THE FATE OF DAISY-JEWEL
The "Bee" was a thing of the past. Everybody had gone, leaving a vastly
different Skyrie from that which greeted the rising sun of that
memorable day. Weed-grown, bramble-infested fields lay cleared of
débris, that had been gathered into heaps and burned. The garden plot
was now a stretch of well-made beds wherein had been sown or set such
things as would develop to ripeness that season, although it was long
past orthodox time for garden-making. To the delight of his obstinate
soul, even Pa Babcock's asparagus trench had been duly prepared and a
sufficient number of the roots set out. But the work of the trench, or
bed, had not been accomplished by himself. He had explained the pressing
need of such a thing to Mrs. Calvert, who, to rid herself and others of
his "talk," had promptly furnished the necessary funds to pay for the
plants and had dispatched him to a distant market gardener's to procure
them. He had returned sooner than was expected or desired, but could he
relegate his own intelligent task to anybody else? So, for once, he
really did work faithfully, spreading out each tiny rootlet with a care
that insured a prompt growth, and deluging them with water which it took
many trips to the spring to bring.
The old well-curb had been repaired, the well emptied of water, and
cleaned. The barn had been put in order, so far as might be with the
time and material at command. The roof would not leak again nor the
blinds fall because of rusted hinges. Even the cellar had been swept,
and garnished with double coatings of sweet-smelling whitewash; and,
indeed, all that these willing helpers could think of and accomplish had
been done to make the Skyrie household "start farming fair and square."
The last event of the "Bee" had been an auction.
Mrs. Calvert had sent a brief note of instructions to Seth Winters and
he had promptly acted upon them. With such an assembly at hand the time
was ripe for selling Daisy-Jewel to the highest bidder. So the
blacksmith held a short parley with Bill Barry, the village auctioneer,
and afterward started the sale by a fair price named for such a blooded
quadruped.
"Seven dollars! Seven dollars! Did I hear somebody bid seven dollars?
only seven for such a beautiful Jewel and Daisy combined?"
"Seven fifty!" called Jim Barlow, also acting upon instructions.
"Seven fifty--somebody higher? _And_ eight dollars? Eight, eight, eight,
somebody raise me eight-eight-eight--_And_ fifty! Eight dollars and
fifty cents! Why, you folks, you make me blush to be an auctioneer,
standing here on a horse-block and selling away from a little girl the
only piece of stawk she owns for just eight dollars and fifty cents.
That I should live to--Nine, nine, nine, nine! Somebody raise me nine
dollars for a full-bred Jersey bull calf! nine, nine, nine----"
"Ten!" shouted Mr. Smith, who knew he could reimburse himself in some
way for this recklessly extravagant purchase.
But the chance was not for him. "Ten fifty!" shouted somebody at the
rear of the crowd, and:
"Ten and fifty! Fifty, fifty, fifty--Hard word that to rattle off--Make
it 'leven; and ease my poor tongue! 'Leven, 'leven, 'leven, eleven
dollars and fifty cents. That's that blamed old fifty cropping up again.
Go it by even dollars, friends and feller citizens, Eleven and--twelve,
twelve, twelve--Almost as bad to say! Hump her up. Thirteen do I hear?
Thirteen? Don't let her stick at that! who'll pay just thirteen unlucky
dollars when they can buy a full-blooded bull calf for--Fourteen, do I
hear? Fourteen, fourteen, four--four--four--Fifteen good American
dollars for a poor little girl's pet calf! Neighbors, I am ashamed of
you, I certainly am. Why, I'll bid sixteen myself, ruther 'an have such
a blot as that printed on this town's archives! I will, I say, though I
haven't any more use for a poor little girl's one pet calf than I have
for two wives! Sixteen I bid, seventeen somebody lifts me. Eighteen?
Nineteen? Twenty? Now you begin to talk! But let me warn you fellers,
that this here sale is cash or its equivalent. So anyone who's just
biddin' to hear himself talk--take care! Twenty-one, one, one, one, one,
one, one----"
The sale went on for a long time, and the bidding grew more spirited
continually. Bill Barry's taunt about cash payment touched the pride of
some, but the outcome of the matter was predestined from the beginning.
Seth Winters had had his instructions and now acted upon them. When
nobody would "raise" him any higher, the calf was knocked down to him at
thirty-five dollars and was promptly dispatched to a new home in charge
of the Smith boys, who had come to see the finish of the "Bee."
Bill Barry refused to take any payment for his services in the matter,
so the blacksmith hurried to find Dorothy and to place the money in her
hands. To his surprise, he found her weeping bitterly, with her head
against old Hannah's hairy side, as if mingling her tears with that
bereaved mother's.
"Why, Dorothy dear! I understood you were tired of Daisy-Jewel and more
than willing to exchange him for a colt. See here--thirty-five dollars,
all in crisp banknotes, and your very own!"
But Dorothy would not be comforted, nor even lift her curly head to look
upon what she now sadly considered as the price of blood, while Hannah
continued to moo distractingly, yet, at the same time managed to chew
her cud--the sign of a well-contented bovine mind.
Jim also drew near, a wide, short board in hand and, wholly disgusted
with Dorothy's inconsistency, exclaimed:
"Pshaw! If girls don't beat all creation for changin' their minds! Here
was you wantin' to be rid of that calf, now cryin' like--most like one
yourself. Shucks! Dorothy Chester, where's your good sense at? An' you
stand aside, will you? I want to fix Hannah so you won't have to chase
her no more."
Now the truth is that Dorothy had listened to the auction with keen
interest and no thought of grief till she heard Mr. Barry allude to
herself as a "poor little girl with only one calf." Then the springs of
self-pity were touched and she would have stopped the sale had she dared
or known quite how. That her father approved of it he had told her at
its beginning, and so did Jim. These two were the most sensibly
practical persons she knew, even more than mother Martha,--where the
question of live stock was concerned,--and she ought to be guided by
their judgment. Daisy-Jewel had been a trial and expense from the day of
his arrival at Skyrie, but--he was _her_ Daisy-Jewel, and she had sold
him into bondage--probably, into worse: the hands of a butcher!
Thirty-five dollars! It seemed incredible: but thirty-five dollars as
the price of a life. How dreadful!
"Stand still, you old misery! Now, then, my Hannah, how do you find
yourself?" cried Jim, coolly pushing Dorothy aside and stepping back
himself to avoid the twisting and jerking of the cow's horns. "There you
be! Plenty of chance to look down on the pasture but none to go skippin'
over stun walls!"
Dorothy wiped her eyes, indignant with Jim for his callous want of
sympathy in her own grief, and curious about Hannah; who had ceased both
mooing and chewing, confused and distracted by the thing which had
befallen her.
Jim had simply hung the board he had brought upon Hannah's horns and
securely fastened it there, letting it fall forward over her face at an
angle which permitted her to see the ground but, as he had declared,
would not encourage her search for stone walls to leap. "Easy as fallin'
off a log, ain't it?" he demanded of Mr. Winters, who had watched the
operation with some amusement and some compassion. "Some folks think
it's mean to put boards on 'em, but Mis' Stott she said 'twas better to
be mean to critters than to have critters mean to folks. Why, here has
Dorothy been runnin' half over the hull farm, catchin' Hannah, when all
that time she might have been studyin' her books!"
"Thanks, noble youth! I'm not 'sufferin'' to study in the summer and
vacation time," answered Dorothy, who had begun to recover her
cheerfulness and now asked the blacksmith, as he extended the money
toward her: "What will become of Daisy now?"
"Mrs. Calvert has bought him. He will be kept on the Deerhurst farm, the
other side of the mountain, and will grow up, I trust, quite worthy of
his pedigree. She owns a fine herd of animals and her stock-farm is one
of her chief interests here."
"Than he won't be--be murdered?"
"No, indeed. Here is your money. I must be going. Good-night."
"I'll go along with you. Good-night, Dorothy. Don't forget to ask your
folks 'bout that circus!" called Jim, casting a self-important glance
into Seth Winters's face as he followed him down the path.
With her money in hand Dorothy joined her parents and was well commended
that she had consented to the sale of Daisy-Jewel; and for a little
while, until milking-time required Martha's presence in the barnyard,
the trio discussed its vast amount and the best sort of horse to be
selected. Neither Mr. Chester nor his wife dashed the girl's enthusiasm
or so much as hinted that the sum in hand would scarcely pay for a good
horse. To her it seemed all-sufficient, not only for a horse, but for a
wagon and harness as well. And--But let us not anticipate!
The circus whose coming attractions now filled Jim Barlow's mind more
than even his beloved "study" had sent out its posters long ahead; so
that the country folk might accustom themselves to the ideas of its
tempting sights and to grow anxious to behold them. To the lad it seemed
as if the days would never pass. The only relief to his eagerness was
that Herbert's projected camp-picnic had been postponed on account of
Helena's sudden illness. One of her bronchial attacks had kept her a
prisoner within the Towers and she had become so interested in the idea
of the affair that her brother waited for her to recover.
He contented himself the better by frequent visits to Skyrie, and by his
gift to Dorothy of the stray kitten. The rather disreputable-looking
little animal he had coaxed Miss Milliken to cleanse and adorn with a
blue ribbon before its advent at Skyrie, where it now resided, petted
and pampered till its thin outlines became plump ones and it almost
filled that place in Dorothy's heart left vacant by Daisy-Jewel.
Also, Dolly herself had twice been sent for to visit Helena in her
confinement of the sick-room, and had won the liking of everybody who
saw her there. She was so simple and natural, so free from the
imitating manner of some of Helena's friends who envied and toadied to
the rich man's daughter, that the heiress found her society novel and
refreshing. It was something quite new for Helena to be told, one day
when she was "fussing" over the dainty meal sent up to her room, that:
"Why, Helena Montaigne! You perfectly wicked girl! My mother and Mrs.
Calvert too both say that it's as sinful as it's ill-bred to quarrel
with your food. 'Not fit to eat' isn't true. Maybe you aren't 'fit' to
eat it yourself, poor dear, because you're ill. But I never saw such a
dainty lunch as that, even at Deerhurst itself. Eat it, do, and get
strong and make your mother happy. She's taken a lot of trouble for you.
I know she went into the kitchen and fixed those things herself, because
she thought your cook wasn't careful enough. Now, do behave! And I'll
sing to you while you eat. I've heard my father say that at the big
hotels at Atlantic City and other places they have a band play while the
people dine. Well, then, I'll be your band and sing. So begin! You must!
I shall make you!"
Laughing, yet wholly in earnest, Dorothy had picked a morsel of food on
a fork and held it so close to Helena's lips that she had to take it,
whether or not. A second morsel followed the first, and the performance
was enlivened by a recital of Peter Piper's consumption of the chocolate
cake.
Before she knew it Helena was laughing, and likewise before she quite
realized it--so swiftly had Dorothy fed and talked--she had made a
better meal than at any time since her illness. The food strengthened,
for the illness was really past, and seeing her darling recover made
Mrs. Montaigne very grateful to the girl whose influence had helped that
recovery. Also, this general liking for his own especial friend, as
Herbert considered her, fully confirmed the lad in the scheme he had
formed, but had not yet broached to his family. Thought he:
"I'll wait a little longer yet, till even the Pater has seen how sweet
and unselfish she is, then I'll spring it on the family. If I carry it
through--Hurray!"
But though Jim knew of these visits he had not resented them. It was
perfectly natural, he supposed, that girls should like other girls; and
that puling, sickly-looking, stuck-up daughter of those rich
folks--Well, he was glad that Dorothy could show them that a little maid
who had once worked alongside himself on a Maryland truck-farm could
"hold a candle" with the best of them! Herbert, himself, had not crossed
Jim's way. He had gone into camp with some other lads of the Heights and
had himself almost forgotten his home in the fun of that outing.
But weeks do pass, no matter how they sometimes seem to drag; and the
day came when Jim and Dorothy were seated in Mrs. Calvert's runabout, a
gentle horse in the shafts, and themselves _en route_ for that
long-dreamed-of circus.
Dorothy carried her money with her. As yet the sum received for
Daisy-Jewel remained unbroken. Neither parent would use any of it, each
insisting that it was Dorothy's own and that she should expend it as she
saw fit: though that this would be for the horse or colt into which the
calf had been thus changed was a foregone conclusion.
It had become a standard jest with the ex-postman that she should never
go anywhere away from Skyrie without her pocket-book. "In case you
might meet the horse of your heart, somewhere along the road. It's the
unexpected that happens. You're certain to find Daisy's successor when
you're unaware that he, she, or it is near." And to-day he had added:
"A circus is the very place to look for a horse! When you get there stir
around and--pick up a bargain, if you can! By all means, take your
pocket-book to-day!"
She had kissed his merry lips to stop their teasing but--she had carried
the purse! Something unexpected was, in reality, to happen: Despite
their long anticipation, this happy pair of youngsters were to fall
short of their ambition--they were not to visit the circus.