CHICKEN LITTLE PAYS A VISIT
Mrs. Morton was sitting at her desk writing a letter. Jane hovered
about inquisitively. She was almost sure it was to Mrs. Halford. And if
so, she must surely be inviting Katie and Gertie. If she could only be
sure. She tried in vain to get a glimpse of the heading, but her
mother's hand rested on the paper in such a way as to effectually
conceal it. Mrs. Morton did not believe in encouraging curious young
daughters. But opportunity was kind; some one called her mother away.
She left the letter lying there partly finished. Chicken Little started
joyfully across the room, but before she had reached the desk, something
held her back. She had been most carefully trained as to what was
honorable; sneaking was not tolerated in the Morton family.
"No," she said to herself regretfully, "I mustn't peep behind her back!
I couldn't look anybody in the face if I did."
She slowly turned away. When her mother returned, she glanced sharply at
Chicken Little quietly reading on the opposite side of the room. The
girl did not realize that her face proved her innocence. It was so sober
that her mother felt sure she had not meddled with the letter. Jane had
not learned to conceal her emotions.
Dr. and Mrs. Morton were both going to town that day. Mrs. Morton drove
away without satisfying Chicken Little's curiosity, which was probably
largely responsible for what happened. Jane felt injured. She thought
her mother might tell her whether she could have the girls or not. Ten
days was enough time for anybody to make up her mind.
Frank and Ernest were out in the fields harrowing; Marian, busy sewing.
Chicken Little soon finished the few tasks her mother had left for her
and time began to hang heavy on her hands. She couldn't seem to fix her
thought on a book because she kept wondering every minute if that letter
was to Mrs. Halford. She wandered out into the June sunshine and wished
she could have gone to town, too. Presently she began to feel aggrieved
because her parents hadn't taken her with them.
Across the fields she could see the men at work and could occasionally
hear them calling to the horses. She wished she had a horse to ride. The
pony that was called hers by courtesy was the mainstay for the herding
and she could seldom use him at this season. Finally, after digging her
heels into some loose earth beside the path, she had an inspiration. She
debated it a moment with herself, then slipped back into the house,
combed her hair over carefully, tied it with her best ribbon, and
arrayed herself in her new blue lawn which her mother had distinctly
told her was to be her second best for the summer.
She smoothed it down complacently--pale blue was becoming to her clear,
rosy skin--but her conscience pricked. She succeeded in lulling this
annoying mentor by reasoning that her mother wouldn't want her to go
visiting in an old dress. She tried to ignore the fact that her mother
hadn't given her permission to go visiting at all.
Slipping out the back way to avoid disturbing Marian, in case she should
be looking out her window or Jilly should be on the watch, Chicken
Little whistled softly to Huz and Buz. The puppies were three weeks
older and stronger than when Huz so nearly caused disaster, and trotted
after Jane on all her tramps. She was seldom lonesome when she had them
rolling and tumbling along beside her.
Making a wide detour around the white cottage, she struck into a faint
track skirting the upper fields. There was a nearer way through the
lower fields along the slough, but Frank had killed several big bull
snakes there the preceding week. To be sure, these were usually
harmless, but they were frightful enough to be unpleasant company.
Besides, Frank or Ernest might see her and ask her where she was going.
But the fates speeded her undertaking. No one saw her save a few quail
and nesting plover that whirred up at her approach and tried to lure her
and the dogs away from their nests by pretending to be hurt and running
a few paces ahead on the ground. Chicken Little had seen this bird ruse
too often to be fooled by it, but Huz and Buz pursued each bird
hopefully only to come sneaking back, when the mother bird suddenly
soared off as soon as they had left the nest safely behind.
"You sillies," Jane admonished them each time. "Won't you ever learn not
to be fooled?"
She found it delightful to loiter herself. The whole day was before her.
The wild blackberry bushes along the fence still hid bunches of bloom
among the half-formed berries. Clumps of white elderberry blossoms
spilled their fragrance, and the wind rustling through the long stems of
the weeds and prairie grass droned monotonous tunes. She found tufts of
crisp sour sheep sorrel which she liked to nibble, while she made ladies
out of the flowers, and the pups snapped at the grasshoppers and
butterflies. Chicken Little was taking her time for this expedition. She
knew her parents would not return before evening, and if Marian hunted
her up, she would think she had gone down to eat her lunch with Frank
and Ernest.
It was almost noon before she entered the belt of timber along the creek
at the southern boundary of their ranch. Across the stream, she knew,
lay the Clarke ranch, and she had heard the house and stables were close
to the timber. Jane had resolved to call on the Captain, and going on
foot, had selected the shortest route. It was over two miles between
houses by the road. Further, Chicken Little, preferred that her visit
should seem accidental--at least to the Captain. She hardly expected to
convince her family that she had wandered over there without intending
to. But she felt sure the Captain would receive her more kindly if he
thought she were taking a walk and got lost. She would be very hot and
tired when she arrived, and ask for a drink so politely that not even a
woman-hater would have the heart to let her go on without asking her in
and offering her some refreshment.
She had never been in this part of the woods before. It was very
different from the timber and groves near the ford where they often
picnicked in summer or went nutting in the fall. There, the cattle and
hogs had been allowed to range, at certain seasons of the year, until
most of the thick undergrowth was nicely cleared away. But the wood,
here, was dark and shadowy. Dead branches and tree trunks lay where they
had fallen or been torn down by storms. Weeds and flowers had grown up
among these, and the wild cucumber vines and clematis festooned the
rotting logs with feathery green. It was a wood full of creepy
noises--noises that made one keep still and listen. The coarse grass and
herbage were so rank you could scarcely see the ground. It looked
decidedly snaky, Chicken Little reflected dubiously. And water moccasins
were abundant along the creek, and poisonous, as her father had often
warned her. Chicken Little was usually plucky when she actually saw a
snake, but the snakes she feared she might see always made her panicky.
Still she hated to give up anything she had undertaken. She stood
staring into the thickets for some minutes. Huz sat on his haunches
beside her and stared too, whining occasionally as if he didn't quite
like the prospect either. Buz had found a gopher hole and was having a
merry time trying to dig it out. She could hear the creek singing over
the stones a few rods away.
"It can't be so awfully far," she said aloud, "and I guess the dogs
would scare away the snakes."
Something stirred among the weeds near her. Chicken Little gave a little
scream. But it was only a squirrel, as Huz immediately discovered. He
barked loudly and started in pursuit, which sent Mr. Squirrel flying up
a tree. Jane set her lips together firmly and started forward.
"There's no sense in being so scary!" she admonished Huz. "Snakes most
always run away as fast as ever they can, anyway."
Nevertheless, she picked her way daintily and gave a cry of delight when
after pushing a short distance into the thicket, she found an old rail
fence apparently leading off in the direction she wished to go. She
climbed it promptly and worked slowly along its zig zag course--a means
of locomotion that was comfortingly safe, if somewhat slow. The pups
complained over this desertion for they had to worm through the tangle
of weeds and brambles below.
They soon reached the creek only to be confronted by a new problem.
There were neither stepping stones nor a fallen log to cross upon.
Chicken Little had to hunt for a shallow place, strip off her shoes and
stockings, and wade. She wore good old-fashioned high laced shoes and
lacing up was a tedious process. The woods were a little more open
beyond. She had no further need of the fence--it had indolently stopped
at the creek anyhow. But, alas, she had gone but a short way farther
when she came to the creek again.
Chicken Little sputtered volubly to the dogs but the stream flowed
placidly on. There was nothing for it, but to take off her shoes and
stockings a second time, and wade. By the time she had laced them, she
remembered having heard Frank say that the creek was very winding here
and kept doubling back on its tracks. She was in for it, now, she
decided, and might as well go ahead. It was long past noon. She was
getting hungry. She did hope the woman-hater would offer her something
to eat. She felt a little doubtful about her looks. Sitting down on the
damp earth had left sundry grass stains and one long black streak on the
dainty blue lawn, and her hair was wind blown, and mussed where some
twigs had caught and pulled it.
Once more Jane unlaced those exasperating shoes, drying her feet on a
woefully limp and dirty handkerchief. This time she lazily wound the
lacings around her ankles until she could be sure the creek was safely
behind her. Presently she heard the cackling of hens and the grunting of
pigs that assured her she was nearing somebody's farmyard.
"Gee, but I'm glad!" she muttered thankfully. She sat down and laced her
boots neatly, then smoothing her hair and ironing out her rumpled dress
with nimble fingers, she struck off joyfully in the direction of the
sounds. She was approaching the house from the rear and the barn and
out-buildings were soon visible through the trees. She hurried forward
joyfully only to be confronted by that horrible creek flowing once more
between her and her goal.
Chicken Little didn't often lose her temper completely, but this was the
last straw. "Darn," she exclaimed spitefully, "darn you, you old creek,
I'd like to beat you. I won't take my shoes off again! I just won't!"
She scanned the bank carefully to see if she could find any rock or log
to help her out. Nothing available could be seen, but help appeared from
a most unlooked for quarter. A tall, severe-looking man rose from a
rustic seat behind a tree which had hidden him.
"Can I be of any service, Miss?" he asked courteously.
With an awful sinking of the heart she realized this must be Captain
Clarke himself. Oh! and he must have heard her swear. Chicken Little
turned the color of a very ripe strawberry and stared at him in horror.
A faint flicker of amusement lighted the man's face.
"Just wait an instant and I will put a board over for you, if you wish
to cross."
Jane distinctly did not wish to cross this particular moment. She wished
to run home.
"Oh, I--I--please don't go to any trouble, I oughtn't to be here, and
please I didn't mean to swear but--but--Mother would be dreadfully
ashamed of me if she knew."
She was telling the whole truth most unexpectedly to herself. Captain
Clarke surveyed her sharply but his voice seemed kind.
"You must be Dr. Morton's daughter. Did you get lost?"
This was an embarrassing question. Jane looked at him doubtfully before
replying. If she said "yes" she would be telling a lie, and if she said
"no," he would know she came on purpose. She compromised.
"I wanted to see your house awfully," she faltered. "Ernest said it was
most like a ship and I've never seen a ship," a sudden remorseful
thought crept into her mind. "But you mustn't blame Mother; she didn't
know I was coming."
The Captain's eyes lost their severe look--the suspicion of a twinkle
lurked in their blue depths.
"I see, you didn't wish to embarrass Mother, so you came without leave.
I am honored by your visit, Miss----"
"Jane, but people don't call me Miss, except Dick Harding, and he does
it for a joke. I'm only thirteen."
The Captain was sliding a stout plank across a narrow part of the
stream. This accomplished, he came half way across and held out his
hand. "Come, I'll help you over."
Chicken Little didn't in the least need assistance. She was as
sure-footed as a young goat, but she was too much overcome by this
delicate attention to refuse. Placing her hand gingerly in his, she let
him lead her across, then followed meekly up to the low white house. It
was a one-story structure, divided in the middle by a roofed gallery.
The entire building was surrounded by a broad veranda, open to the sky,
and enclosed by a rope railing run through stout oak posts. The Captain
gravely assisted her up the steps.
"I call this my quarter-deck," he explained, seeing the question in her
eyes. "I have been accustomed to pacing a deck for so many years that I
didn't feel at home without a stretch of planking to walk on."
"Oh, isn't it nice? I've seen pictures of people on ships. My mother
came from England on a sailing vessel. I'm sure I'd just love the
ocean!"
Captain Clarke smiled at her encouragingly but made no reply.
Chicken Little rambled on nervously. She was decidedly in awe of her
host but having begun to talk, it seemed easier to keep on than to stop.
"I guess it must be wonderful out at sea when the sun is coming up.
Sometimes I get up early and go out on the prairie to watch it. It just
keeps on getting lighter and lighter till finally the sun bobs up like a
great smiling face. I always feel as if it were saying 'Good morning,
Jane.' I suppose it's a lot grander at sea where you can't see a single
thing but miles and miles of waves. Why, I should think you'd feel as if
there wasn't anybody in the world but you and God. I always feel a lot
more religious outdoors than I do in church. But Mother says that's just
a notion. But, you know, the people are always so funny and solemn in
church and the ministers most all talk through their noses or say 'Hm-n'
to fill in when they don't know what to say next. But, oh dear, I guess
you'll think I'm dreadful! And please don't think I swear that way
often. I haven't for ever so long before."
The Captain's face twitched, but he replied gravely:
"Don't worry about the 'Darn,' child, I've heard worse oaths, though I
believe young girls are not supposed to use strong language. I feel as
you do about church and the outdoors. I find it irksome to be cooped up
anywhere. But come in, and I will have Wing Fan give you some pigeon
pot-pie. We had a famous one for dinner and you surely must be hungry.
Afterwards, I'll show you through The Prairie Maid as I sometimes call
this craft."
Chicken Little began to feel at home. "And to think Ernest said he
didn't like women and girls! Pooh, I knew he was just fooling."
Wing Fan found other things beside the pot-pie, and Chicken Little was
soon feasting luxuriously with the Chinaman waiting on her most
deferentially. Her host watched her with a keener interest, had she but
known it, than he had shown in any human being for many months.
He was a man of fifty odd. Naturally reticent, his long voyages in
command of merchant vessels had fostered an aloofness and love of
solitude, which had later been intensified by a great grief. His stern
bearing had repelled his country neighbors in the year he had lived on
Big John. He was satisfied that it should be so, yet he was intensely
lonely.
But Chicken Little knew nothing of all this. The thick sprinkling of
white in his black hair and the deep lines in his face, made her
entirely comfortable--they were just like Father's. She was too curious
to verify Ernest's tales of the queer house, to give much attention to
her host at first. She stared around her with wide eyes. Yes, there were
the funny little built-in cupboards and window seats, and the plate
racks, and the shelves that let down with gilt chains. Every single
thing was painted white. "My, how lovely and clean it all looked!" And
the blue Chinese panels; she had never seen anything like them. And
there were five pictures of ships.
Even the dishes were a marvel to her. Jane had seen plenty of fine china
but never any so curious as this old Blue Canton with its landscapes and
quaint figures. The Captain was pleased with her ingenuous admiration.
When she had finished her dinner, he took her across the gallery to his
library, a room seldom shown to the residents of the creek. Even Ernest
and Frank hadn't seen it, Jane learned later. This apartment was quite
as marvellous as the dining-room. A long, low room it was, with many
lacquered and carved cabinets and tables. The wall space above these was
pictureless, but two great ivory tusks were crossed over a doorway.
Above the fireplace rows of weapons were ranged--queer swords and
daggers with gold and mother-of-pearl on their hilts, a ship's cutlass,
several scimitars, and the strangest guns and pistols. Chicken Little
was fascinated with the frightful array. A huge bearskin lay on the
floor among strange, beautifully colored rugs, which reminded her of her
mother's India shawl. Rugs where queer stiff little men and animals that
looked as if a child had drawn them, wandered about among curlicues and
odd geometrical patterns. A tiger-skin, head and dangling claws
distressingly lifelike, hung in the middle of one wall. She was
spell-bound for a few minutes with the strangeness of it all.
Her host seemed to enjoy her wonder. He explained most patiently a great
compass set on a tripod in one corner. After she had roamed and gazed to
her heart's content, he opened the locked cabinets, and let her take
miniature ebony elephants from Siam into her hands. He had her look
through a reading glass at intricate ivory carvings, so tiny, it did not
seem that human fingers could ever have wrought them. There were boxes
of sandalwood and ugly heathen idols with leering faces. The drawers
were crowded with prints and embroideries. The Captain pulled one out
that had girl's things in it. She caught a glimpse of a spangled scarf,
and fans and laces, even gay-colored beads. But he shut this drawer
hastily. She did not have time to wonder much about this incident just
then, but she thought about it a good deal afterwards. The things looked
quite new as if they had never been used.
Chicken Little had natural taste and had read more than most girls of
her age. She handled the Captain's curios reverently, drinking in
eagerly his explanations and the strange tales of where he had found
these wonders.
So absorbed were they both, that the shadows were lengthening before
Captain Clarke realized the afternoon was slipping away, and that home
folk might be disturbed if he kept his young guest too long. Chicken
Little was distressed too.
"Oh, I'm afraid Father and Mother will get home before I do. They'll be
awfully worried!"
"You mustn't try to go back through the woods. They are too dense to be
a very safe route for a child, and it would be dark before you could
reach home. I'll have one of the men hitch up, and I'll drive you over."
Chicken Little commenced to fidget. It would not make her coming
scolding any lighter, if her parents learned that the Captain had felt
in duty bound to bring her home. But she did not wish to be rude and it
was a long walk by the road.
Captain Clarke saw she was disturbed and began to laugh. Her naivete
charmed him.
"If my program doesn't suit you, won't you tell me what is wrong? I
haven't enjoyed anything so much in years as your visit, my dear. I
should like to pay my debt by doing whatever you would like."
Jane was radiant by the time he had finished.
"Didn't you truly mind my coming? You aren't just being polite?"
"Mind? Child, if you ever come to be as lonesome and as old as I am, you
will know what a comfort it has been to have anyone as young and sweet
and fresh as you are, around. Just a moment, I want to show you one
thing more."
He went into his bedroom and returned with an old photograph. It was a
likeness of a two-year-old child.
She took a good look at it, then turned to her host.
"It is the picture of the little boy I--I--lost. He was my only one.
He--he would be seventeen now."
"Why that's just Ernest's age!"
"Your brother? The one who was here the other evening?"
"Yes, he was seventeen his last birthday. I'm so sorry you lost your
little boy." Chicken Little slipped her hand into his to express her
sympathy.
The Captain did not reply except with an answering pressure. She laid
the picture down gently.
"He was a beautiful baby--it almost seems to me I've seen someone who
looks like him--especially the eyes. And that merry little twist to his
mouth. I can't seem to think who it is." Jane puckered her forehead and
the Captain observed her closely.
"Was it some boy?" He seemed interested in this resemblance.
"Yes, how silly of me not to remember. It's Sherman Dart, one of
Ernest's old friends back in Centerville."
"Centerville? That is in Illinois, is it not?"
"Yes, where we used to live. And the eyes are exactly like Sherm's and
Sherm always twisted his mouth crooked like that when he smiled."
"This boy, he wasn't an orphan, was he?"
"Oh no, Mr. and Mrs. Dart are both living though Mr. Dart's been sick a
long time."
The Captain seemed to have lost interest.
"Well, my dear, am I to have the pleasure of driving you home--I'm
afraid your parents will be distressed about you."
Jane had a bright idea.
"Captain Clarke," she spoke rather hesitatingly.
"Yes?"
"Would you mind--of course it sounds awful of me to ask you--but--it'd
be so much easier for me with Mother if you'd just tell her, oh, what
you said about my being a comfort and not bothering."
Chicken Little was both ashamed and eager.
The Captain threw back his head and laughed until the tears came into
his eyes.
"My dear, I'll make this call all right with your mother, never fear,
for I want you to come again. I am going to ask her if you and Ernest
can't both honor me by coming to dinner next Sunday."
He was as good as his word but when Chicken Little went to bed her
mother said sorrowfully: "Chicken Little, I shan't scold you because I
promised Captain Clarke I would let you off this time--but I didn't
think you would do such a thing--behind my back, too."
And her mother had asked Katy and Gertie! She had told her after she
came home that evening.