_Wilkins's Woods._
LIKE ALL DOGS IN FICTION THE FAITHFUL RAGS GUIDES MISS VILDA TO HIS
LITTLE MASTER.
Samantha ran out to the barn to hold the lantern and see that Jabe
didn't go to sleep while he was harnessing Maria. But he seemed
unusually "spry" for him, although he was conducting himself in a
somewhat strange and unusual manner. His loose figure shook from time to
time, as with severe chills; he seemed too weak to hold up the shafts,
and so he finally dropped them and hung round Maria's neck in a sort of
mild, speechless convulsion.
"What under the canopy ails you, Jabe Slocum?" asked Samantha. "I s'pose
it's one o' them everlastin' old addled jokes o' yourn you're tryin' to
hatch out, but it's a poor time to be jokin' now. What's the matter with
you?"
"'Ask me no questions 'n' I'll tell you no lies,' is an awful good
motto," chuckled Jabe, with a new explosion of mirth that stretched his
mouth to an alarming extent. "Oh, there, I can't hold in 'nother minute.
I shall bust if I don' tell somebody! Set down on that nail kag,
Samanthy, 'n' I'll let you hev a leetle slice o' this joke--if you'll
keep it to yourself. You see I know--'bout--whar--to look--for this
here--runaway!"
"You hev n't got him stowed away anywheres, hev you? If you hev, it'll
be the last joke you'll play on Vildy Cummins, I can tell you that much,
Jabe Slocum."
"No, I hain't stowed him away, but I can tell putty nigh whar he's
stowed hisself away, and I'm ready to die a-laffin' to see how it's all
turned out jest as I suspicioned 't would. You see, Samanthy Ann, I
thought 'bout a week ago 't would be well enough to kind o' create a
demand for the young ones so 't they'd hev some kind of a market value,
and so I got Elder Southwick 'n' Aunt Hitty kind o' started on that
tack, 'n' it worked out slick as a whistle, tho' they didn't know I was
usin' of 'em as innercent instruments, and Aunt Hitty don't need much
encouragement to talk; it's a heap easier for her to drizzle 'n it is to
hold up! Well, I've ben surmisin' for a week that the boy meant to run
away, and to-day I was dead sure of it; for he come to me this
afternoon, when I was restin' a spell on account o' the hot sun, and he
was awful low-sperrited, 'n' he asked me every namable kind of a
question you ever hearn tell of, and all so simple-minded that I jest
turned him inside out 'thout his knowin' what I was doin'. Well, when I
found out what he was up to I could 'a' stopped him then 'n' there, tho'
I don' know 's I would anyhow, for I shouldn't like livin' in a 'sylum
any better 'n he doos; but thinks I to myself, thinks I, I'd better let
him run away, jest as he's a plannin',--and why? Cause it'll show what
kind o' stuff he's made of, and that he ain't no beggar layin' roun'
whar he ain't wanted, but a self-respectin' boy that's wuth lookin'
after. And thinks I, Samanthy, 'n' I know the wuth of him a'ready, but
there's them that hain't waked up to it yit, namely, Miss Vildy Trypheny
Cummins; and as Miss Vildy Trypheny Cummins is that kind o' cattle that
can't be drove, but hez to be kind o' coaxed along, mebbe this
runnin'-away bizness 'll be the thing that'll fetch her roun' to our way
o' thinkin'. Now I wouldn't deceive nobody for a farm down East with a
pig on it, but thinks I, there ain't no deceivin' 'bout this. He don'
know I know he's goin' to run away, so he's all square; and he never
told me nothin' 'bout his plans, so I'm all square; and Miss Vildy's
good as eighteen-karat gold when she gets roun' to it, so she'll be all
square; and Samanthy's got her blinders on 'n' don't see nothin' to the
right nor to the left, so she's all square. And I ain't inteferin' with
nobody. I'm jest lettin' things go the way they've started, 'n' stan'in'
to one side to see whar they'll fetch up, kind o' like Providence. I'm
leavin' Miss Vildy a free agent, but I'm shapin' circumstances so 's to
give her a chance. But, land! if I'd fixed up the thing to suit myself I
couldn't 'a' managed it as Timothy hez, 'thout knowin' that he was
managin' anything. Look at that letter bizness now! I couldn't 'a' writ
that letter better myself! And the sperrit o' the little feller, jest
takin' his dorg 'n' lightin' out with nothin' but a perlite good-bye!
Well I can't stop to talk no more 'bout it now, or we won't ketch him,
but we'll jest try Wilkins's Woods, Maria, 'n' see how that goes. The
river road leads to Edgewood 'n' Hillside, whar there's consid'able
hayin' bein' done, as I happened to mention to Timothy this afternoon;
and plenty o' blackberries 'side the road, 'specially after you pass the
wood-pile on the left-hand side, whar there's a reg'lar garding of 'em
right 'side of an old hoss-blanket that's layin' there; one that I
happened to leave there one time when I was sleepin' ou'doors for my
health, and that was this afternoon 'bout five o'clock, so I guess it
hain't changed its location sence."
Jabe and Miss Vilda drove in silence along the river road that skirted
Wilkins's Woods, a place where Jabe had taken Timothy more than once, so
he informed Miss Vilda, and a likely road for him to travel if he were
on his way to some of the near villages.
Poor Miss Vilda! Fifty years old, and in twenty summers and winters
scarcely one lovely thought had blossomed into lovelier deed and shed
its sweetness over her arid and colorless life. And now, under the magic
spell of tender little hands and innocent lips, of luminous eyes that
looked wistfully into hers for a welcome, and the touch of a groping
helplessness that fastened upon her strength, the woman in her woke into
life, and the beauty and fragrance of long-ago summers came back again
as in a dream.
After having driven three or four miles, they heard a melancholy sound
in the distance; and as they approached a huge wood-pile on the left
side of the road, they saw a small woolly form perched on a little rise
of ground, howling most melodiously at the August moon, that hung like a
ball of red fire in the cloudless sky.
"That's a sign of death in the family, ain't it, Jabe?" whispered Miss
Vilda faintly.
"So they say," he answered cheerfully; "but if 't is, I can 'count for
it, bein' as how I fertilized the pond lilies with a mess o' four white
kittens this afternoon; and as Rags was with me when I done it, he may
know what he's bayin' 'bout,--if 't is Rags, 'n' it looks enough like
him to be him,--'n' it is him, by Jiminy, 'n' Timothy's sure to be
somewheres near. I'll get out 'n' look roun' a little."
"You set right still, Jabe, I'll get out myself, for if I find that boy
I've got something to say to him that nobody can say for me."
As Jabe drew the wagon up beside the fence, Rags bounded out to meet
them. He knew Maria, bless your soul, the minute he clapped his eyes on
her, and as he approached Miss Vilda's congress boot his quivering
whiskers seemed to say, "Now, where have I smelled that boot before? If
I mistake not, it has been applied to me more than once. Ha! I have it!
Miss Vilda Cummins of the White Farm, owner of the white cat and
hash-pan, and companion of the lady with the firm hand, who wields the
broom!" whereupon he leaped up on Miss Cummins's black alpaca skirts,
and made for her flannel garters in a way that she particularly
disliked.
"Now," said she, "if he's anything like the dogs you hear tell of, he'll
take us right to Timothy."
"Wall, I don' know," said Jabe cautiously; "there's so many kinds o'
dorg in him you can't hardly tell what he will do. When dorgs is mixed
beyond a certain p'int it kind o' muddles up their instincks, 'n' you
can't rely on 'em. Still you might try him. Hold still, 'n' see what
he'll do."
Miss Vilda "held still," and Rags jumped on her skirts.
"Now, set down, 'n' see whar he'll go."
Miss Vilda sat down, and Rags went into her lap.
"Now, make believe start somewheres, 'n' mebbe he'll get ahead 'n' put
you on the right track."
Miss Vilda did as she was told, and Rags followed close at her heels.
"Gorry! I never see sech a fool!--or wait,--I'll tell you what's the
matter with him. Mebbe he ain't sech a fool as he looks. You see, he
knows Timothy wants to run away and don't want to be found 'n' clapped
into a 'sylum, 'n' nuther does he. And not bein' sure o' your
intentions, he ain't a-goin' to give hisself away; that's the way I size
Mr. Rags up!"
"Nice doggy, nice doggy!" shuddered Miss Vilda, as Rags precipitated
himself upon her again. "Show me where Timothy is, and then we'll go
back home and have some nice bones. Run and find your little master,
that's a good doggy!"
It would be a clever philosopher who could divine Rags's special method
of logic, or who could write him down either as fool or sage. Suffice it
to say that, at this moment (having run in all other possible
directions, and wishing, doubtless, to keep on moving), he ran round the
wood-pile; and Miss Vilda, following close behind, came upon a little
figure stretched on a bit of gray blanket. The pale face shone paler in
the moonlight; there were traces of tears on the cheeks; but there was a
heavenly smile on his parted lips, as if his dream-mother had rocked him
to sleep in her arms. Rags stole away to Jabe (for even mixed dogs have
some delicacy), and Miss Vilda went down on her knees beside the
sleeping boy.
"Timothy, Timothy, wake up!"
No answer.
"Timothy, wake up! I've come to take you home!"
Timothy woke with a sob and a start at that hated word, and seeing Miss
Vilda at once jumped to conclusions.
"Please, please, dear Miss Vildy, don't take me to the Home, but find me
some other place, and I'll never, never run away from it!"
"My blessed little boy, I've come to take you back to your own home at
the White Farm."
It was too good to believe all at once. "Nobody wants me there," he said
hesitatingly.
"Everybody wants you there," replied Miss Vilda, with a softer note in
her voice than anybody had ever heard there before. "Samantha wants
you, Gay wants you, and Jabe is waiting out here with Maria, for he
wants you."
"But do you want me?" faltered the boy.
"I want you more than all of 'em put together, Timothy; I want you, and
I need you most of all," cried Miss Vilda, with the tears coursing down
her withered cheeks; "and if you'll only forgive me for hurtin' your
feelin's and makin' you run away, you shall come to the White Farm and
be my own boy as long as you live."
"Oh, Miss Vildy, darling Miss Vildy! are we both of us adopted, and are
we truly going to live with you all the time and never have to go to the
Home?" Whereupon, the boy flung his loving arms round Miss Vilda's neck
in an ecstasy of gratitude; and in that sweet embrace of trust and
confidence and joy, the stone was rolled away, once and forever, from
the sepulchre of Miss Vilda's heart, and Easter morning broke there.