THE MORNIN’-GLORY GIRL
by
ALICE M. WINLOW and KATHRYN POCKLINGTON
McClelland & Stewart, Limited
Publishers—Toronto
Copyright, Canada, 1920
By McClelland & Stewart, Limited, Toronto
Printed in Canada
THIS LITTLE BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THOSE KINDLY SOULS WHO CONSISTENTLY
SING, “SCATTER SEEDS OF KINDNESS.”
CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter I. Mrs. Wopp’s Hospitality
Chapter II. Concerning Betty
Chapter III. A Day at School
Chapter IV. Wash-Day at Mrs. Wopp’s
Chapter V. A Dance in the Cedar Hills
Chapter VI. An Evening in the Wopp Parlor
Chapter VII. The Little Church in the Coulee
Chapter VIII. Betty Visits the City of Her Dreams
Chapter IX. The Vaudeville Show
Chapter X. The Circus
Chapter XI. Jonah and the Whale
Chapter XII. The Autograph Quilt
Chapter XIII. Moses Gains Prestige
Chapter XIV. Betty Among the Flowers
Chapter XV. Merry-Making in the Hay-Loft
Chapter XVI. Moses Has Exciting Experiences
Chapter XVII. A Sample of Ebenezer Wopp’s Ire
Chapter XVIII. A Pair of Checked Trousers
Chapter XIX. Betty’s Illness
CHAPTER I.
MRS. WOPP’S HOSPITALITY.
Ebenezer Wopp sat at the head of the table. Beaming from behind a
promising array of cups and saucers, his portly wife presented a
countenance of aggressive hospitality. In height and girth Mrs. Wopp
had much the advantage of her husband.
“Arsk a blessin’, Ebenezer.”
All heads bowed as the compliant master of the house, with thin
nervous hands outspread and in a voice quavering with piety, responded
to this request. Moses of the freckled face and pale blue eyes, kept
one eye open as grace was being said, in order to scan the bounteous
display on the table. Furtively he chose the largest bun on the plate
that was placed close to Betty, his little foster-sister. To annex the
most corpulent pickle would require some slight manœuvring, but he
felt sure it could be managed.
“Amen!”
Suddenly, all heads were raised and a sigh of satisfaction escaped
Mrs. Wopp’s lips.
“We do be glad to hev the new schoolmarm,” she announced, “you might
of mentioned her, in yer blessin’, Ebenezer.”
“I’ll make a note of that, Lize.”
The dutiful husband drew from his pocket a long slip of paper and a
small stubby pencil. Having a poor memory, he had formed the habit of
making a note of everything his wife suggested, so that he could
fulfill her wishes in future. The notes were plentiful, but they
failed in some unaccountable way to prod his memory.
“Never mind yer notes, Ebenezer, jist you sarve the pork.”
It had been Mrs. Wopp’s aim, to have the names for all the members of
the household sanctified by biblical authority. She claimed to have
had unnumbered admirers in her youth and had singled out her husband
for his scriptural appellation. A store of names had been secretly
acquired for use in the event of her marriage, but as in the course of
years only one boy had come to add freckles and rotundity to the
family circle, she was thankful that she had used at least three of
the collection on the fortunate youth. Moses Habakuk Ezra Wopp, the
exact counterpart of his mother, sat next to his father and eyed the
plate of Betty, who was seated beside him, mentally calculating the
amount of each succulent morsel she consumed. Since he was twice her
size, he was entitled, he thought, to at least twice her share. On his
own plate a lonely pickled onion floated in gravy.
“Mar,” he demanded hastily, “more marshed turnips, please.”
“We shorely are glad to hev a teacher at larst,” re-asserted the
bustling lady of the house, as she passed a cup of creamy tea to her
new boarder. “Did you hear what happened to our larst teacher, Miss
Gordon?” Here the good lady heaved a deep sigh. “The pore man hed a
tryin’ time with some big boys named Bullock who started in to school
larst fall arter workin’ all summer. The teacher used to spend his
evenin’s to Bullock’s bunkhouse, playin’ black-jack with ole man
Bullock.”
“And could he beat the old gentleman?” inquired Nell Gordon, vastly
entertained.
“Miss Gordon, with all his book larnin’ he knowed no more ’bout
black-jack than I know ’bout divin’ fer pearls, and the Bullock boys
thort he was no good anyhow, ef he couldn’t beat their Par at cards.
So one mornin’ they met him as he was goin’ to school, an’ they give
him a good beatin’ up, then flung him in Rodd’s creek to cool him,
bein’ winter. He crawled outer the creek, Miss Gordon, an’ never went
to the school no more. It shorely was a jedgement on him fer playin’
those wicked card games. Moses, parse the ketchup.”
This account of the abruptly ended career of her predecessor was
somewhat disturbing to Nell.
“You must ’scuse me not goin’ to meet you, Miss Gordon,” apologized
Mr. Wopp, as he held suspended a knife full of mashed potato, destined
for his mouth. “But I hev a sick cow I couldn’t git away from, so I
ast Howard here to drive in fer you.”
“It was quite all right,” answered Nell, anxiously watching for the
reappearance of Mr. Wopp’s knife, “Mr. Eliot gave me a glorious drive
over the prairie behind his team of greys, but,” with a sly look
towards the young rancher, “I don’t believe he likes to meet trains.”
“La now! An’ why do you say that, my dear?” inquired Mrs. Wopp. “Set
up straight, Moses, yer back looks like you was packin’ a sack of
pertaters.”
“I might as well tell you all about it, Mrs. Wopp,” confessed Howard.
“When I got to town and found the train was almost due, I felt
frightfully shy. So I got Ken Judson to put on his boiled shirt and
Sunday suit and go to the station. He looked the part, I assure you,
much better than I would. He brought Miss Gordon to ‘The Golden West’
where I had recovered sufficiently to speak to her.”
“To think you let that good-fer-nothin’ Ken Judson, meet our
schoolmarm,” wailed Mrs. Wopp. “Why he is the most ungodly feller in
town. His folks in England send him a lot of money so’s he will keep
away from them, an’ he spends it all in drinkin’ an’ gamblin’.”
“Never mind, Mrs. Wopp,” said Nell pleasantly, “he is a perfect
gentleman in manners and he wasn’t drinking or gambling when I saw
him. May I have a little more of your beautifully cooked meat?”
Mr. Wopp looked up in approval and brandished a formidable looking
piece of fat meat, precariously poised on one prong of his fork and in
his efforts to lose none of its dripping flavor, described an
uncertain spiral in the air.
His fork having safely landed its cargo, Mr. Wopp laid it carefully
down and remarking, “I must make a note of that,” he began to inscribe
Nell’s diplomatic request. As he leaned over the paper, his head shone
like a round china lamp-shade, its shining expanse relieved here and
there, by long wisps of grey hair.
At this point Moses looked up from his plate and complained, “Mar,
this piece o’ meat I got, is so tough it hurts yer eyes to look at
it.”
“Moses, yer manners is shockin’, did you expect to be sarved the best
piece when company’s here?”
By this time, Nell was struggling with a dish of hard underdone
crab-apples. She chased a refractory apple round and round in its
small dish. Finally, with a feeling of triumph, she brought the apple
to a halt. Alas! it did not yield to the prodding of the spoon, but
bounced up and with an accuracy worthy of a better cause, landed on
the eye of Howard Eliot. Betty, all this time feasting her eyes on the
new-comer, and enjoying the unusual opulence of the table, burst into
hearty laughter.
“Biff on the eye!” she cried.
“Gee! Did you hear it splash?” screamed Moses.
The cheerful clatter of knives and forks against Mrs. Wopp’s best blue
willow plates was a gentle accompaniment to the ripple of laughing
apology that Nell offered to the victim. Any constraint that might
have been felt hitherto among the circle, decreased perceptibly as the
rancher wiped the sweet syrupy drops from his face.
By the time the deep apple-pie was brought in, raised in the centre by
a cup, he had become facetious, and turning a mirthful countenance to
Nell, he whispered audibly, “Isn’t it just like Fuji Yama?” Before
Nell could answer, Betty broke in.
“What is Fuji Mamas?”
“A new kind of hen,” retorted Moses.
“Oh Miss Gordon,” cried Betty suddenly roused to fresh interest, “you
must see my pet turkey after supper. He has only one eye an’ he walks
corner ways an’ his name is Job an’ I jist love him.” Betty’s breath
was all used up and she sat back exhausted.
“Huh!” grunted Moses, “your ole turkey aint worth an eyestrain.”
By this time Moses’ plate was piled high with a steaming and
odoriferous portion of Fuji Yama and he was content to postpone all
discussions of Geography and fowls to an indefinite future. In a very
few minutes, the entire mound had disappeared and Moses was polishing
his plate with a piece of bread.
“Moses, ef you hev finished yer supper, change yer good clothes an’ go
git the cows,” directed his mother. “Betty run an’ fasten up the hens,
else the coyotes’ll git them.”
“I suppose you have a large farm, Mr. Wopp,” said Nell Gordon.
“We hev a homestead an’ pre-emption, Miss Gordon, but only work a
hundred acres or thereabout. We run stock on the rest of it, aint that
the how of it Lize?” Mr. Wopp looked to his help-meet for
corroboration.
At this moment a wild whoop was heard, and through the open door Moses
could be seen dashing out of the corral gate on his cow-pony.
As Mrs. Wopp was preparing for bed that night, she recalled the
sensation the sight of her reckless offspring had given her.
“When I see Moses was still wearin’ his best Sunday coat an’ pants an’
tearin’ along on that cayuse like John Gilping, I come all out in
goose-flesh, Ebenezer, till you’d think the merkery had fell clean
down to zero.”