AN ASTONISHING QUESTION
"Everybody's here, with all his first wife and children!" cried
somebody, facetiously, as the tin horn was blown to summon the men from
their labors in the field to their dinner.
"So they be! So they be! yonder comes Mis' Babcock with all her flock,
root and branch. Reckoned she'd strike Skyrie about feedin' time; but
there's plenty, plenty for everyone; and she's a nice woman, a hard
worker an' kind neighbor. Sho! Look at Seth Winters! If that man ain't a
kind of a mesmeriser, or somethin' like it! for he's actually coaxed
that proud Miss Montaigne to join the merry throng! Fact. I just seen
him escortin' her through the gate, an', Dorothy! mind you put on your
best manners an' treat her real polite, like city folks is supposed to
know how. Since she's put her pride in her pocket an' come, I'd like to
have her see she ain't the only young lady up-mounting. 'Cause you
belong now, you know; you're one of _us_. Go meet her, whilst I fix
another chair right alongside her ma and Mis' Calvert!" directed Mrs.
Smith, handing the girl a plate of rusk, with the added injunction:
"Take special care o' them biscuit, too, child. I made them myself, I
did, an' I want the 'ristocratics to have first chance at 'em. If some
them men folks tackle them on the road to table, there won't be nothin'
left of them but the plate. Take care! I--Why, I don't believe she heard
a word I said!"
Dorothy had heard in part. She obediently carried the plate to the
table, though not to that part of it which its owner had designated, and
she had answered: "Yes, Mrs. Smith, I will try." But she had suddenly
perceived a forlorn figure, leaning against the stone wall that
separated the field from the road, and her interest centered on that.
Poor Peter Piper was peering wistfully into that busy, happy, laughing
assemblage of people, as if he longed to be among them yet felt himself
shut out. He had not heard about the "Bee," and even if he had might
not have comprehended what it meant. Had he been at the blacksmith's
home once after the scheme was started, Seth would assuredly have given
the half-wit as courteous a chance to share in the fun and labor of that
day as he had given all his other neighbors. But Peter had not been seen
by anybody who knew him since that visit of his to Skyrie, in company
with old Brindle. He had departed then, frowning and greatly troubled.
Why, his clouded mind could not understand; but something had gone
wrong. The once deserted farm had become the home of strangers and he
could visit it no more. Thus much he felt and knew; and that night he
disappeared.
However, the poor fellow's absences were so frequent that nobody missed
him from the neighborhood and Dorothy had utterly forgotten him. Now, as
she saw him, her heart throbbed with pity.
"He looks as if this picnic were Paradise, and he shut out! I'm going to
ask him here!"
With a swoop upon it Mrs. Smith rescued her fine rusk from the plebeian
appetites which would have consumed it and carried it triumphantly to
the "aristocratic" end of the head table, then stood arms akimbo,
staring after Dorothy and ejaculating:
"If that don't beat all my first wife's relations! That chit of a child
set down the biscuit, but she snatched up a big cake worth twice as
much. She's going to coax that simpleton with it, just as a body has to
coax a wild critter to come an' be caught. And I plain told her that
Helena Montaigne was here, and 'twas her chanst to make friends with
_her_. Pshaw! I don't believe that Dorothy Chester cares a pin whether
she gets in with rich folks or not! 'Tain't five minutes ago 't I heard
her sassin' Herbert same as she might one my own boys. Don't stand in
awe of nobody, Dorothy don't, an' yet nobody gets mad at her. 'Course, I
don't begrudge Peter Piper a mouthful o' victuals. None of us would, but
what's _left over_ after the rest is done would be plenty good enough
for him. Huh! All that splendid chocolate cake--five-layer-thick!"
As Dorothy approached the wall Peter dodged behind it and, for a moment,
she thought he had run away. If he had she meant to follow; and with
the ease that her long practice in chasing Hannah had given her she
vaulted over the wall to pursue. But he had not run, and she landed on
the further side plump beside him where he sat huddled against the
stones.
"Well! It was lucky for you I didn't jump on you instead of by you!"
cried the girl, as she, also, sat down on the bank.
Peter shrank aside, as one who wards off a blow, and mumbled something
which she made out to mean:
"I didn't do any harm. I didn't!"
His speech was thick and he lisped like a baby learning to talk, but his
face brightened when she answered quickly:
"Of course you didn't. But why aren't you in there with all the others?
You must come, in a minute, back with me. First, see here?"
With the friendliest of smiles she held aloft the monster cake she had
judged would be the waif's proper share of the feast, choosing for him,
as she would for herself, to have the dessert come before the bread and
butter.
Peter's protruding eyes fastened upon the dainty and his mouth opened
widely, and for a time, at least, he knew nothing beyond that cake.
Breaking it into bits, Dorothy fed him. He did not offer to take the
food in his own hands, he simply opened that cavernous mouth and
received with a snap of his jaws the portions she dropped therein. The
operation became fascinating to the girl and she marveled to see no
movement of swallowing; only that automatic opening and closing, and the
subsequent absorption of the cake.
She had not supposed he would consume the whole loaf at one meal. He
did. The last morsel followed the first and still there was no sign of
surfeit, and the girl sprang up, saying:
"Now I must go back to help those ladies wait on the table. Will you
come?"
With some hesitation Peter Piper got to his feet, and now his gaze was
riveted upon her face as closely as it had been upon the chocolate cake
and almost as greedily. As if within her bonny smile and unshrinking
friendliness he beheld something new and wonderfully beautiful. It was
just as they stood up that somebody behind the wall called out:
"Well, Peter Piper! Good enough! So you've come to the 'Bee,' too, have
you? If you'd let me know where you were you'd have had your invitation
long ago. Time enough, though, time enough. Always is to do a good deed,
and there's a deal of work yet to be finished before nightfall. Let me
tell you, Miss Dorothy Chester, there isn't a better gardener anywhere
around than our friend Peter! If he'd only stick to it--if the lad would
only stick to it!"
It was Seth Winters, of course, who had seen Dorothy's crossing of the
field to that same spot where he, also, had discovered the feathered cap
of the poor imbecile. He was honestly glad of the lad's return, being
always somewhat anxious over his long absences. Much experience of life
had shown him that the world is not very kind to such as Peter, and he
tried by fatherly interest and goodness to make up to the boy somewhat
for the harshness of others. Dorothy's action had delighted him: and
with an approving smile he held his hands toward her, across the wall,
and bade:
"Give me your hands, lassie! I'll help you back over; and, Peter, come."
Dorothy sprang lightly to the top of the wall and he swung her as
lightly down; the half-wit following with a nimbleness one would not
have expected and, like a child, catching hold of the girl's skirt and
thus firmly attaching himself to her.
"Why, Peter! Don't do that! Young ladies don't like to drag big fellows
like you around by main force!" remonstrated the smith, smiling and
shaking his head at the youth, who merely smiled in return and clutched
the tighter, even though the girl once or twice tried to loosen his
grasp, attempting this so gently that it produced no effect; and thus
escorted she came back to the stables beneath the trees and to the
presence of Helena, toward whom officious Mrs. Smith immediately forced
her.
Oddly enough, since they were so unlike, there was instant liking
between the two girls; and with a smile Helena made room for Dorothy on
the bench beside her. But there was no room for Peter, nor would he have
claimed it now had there been plenty. With intense and haughty surprise
Helena had stared at the unfortunate for a moment, till an amused
contempt curved her lips in a disdainful smile.
In general, people did not credit the poor creature with sensitiveness;
none save Seth Winters believing that he keenly felt the scoffs and
gibes so often put upon him; but he now proved the truth of the
blacksmith's opinion. Helena's scornful look did what Dorothy's efforts
had failed to do--it loosened Peter's fingers from her skirt and sent
him, cowering and abashed, to the furthest limit of the group.
Fortunately, for him, straight also to a spot where Herbert Montaigne
was merrily helping--or hindering--the women busy cooking over the fires
upon the ground. Herbert had seen Dorothy's exit from the field with the
great cake in hand and had, for an instant, intended pursuit that should
end in a lark; then he had seen the red feathers of Peter's cap and
reflected:
"That girl's got some fellow over there she's going to feed on the sly.
They've both dropped down out of sight now--I reckon I won't spoil
sport--shouldn't like it myself. It's none of my business anyhow, though
I wouldn't mind being the fellow in the case--this time."
Also he made it sufficiently his business to watch for the reappearance
of Dolly, minus the cake and attended by Seth and the too appreciative
Peter. Then the whole significance of the incident flashed upon him, and
to his boyish fancy for the little maid was instantly added a deep
respect.
"Bless my eyes! I called her a 'daisy,' but she's more than that. There
isn't a girl in a thousand who'd have done that decent thing without
being bidden; but--Hello! seems as if she'd got what Mrs. Smith calls
her 'come uppance'! The simpleton has glued himself to her petticoats
and she can't shake him free!" Then a moment more of watching showed him
the result of his sister's haughtiness and made him exclaim aloud: "Good
enough for Helena! The first time I ever knew her confounded pride to be
of any use. But here comes the victim of her scorn, and it's up to me to
finish the job Dorothy C. has so well begun!"
In all his life poor Peter Piper had never been so happy as that day
made him. Instead of the indifference or aversion commonly shown him, he
was met with an outstretched hand and the genial greeting of another lad
not much younger than himself; and if, for the sake of impressing others
into the same friendliness, the greeting was rather overdone, the fault
was on the right side and Peter was too simple to suspect it.
With a confused expression and an unaccountable warmth in his lonely
heart, the "touched of God" accepted the extended hand and cast a
grateful glance into Herbert's face. A look that, for an instant,
suffused that youngster's own because he felt his present kindness to be
"second hand." Then Peter turned about and pointed to where Dorothy now
sat laughing and feasting, and volubly explaining to Mrs. Smith, between
mouthfuls:
"I really couldn't help taking the nicest cake in sight, dear Mrs.
Smith! I knew it was yours and belonged now to the public; and I will
make you another to take its place. I--I hope it wasn't 'stealing----'"
she finished, with a momentary gravity.
"Bless all my first wife's relations! Don't let such a horrid word as
that come to this merry 'Bee!' It was yours, your very own, leastwise
your ma's and pa's, to eat or give away just as you'd ruther. I do still
think that broken pieces, after the rest has finished, would have
answered the purpose full as well, but----"
"Broken pieces, Mrs. Smith! On a day like this?" cried Mrs. Calvert,
reprovingly. "You do yourself an injustice. If I'm not mistaken you've
put aside some mighty tender pieces of chicken and part of your own
biscuits for this same poor estray."
The mistress of ceremonies blushed and bridled her head. In truth she
had, indeed, "put aside" the dainties mentioned, but alas! they had been
intended for the delectation of her own and her cronies' palates. With
instant change of mind, however, she caught up the basket hidden beneath
the table and marched valiantly forward to the spot where Herbert was
supplying Peter with the best of everything he could lay his hands on.
Admirably frank--when found out--good Mrs. Smith now added her store to
Herbert's, and the half-wit's eyes grew more protruding than ever.
Also, to the disgust of both watchful lad and woman, Peter caught the
food from the basket and thrust it within his oilcloth jacket. He knew,
if those watching him did not, the terrible pangs of starvation and here
was provision for many a day. Besides, the whole of a rich chocolate
cake does have a diminishing effect upon even such appetites as Peter's.
Bounteous as the feast was, but a brief half-hour was permitted for its
consumption; then the master of the day announced:
"Our job's well begun and so half-done. Now for a fine finish
and--home!"
All who were standing hurried to their tasks at this word of command,
and all who were sitting as promptly rose. Among them Mrs. Cecil, with a
sudden realization of her eighty years of cushioned ease and her one
hour of sitting on a board. Also, her zest of the occasion had as
suddenly passed. She had taken a moment's chance to speak to "Johnnie"
of money matters; how it would "really be an accommodation for him to
take and use some of her own superfluous ready cash, till such time as
Skyrie began to yield a comfortable income"; and to her delicately
worded offer "Johnnie" had returned a most awkward refusal. He had tried
to soften his reply, but not being politic or tactful had succeeded only
in expressing himself more brusquely. When pressed to tell if any other
person had superseded her, he had to acknowledge that Friend Oliver
Sands had done so, but that the affair belonged to his wife, etc.
That was the climax. Between the mistress of Deerhurst and the miller
there was a grudge of long standing. Though liberal in her business
dealings the old gentlewoman hated to be cheated, and she had openly
declared to all who chose to listen that Oliver had cheated her. She
stopped buying her feed of him and went to the extra trouble of sending
all the way to Newburgh for everything in his line that was required at
Deerhurst.
Few like to have their kindnesses returned upon themselves,
unappreciated: Betty Calvert less than most: so with a feeling of
affront, which she was too outspoken wholly to corer by politeness, she
said:
"Mr. Smith, I must go home. May Dorothy Chester take your horse and
wagon and drive me there?"
"Of course, and proud to have you use it. But can that little girl
drive?" he asked, glancing at the child with a funny smile. Well he knew
the retort he might expect--and presently received, amid a burst of
kindly laughter from others around--from the lady:
"My good Mr. Smith, _I_ sold you that nag. He's twenty years old if a
day. A babe in arms could drive him! and I'll send a capable horseman
back with him--and her. Good-day, all; and God speed the finish!"
She said it quite devoutly, thankful for the present help given the
crippled, would-be farmer, and knowing that with even the best of help
his future would be difficult.
A few moments later, for the first time in her life, Dorothy held a pair
of reins in her hands, clutching them tightly as if all her strength
were required to restrain the speed of the venerable animal hitched
before the open "democrat" in which she sat, and that nothing could
induce to anything swifter than a walk. Once she opened her lips and
asked, nervously:
"Are you--much afraid, Mrs. Calvert?"
"Not--much!" quavered that lady, in mimicry, and with the most admiring
contemplation of the earnest young face beside her. From the flapping
ears of their steed Dorothy's own eyes never wavered. It was a wonderful
experience. To pull on either rein and guide so big a creature to the
right or left--Why, she had seen others drive but she had never before
realized the great intelligence of a horse! Oh! how delightful it would
be to own one for one's self! All the inborn love of horseflesh that,
till that moment, she had not realized woke up in her small breast, and
finally found voice in the exclamation:
"Oh! If Daisy-Jewel had only been a colt instead of a calf!"
"A perfectly simple matter to change him into one," quietly returned
Mrs. Cecil; and hearing her, Dorothy wondered if this old gentlewoman
were in truth the "fairy godmother" to whom she had sometimes likened
her.
The girl did not answer. They had arrived at the gates of Deerhurst and
this young "coachman" was gravely considering how to drive through them
without hitting either ivy-covered pillar. So earnest was she now that
Mrs. Calvert had twice to repeat a question she had long been pondering;
but which fell upon Dorothy Chester's ears, at last, with the sound of
an exploding bomb.
"My little Dorothy, will you come to live with me, and become _my_
adopted daughter?"