The lilac-scented breeze of early morning blowing softly through the
vine-latticed window and stirring its white draperies brought David to
wakefulness. With the first surprise at the strangeness of his
surroundings came a fluttering of memory. The fragrance of lilacs was
always hereafter to bring back the awfulness of this waking moment.
He hurriedly dressed, and went down to the kitchen where M'ri was
preparing breakfast.
"Good morning, David. Janey has gone to find some fresh eggs. You may
help her hunt them, if you will."
Knowing the haunts of hens, he went toward the currant bushes. It was
one of those soft days that link late spring and dawning summer. The
coolness of the sweet-odored air, the twitter of numberless dawn
birds, the entreating lowing of distant cattle--all breathing life and
strength--were like a resurrection call to David.
On the east porch, which was his retreat for a smoke or a rest between
the intervals of choring and meals, Barnabas sat, securely wedged in
by the washing machine, the refrigerator, the plant stand, the churn,
the kerosene can, and the lawn mower. He gazed reflectively after
David.
"What are you going to hev Dave do to help, M'ri?"
M'ri came to the door and considered a moment.
"First of all, Barnabas, I am going to have him eat. He is so thin and
hungry looking."
Barnabas chuckled. His sister's happiest mission was the feeding of
hungry children.
After breakfast, when Janey's rebellious curls were again being
brushed into shape, M'ri told David he could go to school if he liked.
To her surprise the boy flushed and looked uncomfortable. M'ri's
intuitions were quick and generally correct.
"It's so near the end of the term, though," she added casually, as an
afterthought, "that maybe you had better wait until next fall to start
in."
"Yes, please, Miss M'ri, I'd rather," he said quickly and gratefully.
When Janey, dinner pail in hand and books under arm, was ready to
start, David asked in surprise where Jud was.
"Oh, he has gone long ago. He thinks he is too big to walk with
Janey."
David quietly took the pail and books from the little girl.
"I'll take you to school, Janey, and come for you this afternoon."
"We won't need to git no watch dog to foller Janey," said Barnabas, as
the children started down the path.
"David," called M'ri, "stop at Miss Rhody's on your way back and find
out whether my waist is finished."
With proudly protective air, David walked beside the stiffly starched
little girl, who had placed her hand trustfully in his. They had gone
but a short distance when they were overtaken by Joe Forbes, mounted
on a shining black horse. He reined up and looked down on them
good-humoredly.
[Illustration: "_With proudly protective air, David walked beside the
stiffly starched little girl_"]
"Going to school, children?"
"I am. Davey's just going to carry my things for me," explained
Janey.
"Well, I can do that and carry you into the bargain. Help her up,
David."
Janey cried out in delight at the prospect of a ride. David lifted her
up, and Joe settled her comfortably in the saddle, encircling her with
his arm. Then he looked down whimsically into David's disappointed
eyes.
"I know it's a mean trick, Dave, to take your little sweetheart from
you."
"She's not my sweetheart; she's my sister."
"Has she promised to be that already? Get up, Firefly."
They were off over the smooth country road, Forbes shouting a
bantering good-by and Janey waving a triumphant dinner pail, while
David, trudging on his way, experienced the desolate feeling of the
one who is left behind. Across fields he came to the tiny, thatched
cottage of Miss Rhody Crabbe, who stood on the crumbling doorstep
feeding some little turkeys.
"Come in, David. I suppose you're after M'ri's waist. Thar's jest a
few stitches to take, and I'll hev it done in no time."
He followed her into the little house, which consisted of a sitting
room "with bedroom off," and a kitchen whose floor was sand scoured;
the few pieces of tinware could be used as mirrors. Miss Rhody seated
herself by the open window and began to ply her needle. She did not
sew swiftly and smoothly, in feminine fashion, but drew her
long-threaded needle through the fabric in abrupt and forceful jerks.
A light breeze fluttered in through the window, but it could not
ruffle the wisp-locked hair that showed traces of a water-dipped comb
and was strained back so taut that a little mound of flesh encircled
each root. Her eyes were bead bright and swift moving. Everything
about her, to the aggressively prominent knuckles, betokened energy
and industry. She was attired in a blue calico shortened by many
washings, but scrupulously clean and conscientiously starched. Her
face shone with soap and serenity.
Miss Rhody's one diversion in a busy but monotonous life was news. She
was wretched if she did not receive the latest bulletins; but it was
to her credit that she never repeated anything that might work harm or
mischief. David was one of her chosen confidants. He was a safe
repository of secrets, a sympathetic listener, and a wise suggester.
"I'm glad M'ri's hevin' a blue waist. She looks so sweet in blue. I've
made her clo'es fer years. My, how I hoped fer to make her weddin'
clo'es onct! It wuz a shame to hev sech a good match spiled. It wuz
too bad she hed to hev them two chillern on her hands--"
"And now she has a third," was what David thought he read in her eyes,
and he hastened to assert: "I am going to help all I can, and I'll
soon be old enough to take care of myself."
"Land sakes, David, you'd be wuth more'n yer keep to any one. I
wonder," she said ruminatingly, "if Martin Thorne will wait for her
till Janey's growed up."
"Martin Thorne!" exclaimed David excitedly. "Judge Thorne? Why, was he
the one--"
"He spent his Sunday evenings with her," she asserted solemnly.
In the country code of courtships this procedure was conclusive proof,
and David accepted it as such.
"He wuz jest plain Lawyer Thorne when he wuz keepin' company with
M'ri, but we all knew Mart wuz a comin' man, and M'ri wuz jest proud
of him. You could see that, and he wuz sot on her."
Her work momentarily neglected, Rhody was making little reminiscent
stabs at space with her needle as she spoke.
"'T wuz seven years ago. M'ri wuz twenty-eight and Mart ten years
older. It would hev ben a match as sure as preachin', but Eliza died
and M'ri, she done her duty as she seen it. Sometimes I think folks is
near-sighted about their duty. There is others as is queer-sighted.
Bein' crossed hain't spiled M'ri though. She's kep' sweet through it
all, but when a man don't git his own way, he's apt to curdle. Mart
got sort of tart-tongued and cold feelin'. There wa'n't no reason why
they couldn't a kep' on bein' friends, but Mart must go and make a
fool vow that he'd never speak to M'ri until she sent him word she'd
changed her mind, so he hez ben a-spitin' of his face ever sence. It's
wonderful how some folks do git in their own way, but, my sakes, I
must git to work so you kin take this waist home."
This was David's first glimpse of a romance outside of story-books,
but the name of Martin Thorne evoked disturbing memories. Six years
ago he had acted as attorney to David's father in settling his
financial difficulties, and later, after Peter Dunne's death, the
Judge had settled the small estate. It was only through his efforts
that they were enabled to have the smallest of roofs over their
defenseless heads.
"Miss Rhody," he asked after a long meditation on life in general,
"why didn't you ever marry?"
Miss Rhody paused again in her work, and two little spots of red crept
into her cheeks.
"'Tain't from ch'ice I've lived single, David. I've ben able to take
keer of myself, but I allers hed a hankerin' same as any woman, as is
a woman, hez fer a man, but I never got no chanst to meet men folks. I
wuz raised here, and folks allers hed it all cut out fer me to be an
old maid. When a woman onct gets that name fixt on her, it's all off
with her chances. No man ever comes nigh her, and she can't git out of
her single rut. I never could get to go nowhars, and I wa'n't that
bold kind that makes up to a man fust, afore he gives a sign."
David pondered over this wistful revelation for a few moments, seeking
a means for her seemingly hopeless escape from a life of single
blessedness, for David was a sympathetic young altruist, and felt it
incumbent upon him to lift the burdens of his neighbors. Then he
suggested encouragingly:
"Miss Rhody, did you know that there was a paper that gets you
acquainted with men? That's the way they say Zine Winters got
married."
"Yes, and look what she drawed!" she scoffed. "Bill! I don't know how
they'd live if Zine hadn't a-gone in heavy on hens and turkeys. She
hez to spend her hull time a-traipsin' after them turkeys, and thar
ain't nuthin' that's given to gaddin' like turkeys that I know on,
less 't is Chubbses' hired gal. No, David, it's chance enough when
you git a man you've knowed allers, but a stranger! Well! I want to
know what I'm gittin'. Thar, the last stitch in M'ri's waist is took,
and, David, you won't tell no one what I said about Mart Thorne and
her, nor about my gittin' merried?"
David gave her a reproachful look, and she laughed shamefacedly.
"I know, David, you kin keep a secret. It's like buryin' a thing to
tell it to you. My, this waist'll look fine on M'ri. I jest love the
feel of silk. I'd ruther hev a black silk dress than--"
"A husband," prompted David slyly.
"David Dunne, I'll box yer ears if you ever think again of what I
said. I am allers a-thinkin' of you as if you wuz a stiddy grown man,
and then fust thing I know you're nuthin' but a teasin' boy. Here's
the bundle, and don't you want a nutcake, David?"
"No, thank you, Miss Rhody. I ate a big breakfast."
A fellow feeling had prompted David even in his hungriest days to
refrain from accepting Miss Rhody's proffers of hospitality. He knew
the emptiness of her larder, for though she had been thrifty and
hard-working, she had paid off a mortgage and had made good the
liabilities of an erring nephew.
When David returned he found Miss M'ri in the dairy. It was churning
day, and she was arranging honey-scented, rose-stamped pats of butter
on moist leaves of crisp lettuce.
"David," she asked, looking up with a winning smile, "will you tell me
why you didn't want to go to school?"
The boy's face reddened, but his eyes looked frankly into hers.
"Yes, Miss M'ri."
"Before you tell me, David," she interposed, "I want you to remember
that, from now on, Barnabas and I are your uncle and aunt."
"Well, then, Aunt M'ri," began David, a ring of tremulous eagerness in
his voice, "I can read and write and spell, but I don't know much
about arithmetic and geography. I was ashamed to start in at the baby
class. I thought I'd try and study out of Jud's books this summer."
"That's a good idea, David. We'll begin now. You'll find an elementary
geography in the sitting room on the shelf, and you may study the
first lesson. This afternoon, when my work is done, I'll hear you
recite it."
David took the book and went out into the old orchard. When M'ri went
to call him to dinner he was sprawled out in the latticed shadow of an
apple tree, completely absorbed in the book.
"You have spent two hours on your first lesson, David. You ought to
have it well learned."
He looked at her in surprise.
"I read the whole book through, Aunt M'ri."
"Oh, David," she expostulated, "that's the way Barnabas takes his
medicine. Instead of the prescribed dose after each meal he takes
three doses right after breakfast--so as to get it off his mind and
into his system, he says. We'll just have one short lesson in
geography and one in arithmetic each day. You mustn't do things in
leaps. It's the steady dog trot that lasts, and counts on the long
journey."
When David was on his way to bring Janey from school that afternoon
he was again overtaken by Joe Forbes.
"Dave, I am going to Chicago in a few days, and I shall stop there
long enough to buy a few presents to send back to some of my friends.
Here's my list. Let me see, Uncle Larimy, a new-fangled fishing
outfit; Barnabas, a pipe; Miss M'ri--guess, Dave."
"You're the guesser, you know," reminded David.
"It's a new kind of ice-cream freezer, of course."
"She's going to freeze ice to-night," recalled David anticipatingly.
"Freeze ice! What a paradoxical process! But what I want you to
suggest is something for Miss Rhody--something very nice."
"What she wants most is something you can't get her," thought David,
looking up with a tantalizing little smile. Then her second wish
occurred to him.
"I know something she wants dreadfully; something she never expects to
have."
"That is just what I want to get for her."
"It'll cost a lot."
Joe disposed of that consideration by a munificent wave of the hand.
"What is it?"
"A black silk dress," informed the boy delightedly.
"She shall have it. How many yards does it take, I wonder?"
"We can ask Janey's teacher when we get to school," suggested the
boy.
"So we can. I contrived to find out that Janey's heart is set on a
string of beads--blue beads. I suppose, to be decent, I shall have to
include Jud. What will it be?"
"He wants a gun. He's a good shot, too."
They loitered on the way, discussing Joe's gifts, until they met Janey
and Little Teacher coming toward them hand in hand. David quickly
secured the pail and books before Joe could appropriate them. He
wasn't going to be cut out a second time in one day.
"Miss Williams," asked the young ranchman, "will your knowledge of
mathematics tell me how many yards of black silk I must get to make a
dress, and what kind of fixings I shall need for it?"
"You don't have to know," she replied. "Just go into any department
store and tell them you want a dress pattern and the findings. They
will do the rest."
"Shopping made easy. You shall have your reward now. My shanty boat is
just about opposite here. Suppose the four of us go down to the river
and have supper on board?"
Little Teacher, to whom life was a vista of blackboards dotted with
vacations, thought this would be delightful. A passing child was made
a messenger to the farm, and they continued their way woodward to the
river, where the shanty boat was anchored. Little Teacher set the
table, Joe prepared the meal, while David sat out on deck, beguiling
Janey with wonderful stories.
"This seems beautifully domestic to a cowboy," sighed Joe, looking
around the supper table, his gaze lingering on Little Teacher, who was
dimpling happily. Imaginative David proceeded to weave his third
romance that day, with a glad little beating of the heart, for he had
feared that Joe might be planning to wait for Janey, as the Judge was
doubtless waiting for M'ri.
The children went directly home after supper, Joe accompanying Little
Teacher. Despite the keenness of David's sorrow the day had been a
peaceful, contented one, but when the shadows began to lengthen to
that most lonesome hour of lonesome days, when from home-coming cows
comes the sound of tinkling bells, a wave of longing swept over him,
and he stole away to the orchard. Again, a soft, sustaining little
hand crept into his.
"Don't, Davey," pleaded a caressing voice, "don't make me cry."