of Plunkett,
no. Not a saddle nor a bridle would he endure, until to-day. And
so--goes thy Bob to the señor and says: ‘The Little Un’s horse travels
east to the Little Un, with old Sutro, who will not live at San’
Felisa without his heart’s dearest.’ And--here we are. _Caramba!_ Thou
lookest fine, no? But--still--thou wilt return with Sutro to the old
_hacienda_, wilt thou not, _mañana_ [to-morrow, sometime]?”
“The very first _mañana_ that ever I can! But, go away, you boys! What
do you want with us?”
“A circus! A circus!” cried the gamins, delighted at seeing Steenie now
mounted behind the old Spaniard, whose striking apparel reminded them
of nothing but the fascinating entertainment just mentioned.
“It’s that horse girl!”
“It’s her that rode Beatrice Courtenay’s runaway!”
“I’ll bet all my alleys she does b’long to a circus, an’ that’s another
of ’em!”
“Say, Sissy, what show you skedaddle out of? Give us the tip!”
“The tip, no? The whole of it, you miserables!” Suiting the action to
the word, Sutro leaned sidewise from the saddle, and laid about him
hastily with his short riding-whip. This had the effect of ridding them
from immediate persecution, and, taking advantage of this lull in the
attentions of the street boys, Steenie gave Tito his word of command,
and away they shot at a pace to distance all pursuers.
Madam Calthorp looked up from her book as the clattering of horse-hoofs
fell on the gravel of the path which led to her disused stable, and
could scarcely believe her own eyes for the story they told her.
She was still trembling from the shock of her surprise when Steenie
bounded into her presence, wild with excitement and radiantly
glad. “O, Grandmother--Grandmother! Who do you think has come?
Tito--Tito--Tito! My own Tito! And that blessed old Sutro, who is as
old as old, but didn’t mind anything but staying away from his _niña_!
Come--come--quick--and see them!”
She could not stand still, not one instant; but around and around her
grandmother’s chair she danced, while that lady slowly rose, wondering
at herself for even this concession.
“This way! This way! To the--I s’pose it’s the stable! And won’t Tito
be glad to get into a quiet stall once more? And the grass! Can he roll
on the cunning little lawn, Grandmother?”
“Steenie, silence. Be still for one moment. What is all this? Who is
‘Tito,’ who ‘Sutro’? Why are you not at school?”
“Why--why--I don’t know. I s’pose I forgot. Sutro--is Sutro. Don’t
you know I told you ’bout him? He’s my body-servant, and as old as
anything. But such a rider! There’s nobody in all San’ Felisa can
beat him, ’cept Kentucky Bob an’ some more. Bless his heart! Bob’s, I
mean. Bless everybody’s! For he’s come all these long three thousand
miles to bring me my pretty piebald Tito. The Plunketty Lord said he
should always be mine, case I ever went back; but those dear boys
wouldn’t wait for that--no! I s’pose they saw that Tito was breaking
his heart and s’posed I was mine; and so they paid all the money
for Tito’s ticket, and hired him a beautiful cushioned horse-box,
and sent Sutro to take care of him till he brought him safe to me.
And--and--he’s--they’re never going away any more till I go, too. Oh,
_hola_, _hola_! Aren’t you glad--glad--glad?”
If she were glad she did not so express herself; nor did Madam
Calthorp’s countenance exhibit any emotion brighter than dismayed
astonishment as she followed this strange child out of the room and out
of the house, in order to be presented to two more intruders.
“Sutro, Caballero Don Sutro Vives, this is my beautiful Madam
Grandmother. And Tito--my sweet!”
“I have the honor to kiss thy feet, Señora,” said the old Spaniard,
bowing profoundly.
For a moment Madam regarded him with admiring curiosity. As a “type” of
that race which she had read of in history, a race that was fast dying
out, he interested her, and for that reason she was glad to see him;
and the caballero, lifting his eyes from the ground, beheld only the
pleasure, and did not question its cause. “The Doña Steenie says truly,
Madam; the Señora is beautiful,--as the snows on the Sierras. May the
humblest of her slaves beg her gracious favor?”
Such language was new to Old Knollsboro, though to Steenie’s ears it
was as familiar and as meaningless as the ordinary salutations of the
day to other folk; and she interrupted any reply which Madam might have
made by seizing that lady’s hand and placing it on Tito’s flowing mane.
“Isn’t it fine and white,--whiter and softer than the freshest fleece
ever sheared? And see the pretty, pretty markings all over his body!
Lift your foot, my Tito. One--two--three--four! One--two--three--four!
Isn’t that a fine action? And his haunches! See how strong and shapely.
And his lovely tail, set straight and free! And his darling neck! Oh,
my Tito, I love you! I love you!”
Madam Calthorp was speechless. Not only was she amazed, but she was
touched. She had never seen anything like this. It was as if a twin
had found its mate; and the exchange of sentiment between the two
young creatures was too evident for even her untrained eyes to ignore.
Steenie was not one whit more glad than Tito; nor did she express her
emotion more clearly. The animal’s velvet nostrils moved everywhere
about the curly head and bobbing shoulders of his recovered mistress,
with an exquisite gentleness of touch she could not have believed
possible in “only a horse.” There was adoring delight in the great
brown eyes which followed Steenie’s every motion, and seemed blind to
all else; and when Sutro had unfastened the stable door, the loving
pair went joyfully away together, her arm about his neck, bent proudly
to receive it.
“My-soul-I-declare!”
This ejaculation, in the harshest utterance of Mr. Resolved Tubbs,
broke in upon this pretty scene with the force of an explosion. It
cleared the air of undue sentiment, and recalled Madam Calthorp to
a sense of her position and its consequences. Here she had not only
received these unwelcome intruders, but allowed them to believe that
she was glad to do so! She must right the mistake at once.
“Ahem, Mr. Sutro, I mean Vives, I think it would be better to take that
animal directly to the livery stable. I do not keep a horse, and should
not be willing to let Steenie. As for yourself, while your devotion is
touching, I think you can find more comfortable quarters at the village
than I can give you. This man--Tubbs, will you show this old gentleman
the way to the American House?”
Considering the lumbago, Mr. Tubbs stepped forward with amazing
alacrity. He was quite willing to prevent his small “world” being
“turned upside down” by this fresh consignment from the far west. But
his obliging readiness fell powerless before the caballero’s obtuse
serenity.
“Ten thousand pardons, most charming Señora, but whatever will serve my
hostess serves me. Old Sutro is not particular.”
“But--gracious!” retorted Resolved, and began an explanation which was
cut short by Steenie’s reappearance with the request: “Please get me
some alfalfa, or oats, or something for my Tito’s dinner; will you, Mr.
Tubbs?”
“Steenie, there is nothing for a horse to eat here. I have not kept one
in many years. The last one was your father’s, before he left home.
This animal must be taken elsewhere for the present.”
“Grandmother! My Tito? After so long, long a journey? Oh, no, no, no!”
“But, my child, be reasonable. The stable is--”
“’Xcuse my interrupting, but it’s just as nice as nice. They’s a lovely
box-stall, only wants taking those old rubbishy things out of it; an’
places for everything. We can go to the shop where you buy things for
horses, and buy him all he needs. Same’s you bought my clothes. An’
then such fun! Won’t Papa be glad! And Sutro--forgive me not thinking
’bout you, too. Are you hungry, dear Sutro? You’re ’most always, don’t
you know?”
“Ah, Señorita! The food on the way was not of Ellen’s sort. In verity,
I would like a dish of--”
“A’most anything, no? Grandmother, may Mary Jane cook Sutro some
dinner?”
“Hm. It must be near the dinner-hour for all of us; and you may
invite your old friend for this one meal.” The significance of the
lady’s tone was not lost upon her ancient servitor, Resolved, but it
was--wholly--upon the happy unconsciousness of these two reunited
comrades, whom Madam Calthorp watched with growing interest; even
herself forgetting, as Steenie had utterly forgotten, that there was
such a thing as school and its duties.
“She is a different creature! Vivacious, sparkling, charming. And all
for that queer old man and queerer horse! Is it as my son has thought
and said,--that the key to the child’s nature is love,--overflowing
love? Well, there is, certainly, no mistaking the love between those
two nor the want of it between these--two!” considered the unwilling
hostess, turning her eyes upon the two old men, as Sutro and Resolved
glared with instant and mutual dislike upon each other.
“Can it be possible that Tubbs is actually growing fond of the child,
and is jealous?”
It seemed so, strange as it was; for when dinner was served, and Sutro,
naturally, took his place behind Steenie’s chair, the other ancient
worthy remarked with considerable sharpness: “Ye kin set down, can’t
ye?” and pointedly pushed a chair back to designate where.
“Ten thousand thanks, my friend; when the Señorita has finished,”
answered Sutro, suavely.
“Sin-your-eet-her, hey? What heathen gibberish is that, I’d like ter
know? Thar’s yer place, an ’thar ye kin set er go ’ithout,--uther one,”
retorted Tubbs, forgetting in his aversion to this “furriner” the
respect due to the occasion.
“_Luego_ [presently].” With the sweetest of smiles, old Vives, who had
been watching Resolved’s manner of service, deftly turned his little
lady’s plate, exactly as the other had done Madam Calthorp’s.
When Mr. Tubbs passed to his mistress the food which Mary Jane had
carved, the stranger anticipated a similar attention to Steenie. So
with everything; till even the house-mistress’s dignity yielded to a
smile, and the little girl laughed outright.
“Why, you two funny men! What makes you go snap--snap--with things,
so? And poor Mr. Resolved, if it’s your lumbago worse, just let
Sutro take care of Grandmother, too. My Sutro can do everything
beau-u-tifully; can’t you, dear?”
“_Si?_ It is music thou speakest, _carita_.”
“T-wu-ho!” With this indescribable snort Mr. Tubbs retreated to the
kitchen and threw himself down recklessly in Mary Ann’s own rocker. But
the rocker was cushioned, and Resolved was tired; and the combination
revealed the fact that even an enemy has his uses. “My-soul-I-declare!
If he wants ter trot round waitin’ on younguns, let him trot! Ain’t no
law ag’in it, as I know of.”
“Ner ag’in your behavin’ like a great, cross youngun yerself, if I do
say so!” said Mary Jane, dishing apple-fritters with a skilful hand.
“Ain’t cross. An’ if I be, ain’t it enough ter make a critter a’most
sw’ar? Here was we livin’ like pigs in clover; and in come Mr. Daniel
an’ the gal. Now, ’s if that wa’n’t upsettin’ enough--piles in a
heathen Mexican an’ a calico horse ter boot! I do say, an’ I mean it,
folks does sometimes get more o’ trouble ’n they desarve in this world.”
“Calico horses is lucky. Hain’t you never heerd that? I always wish
when I see one, an’ that ain’t often. An’, though it does make a pile
o’ work, I--no, sir!--I ain’t a mite sorry ’t Mr. Dan’l an’ Steenie
come!”
“Ma-ry-Ja-ne!” Tubbs half rose from his chair, in astonishment at his
sister’s words. “An’ you--a perfessor!”
“Perfessor from my youth up,” assented the spinster, piously. “That’s
why it’s borne in on me ter witness fer the truth. I hated it--Here!
you Mr. Sutry! Jest fetch all them things out, fust. Don’t leave
anything on the table, savin’ the bread an’ the salt. And--there ye be!
Handy as a womern, I do declare!--Yes, sir, I hated it wuss ’n pisen.
So ’t I couldn’t sleep, worryin’ ’bout the victuals ter cook an’ the
dishes ter wash, an’ the hull job. An’ I knowed Madam hated it even
wusser. But now--mebbe it’s grace ’at’s ’gin me, an’ mebbe it’s only
natur’; but that little creetur has ’bout changed the hull outlook o’
things. She jest acted as if I loved her the terr’blest’t ever was,
an’ fust I knowed--I did! Thar wasn’t no holdin’ out ag’in them big
innercent eyes o’ her’n, a smilin’ so right inter a body till a body
can’t help smilin’ back. So--now I’ve told it out, an’ I feel better.
You b’lieve my words, brother Resolved, an’ mark ’em well: Thar’s a
blessin’ come with poor Mr. Dan’l’s comin’, an’ it’s took visible shape
in that thar child!”
“Well--I swan!”
“Hm-m. Ye needn’t swan’ nothin’. Madam’s through. Come along an’ eat
yer dinner. An’ remember ter let yer candle burn afore that poor,
yaller-skinned, heathen stranger, who, if he hain’t got the grace o’
perfessorship has got it o’ perliteness.”
Thus adjured, “professor” Tubbs arose and followed Mary Jane into
the dining-room, where Sutro had already seated himself in the
chair designated by his new _confrère_, and was smiling blandly
kitchen-wards, when that person’s bent figure darkened the doorway.
But if there was any spiritual light-shining or candle-burning, it was
not of a sort to impress the Catholic Christian with the beauty of the
Puritan creed.
Alas! It was war from the beginning with these two; and, though both
were inwardly conscious of their own blame in the matter, no amount of
self-abusive prayers on one side or muttered Ave Marias on the other
could ever change the course of nature.
“Water won’t run up-hill; an’ folks ’at ’s born contrary stays
contrary. All you kin expect is ter keep the peace,” said the shrewd
Mary Jane, and determined to make a bridge of her own patience which
should serve both sides of the hostile camp.
After dinner the question of Tito again arose; and, pending her son’s
return, Madam compromised her own judgment and sent off an order for
food and bedding sufficient for a few days’ need. “I’m growing very
weak and indulgent,” she said, apologetically, to Mary Jane. “But
this arrival was so unexpected, it may be as well to await Daniel’s
decision.”
“Yes’m. An’ I do ’low you won’t be sorry. She don’t ask ner tease fer
nothin’; hain’t never sence she come. ’Bout them books, even; I’ve
seen her a marchin’ back an’ forth, back an’ forth, a lookin’ through
the glass at ’em that longin’ ’at I’ve be’n a’most a mind ter open the
bookcases an’ show ’em to her. But, o’ course, I didn’t; an’ she didn’t
say ary word, ner even look mad, only kinder hungry-like. ’Twould be a
pity not ter let her have her pony, seems ter me. Mr. Sutry, he says
she kin beat any circuser ’tever was. She’s rid’ ever sence she was a
baby; an’ them men out ter Californy--‘boys,’ she calls ’em--’d a never
let her come east in the world if it hadn’t a be’n fer her pa’s eyes.
When’s he comin’ home, Ma’am?”
“Soon, I hope. And that he will be reassured concerning his dreaded
blindness. It cannot be that a Calthorp--such a strong, healthy,
handsome man he is, Mary Jane--should suffer such a physical blemish!”
In that sentence spoke one of Madam Calthorp’s strongest prejudices.
Against imperfection of any sort her proud heart rebelled. Her own
physique was faultless. She wore her years and her white hairs as
royally as a queen her ermine mantle. She had always prayed that she
might die thus, in her full vigor, before any mortal weakness touched
her; and her feeling of this sort extended to all belonging to her. If
her son died, she would mourn him; but if he lived, a helpless wreck,
she dared not contemplate the prospect.
“No, it don’t ’pear so; but the ‘don’t ’pear so-s’ are gen’ally what
happens; an’ though I hate ter say it, I think you’d oughter know that
Mr. Dan’l went away a’most convicted in his own mind ’at he wouldn’t
never see no more o’ this mortal speer ’an he saw then.”
“Mary Jane! But you are not always a true prophet.”
“An’ I hope, with all that’s in me, ’at I ain’t now!”
But--she was. An attendant brought Daniel Calthorp home that night; and
the first glance which his mother cast upon his face disclosed that his
last hope of restored sight had gone out from it.