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CHICKEN LITTLE JANE ON THE BIG JOHN
[Illustration: Came half way across and held out his hand.]
CHICKEN LITTLE JANE
by
LILY MUNSELL RITCHIE
New York
Britton Publishing Company
Copyright, 1919, by Britton Publishing Company, Inc.
Made in U. S. A.
All rights reserved.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I With Huz and Baby Jill in the Pasture 11
II Harking Back To Centerville 27
III Chicken Little Pays a Visit 43
IV A Cherry Penance 62
V The Guests Arrive 81
VI A Hunting Party 100
VII Pigs 123
VIII A Party and a Picnic 141
IX Bread and Polliwogs 161
X Supper at the Captain's 179
XI Calico and Company 195
XII Dick and Alice Go On Alone 215
XIII Chicken Little and Ernest 238
XIV Off to Annapolis 255
XV School 273
XVI The Prairie Fire 295
XVII The Lost Oyster Supper 315
XVIII An April Fool Frolic 338
XIX Sherm Hears Bad News 355
XX The Captain Finds His Own 373
CHAPTER I
WITH HUZ AND BABY JILL IN THE PASTURE
"Chicken Little--Chicken Little!"
Mrs. Morton's face was flushed with the heat. She was frying doughnuts
over a hot stove and had been calling Chicken Little at intervals for
the past ten minutes. Providence did not seem to have designed Mrs.
Morton for frying doughnuts. She was very sensitive to heat and had
little taste for cooking. She had laid aside her silks and laces on
coming to the ranch, but the poise and dignity that come from years of
gentle living were still hers. Her formal manner always seemed a trifle
out of place in the old farm kitchen. On this particular morning she was
both annoyed and indignant.
"She is the most provoking child!" she exclaimed in exasperation as Dr.
Morton stepped into the kitchen.
"Provoking--who?--Chicken Little? What's the matter now?"
"That child is a perfect fly-away. I can no more lay my hands on her
when I need her than I could on a flea. She is off to the pasture, or
out watching the men plow, or trotting away, no one knows where, with
the two pups. And the worst of it is you encourage her in it, Father.
You forget she is thirteen years old--almost a woman in size! She is too
old to be such a tomboy. She should be spending her time on her music
and sewing, or learning to cook--now that school's out for the summer."
Dr. Morton laughed.
"Oh, let up on the music for a year or two, Mother. Chicken Little's
developing finely. She's a first rate little cook already. You couldn't
have prepared a better breakfast yourself than she gave us that morning
you were sick. You don't realize how much she does help you, and as to
running about the farm, that will be the making of her. She is growing
tall and strong and rosy. You don't want to make her into an old woman."
"It is all very well to talk, Father, but I intend to have my only
daughter an accomplished lady, and I think you ought to help me. She is
too old to be wasting her time this way. But have you any idea where she
is? I want to send her over to Benton's after eggs. I have used all mine
up for settings, and I can't make the custard pies you are so fond of,
till I get some."
Dr. Morton laughed again.
"Yes, I have an exact idea where she is. Set your kettle back on the
stove a moment and come and see."
Mrs. Morton followed him, leaving her doughnuts rather reluctantly.
Ranch life had proved full of hardships to her. The hardships had been
intensified because it was almost impossible to secure competent
servants, or, indeed, servants of any kind. The farmer's daughters were
proud--too proud to work in a neighbor's kitchen even if they went
shabby or, as often happened among the poorer ones, barefoot, for lack
of the money they might easily have earned. Mrs. Morton was not a strong
woman and the unaccustomed drudgery was telling on her health and
spirits. Dr. Morton, on the other hand, enjoyed the open-air life and
the freedom from conventional dress and other hampering niceties.
Mrs. Morton followed her husband through the long dining room and little
hall to the square parlor beyond. He stopped in the doorway and motioned
her to come quietly. Jane sat curled up in a big chair with two fat,
limp collie pups fast asleep in her lap. She was so lost in a book that
she scarcely seemed to breathe in the minute or two they stood and
watched her.
"Well, I declare, why didn't she answer me when I called?"
"Chicken Little," Dr. Morton called softly. Chicken Little read placidly
on.
"Chicken Little,"--a little louder. Still no response.
"Chicken Little," her father raised his voice. Chicken Little never
batted an eyelash. One of the dogs looked up with an inquiring
expression, but apparently satisfying himself that he was not to be
disturbed, dozed off again.
"Chicken Little--Chick-en Lit-tle!"
"Ye-es," the girl came to life enough to reply absently. Dr. Morton
turned to his wife with a triumphant grin.
"Now, do you see why she didn't answer? She is several thousand miles
and some hundreds of years away, and she can't get back in a
hurry--blest be the concentration of childhood!"
"What is it she's reading?"
"Kennilworth. Amy Robsart is probably waiting for Leicester at this
identical moment. Why return to prosaic errands and eggs when you can
revel in a world of romance so easily?"
"Father, you will ruin that child with your indulgence!"
Mrs. Morton walked deliberately across the room and removed the book
from her daughter's hands.
Jane came to herself with a start.
"Why, Mother!"
"How many times have I told you, little daughter, that there is to be no
novel-reading until your work and your practising are both done? Here I
have been calling you for several minutes and you don't heed any more
than if you were miles away. I shall put this book away till evening.
Come, I want you to go over to Benton's and get me four dozen eggs."
Jane got up inwardly protesting, and in so doing, tumbled the two
surprised and grumbling pups upon the floor. She didn't mind doing the
errand. She was unusually willing to be helpful though often very
heedless about noticing that help was needed.
"Can I go by the pasture, Father? It's a lot shorter than round by the
road."
"Yes, I think it's perfectly safe. There are only about thirty head of
steers there now, and they won't pay any attention to you. Well, I must
be off. Do you want anything from town, Mother?"
"Yes, I have a list."
"Get it ready, will you, while I go across and see what Marian's
commissions are."
"Across" meant across the road to the white cottage where Frank and
Marian and their beloved baby daughter, Jill, lived. Little Jill was two
and a half years old and everybody's pet, from Jim Bart, the hired man,
to "Anjen," which was Jilly's rendering of Auntie Jane. Even Huz and
Buz, the two collie pups, followed her about adoringly, licking her
hands and face when opportunity offered, to her great indignation.
"Do way, Huz, do way, Buz," was frequently heard, followed by a wail if
their attentions persisted.
The family watched Dr. Morton drive away in the spring wagon down the
long tree-bordered lane. When he was out of sight, Jane picked up the
egg basket and started off toward the pasture gate.
"Where are you going, Chicken Little?" Marian called after her.
"To Benton's for eggs."
"To Benton's? Let me see, that's less than a quarter of a mile, isn't
it? I wonder if you'd mind taking Jilly along. She could walk that far
if you'd go slow, and it's such a lovely day, I'd like to have her out
in the sunshine--and I'm horribly busy this morning."
"Of course, I'll take her. Come on, Jilly, you lump of sweetness, we'll
pick some pretty flowers. You aren't in a great hurry for the eggs, are
you, Mother?"
"Oh, if you get back by eleven it will be all right. I have to finish
the doughnuts and do several other things before I will be ready for the
pies."
"That's a whole hour--we can get back easy in an hour--can't we,
Jilly-Dilly?"
Marian in spite of her busy morning watched them till they entered the
pasture, the sturdy little baby figure pattering along importantly
beside the tall slim girl.
"How fast they're both growing," she thought. "Jane's always so sweet
with Jilly--I feel safe when she's with her."
"O Jane," she called a moment later, "I wouldn't take the pups along if
you are going through the pasture. The cattle don't like small dogs."
Huz and Buz, after lazily watching the children walk off, had apparently
decided to join them, and were bringing up the rear a few yards behind.
They were fat, rollicking pups, too young and clumsy to be very firm on
their legs as yet. Jane turned round and ordered the rascals home.
Marian called them back also, and after deliberating a moment
uncertainly, they obeyed. They were encouraged to make a choice by a
small stick Chicken Little hurled at them.
"Go on," said Marian, "I'll see that they don't follow you."
She coaxed the dogs round to the back of the house and saw them greedily
lapping a saucer of milk before she went back to her work.
Buz settled down contentedly in the sunshine after the repast was over,
but Huz, who was more adventurous, hadn't forgotten that his beloved
Jane and Jilly were starting off some place without him. He gave the
saucer a parting lick around its outer edge to make sure he wasn't
missing anything, then watched the kitchen door for some fifty seconds
with ears perked up, to see whether any further refreshments or commands
might be expected from that quarter. Marian was singing gaily about her
work in a remote part of the cottage, and Huz presently trotted off
round the corner of the house after the children.
They had gone some distance into the pasture, but he tagged along as
fast as his wobbling legs would carry him, whining occasionally because
he was getting tired and felt lonesome so far behind. Huz had never gone
out into the world alone before.
Jane and Jilly were enjoying themselves. It was late May and the
prairies were billowy with soft waving grasses and gaily tinted with
myriads of wild flowers.
"Aren't they lovely, Jilly?"
Chicken Little filled one tiny moist hand with bright blossoms.
"And see, dear, here's a sensitive plant! Look close and see what the
baby leaves do when Anjen touches them. See, they all lie down close to
the mamma stem--isn't that funny?. Now watch, after a little they'll all
open up again. Here's another. Jilly, touch this one."
Jilly poked out one fat finger doubtfully, and after some coaxing, gave
the pert green leaves a quick dab. They drooped and the child laughed
gleefully.
"Do, Mamma, 'eaves do, Mamma!" she shouted. She insisted on touching
every spray in sight. So absorbed were they in this pretty sport they
did not notice that a group of steers off to the right had lifted their
heads from their grazing and were looking in their direction. Neither
did they see a small black and white pup, whose pink ribbon of a tongue
was lolling out of his mouth as he, panting from his unusual exertions,
approached them.
Huz had been game. Having set out to come, he had come, but Huz was
intuitive. He realized in his doggish consciousness that he wasn't
wanted and he deemed it wise not to make his presence known.
While Chicken Little and Jilly loitered, he stretched himself out for a
much-needed rest, keeping one eye on them and the other on the grazing
steers, who stopped frequently to cast curious glances at the intruders.
Presently the children walked on and Huz softly pattered along a few
paces in the rear. All went well until they came abreast of the steers.
Chicken Little was amazed to see the foremost one lift his head, then
start slowly toward them.
"Oh, dear," she thought, "perhaps he thinks we've got salt for him."
Huz saw the movement, too, and some instinct of his shepherd blood
asserted itself. He evidently considered the approach of the steer
menacing and felt it his duty to interfere. With a sharp little staccato
bark he dashed off in the direction of the herd as fast as his fat legs
would carry him. His dash had much the effect of a pebble thrown into a
pool, which gradually sets the whole surface of the water in motion. One
by one the steers stopped grazing and faced in his direction, snuffing
and hesitant. Huz yapped and continued to approach them boldly.
Chicken Little saw the culprit with a shiver of dismay.
"O Huz--you rascal! Oh, dear, and cattle hate a little dog! Come back
here, Huz--Huz! Huz--shut up, you scamp!"
But Huz, like many misguided human beings, thought he saw his duty and
was doing it, regardless of possible consequences. He heeded Chicken
Little to the extent of stopping in his tracks but persisted in his
sharp yapping. The nearest steer began to move toward him, the others,
one by one, gradually following.
Chicken Little was frightened, though at first, only for poor foolish
little Huz.
"Oh, they'll kill him if he doesn't stop! He can't drive cattle, the
silly goose! Huz! Huz! Come here! Hush up!"
Huz retreated slowly as the steers approached. The many pairs of hostile
eyes and the long horns pointed in his direction were beginning to
strike terror into his doggish heart, but his nerve was still good and
he barked to the limit of his lungs.
The steers came on faster.
Jane's breath grew quick and short as she watched them. The children
were too far from either fence to escape the steers by flight. Even if
she were alone, she could not hope to outrun them, and with Jilly, the
case would be hopeless. There was only one thing to be done. She had
seen enough of cattle during the past three years to know exactly what
that was--she must drive them back. Putting Jilly behind her, she
gathered up some loose stones and commenced to hurl them at the
advancing steers.
"Hi there! Hi, hi!" she yelled fiercely, starting toward them
brandishing her arms. The cattle paused, wavered, might have turned, but
Huz, being thus reinforced, barked lustily again. The steers edged
forward as if fascinated by this small, noisy object.
"Huz, Huz, why can't you be still?"
Gathering up Jilly in her arms and bidding her hold tight and be very
quiet, Chicken Little started on the run to Huz and speedily cuffed him
into silence. But the steers were still curious and resentful. As she
started to walk on, with Huz slinking crestfallen at her heels, the
cattle moved after them.
"I'll have to get him out of sight!"
She picked him up by the scruff of his neck and put him into Jilly's
chubby arms.
"Here, Honey, you hold Huz, and slap him hard if he barks. Bad Huz to
bark!"
Jilly hugged the dog tight. "Huz bark, Jilly sap," she remarked
complacently.
The cattle stopped when the dog disappeared from the ground. Chicken
Little started toward them carrying her double burden and yelling "Hi,
hi!" until they gave back a little. She persisted until she succeeded in
heading them away from the road. Then she started on across the pasture
still carrying Jilly and Huz, afraid to set either of them down lest
they should attract the cattle.
But the herd's curiosity had been thoroughly aroused. They were uneasy,
and by the time Chicken Little had walked a hundred yards further on,
they had faced toward her again and stood with heads up and tails
waving, watching her. She began to walk rapidly, not daring to run lest
she should give out under the child's weight. Another twenty yards and
the steers were following slowly after her. She quickened her pace; the
herd also came faster. Chicken Little knew cattle were often stampeded
by mere trifles. Jilly, seeing the bristling horns approaching,
commenced to whimper.
"Do home, Anjen, do home--Jilly's 'faid!"
Jane soothed the child in a voice that was fast growing shaky with
terror. "I mustn't get scared and lose my head," she argued with
herself. "Father says that's the worst thing you can do in danger. I
must keep them back! Marian trusted me with Jilly--I must be brave!"
Turning resolutely she confronted the herd, yelling and waving till with
great exertion she headed them about once more. This time she gained a
couple of hundred yards before they followed. Jilly, peeping fearfully
over her shoulder, gave her warning. When she looked back and saw those
thirty pair of sharp horns turned again in their direction, the girl
gave a sob of despair.
There was not another human being in sight.
The soft, undulating green of the prairie seemed to sweep around them
like a sea. Jane looked up into the warm, blue sky overhead and prayed
out loud.
"O Lord, please keep them back. I'm doing the best I can, God,
but--but--it's so far to the fence! I truly am, Lord, and Jilly's so
little!" "Hi there, hi, hi! Yes, Jilly, yes, course Anjen'll take care
of you!"
Her panic-stricken tones were hardly reassuring, the child wailed
louder, casting frightened glances at the steers, then burying her face
on Jane's shoulder. The cattle were approaching on the trot, their great
bodies swinging and jostling beneath that thicket of horns as the
animals in the rear pushed and crowded against the leaders. The steady
thud of their hoofs seemed to shake the ground rhythmically. Jilly could
hear even when she couldn't see, and clung convulsively to Anjen with
one arm while the other squeezed tight the chastened Huz. Chicken Little
sent up a last petition, as gathering up her remaining shreds of
courage, she charged once more.
"O God, please, please, help a little!"
She never knew exactly what happened after that. Jilly was past all
control. She was screaming steadily but her anguished howls were almost
providential for they helped out Jane's weakening shouts. Again and
again Jane turned the steers, her voice growing fainter and hoarser. The
cattle seemed to gather impetus with each rush--the distance between
them was fast lessening and the beasts became more and more unruly about
going back. But in some miraculous way she kept them off until Mr.
Benton, plowing in a field near the fence, was attracted by Jilly's
screams and rushed to their rescue. Driving away the steers, he lifted
Jilly and Huz from Chicken Little's aching arms, and took them all in to
his wife to be comforted.
It was some little time before Chicken Little could give the Benton's an
intelligible account of what had excited the steers. Mr. Benton's
astonishment was unbounded.
"Well, Chicken Little, I'll never say another word 'bout city folks
being skeery. You ain't so bad for a tenderfoot. How'd you know enough
to face them that way instead of running? If you'd run they'd trampled
you all into mince meat! Steers are the terablist critters!"
Chicken Little was too shaky to answer with anything but a smile.
Mrs. Benton refreshed them with milk and cookies and after the children
had recovered from their fright, Mr. Benton drove them home.
Frank came to lift Jilly from the buggy and Mr. Benton related their
adventure with a relish.
"Clean grit, that sister of yours!" he ended. "She never even let go of
that plaguey dog. The tears was a streamin' down her face and I low
she'd pray one minute and let out a yell at them blasted steers the
next."
The tears stood in Frank's eyes as he hugged both Jane and Jilly close
after Mr. Benton drove away.
"I'll never forget this, little sister."
"Why, Frank, it was the only thing I could do. Marian trusted Jilly to
me and I couldn't let poor little Huz be killed!"
Huz evidently approved this last sentiment, for he gambolled around the
group, doing his doggish best to please.
Chicken Little's modesty, however, was destined to be short-lived. By
the time her mother and Marian and Ernest had all praised and made much
of her exploit, she felt herself a real heroine. She was a natural-born
dreamer, and she spent the remainder of the day in misty visions of
wondrous adventures in which she always played the leading part.