AGNES SHOULDERS RESPONSIBILITY
"Tom Jonah!" screamed Agnes; for in this emergency she recognized the
old dog.
He had followed the car from town, had scented out her tracks when she
entered the woods, and so had followed Agnes to this spot, afraid to
come up with her for fear of being scolded; for, of course, he knew well
enough he had disobeyed.
But now the dog's loyalty to one of his little mistresses had brought
Tom Jonah out of hiding. The attempt of Asa Scruggs to hold Agnes was an
unfortunate move on the clown's part.
Tom Jonah shot out of the bushes, growling fiercely, and charged the
man. Scruggs let go of Agnes and shrank back, trying to flee--for the dog
looked quite as savage as the wolf Agnes had thought was following her.
As he turned, Scruggs slipped and went down. His right foot twisted
under him and the dog's heavy body flung him flat on his back. Tom Jonah
held the clown down with both forepaws on his chest and a threatening
muzzle at his throat.
Agnes could easily have gotten away now. The clown could not move, and
Barnabetta began to cry.
"Oh, Pop! Oh, Pop!" she wailed. "He's going to eat you up!"
Agnes knew Tom Jonah would not let the man rise unless she commanded him
to do so. So she did not leave the spot as she had at first intended.
All in an instant, through the interference of the old dog, the tables
had been turned.
"If I call him off," she asked, shakingly, of Barnabetta, "will you
leave me alone?"
"You've fixed Pop with your nasty old dog--hasn't she, Pop? That's his
bad ankle. He can't do anything to you now," declared the trapeze
performer.
"And you let that stick alone," commanded Agnes. "Tom Jonah will do
anything I tell him to," she added, warningly, and then proved it by
calling the old dog to come to her. He came, growling, and showing the
red of his eyes as he looked over his shoulder at the prostrate clown.
The man seemed unable to rise, but sat up, groaning, and rubbing the
twisted ankle.
"Oh, dear, me!" cried Barnabetta; "that fixes us for another two months.
You won't be able to work at all, Pop, even if we get a job. What ever
shall we do?"
Agnes began to feel most unhappy. Her excitement once past, she felt
that she was somehow partly to blame for the clown's predicament. And
she could not help feeling sorry for him and for this strange girl who
was dressed in boy's apparel.
Besides, Agnes felt a sort of admiration for Barnabetta Scruggs. There
was romance attached to her. A girl, not much older than Agnes herself,
tramping in boy's clothing and meeting all sorts of adventures on the
road! Agnes failed to remember that right then Barnabetta and her father
were meeting with one very unpleasant adventure.
"Dear me," said the Corner House girl, with sympathy. "Is he really
hurt?"
"That's his sprained ankle hurt again. It's even worse than just an
ordinary sprain," explained the trapeze performer. "He can't do any
stunts, or joey work on crutches, can he? The doctor told him to be
careful for a long time with it. What _shall_ we do?"
"He--he won't be able to walk, will he?" gasped Agnes.
"Only on a crutch. We can't do any travelin' on railroads with him this
way. And he can't walk. How far's it to Milton?"
"You can get an electric car to town if you follow this woodpath."
"How far?"
"I've been almost an hour and a half walking here from the car."
"Must be four or five miles then," murmured Barnabetta.
"Yes."
"Never can hobble that far--can you, Pop?" asked the circus girl.
"Not yet," groaned the man. He was taking off his shoe and sock. "Get me
some snow, Barnabetta," he said.
"My, that's so!" she exclaimed. "We can pack it in snow to take down the
swellin'."
"He'll get his foot frostbitten sitting here without any shoe on," said
Agnes.
"I'll keep a good fire goin'," said the girl, shortly.
"And stay here all night--in the open?" cried Agnes, horror-stricken at
such a thought.
"Where else?" snapped Barnabetta. "There's no place to go. We've got no
friends, anyway. And we've mighty little money. We expected to steal a
ride South, and sleep in farmers' barns, and the like. We've done it
before. But we've never been so bad off as _this_."
She said all this too low for her father to hear. She added: "Pop always
had his health and strength before."
"Oh, dear me!" groaned Agnes, impulsively. "I wish Neale were here."
"Oh!" ejaculated the circus girl, sharply. "What Neale's that?"
Agnes remained silent, sorry that she had spoken so thoughtlessly.
"I might have known you were one of those girls," added Barnabetta.
"What girls?" asked Agnes, curiously.
"Those that Neale O'Neil lives with at Milton."
"He doesn't live with us. He lives next door to us--with Mr. Con Murphy."
"Bill Sorber said he lived with some Corner House girls. That's what he
called you," said Barnabetta.
"Just the same," said Agnes, boldly; "I wish he were here. He'd know
what to do--how to help you."
But Barnabetta was despondent. "Nobody can't help us," she said. "We're
in bad."
"Oh! I _will_ find some way of helping," declared Agnes, trying to speak
comfortingly.
"Huh! lots of good you can do now," grumbled the other. "You and that
nasty dog has just fixed Pop."
"It wasn't Tom Jonah's fault. And I'm sure it wasn't my fault. He was
only defending me. You and your father shouldn't have tried to stop me."
"You hid the dog in the bushes a-purpose," cried Barnabetta, angrily.
"You know you did."
"No, I didn't. And he scared me enough, too. I thought he was a wolf,"
said Agnes, anxious to explain though why she should be put on the
defensive, it would be difficult to tell.
"Well," concluded Barnabetta, roughly, "you can't be any good here."
"I know I can't. But I believe I can help you just the same."
"Don't want your help," growled the circus girl.
"Oh! don't say that," begged the Corner House girl. "I can go to Mr. Bob
Buckham and get his carriage and horses--"
"We haven't got any money to pay for a carriage," said Barnabetta,
quickly.
"You won't have to pay Mr. Buckham for doing an act of Christian
charity," declared Agnes, and she set off immediately, Tom Jonah
following closely at her heels.
Barnabetta did not even bid her good-bye. She was all solicitude for her
father's hurt ankle, and was now kneeling by him, packing the snow about
the swelling foot. But she was "as hard as nails" toward the Corner
House girl.
Agnes hurried right down to the railroad and walked without molestation
to the crossing she had spoken of. There, up the snowy lane, she
obtained her first glimpse of Mr. Bob Buckham's house.
She had come a roundabout way to it, indeed. It was now long past noon
and she had missed her dinner. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Buckham had
ceased expecting her long ago.
The big girl who worked in Mrs. Buckham's kitchen--Posey by name and an
autocrat to a degree--met Agnes with a cheerful greeting, but refused
admission to Tom Jonah.
"No. He can't come in. I just been scrubbin' my floor and I can't 'low
no dog trackin' it up. You drop your arctics there on the porch, Miss
Aggie, and then you can run in to Mrs. Buckham."
"If Tom Jonah only wore arctics!" sighed the Corner House girl.
"Well, he don't--more's the pity," agreed Posey.
Agnes ran into the invalid's room, all breathless, but full of her
adventure. There sat Mrs. Buckham in her wheel-chair, surrounded by
bright worsteds and fancywork, as busy and smiling as though she had not
spent twenty years between that chair and her bed.
"Here's our Corner House girl at last. And why not to dinner?" cried
Mrs. Buckham.
"Oh, mercy me! I didn't even re-_mem_-ber dinner till just this minute!"
Agnes confessed.
"Your poor child! No dinner? Quick, Posey! here's a starving child--"
"_Dear_ Mrs. Buckham--wait! Never mind me. I sha'n't starve yet,"
declared the plump Agnes, laughing. "Look at me. Do I seem so frail? And
I've had the greatest adventure!"
"Well, well!"
"Where is Mr. Buckham? I must tell him all about it, too," Agnes said,
excitedly.
And here came the farmer as she spoke--bewhiskered, grizzled, keen-eyed
and always smiling, who cried:
"Here's the tardy one! Why, I thought you were coming out betimes, young
lady? How are all at the Corner House?"
Agnes was too greatly excited to reply in full to that question. Mr. Bob
Buckham sat down and the Corner House girl related all that had befallen
her since she had left home that morning--save that she said nothing
about the mystery of the big album she had found in the Corner House
garret, and the Scruggs' interest in its contents.
Her explanation, therefore, as to why the circus clown and his daughter
desired to detain her at their camp in the woods was rather hazy; but
the fact of the clown being hurt and the helplessness of the two
trampers were sufficient to excite the pity and alarm of the farmer and
his wife.
"Tut! tut!" clucked Mr. Buckham. "They can't stay out there in the snow.
It's going to be mighty cold to-night."
"It is awful to think of," agreed Mrs. Buckham. "But Posey's got her
hands full. If I was up and about myself--"
"Oh, dear, Mrs. Buckham! I wasn't thinking of such a thing as bringing
them here," Agnes cried. "The man can't walk to the Milton car. He can
scarcely walk at _all_, with that sprained ankle. But if Mr. Buckham
will hitch up and drive over there, and take 'em to the car, I can get
'em from the car to the Corner House."
"Oh, dear me, child! To your house?" cried Mrs. Buckham.
"Dunno 'bout that," said Mr. Buckham.
"Of course," said Agnes. "We've plenty of room--and beds enough for a
hotel."
"But what will Ruth say?" asked the farmer's wife.
"And what will your Mrs. MacCall say, eh?" chuckled the farmer.
"Why, don't you suppose they will be kind to 'em, too?" cried Agnes.
"Ruth would do the same herself. I know these poor folk have very little
money and nowhere to go--"
"Enough said, Robert. We have no right to thwart such unselfish
impulses," Mrs. Buckham said. "Go and harness up the carriage--"
"No," said the farmer, "I'll take the pung. And I'll fill the body with
straw, so 't that poor chap won't get his ankle hurt no more. How's the
streets in town, Aggie? How's High Street?"
"Why, it's good sledding," declared the girl. "We see nothing now but
automobiles and sleighs."
"Strawberry Farm ain't got quite as fur as an auto yet," chuckled Mr.
Buckham. "But maybe we will in time," and he went out to hitch up.
Without having been told further, Posey now brought in a cup of hot
cocoa and a nice little luncheon. In the midst of eating this welcome
feast, Agnes remembered the forlorn party camping amid the railroad
ties.
"Oh, dear me! I don't suppose Mr. Scruggs and Barnabetta have anything
at all to eat--poor things!" she cried.
So a big basket was filled with food and a can of coffee, and that Agnes
carried out to the sleigh when it appeared at the side porch, and
climbed into the great heap of straw with it, and burrowed down. The
colts started off briskly, and they left Posey on the porch watching
them while Mrs. Buckham waved her hand at the window.
The farmer knew how to drive right to the spot where the Scruggs were
encamped, although it was not on his land. When the colts came through
the woods, their bells jingling and the snow and ice flying from their
sharpened hoofs, Barnabetta appeared suddenly on the pile of ties to see
who came.
"Is that the gal?" asked Farmer Buckham of Agnes.
"Yes."
"She's a wild lookin' critter, ain't she?" was Mr. Buckham's comment.
"And looks for all the world like a boy!"
Barnabetta disappeared in a moment and when he drew the colts in beside
the fire, there she stood with her staff, as though to defend the old
clown from the newcomers.
"So you're back again, are you?" was her greeting for Agnes.
"Didn't I tell you I'd bring help?" shouted the Corner House girl,
gaily.
"Humph! I don't see what help you can be for the like of us," said the
trapeze performer ungraciously.
But Agnes Kenway was not to be balked in her good intentions. "Of course
we can help you. I've come to take you home," she declared. "And here's
some lunch."
"What d'you mean--_home?_ We haven't got a home, Pop and me."
"But I have," Agnes said.
"That's nothin' to do with us," grumbled Barnabetta.
She looked very sullen and unhappy. The clown was crouching close to the
fire, but had drawn his shoe and stocking on again. He looked very
miserable, and warm-hearted Agnes determined not to allow herself to
become angry with Barnabetta.
"Now, Barnabetta," she said coaxingly, "don't be cross. I want to be
friends with you."
"What for?" demanded the other girl, sharply.
"I want to take you to my house," pursued Agnes, without answering the
last question. "The Corner House, you know. We've plenty of room and I
know my sister, Ruth, will be kind to you."
Barnabetta and her father looked at each other now in stunned surprise.
Why Agnes should really want to help them they could not understand.
"Mr. Buckham is kind enough to take us all in his sleigh," pursued
Agnes, after calling to Tom Jonah to stay on the other side of the
sleigh, for Barnabetta was a little afraid of the big dog. "We'll be in
Milton in two hours and there your father can be made comfortable."
"Say! this isn't a trick?" ejaculated the trapeze performer at last.
"What kind of trick?" asked Agnes, in wonder.
"Well," said Barnabetta, doubtfully, "you might make us trouble. We're
sort of vagrants. Once, when we were travelin', Pop and me, we got
pulled by a fresh constable, and I was afraid they'd find out I wasn't a
boy."
"Oh, my!" gasped Agnes, for the romance of Barnabetta's situation
appealed strongly to the Corner House girl.
"You're not thinkin' of handin' us over to the police, are you?" added
Barnabetta, shrewdly.
"Great goodness, girl!" gasped Mr. Buckham, "it must ha' been your
fortune to meet mighty mean folks in your short life."
"Yep, it has," said the circus girl, drily. "We've got plenty good
friends in the business. Circus folks are nice folks. Only we got on the
outs with the Sorbers. But outside--well, there's plenty folks down on
them that have to tramp it. And we've had our experiences," concluded
Barnabetta, nodding her head and pursing her lips.
"Well, these Corner House girls ain't no bad kind," said the farmer,
earnestly. "If you need help, you've come to the right shop for it."
"I never asked her for help!" flared up the circus girl.
"You need help just the same," answered Mr. Buckham. "And you'd better
take it when it's kindly offered. You know your father ain't in no shape
to camp out this weather. And it's getting colder."
"Well," said Barnabetta, ungraciously enough. "What do you say, Pop?"
Poor Scruggs was evidently used to "playing second fiddle," as Mr.
Buckham would have himself expressed it. He just nodded, and said:
"I leave it to you, Barney. We'll do just like you say."
The circus girl poised herself on one foot and looked doubtful. Her
father did not stir.
"You know," said Agnes, "Neale maybe will be home soon. He'll know how
to help you," she added, with confidence in her boy chum's wisdom.
Barnabetta's black eyes suddenly flashed. "All right," she said,
grumpily enough, and turned away to help her father rise.
Agnes' heart was suddenly all of a flutter. She could not help wondering
if Barnabetta was thinking of the money in the old album that Neale
O'Neil was carrying about the country with him. Yet that seemed an
ungenerous thought and Agnes put it behind her. Later it was to return
in spite of her--and with force.