Читать книгу: «Dorothy at Skyrie», страница 6

Now it happened that that same morning, at Seth Winters's office, the untutored farm boy had seen and envied the ease of manner with which handsome Herbert Montaigne had won his way into the favor of Mrs. Calvert and had instantly made friends with Dorothy. Then and there, something sharp and bitter had stolen into Jim's big heart and had sent him speeding out of sight – eager to hide himself and his uncouthness from these more fortunate folk, whose contrast to himself was so painful. Dorothy – why, even Dorothy – had, apparently, been captivated by the dashing Herbert to the utter neglect of her former friend; and, maybe, that was what had hurt the most. Incipient jealousy had stung Jim's nobler nature and now made him say with unconscious wistfulness:

"I'm sorry, girlie. You – you didn't think so – always."

The girl had turned her back upon him, in her indignation, but at the altered tone she faced about, while a swift recollection of all that she owed to him sent the tears to her eyes and her to clasp her arms about his neck and kiss him soundly, begging:

"O Jim! forgive me! I didn't mean – I forgot. You never can be horrid to me. I don't like to have my things made fun of – I never was given a calf before – I – Kiss me, Jim Barlow, and say you do!"

To the bashful lad this outburst was more painful than jealousy. His face grew intensely red and he did not return the kiss. On the contrary he very promptly removed her clinging arms, with his protesting:

"Pshaw! What ails you, Dorothy?"

Then he forced himself to look towards Mrs. Chester and to return to the real business of the moment. Fortunately, that lady was not even smiling. She was too accustomed to her child's impulsiveness to heed it, and she had resolved to act upon the principle that "half a loaf is better than no bread." In other words, she would improve this chance of getting some fit quarters for the pig, which had roused and begun to make its presence evident. She scarcely even heard Jim's attempted explanation:

"You see, Mis' Chester, 'twas Mis' Calvert that took me up an' set out to make a man of me. I disappointed her fust time she trusted me, and I've got to stay long enough to show I ain't so wuthless as I seemed. I've got to. More'n that, the gardener she's had so long is so old an' sot in his ways he don't get more'n half out the soil 't he'd ought to. I'm goin' to show him what Maryland folks can do! That truck o' his'n? Why, bless your heart, he couldn't sell it to Lexington Market, try his darnedest: nor Hollins', nor Richmond, nor even Ma'sh Market – where poor folks buy. Huh! No, I can't leave. But I'll come work for you-all every minute I can get, without neglectin' Mis' Calvert."

"O Jim! That's lovely of you, but you mustn't do that. It would be too great a sacrifice. You planned to study every minute you were not working or sleeping, and you must. It's your chance. You must, Jim dear. You know you're to be President – or something big – and you're to make me very, very proud of you. Some way, somebody will be found, – to farm poor Skyrie!" returned Dorothy, eagerly, yet unable to resist the last reproach.

"Now, Mis' Chester, I can, an' ought, to get that pig into a pen 'fore dark. Is there any old lumber 'round, 't you can spare?" asked the lad, rolling up his blouse sleeves, preparatory to labor.

"There's an old dog-churn in the cellar, that Alfaretta Babcock knocked to pieces the time – "

"Speaking of Babcock, ma'am, that is my name: and I've come to hire out," said a queer unknown voice, so near and so suddenly that mother Martha screamed; then having whirled about to see whence the voice came, screamed again.

CHAPTER XI
HELPERS

The man who had come so noiselessly over the grass, from Cat Hollow, might well have been the "Nanarchist" his daughter had termed him, were one to judge from tradition and appearance; and it is small wonder that Mrs. Chester had cried out so unexpectedly, beholding this specimen of the "Red Brotherhood."

Tall beyond the average, "Pa Babcock" – he was rarely spoken of otherwise – had a great head covered by a shock of fiery hair which proved Alfaretta truthful in her statement that "he'd disdain to comb it." The hair was stiff and bristly, and stood out in every direction, while the beard matched it in growth and quantity. He wore a faded red flannel shirt, and denim overalls that had once been red, while his great hairy feet were bare and not too clean. He wore no hat and scarcely needed one, and while his physique was that of a mighty man his face was foolishly weak and vain. His voice perfectly suited the face: and, altogether, he was a most unprepossessing candidate for the position of "hired man" at Skyrie.

"You wish to hire out?" asked the mistress of the farm, repeating incredulously his statement. "But I thought – Alfaretta said – "

"I do not doubt it. The reputation I have won at the hands of my own household is part of the general injustice of society – as it exists. Nothing can convince my labor-loving spouse that I am preparing for her and her children a future of – Stay, lad: are you, also, a member of this establishment?"

"I'm goin' down suller after lumber. Come along an' help. If we hustle right smart we can get a pen done 'fore dark, let alone gettin' them cattle into a shed. Strange critters need shuttin' up, a spell, else they'll make tracks for home – wherever 'tis," answered Jim, leading the way toward the house and the door he judged must lead to the cellar. His own voice sounded very strong and masterful by contrast with the high, thin falsetto of the "Nanarchist," and Mrs. Chester smiled, while Dorothy cried out:

"Alfy's father may be a giant, but my Jim is a man!"

They were no longer afraid of "Pa Babcock." His outward appearance wholly belied his nature, and they instinctively recognized that here was an easy-going, lazy fellow, who might impress his own household with a sense of his importance but could not overawe outsiders. They sat down on the barn doorsill to wait and watch events, and presently there returned Pa Babcock carrying an enormous quantity of the heavy, cobwebby planking that had formed the framework of the old churn. Behind him was Jim, rolling the treadmill part of the affair and as profoundly engrossed by the task in hand as by all he undertook. He had evidently assumed the direction of matters and his big assistant was amusingly obedient.

Mr. Chester, also, came out to the spot and was made comfortable with an old horse-blanket for cushion of a low chopping-block near. Dorothy found the blanket in the barn and also triumphantly asserted that there was a lot of "real nice hay" in one part of it. But Jim scoffed at this statement, declaring that hay kept as long as Skyrie had been closed wouldn't be "wuth shucks."

"James, James! Don't become a pessimist!" warned father John, yet smiling, too.

"Say it again, please, sir, an' I'll look it out in that little dictionary Mis' Calvert she's put in my room. Hurry up, man! Wish to goodness I had some decent tools! Nothin' but a rusty ax to work with – an' look yonder at that sky!"

All looked and mother Martha grew frightened. She was timid during any thunder shower and this was worse than a shower which threatened – a tornado seemed imminent. To retreat indoors and help John to get there was her first impulse, but Pa Babcock held up a protesting hand and she hesitated, curiously observing his movements. Moistening his fingers he let the rising wind blow over them, then calmly resumed his task of nailing a board to a post in the cattle-shed still left standing beside the barn.

"It will not come on to rain till midnight. Then look out for a deluge. You are perfectly and entirely safe here, ma'am, until our undertaking is accomplished and it is always well to have the eye of the master – I would say, mistress – upon – "

"Hand over that scantlin', old step-an'-fetch-it!" ordered Jim, with scant reverence and – the scantling was handed. Furthermore, Pa was set to searching the barn for a possible crowbar, pick-ax, or, "Any plaguy thing a feller can bore a post-hole with."

Thus rudely interrupted, the "Nanarchist" calmly surveyed his companion in labor, then squeaked out:

"There is no occasion for such remarkable activity, young man, but – "

"Hurry up! 'Twon't be no midnight 'fore that 'gust' strikes us!" ordered Jim Barlow.

Anger is a wonderful incentive to action – sometimes. At last Pa Babcock was angry – as much so as it was in his nature ever to be. The result was that he fell to work with a vigor and skill that almost distanced Jim's own; to the great advantage of the Chesters and their live stock.

By the time darkness had come a pig-pen had been constructed in one end of the cattle-shed; a milking-stool had been nailed into shape and Hannah milked – with a remarkable shrinkage in the amount Oliver Sands had accredited to her: she and "Daisy-Jewel" put under cover for the night: and the rickety barn-doors nailed here and there as a precaution against the coming "gust."

This seemed long delayed; yet Jim was wise enough to button his blouse tightly across his heated chest and to take his prompt departure the moment his self-imposed tasks were finished; Mrs. Chester calling after him:

"Don't forget to thank Mrs. Calvert for her kindness about the mail and tell her, please, that this letter held the change due us after the printing of that advertisement And thank you, James Barlow, for all your helpfulness in everything."

The lad went onward, with a comfortable sense of having been extremely useful and with all his slight jealousy allayed; reflecting, also:

"There ain't one that lot got any more sense about farmin' than a spring chicken! Not so much, either; 'cause a chicken will stir round an' scratch a livin' out the ground, sooner 'n starve. Dorothy, she – Well, she's got some ideas, kind of dull ones, but might answer once she gets 'em sharpened by tryin' an' failin'; but – Pshaw! I wish to goodness she was a boy an' not a girl! Then there'd be some show. As 'tis – shucks!"

The day may come, Master James, when you'll be very glad that your wish could not be gratified! Meanwhile, as you plod along beneath the trees, sighing and moaning overhead – in seeming terror of the coming storm – the family at Skyrie have re-entered the cottage: and with the ease of one who belongs, Pa Babcock has entered with them.

"Will you stay for supper, Mr. Babcock, or shall we take some other time for talking about business?" asked Mr. Chester, as their new acquaintance coolly settled himself in the invalid's own rocker by the window and began to sway lazily to and fro, while the host himself took a straight chair near by.

"O father John! Don't sit there. I'm sure Mr. Babcock will – " began Dorothy, indignant at the stranger's selfishness.

But her father stopped her by a shake of his head and a smile of amusement which neither she nor Martha shared: though the latter did say, politely enough:

"I never knew anybody to come at a time they were more needed, for without your help Jim could never have fixed things so nicely. We owe you many thanks and some money. How much you will have to say, for we know little about wages here in the North."

Pa waited for her to finish, then ejaculated:

"I should say I did help! Done it all, if you'll recall the circumstances again. Furnished all the brain power anyway, and skilled labor outranks muscle at any time. He means well, that boy: but – I wonder if he realizes his own position in society! A poor, down-trodden member of the lower class. I must see him again. I must uplift him! Ennoble him! Rouse his slumbering ambition – Make a man of him! I – "

"You couldn't! I don't mean to be rude, but you mustn't talk about my Jim that way. He isn't down-trodden. He is uplifted. He's going to make a man of himself, for himself, by himself – without you or even dear Mrs. Cecil interfering. She'll help, of course, for she's rich and has the chance, but a boy like Jim Barlow – Huh!" cried Dorothy in valiant defense of her faithful friend, and with a contemptuous glance at this great man whom she had disliked on the instant.

"Dorothy! Dorothy C.!" reproved Mrs. Chester in her sternest accents, yet not far behind her daughter in the matter of dislike. The man seemed such a sham, but – "Praise the bridge that carries you safe over!" He was willing to be hired and they needed him.

Pa Babcock paid no more attention to the girl's outbreak than he did to the fly perambulating his frowsy forehead and which he was too indolent to brush aside; and indignant at this, also, Dorothy went about bringing food from the pantry and depositing dishes upon the table with most unnecessary decision. She hoped, oh! how she hoped that her parents would refuse to employ this "Anarchist"; or, if they did so, that they would prohibit his coming to the family table.

However, here he was and supper was ready, and he was invited to draw near; yet to the surprise of all, with the provision stipulated for by the host:

"To-night, Mr. Babcock, we consider you our guest: but should you engage to work for us I would like to arrange that you should board yourself. Mrs. Chester has no servant."

"Sir, I admire her for it! Let every member of society serve himself and the reign of equality begins. My wife is a fine cook and there will be no difficulty in our arrangements. Oliver Sands is my good friend, and it is by his suggestion that I am here. He is a man as is a man! There is no giving of titles by him. A plain man, Oliver, though not – not quite as fully imbued with the doctrines of universal equality and brotherhood as I should desire. Sir, are you a – Socialist?"

Certainly this strange man was what his daughter had described him, "a good talker," judging from the ready flow of language, and of better quality than is commonly found in men of his class. Though this may be accounted for by the fact that he was a greedy reader – of any and every thing which came his way. But to this suddenly propounded inquiry Mr. Chester answered, with his own merry smile:

"No, indeed! Nothing half so 'uplifted' or ambitious. Just a poor, afflicted fellow out of work and anxious to make a living for his family. Let us get through our meal and come to business."

Fortunately, while Pa Babcock was eating he could not well talk, and he was one, as Alfaretta had said, "could always relish his victuals." He now relished so many of prudent mother Martha's that her heart sank, knowing that food costs money and money was unpleasantly scarce in that cottage; but, at last, he seemed satisfied and pushed back from the table, saying:

"Now, let's settle things. I was sent here, first off, by my friend Oliver Sands, to negotiate a loan for him – for your benefit. He's a forehanded fellow, Oliver is, and always ready to help those along who are in trouble or – He's wanted to put a mortgage on my place in Cat Hollow, so's to give me time and opportunity – meaning cash – to promulgate the principles of – "

"Yes," said John impatiently.

"Of course, you understand. All sensible persons do and I shall eventually convert you to my ideas – "

"Possibly, possibly! But return to your errand from the miller, please. It's growing late and we've had a fatiguing day."

"I was just coming to it. He was so pleased by you and your family, so delighted to find your wife, here, such a woman of business, that he wished me to say that in case you were in need of funds, a little ready money, you know, he would feel perfectly safe in advancing it: securing it, of course, by the necessary documents."

Mr. and Mrs. Chester exchanged glances, which Dorothy did not see. She had escaped the obnoxious presence of this man by simply going to bed, meaning to get up again, as soon as he should depart, and bid her parents good-night. Then said the ex-postman, after this brief telegraphing of opinions:

"Mr. Sands has guessed correctly. We are in need of ready money – to get things into running order; but the property is my wife's and, like your friend, I have the fullest confidence in her business ability. She will do as she thinks best."

Now what a cruel thing is jealousy! It had embittered the honest heart of Jim Barlow, earlier in the day, and now attacked the tender one of Martha Chester. It was quite true – they did need money. True, also, that they had expected to raise it by a mortgage on Skyrie, at present free and clear. They knew that this money would be forthcoming from the mistress of Deerhurst, simply upon application, and upon the most favorable terms. She had already delicately hinted at the matter, and had her visit to the cottage been made that morning, as she intended, it would doubtless have been settled.

But Martha Chester disliked to be beholden to the old gentlewoman who "made so much of Dorothy" and who, the mother fancied, was superseding herself in the child's heart. It had become a habit of Dorothy's to quote Mrs. Cecil as a paragon of all the virtues, and the child's ambition was to form her own manners and opinions upon her "fairy godmother's."

Now offered a chance for independence which Mrs. Chester eagerly seized, without protest from her husband, though inwardly he disapproved putting themselves in the power of a stranger when there stood ready to take his place a tried, true friend.

"Shall you see Mr. Sands again, to-night?" she asked.

"No, ma'am. I'm due to deliver an oration in the 'Sons of Freedom' Hall, Upper Village, eight o'clock sharp, tickets twenty-five cents. Oliver directed me to say that if you would send your little daughter to Heartsease, his place, to-morrow morning he would make it his pleasure to call and arrange everything. He's a sort of lawyer, himself. And, oh yes! If you should need anything in the way of feed or fodder he is always ready to supply his customers, at the ruling prices and with dispatch.

"Which brings me, ma'am and sir, to the subject of wages between ourselves; and if it's handy, to the payment for my services in erecting a pig-pen and repairing a cow-manger. Let me see. Two hours, at a dollar an hour – Two dollars, I make it. Do you find me right?"

Well! Pa Babcock might look like a simpleton, but he could use his queer voice to his own advantage!

John Chester shrugged his shoulders and Martha replied with considerable crispness:

"A dollar an hour! I never heard of such a thing. In Baltimore – "

"We are not in Baltimore, much as I should admire to visit that city. Skilled labor, you know – "

"But the skill was poor Jim Barlow's, and the lumber mine. At such a rate your farm services would be worth a fortune, and far more than I could pay. I hoped to get somebody to work 'on shares'; or at least, very cheaply."

"For the present, ma'am, there wouldn't be any 'shares.' The ground is absolutely profitless. But I am not exorbitant, nor would I grind the face of the poor. I am a poor man myself. I glory in it. I think that two dollars and a half a day would be fair to both sides."

With this the high, thin voice subsided and John Chester took up the theme, like his wife quoting their old city as a unit of measurement:

"In Baltimore, or its suburbs, a day or farm laborer would not earn more than a dollar and a half, or even so low as a dollar and a quarter."

"Per day, working on every consecutive day?" asked this would-be employee, leaning back in the rocker and folding his arms. It seemed he never could form a sentence without putting into it the largest words at his command, and listening to him, Martha almost hoped that their present discussion would prove fruitless. However could they endure his wordiness!

"Yes. Of course it would be every day," she answered.

But his next remark came with an originality worthy none other than himself:

"Very well. I have my price and my opinion – you have yours. Let us meet one another halfway. I will work only every other day – I can do as much as two ordinary men, anyway – and thus you will be called upon for no more than you would have had to pay some assistant from privileged Baltimore."

"But we could not board you!" protested John Chester. "I cannot have extra labor imposed upon my wife."

Pa Babcock rose, stretching all his mighty limbs as if he would convince these strangers that he could, indeed, accomplish the work of two ordinary men per day; then, waving the trivial matter of board aside with an airy lightness which his recent exhibition of appetite scarcely warranted, announced:

"We will consider the affair closed. I will work every other day, Sundays excluded, at two dollars and a half per day and find myself. I will enter upon my duties to-morrow morning, and I now wish you good-night. I go to establish the rule of equality in this unenlightened neighborhood."

So saying he slipped out of the house, a fearsome-looking but wholly harmless "crank," who seemed rather to have left his shadow behind him than to have taken it with him. As he departed the roar of thunder, the brilliant flash of lightning, filled the room; and, forestalling a remonstrance she feared might be forthcoming, mother Martha exclaimed:

"The storm is coming at last. I must go see to all the windows."

"I'll limp around and help you; and, wife dear, I can't help feeling we should think twice before we take up with that miller's offer. He's too sweet to be wholesome and I know that Mrs. Calvert – "

"The matter is settled, John. You reminded me that Skyrie was my property. I claim the right to use my own judgment in the case. I will send Dorothy to see that kind old Quaker early to-morrow."

She did. But as her husband went about with her that evening, making all secure against the tempest, the shadow that Pa Babcock had left behind him – the shadow of almost their first disagreement – followed her light footsteps and the tap-tap of his crutches from room to room.

Till at last they came to the little upper chamber which they had both vied in making attractive for Dorothy's homecoming and saw her sleeping there; her lovely innocent face flushed in slumber and dearer to them both than anything else in life.

"It was for her, else I'd have let John have his way and ask Mrs. Cecil. But I cannot have her drawn away from me – and she's being drawn, she's being drawn," thought mother Martha, stopping to straighten a moist curl and kiss the pretty cheek.

"Oh! if only for that darling's sake we had trusted Mrs. Cecil. She has trusted us: but Martha – Well, women are kittle cattle. I don't understand them, but somehow I'm sorry," was his reflection.

So they went down again, he limping, she skipping almost like a girl, but with a division of thought which saddened both.