ANTHA'S RESPONSIBILITY
"Katherine, are you low in your mind again?" Gladys peered suspiciously
over the edge of the cliff to where Katherine was sitting in her
favorite fly-on-the-wall position midway between earth and sky, her head
leaned thoughtfully back against the stone wall behind her.
"No'm," answered Katherine meekly, and grinned reassuringly through the
wisp of hair that hung down over her face. She put the lock carefully
back into place with a critical hand and continued: "I was just
exercising my young brain thinking."
Gladys heaved a sigh of relief and prepared to join Katherine on the
ledge. "I'm _so_ glad it isn't the indigoes this time," she said,
swinging her feet over the edge and scraping her shoulder blades along
the rock until they found a certain groove which fitted them like a
glove, "because I don't think Sahwah could think up another conspiracy
like the Dark of the Moon Society to bring you out of it. But why were
you looking so solemn?"
"I was merely wondering about Antha," replied Katherine. "Now we've got
Anthony where we understand him; but Antha is still the spiritless cry
baby she was when she came. She hasn't a particle of backbone. I'm
getting discouraged about her." She pulled a patch of moss from the rock
beside her and tore it moodily into shreds.
"Are you quite, quite sure you're not low in your mind?" asked Gladys.
Katherine sat up with a jerk, sending a loosened particle of stone
bounding and clattering down the face of the cliff. "Of course not!" she
said energetically. "I was just wondering, that's all. I haven't lost
faith in Antha and I don't doubt but what she'll brace up before the
summer is over. If we only knew a recipe for developing grit!"
"Stop worrying about that child and let's go out in a canoe," said
Gladys, catching hold of Katherine's hand and pulling her up.
Katherine rose and smoothed out her skirts--a new action for her. "Do I
look any neater?" she inquired.
"Quite a bit," replied Gladys, looking her over with a critical eye.
"I hope I do," said Katherine with a sigh. "I've spent most of the week
sewing on buttons. But my hair is absolutely hopeless," and she shook
the fringe back out of her eyes viciously.
"Let me do it for you some day," said Gladys, "and I'll see what can be
done with those loose ends."
"All right," said Katherine wearily, and they went down the path
together.
"We won't have time to go out in a canoe," said Gladys when they reached
the beach. "Here comes the launch back from St. Pierre with the mail."
"I wonder if there's a letter for me," said Katherine rather wistfully.
"I haven't had a word from father and mother for three weeks." And she
hopefully joined the throng that stood with outstretched hands around
the pack of letters Uncle Teddy was holding out of reach above his head.
"Oh, I say," he begged, "can't you wait a minute until I show you my
newest treasure? If I give you your letters first you'll all sneak off
into corners and read them and then you never will look at it."
"What is it?" cried an eager chorus, for it must be something splendid
that would delay the distribution of the mail.
Uncle Teddy opened a carefully packed box and drew forth an exceedingly
fine camera, which he exhibited with all the pride of a boy. "I've had
my heart set on this little machine for years," he said happily, "but
I've never had the two hundred dollars to spend for it. But now a
wealthy gentleman whom I guided on a canoe trip last May and whom I was
able to render some slight service when he was taken ill in the woods,
has made me a present of it. Did you ever hear of such generosity?"
He did not mention the fact that the "slight service" had consisted of
carrying the sick man on his back for fifteen miles through the woods.
The boys and girls looked at the camera with awe and were half afraid to
touch it. A thing that had cost two hundred dollars was not to be
handled lightly.
"It has a speed of one thousandth of a second," announced Uncle Teddy,
displaying all the fine points of his treasure like an auctioneer.
"Won't I get some great pictures of you folks diving, though!" And he
stood looking at the thing in his hands as if he did not quite believe
it was real. Then he came to himself with a start and tossed the pack of
letters to Katherine to distribute, remarking that his good fortune had
quite robbed him of his manners.
Katherine handed out the letters in short order, for she saw one
addressed to her, and when they had all been given out she climbed back
to her seat on the ledge to enjoy the news from home in peace and quiet.
Supper was an unusually hilarious meal. Uncle Teddy was so happy that he
nearly burst trying to be witty and agreeable and his mood was so
contagious that before long everybody else was as bad as he.
"Make a speech, Katherine," somebody called, and Katherine obligingly
climbed up on a chair and made such a screamingly funny oration on "What
Is Home without a Camera?" that over half the company choked and there
were not enough unchoked ones left to pat them all on the back.
"Katherine," said Mr. Evans feelingly, "if you don't turn out to be a
second Cicero I'm no prophet. Your eloquence would melt a concrete dam.
See, it's melted the butter already. You are the joy of life to me. How
I would like to go with you on your triumphal way through college! By
the way, what college did you say you were going to?"
"Sagebrush University, Spencer, Arkansas," replied Katherine drily.
"Ha-ha-ha! That's a good one!" laughed Slim, choking again.
"Please stop joking and tell us," begged Hinpoha.
"I have told you," replied Katherine quietly.
"Is there really a college out where you live?" asked Nakwisi. "We all
thought you were going to college in the East."
"She is," said Hinpoha. "She's only joking."
Mrs. Evans sat looking at Katherine closely. She had just noticed
something. Although Katherine had been the most hilarious one at the
table she had not eaten a mouthful. The delicious roast chicken and corn
fritters, her favorite dish, lay untouched upon her plate. And the
whimsical dancing light had gone out of her eyes.
"My dear," she said, leaning across the table, "what is the matter with
you? Has anything happened to change your plans about going to college?"
Katherine looked at her calmly. "It's all off," she said nonchalantly,
raising her water glass to her dry lips. "Father made a little
investment in oil this summer--and now we're back to where we were the
year of the drought. So it's back to the soil for mine, to the sagebrush
and the pump in the dooryard, and maybe teaching in the little one-story
schoolhouse in between chores. I knew my dream of college was too sweet
to be true."
"Oh, Katherine," cried Hinpoha in dismay, "you _must_ go to
college, it would be a terrible pity if you couldn't."
"Kindly omit flowers," said Katherine brusquely.
"My dear child," said Mr. Evans quickly, "I will gladly advance the sum
needed for your education. You may regard it as a loan if you will"--for
Katherine's chin had suddenly squared itself at the beginning of his
speech--"but I would consider the pleasure all mine."
"You are very kind," said Katherine huskily, "but I couldn't do it. You
see, my mother's health has broken down from the years of hard work and
this sudden trouble, and dad's thoroughly discouraged, and they need me
on the job to put life into them and keep the farm going."
Gratefully but firmly she refused all their offers of help. She was the
calmest one in the group, but the white lines around her mouth and the
drooping slant to her shoulders told what a disappointment she had
suffered.
"Will you have to go home right away?" asked Gladys in a tragic voice.
"No," said Katherine. "The folks aren't home yet and won't be for three
weeks. So I can stay here as long as the rest of you do and when you go
East I shall go West."
She made her plans calmly and frowned on all demonstrations of sympathy.
Hinpoha found her after supper sitting on the Council Rock watching the
sunset, and creeping up behind her slipped her arms around her neck.
"Poor old K!" she whispered caressingly.
Katherine shook herself free from Hinpoha's embrace. "Don't act tragic,"
she said crossly. "And don't cry down the back of my neck. It gives me
the fidgets." And rebuffed, Hinpoha crept away.
The same thing happened to the other girls who tried to console her. It
was hard to find a way to show their sympathy. She didn't weep, she
didn't bewail her lot, she didn't cast a gloom over the company by
making a long face. Katherine in trouble seemed suddenly older,
stronger, more experienced in life than the others. They felt somehow
young and childish before her and stood abashed. Yet their hearts ached
for her because they knew that beneath her outward scorn of weakness she
was suffering anguish of spirit.
Katherine was still sitting all alone on the rock some time later when a
very wide shadow fell across it, and Slim came puffing along and dropped
down beside her, his moon face red with exertion and suppressed emotion.
"It's a measly shame!" he said explosively and with so much vehemence
that Katherine almost smiled.
"Say," he said in a confidential tone after a moment of silence, "I have
seven hundred dollars that my grandmother left me to pay my tuition at
college. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll lend it to you and I'll work
my way through. Won't you take it from me, even if you won't from the
others?" His face was so earnest and his offer so sincere that Katherine
was touched.
"Bless you, Slim!" she said heartily. "You're a nice boy. And I'm very
sorry I can't accept your offer."
"Can't you?" said Slim pleadingly.
"No," said Katherine firmly. "I must go home."
"Well," Slim burst out, "you're a real sport, that's what you are!"
Katherine smiled at his compliment, but tingled within with a warm
feeling.
"And you're a 'real sport' for offering to give me your money and work
your way. Let's shake on it."
Slim gripped her lean, brown hand in his big paw and gave it such a
squeeze that she cried out. "Let go my hand, Slim, you're hurting me."
Slim dropped her hand abruptly.
"Why did you offer to lend me your money?" she asked curiously. "I never
did anything for you."
"Because I like you," said Slim emphatically, "better than any girl I
ever knew." And blushing like a peony, he departed hastily from the
scene.
Katherine smiled whimsically as she looked after him. "My first
'romance,'" she thought. "With a baby elephant! Slim is a dear boy and I
hate myself now because I used to make such fun of him." And where the
passionate laments of the girls had failed to move her, the thought of
Slim's offered sacrifice brought the tears to her eyes. "'Oh, was there
ever such a knight in friendship or in war?'" she quoted softly to
herself.
Katherine put her trouble resolutely in the background and refused to
discuss it, and activities went on just as before on Ellen's Isle.
"Captain, will you go for the mail this afternoon?" asked Uncle Teddy
one day not long after the event of the new camera. "Mr. Evans and I
want to spend the day over on the mainland trying to get some bird
pictures. One of you boys can run us over to the Point of Pines in the
launch and get us again when you come home with the mail. We don't want
to be bothered looking after a boat."
"All right, sir," said the Captain.
Aunt Clara and the girls departed to put up a lunch basket for the men
while Uncle Teddy and Mr. Evans gathered up the various impedimenta they
wanted to take along. The boys took them over to the Point of Pines and
then started off on a long ride in the launch, taking all the girls with
them except Antha, who had a headache. Not long after they had gone Aunt
Clara came out of Uncle Teddy's tent, which she had seized the
opportunity to straighten up, and declared that her husband would forget
his head if it weren't fastened on. She was carrying in her hand the new
camera.
"If that isn't just like him!" she scolded. "He wouldn't let me carry it
down to the boat for him and then he goes off and forgets it himself. He
must have thought he had it when he carried down that case of film
plates. Won't he be in a fine stew when he finds out he's left it behind
and has no boat to come back in? And I've got all the stuff ready to
start making that new Indian pudding, and if I take the time to row over
to the Point of Pines I won't get it done for dinner and the boys and
girls will be so disappointed! And poor Mrs. Evans has just fallen
asleep after being up all night with a jumping tooth; I can't ask her to
go." Then her eye fell on Antha, swinging in the hammock. "I don't
suppose I could send Antha over with it," she said to herself,
remembering how Antha always clung to the others, and had never been out
in a boat by herself. "I might as well make up my mind to give up the
Indian pudding and go over myself." But the materials were all out and
some half prepared and it seemed such a shame not to be able to finish
it. "Gracious!" she thought to herself, looking in Antha's direction
again, "that girl ought to be able to take that camera over there. The
lake is as smooth as glass. I just won't take the time."
"Antha," she said, approaching her with the camera, and speaking in the
same matter-of-fact tone she used toward the older girls, "will you row
across the lake and give this to Uncle Teddy?"
Antha shrank back and looked uncertain, but Aunt Clara went on quickly,
"He'll be wild when he finds he's forgotten it. Be careful that you
don't get it wet going over." And she handed her the expensive
instrument with an air of perfect confidence in her ability to take care
of it.
"May I stay over there with Uncle Teddy and watch them take pictures?"
asked Antha, for whom the time was beginning to lag now that the others
were not on the island.
"Yes, certainly," said Aunt Clara. "I gave them plenty of lunch for
three."
She started Antha out in the rowboat and then went back to her task of
concocting a new and delightful Indian pudding. When the boys and girls
came home to dinner she was glad she had stayed and made it, for their
delight and appreciation amply repaid her for the trouble.
At four o'clock the Captain went for the mail and came home with Uncle
Teddy and Mr. Evans. Uncle Teddy wore an expression of deepest disgust.
"Of all the boneheaded things I ever did," he exclaimed as he stepped
out on the dock, "today's job was the worst. Here I went off and left
the camera behind, and not having any boat couldn't come back, so we
just had to sit there all day and wait to be called for."
"But," gasped Aunt Clara, "I sent Antha after you with it just as soon
as I found you had forgotten it. Didn't she bring it to you?"
"No," said Uncle Teddy. "We never saw a sign of her."
"Something must have happened to her!" cried Aunt Clara, starting up in
dismay. "She went over before dinner. The lake was so smooth I thought
it was perfectly safe. What could have happened?"
"Get into the launch, quick," said Uncle Teddy "and we'll go and look."
Aunt Clara and Katherine and several more jumped in and they went off in
feverish haste. Aunt Clara was almost prostrated at the thought that
harm might have come to Antha from that errand. Around one of the
numerous points which ran out into the water before you came to the
Point of Pines they saw her, standing on a rock just underneath the
surface, the water washing around her ankles. She was several hundred
feet from the shore and the rowboat was nowhere to be seen. Her whole
figure was tense from trying to cling to the slippery rock, and in her
arms she was tightly clutching the camera. She fairly tumbled into the
launch as it ran alongside her.
"What happened?" they all asked.
"The bottom came out of the boat," said Antha, "and it filled up with
water and I got out on that rock and the boat sank."
"Which boat did you take?" asked Uncle Teddy.
"The small one," replied Antha.
"Good Lord," ejaculated Uncle Teddy. "That was the one with the loose
board in the bottom! Why didn't I take it away from the others? What a
narrow scrape you had! It was a mighty good thing for you that that rock
was right there."
"And she stood there all day!"
"Why didn't you swim to shore?" asked Uncle Teddy. "You can keep up
pretty well, and you would have struck shallow water pretty soon."
"Because I had the camera," said Antha, beginning to sob from
exhaustion, "and I had--to--keep--it--dry!"
"You blessed lamb!" said Aunt Clara, and then choked and was unable to
say any more.
"There!" exclaimed Katherine exultantly, when they were back home and
Antha had been put to bed and fussed over. "Didn't I tell you she'd
develop a backbone if the right occasion presented itself? The only
thing she needed to bring it out was responsibility. Responsibility!
That's the last thing anybody would have thought of putting on her.
She's been babied and petted all her life and told what a poor, feeble
creature she was until she believed it. People expected her to be a
cry-baby and so she was one. We made the same mistake here. We've never
asked her to do an equal share of the work, or made her responsible for
a single thing. We were always afraid she couldn't do it. Now you see
Aunt Clara made her responsible for that camera and took it for granted
that she'd keep it dry and, of course, she did. I guess everybody would
be a hero if somebody only expected them to."