THE RUNAWAYS
The almost level rays of a sinking sun shone upon a vast waste of white
when the two girls from the snow-bound train started off with the farmer
toward the only sign of life to be seen upon the landscape--a curl of
blue smoke rising from a chimney of a farmhouse.
"That's Peleg's place," explained Mr. Snubbins. "He's a right well-to-do
man, Peleg Morton is. We don't mind havin' our Celia go so much with
Sallie Morton--though her mother does say that Sallie puts crazy notions
into our Celia's head. But I reckon all gals is kinder crazy, ain't
they?" pursued the farmer, with one of his sly glances and chuckles.
"Always!" agreed Bess, heartily. "Half of our girls at Lakeview Hall have
to be kept in straightjackets, or padded cells."
"Mercy, Bess!" whispered Nan. "That's worthy of extravagant Laura
Polk herself."
"Thank you," responded Bess, as the farmer recovered from a fit of "the
chuckles" over Bess Harley's joke. Bess added this question:
"What particular form of insanity do your daughter and Sallie Morton
display, Mr. Snubbins?"
"Movin' picters," ejaculated the farmer. "Drat 'em! They've jest about
bewitched my gal and Sallie Morton."
"Goodness!" gasped Nan. "There aren't moving picture shows away out here
in the country, are there?"
"Oncet a week at the Corner," said Mr. Snubbins. "An' we all go. But that
ain't so much what's made Celia and Sallie so crazy. Ye see, las' fall
was a comp'ny makin' picters right up here in Peleg's west parster.
Goodness me! there was a crowd of 'em. They camped in tents like Gypsies,
and they did the most amazin' things--they sure did!
"Dif'rent from Gypsies," pursued the farmer, "they paid for all they got
around here. Good folks to sell chicken an' aigs to. City prices, we
got," and Mr. Snubbins licked his lips like a dog in remembrance of a
good meal.
"An' I vow ter Maria!" the man went on to say, with some eagerness. "We
'most all around here air in them picters; ya-as'm! Ye wouldn't think I
was an actor, would ye?" And he went off into another spasm of chuckles.
"Oh, what fun!" cried Bess.
"Paid us two dollars a day for jest havin' our photographts took, they
did," said Mr. Snubbins.
"And they paid three to the gals, 'cause they dressed up. That's what set
Celia and Sallie by the ears. Them foolish gals has got it in their heads
that they air jest cut out for movin' picter actresses. They wanter go
off ter the city an' git jobs in one o' chem there studios! Peleg says
he'll spank his gal, big as she is, if she don't stop sich foolish talk.
I reckon Celia won't go fur without Sallie."
"My! it must be quite exciting to work for the pictures," said
romantic Bess.
"Sure it is," chuckled the farmer. "One feller fell off a hoss while they
was up here an' broke his collarbone; an' one of the gals tried ter milk
our old Sukey from the wrong side, an' Sukey nigh kicked her through the
side of the shed," and Mr. Snubbins indulged in another fit of laughter
over this bit of comedy.
He was still chuckling when they climbed down from the hard eminence of a
drift into a spot that had been cleared of snow before the Morton's side
door. At once the door was opened and a big, bewhiskered man looked out.
"Well, well, Si!" he ejaculated. "I thought them was your Celia and my
Sallie. _Them_ girls air strangers, ain't they? Some more of that tribe
of movin' picture actresses?"
"I vow ter Maria, Peleg!" ejaculated Mr. Snubbins. "What's happened to
Celia? Ain't she here?"
"No. Nor no more ain't Sallie," Mr. Morton said. "Come in. Bring in them
young ladies. I'll tell ye about it. Sallie's maw is mighty upsot."
"But ain't Celia _here_?" reiterated Mr. Snubbins, as he and the chums
from Tillbury passed into the warm, big kitchen.
"No, she ain't, I tell you."
"But she started over for here yesterday morning, figgerin' to spend the
day with your Sallie. When she didn't come back at night my woman an' me
reckoned it snowed so hard you folks wouldn't let her come."
"Oh, lawk!" exclaimed Mr. Morton. "They was off yesterday mornin' just as
soon as your Celia got here. Planned it all a forehand--the deceivin'
imps! Said they was goin' to the Corner. An' they did! Sam Higgin picked
'em up there an' took 'em along to Littleton; an' when he plowed past
here jest at evenin' through the snow he brought me a note. Hi, Maw,
bring in that there letter," shouted Peleg Morton.
That the two men were greatly disturbed by the running away of their
daughters, there could be no doubt. Nan was sorry she and Bess had come
over from the train. These people were in serious trouble and she and her
chum could not help them.
She drew the wondering Bess toward the door, and whispered: "What do you
think, Bess? Can't we go back to the train alone?"
"What for, Nan?" cried Bess.
"Well, you see, they are in trouble."
At that moment Mrs. Morton hurried in with a fluttering sheet of paper in
her hand. She was a voluminous woman in a stiffly starched house dress,
everything about her as clean as a new pin, and a pair of silver-bowed
spectacles pushed up to her fast graying hair. She was a wholesome,
hearty, motherly looking woman, and Nan Sherwood was attracted to her at
first sight.
Even usually unobservant Bess was impressed. "Isn't she a _love_?" she
whispered to Nan.
"Poor woman!" Nan responded in the same tone, for there were undried
tears on the cheeks of the farmer's wife.
"Here's Si, Maw," said Mr. Morton. "He ain't been knowin' about our girl
and his Celia runnin' off, before."
"How do, Si?" responded Mrs. Morton. "Your wife'll be scairt ter death, I
have no doubt. What'll become of them foolish girls--Why, Peke! who's
these two young ladies?"
Mr. Morton looked to Mr. Snubbins for an introduction, scratching his
head. Mr. Snubbins said, succinctly: "These here gals are from a railroad
train that's snowed under down there in the cut. I expect they air
hungry, Miz' Morton."
"Goodness me! Is that so?" cried the good woman, bustling forward and
jerking her spectacles down astride her nose, the better to see the
unexpected guests. "Snowed up--a whole train load, did you say? I
declare! Sit down, do. I won't haf to put any extry plates on the supper
table, for I _did_ have it set, hopin' Sallie an' Celia would come back,"
and the poor mother began to sob openly.
"I vow, Maw! You _do_ beat all. Them gals couldn't git back home through
this snow, if they wanted to. And they likely got to some big town or
other," said Mr. Morton, "before the worst of the blizzard. They've got
money; the silly little tykes! When they have spent it all, they'll be
glad to come back."
"Celia will, maybe," sobbed Mrs. Morton, brokenly. "She ain't got the
determination of our Sallie. She'd starve rather than give in she was
beat. We was too ha'sh with her, Paw. I feel we was too ha'sh! And maybe
we won't never see our little gal again," and the poor lady sat down
heavily in the nearest chair, threw her apron over her head, and cried in
utter abandon.