The Pocket
THE next Saturday there was another long seam of stitches to pick out.
To this piece of cloth also was hanging a pocket of rather pretty pink
and white stuff. Ruth thought it would make a good frock for her one
doll, Henrietta. She meant to ask Aunt Hester if she could have the
pocket.
Miss Brackenbury had been called into the next room by the arrival of a
visitor. Ruth could hear the sound of their voices, Miss Brackenbury's
low and quiet; Miss Amanda Beach's high and shrill. She heard a word or
two now and then which made her think they were talking of herself and
Billy. Then the subject changed and she heard payments and receipts and
lawyers talked about.
She wondered how grown-up people could be interested in such dull
subjects, so she let her thoughts wander to the striped pocket which
would perhaps make a frock for Henrietta. The doll was named for Miss
Hester's twin sister who had died when she was about Ruth's age and
Ruth realized that Miss Hester had a tenderer feeling for the little
waif because of this much loved twin sister.
"And then," Ruth said to herself, "I can make a sunbonnet for my doll
like the one Henrietta used to wear, a pink one. I have some scraps of
pink gingham that Lucia Field gave me. I wish I knew whether I could
have the pocket."
She heard a stir of chairs in the next room and supposed that Miss
Beach was about to go, but she was mistaken in this for the next moment
Miss Hester came into the room where Ruth was, and going to an old
writing desk, took from it a lot of papers.
Ruth improved the opportunity. "Are you going to use this pocket, Aunt
Hester?" she asked. "It has a hole in it, a little one. Will you want
it for Billy's coat?"
"No, I'd better make new ones," was the answer.
"Then, may I have this for Henrietta?"
Miss Hester glanced down. "Yes, you may have it," she answered. Then
she went back to the living-room.
"I think I'll rip out the pocket," thought Ruth. "I can do it without
hurting the cloth, for I'll be careful not to cut anything but the
striped stuff."
She ripped away industriously till the pocket came off readily and
made a gaping place between the lining and the cloth of the coat. Ruth
slipped her hand down into the hole.
"How deep it goes down," she thought.
Her fingers touched the corner and discovered that something had lodged
there.
"I suppose it's tobacco," she said disgustedly, but her fingers drew
forth a little wad of paper which time had creased and worn. "It isn't
anything after all," said Ruth. "If it had been tobacco, I could have
given it to old silly Jake when he comes to saw wood."
She threw the bit of paper on the floor, then remembering Miss Hester's
orderliness, picked it up again and slipped it into the pocket she had
ripped out.
"I'll throw it in the fire when I get through this," she said, "but I
don't want to go into the kitchen 'spressly for that."
However, both paper and pocket were forgotten half an hour later when
Billy came blustering in.
"Say, Ruth," he cried, "come along out when you get that done. I've got
something to show you."
Billy's excitement promised no ordinary thing.
"Oh, what is it?" cried Ruth, her eyes shining.
"Wait and see."
"I'm 'most through," said the little girl, eagerly. "I won't be a
minute, Billy. Miss Beach is going, too, so Aunt Hester can come and
say the hour is up, for it is striking three now."
She folded her work, stowed it away in the chest, picked up the striped
pocket and ran into her little room with it, where she tucked it away
in her box of scraps for doll clothes.
As she came running back the door closed after Miss Beach. "It's three
o'clock, Aunt Hester, and I picked out every stitch and put away the
coat. Now may I go?" asked Ruth as Miss Hester came in.
Miss Hester looked around to make sure that all was in order. She
held a parcel in her hand and as she sat down she murmured, "More
buttonholes."
Ruth came closer and laid her small hand upon Miss Hester's arm. "And
you hate them so," she said sympathetically. "Are you afraid you will
have to make them all your life, Aunt Hester?"
Miss Hester sighed. "I am afraid so."
"No, you won't," Ruth assured her. "You can teach me to make them when
I am bigger and then, when Billy gets to keeping store, we won't either
of us have to make them, for, when we get hungry we can go down to
Billy's and eat crackers and raisins and things. I'm coming, Billy."
For Billy, grown impatient, had gone out into the yard and was calling
her.
Miss Hester looked after her as she ran out. "Amanda need not
discourage me about Ruth," she said with a faint little smile; "I'll
have the child's love and confidence yet." Then she sat down to her
old desk and pored over a little pile of papers which she drew from a
pigeon-hole.
Meanwhile, Billy had preceded Ruth to the wood-shed and was standing
over something in a dark corner.
"Look," he whispered, "ain't they the cunningest you ever did see?"
And Ruth, tiptoeing nearer, saw four little fat puppies cuddled up
against their small mongrel mother.
"Oh, aren't they dear?" exclaimed the child. "Where did they come from,
Billy? Who does the mother belong to?"
"Nobody, I reckon. She's just a stray."
"Oh, like us," said Ruth in a sympathetic voice, as she leaned down to
stroke the little creature. "Has she had anything to eat, Billy?"
"No, but I'm going to give her my supper."
"Oh, I'll give half mine and then you needn't give but half yours, so
we won't any of us three be very hungry. Oh, Billy, do you think there
is any chance of Aunt Hester's letting us keep her and the babies?"
"I'm afraid not," replied Billy, soberly.
"You haven't told her?"
"Not yet."
"If we could keep just one," said Ruth, clasping her hands, "maybe we
could find homes for the rest. I'll tell you what, Billy; let us get
her to tell us more about Bruno. You know how she loved him and then
we'll tell her about these and ask her if she doesn't want one in
Bruno's place."
"That's a scheme," cried Billy. "We'll do that very thing. You see
we'll have to let her know if we mean to take our suppers out to the
little mother."
"So we will. You shall have something pretty soon, you nice little
doggie," said Ruth, caressingly, as she stroked the soft brown ears of
the small creature lying in the straw. The dog lifted her wistful eyes
gratefully and licked Ruth's fingers in response. "See how friendly she
is," said Ruth, delightedly. "I'd like to keep you, dear little doggie;
I would so. Does any one know but us, Billy?"
"Not a soul."
"Then don't let's tell just yet, till we know what Aunt Hester says,
for some of the boys might pick out the very one we like before we get
a chance to know if we can keep one."
"That's so," agreed Billy. "We won't tell yet. I like that little
fellow with the spots; see him nose my hand."
"I like the one with brown ears like its mother," declared Ruth. "When
will they have their eyes open, Billy?"
"Not for nine or ten days yet. There's Aunt Hester calling; we will
have to go. Don't say a word till supper time."
Not a word was said to Miss Hester just then, although Billy grew very
red when she asked what they were doing in the wood-shed, but he rose
to the occasion by answering: "Oh, just playing."
Later on, when Ruth was setting the table, she drew Miss Hester into
telling about her childhood days.
"And did you have Bruno then?" asked Ruth.
"Not then, but we had another dog named Stray, a smaller dog."
"That's a nice name for a dog," commented Billy with satisfaction.
"You'd like to name one that, wouldn't you?" said Ruth with a little
laugh which she smothered when Billy frowned at her.
"Tell about Stray," said the boy.
"He was a dog my sister and I had."
"Was he not very big with brown ears and eyes?"
"Why yes. Did I ever tell you about him?"
"No," answered Ruth, confusedly, "but I thought maybe he was; I like
that kind."
"Well, that was the kind Stray was. He was a lively little fellow and
we were very fond of him, although he was not a thoroughbred."
"What is a thoroughbred?" asked Ruth.
"It is a dog or a horse or any animal which is very fine of its kind. A
thoroughbred dog wouldn't have the head of a setter and the tail of a
collie and the legs of a fox-terrier," said Miss Hester, smiling.
"Did Stray have all those?" asked Ruth.
"Well, not exactly. He was a cross between a spaniel and a fox-terrier
and my father used to laugh at him."
"Where did you get him?" asked Ruth eagerly.
"He came into the yard one day looking very thin and miserable. My
sister and I took him something to eat, and after that he followed us
everywhere, so we begged to be allowed to keep him."
"You begged your father, didn't you?" Ruth asked.
"Yes."
"And he let you keep him. He must have been a very nice man, a very
nice man indeed," decided Ruth with a glance at Billy.
"He was a nice man, my dear; the kindest in the world. It was his
kind-heartedness that lost us the old home," Miss Brackenbury sighed.
"Why?"
"I don't know that you would understand; but he raised money to help
a friend out of difficulties, and, though I am quite certain he paid
back all that he owed, after his death, I could find no record of any
payment and the man from whom the money was borrowed insisted upon
payment. It took nearly everything."
"What a dreadful, selfish man not to let you keep your house," said
Ruth savagely. "I'd like to crush him down to the earth and stamp on
him."
"Why, Ruth, what a terrible way to talk."
"I would, I would," declared Ruth. "If he was a wicked man, why
shouldn't I want to? The children of Israel liked to kill wicked people
and idolaters; I know that man is an idolater; I'll bet he has a brazen
image."
"Why, Ruth, you know nothing of the kind. You must not talk so." Miss
Hester spoke severely, but there was a flicker of a smile around the
corners of her mouth.
"Oh, keep quiet, Ruth," put in Billy. "I want to hear about Stray."
But Ruth's indignation was still burning.
"I'll bet if that man had been your father, he wouldn't have let you
keep Stray," she continued.
"Very likely he would not have, but never mind about that. Stray lived
to a good old age and died long after my little sister did. My father
got Bruno for me because I mourned so for Stray."
"If—if—" Ruth looked at Billy and slipped a cold trembling little hand
into his. The critical moment had come. She swallowed once or twice
and began again: "If—if you and your sister had found Stray with four
little puppies in the wood-shed, do you think your father-would have
let you keep them all? Was he as good as all that?"
"He was good enough to do anything that was right and just, Ruth, but I
don't think he would have consented to our having five dogs."
"I don't think five are a great many," Billy spoke up. "Dr. Peaslee has
six or eight."
"He has a pack of hounds, I admit, but they are hunting dogs and are
not house pets."
Ruth gave a long sigh. "How many do you suppose he would have let you
keep?" she asked.
"Not more than one, or two at the most."
"Two would do, you know," exclaimed Ruth carried beyond discretion,
"the mother and one of the puppies, Billy."
"What are you talking about?" said Miss Hester, in surprise.
Ruth's cheeks began to burn and she fingered Miss Hester's apron
nervously.
That lady quietly lifted one of the cold hands. "What icy fingers,
Ruth," she said. "Are you so cold?"
"No, Aunt Hester, I'm not cold only—only there are four puppies, you
know, and the mother. We do want so much to keep two. Oh, won't you be
as good as your father and let us keep them? They are in the wood-shed
and we are going to give them half our supper."
"Four puppies and their mother in the wood-shed!" exclaimed Miss Hester
in astonishment. "How did they get there?"
"They just came," said Billy, eagerly coming into the conversation.
"I found them there this afternoon. She's awfully nice, Aunt Hester;
you ought just to see her lick your hand, and the puppies are great;
there's one with spots—"
"And one with brown ears," Ruth chimed in. "I'd love that one. It looks
like its mother. She has brown ears and eyes just like Stray."
"I must see about this," said Miss Hester. "I am sorry, children, but
I am afraid we cannot afford to keep any of them, for it would mean
another mouth to feed."
"But we'd give half our supper to them," argued Billy.
Miss Hester shook her head sadly. "I couldn't allow that, Billy, for
you children do not have more than you ought as it is."
"Sho!" exclaimed Billy, "We have a heap more than we used to have, and
we got 'long then. Why, Aunt Hester, two years ago we'd have thought
ourselves regular swells if we'd had three meals a day."
But Miss Hester was obdurate, though she finally consented to allow the
children to share their meals with the little mother until her babies
were big enough to give away, Billy declaring that there were plenty of
the boys who would be glad to have one of the puppies.
So, after supper, they all went out to the wood-shed, Billy and Ruth
each bearing a pan of porridge and milk, for each had so insisted upon
the right to feed the dog, that Miss Hester was obliged to hunt up two
old pans into which was poured strictly half of their supper. This was
eagerly eaten by their small pensioner who seemed half-starved.
"Poor little thing," said Miss Hester, wistfully. "I really wish we
could keep her, but how could we feed her when we eat up everything so
clean that we have no scraps."
"Oh, if I could only make buttonholes," said Ruth fervently, "I'd make
enough to buy her all she needed."
Yet a way was provided for the entire family of dogs, for the next day
Billy came flying home from school, a pack of boys at his heels. These
were escorted to the wood-shed and therefrom came a great clamor of
voices.
Ruth hovered on the outskirts eager for the first news.
After a while, the boys filed out all talking at once. As they went out
the gate, they shouted back, "We'll be sure to be on hand to-night,
Billy."
And then Billy's red head appeared. The boy's face wore a pleased smile.
"Oh, Billy, tell me," cried Ruth, wild with curiosity.
"It's all right," said Billy; "I've made a bargain with the fellows,
and they've got to keep to it, too. Come on, let's tell Aunt Hester.
I've got 'em all to promise, and they've got to sign in ink, too." He
strode importantly into the house, Ruth dancing at his heels.
"We can keep any one we want, Aunt Hester," he announced, "and it won't
cost one cent, either. There's five dogs, ain't there? Well, there's
four of the boys that's agreed to give me scraps for one dog, every day
as I come home from school, to pay for the puppy he is to have, and if
a fellow don't keep his word I'm to take back his dog, and I'm goin'
to do it, too, for Sam Tolman's awful anxious for one and there ain't
enough to go round. So now can't we have one to keep?"
"Why, yes. You're a real good hand at a bargain, Billy," said Miss
Hester, looking pleased. "Of course, if you can feed the dog, you can
keep it."
"The boys are goin' to bring the stuff here while the little pups are
with their mother, so she can get fed. Charlie Hastings likes her best
of any and says he'd rather have a grown-up dog than a pup. He says he
knows his mother will let him have her 'cause they had a dog much like
her that got runned over last summer and they all felt awful 'bout it.
He says they'll call this one Flossy after the one they had."
"Oh, I am so glad she will have a good home," cried Ruth, clasping her
hands. "Which are we to have?"
"Well, I reckon we'll keep the one with brown ears 'cause Art Bender
wants the spotted one and Art's father is awful rich, so that we'll get
more scraps from them than anybody, and I thought it would be better to
let him have Spot."
He spoke quite soberly, but Miss Hester put back her head and laughed
more merrily than the children had heard her since they had come to the
little house.