THE AUTOGRAPH QUILT.
On Moses Wopp devolved the responsibility of driving the ladies of the
household over the two miles of prairie lying between the Wopp ranch
and that of Mrs. Mifsud. Betty, too, was going. The Ladies’ Aid did
not meet every day, nor had it always on hand the alluring business of
an autograph quilt, on which flourished in outlined boldness the name
of every man, woman and child in the district and many out of it.
“Wartch yer team Moses,” commanded Mrs. Wopp from the back seat of the
democrat.
“I am wartchin’, Mar,” replied Moses, “But Josh ’pears to be worryin’
’bout somethin’. He’s chewin’ his bit an’ breakin’ inter a run-like
every minute.”
“An’ well I know who’s makin’ him stew an’ chomp. You needn’t try to
deceive yer, Mar,” chided the knowing matron.
The amused laugh of Nell Gordon, who sat beside Mrs. Wopp, floated
past the youthful pair in front and perhaps helped to embue Moses with
the reckless spirit of Jehu. The boy secretly admired his teacher,
though he had an idea he would soundly pummel any boy with sufficient
temerity to accuse him of it.
“Whoa, Josh! Whoa, Jake!” he roared, apparently exerting himself to
the utmost to hold in the skittish pair, but in reality giving a few
practised touches on the reins which defeated his commands.
With a start and plunge the surprised horses, now thoroughly
indignant, set off at a gallop.
The trail was for the most part smooth and uneventful, but here and
there the wheels of the democrat dipped into a gopher hole, causing
anxiety and discomfort, especially to those in the back seat. These
ladies were holding on to the side bars with utmost tenacity, yet Mrs.
Wopp afterwards asserted, that when a particularly vicious depression
was encountered, they were bounced violently at least three feet in
the air and were considerably worried lest they should not land on the
seat again. However, they displayed great fortitude under these
distressing circumstances, and by the time Moses had calmed the horses
to a slower pace, they had regained self-possession.
“It’s that Jake. He’s sich an ornery animule,” explained the boy, thus
shamelessly vilifying a patient and much enduring character.
The Mifsud ranch-house was situated in a valley close to Ripple Creek.
This stream was guarded in its serpentine course by a fringe of trees
which extended several rods on each side. Moses drove up to the house
door with a flourish and his passengers alighted. His mother paused a
moment to urge, “Be sure an’ git yer chores done early, Moses, an’ you
an’ Par be here fer supper by six o’clock.”
“Orl right, Mar,” answered Moses, dutifully, his mouth watering in
anticipation of the goodies in prospect.
Several ladies of the district were already busy “scttin’ up” the
quilt when Mrs. Wopp and her satellites entered the Mifsud parlor.
“Oh, aint it beaut-i-ful?” admired Betty. The creation which she
admired so immensely was made of pieces of silk of many colors and was
reminiscent of numerous long-defunct waists, ribbons, neckties, hats
and, perhaps, even a few wedding gowns which had travelled from
several corners of the globe to be welded together in this glorious
finale. The pieces, irregular in shape, had been sewn together and the
seams beautified by feather-stitching. On the majority of the patches
were names worked in red, green or yellow, whichever color contrasted
most suitably with the background. Here, for the nominal sum of ten
cents, names which might otherwise have fallen into oblivion were
destined to live and bloom for incalculable years. The quilt now
nearing completion would, when finished by its energetic creators, be
sold at auction and it was expected to bring a handsome sum. The money
so realized would revive the drooping finances of the Ladies’ Aid.
“Oh, Miss Gordon, here’s my name,” announced Betty, excitedly,
pointing to a central part of the quilt. “An’ here’s yours right clost
to it.”
“How nice, Betty,” answered Nell, who had threaded her needle and was
now prepared to join those already busily stitching away. “You and I
will travel down the ages side by side.”
“But s’pose you change yer name, Miss Gordon,” whispered Betty slyly.
“Then nobody’d know ’twas you.”
“I must be very careful, then, not to change it,” responded Nell, as
she took the seat assigned to her.
The elders, having settled at their task, Maria Mifsud and Betty, who
were considered too young and irresponsible to assist with such
important work, made their way to the creek, that perennial source of
amusement for the youthful. They were accompanied by Maria’s small
brother, St. Elmo. Here, during the long summer afternoon they gaily
disported themselves, even the rather dignified Maria entering with
zest into childish fun.
In the house, meanwhile, affairs were proceeding quite as happily as
those out of doors. The hostess fluctuated between the parlor and
kitchen. She was preparing a repast not only for the workers present,
but also for the men-folk who would presently arrive to take them to
their respective homes. Excused from quilting, she nevertheless
managed to spend considerable time with her guests. Mrs. Mifsud was a
lady who aspired to literary attainments. She had read “Beulah,”
“Vashti,” “Lucile,” “St. Elmo” and many other books of like calibre.
She felt that her talents were practically wasted, living in what she
termed a desert, yet she strove, when occasion offered, by elegance of
deportment and conversation to enhance her gifts. She often spoke
tenderly of the late Mr. Mifsud who, in spite of the fact that his
face had been adorned with bristling side-whiskers of an undeniable
red, had shown in other ways some signs of intelligence and feeling.
He had been carried off by the shingles. According to Mrs. Mifsud’s
account, her deeply-lamented spouse had considered the tall attenuated
form of his wife “willowy,” her long thin black hair “a crown of
glory,” her worn narrow countenance with its sharp nose and coal-black
eyes, “seraphic.”
“I wonder who’ll buy this here quilt,” speculated Mrs. Wopp, as she
bent over her task, “there’s shorely a great sight o’ work on it. As
fer me, I aint got time to do much fancy work an’ I’d never git round
to a job like this fer myself.”
“Not many of us would, Mrs. Wopp,” remarked Mrs. Bliggins, a small
fair woman with a round placid countenance. “What with cookin’, an’
washin’, an’ cleanin’, an’ buttermakin’, an’ hundreds of other things,
there’s not much time for fancy work.”
“Miss Gordon here, made me a harnsome lace yoke fer an underwaist, an’
give it to me fer my birthday,” volunteered Mrs. Wopp.
Mrs. Mifsud had entered the room in time to hear the last remark.
Owing to the paucity of minds as keenly intellectual as her own, Mrs.
Mifsud always tried to keep her remarks to a suitable level so that
all present might comprehend her language. The heights, alas! must be
scaled by her alone. While willing to acknowledge the substantial
character of Mrs. Wopp, she considered her sadly deficient in grammar
and social graces. She now interposed.
“I am given to understand by the best fashion-plates, Mrs. Wopp, that
the garment you term an ‘underwaist’ is now designated a casserole.”
“Well, now, is that so? It sounds to me like a furrin word,” returned
Mrs. Wopp, who admired Mrs. Mifsud’s polished utterances, while by no
means undervaluing her own rhetorical gifts.
“Doubtless it is incorporated in the language of some foreign people,”
conceded Mrs. Mifsud, languidly.
“Who is going to auction the quilt when it is finished?” inquired Nell
Gordon, appealing to her hostess as President of the Ladies’ Aid.
“Personally, I should be agreeably disposed to requesting Mr. Wopp to
officiate,” answered the lady addressed.
This remark caused Mrs. Wopp to feel considerable uneasiness. She was
morally certain that her Ebenezer in his shyness would make a muddle
of the sale, so she hastened to offer a suggestion.
“Why not arsk Geordie Hodgekiss. He’s sich a grand feller fer helpin’
at dances, an’ his voice ’ud most wake the dead. I feel shore he’d hev
the good o’ the quilt at heart.”
This suggestion called for a general discussion. One or two very
conservative ladies were not sure that a young man who so frequently
played a prominent part at dances should also figure in church
affairs. It might bring a curse on them. However, as there was no
immediate need for decision, the subject was abandoned.
“Did you hev a good time in the city larst week, Mis’ Mifsud?” asked
Mrs. Wopp, politely.
“Thank you kindly, Mrs. Wopp, I was most enchantingly entertained. My
brother and his wife conducted me to numerous functions. I heard a
xylophone for the first time.”
Mrs. Wopp was floored. She rapidly reflected that that which Mrs.
Mifsud had heard might have been anything from the “buzzin’ of a
skeeter to the tootin’ of an autermobyle.”
“An’ where did you hear it, my dear?” she queried, cautiously feeling
her way.
“At my brother’s Mrs. Wopp. He had just acquired it, so of course
little proficiency was yet attained.”
It occurred to Mrs. Wopp that the object in question might have been a
new kind of singing bird, but “least said, soonest mended.” She would
ask Moses if Clarence had ever mentioned it, the very first chance she
had. None of the other ladies present assayed to join in the
conversation, so perhaps most of them also were mystified. Airs. Wopp
looked hard at Nell Gordon. Of course she knew what Mrs. Mifsud meant,
but she seemed completely absorbed in turning a difficult corner in
the quilt. A welcome interruption occurred.
“How is your Ada since she had the jaundice, Mrs. Stolway?” inquired
Airs. Bliggins.
“None too strong. But she’s picking up since the doctor gave her a
tonic,” was the reply.
“It’s a terrible disease, shorely,” interpolated Mrs. Wopp.
“Ebenezer’s sisten-in-law’s cousin hed it, an’ fer a long time she was
as yaller as a biled turnip. Her feelin’s was low, too, an’ she thort
she was goin’ to die. She made her will, leavin’ her clothes an’ her
cat, which was all she hed, to an ole men’s refuge. But lan’ sakes!
she’s alive yet an’ peart as a robin. She got a set o’ false teeth an’
a switch jist larst month.”
Mrs. Mifsud who had listened to this recital with polite interest, now
excused herself on the plea of urgent duties in the kitchen.
“I see two rigs comin’,” announced Mrs. Wopp, suddenly. From where she
sat she could view through the window a considerable portion of the
trail. “The men’ll soon orl be here, so s’posin’ we roll up the quilt.
Ef everybody’s back’s achin’ like mine they’ll be glad to quit.”
Betty and Maria, whose reviving interest in the quilt had drawn them
from their play to the somewhat crowded parlor, now reported several
vehicles to be in sight. They hastened with this information to Mrs.
Mifsud in the kitchen, that important domain whence a savory odor had
been issuing for some time.
“Clarence will tell the men where to instal their teams,” the hostess
reflected. The boy, who had fought shy of this mere woman’s party, had
spent the afternoon in the barn.
“Maria, where is St. Elmo?” asked Mrs. Mifsud, as with flushed face
she basted some fowls in the oven.
“We left him by the creek, Ma, playing in the sand,” was the reply.
“When Betty and me tried to make him come in he slapped us.”
“Go and bring him now, so you can renovate his appearance before
supper,” directed the mother.
Maria, accompanied by Betty, repaired to the spot where they had left
the little boy. He was not there. In vain they shouted and called his
name.
“He must have gone to Clarence in the barn,” concluded Maria, setting
off at a run.
Clarence, however, when questioned, declared, “I haven’t seen the
little shaver since dinner.”
Maria now began to get alarmed, and her anxiety being communicated to
Clarence and Betty, the three young people set off in a combined
search.
Still no St. Elmo. They proceeded a considerable distance down the
creek.
“Look he’s been here,” said Betty, pointing to a small footprint in
the moist soil, “An’ he’s headed down the crick.”
“We’ll have to go and tell Ma,” said Maria.
As they neared the house with their disquieting news, Mr. Wopp and
Moses were just alighting from the democrat, while Mrs. Mifsud at the
open door stood calling out cheery greetings.
“St. Elmo’s lost, Ma,” wailed Maria. “We can’t find him and he’s
wandered down the creek.”
Mrs. Mifsud threw up her hands in dismay.
“My poor lamb, my little darling,” she said, speaking with difficulty,
“There are so many lynxes in the woods, and he’s so afraid of them. If
he meets one he’ll die of fright.”
“Moses, put the hosses in the stable an’ fuller me. We’ll soon find
him, Mis’ Mifsud,” said Mr. Wopp, his kindliness asserting itself in
this crisis. “Come on, Clarence, an’ Mis’ Mifsud you send the other
men along ’s soon ’s they git here. Jist you rest easy, we’ll soon be
back with yer boy.”