Dixie Martin, the Girl of Woodford's Cañon

by Grace May North

  CHAPTER SIX KEN'S SECRET SORROW

  It was Saturday, which was the busiest of the whole week in Woodford'sCanyon, for it was house-cleaning day in the old log cabin which wasguarded by two spreading pine trees, but this Saturday was especiallybusy.

  "Carol, please do stop frittering," Dixie called as she turned from thestove which she was polishing with as much care as though it had been apiano. "Don't you know who is coming to call this very afternoon, andI'd feel just terrible, I certainly would, if Miss Bayley sat on dust,and that's what she's likely to do if you skip places at dusting, as youusually do, and I haven't time to-day to rub them over and see."

  The younger girl, who had been leaning far out the window, supposedly toshake a duster, but who had continued to linger there, watching twosquirrels playing tag among the dry pine needles, returned reluctantlyto the task she so disliked.

  "O dear! it's just mean-hateful being poor folks the way we are," shecomplained, "and having to do our own work with our own hands. I'veheard my beautiful mother say so time and again. When she was a girl shehad two little darkies to wait on her. She never had to pick upanything, if she dropped it. She didn't have to even lift a finger."

  Dixie straightened up to rest her tired shoulders, for polishing a stovewas hard work at best, and almost unconsciously she glanced down at herown fingers that were jet-black just then, and for a bit of a moment shesighed, and was half tempted to think that, maybe after all, it would benice to have nothing to do but sing and read, or live in theout-of-doors that she so loved. But a second later she was her ownoptimistic, practical self. "Carol Martin," she announced, "just forthat, now, we're going to count our blessings. You begin! One?"

  "O dear!" the other little maid sighed as she knelt to dust the rungs ofan old grandfather's chair. "I 'spose I ought to be thankful that I'mbeautiful, like my mother."

  Dixie laughed as she whirled about, her expressive freckled face at thatmoment being far more attractive than that of her prettier, youngersister.

  "Of course you should," she declared good-naturedly, "and I'm thankfulthat I have Jimmy-Boy, and here he comes this minute to ask me to givehim some bread and molasses."

  The door burst open and the small boy ran straight to his little mother,but it was not of bread and molasses that he spoke. "Dixie, dear," hesaid, and his brown eyes were wide with wonder, "Buddy Ken is in the oldbarn an' he won't speak to me or nuffin'. I fink he is crying."

  "Mercy, no, not that! A big brave boy like Ken never cries." However, inthe heart of the girl who was far too young to be carrying so muchburden, there was a sudden anxiety. She had noticed, for several days,that Ken had acted preoccupied, almost troubled. She had not mentionedit, for perhaps he was just figuring how he could sell the apple-crop tothe best advantage. Yes, surely that must be all that was the matter.Dixie went on with the polishing. There was just one lid to do and thenthe task would be finished.

  "Run away, Jimmy-Boy," she said in her singing voice. "Play until Dixieis through, and then you shall have your nice bread and molasses."

  "Don't want bread; want Buddy Ken to fix my wagon and he won't speak tome. He's crying inside of him, Ken is." At this the small boy burst intotears.

  The last rub had been given to the stove, so Dixie washed her hands,and, kneeling, she kissed the small boy as she said: "JamesHaddington-Allen Martin, I guess it's time to ask you to count yourblessings. Now, sir, begin. Blessing one is--" She paused, but shedidn't have long to wait. The clouded face brightened and throwing hisarms about his "little mother," he cried, "_You!_"

  The girl held him in a close embrace. Then she said: "Carol, dear,please give Jimmy-Boy his ten-o'clock bite while I hunt up Ken. I'mafraid he's worrying about the apples." Carol was glad of anything thatwould relieve her from the hateful dusting.

  Catching her sunbonnet from its place by the door, Dixie went in searchof her brother who was her confidant and dearest friend. If he werekeeping something secret from her, it would be the first time. Then shesmiled as she thought, "Maybe even Ken needs to count his blessings."Singing to cheer herself, she went down the path that led to the old logbarn.

  "K-e-n! K-e-n! Where are you, brother?" There was no response, and sinceit would be impossible for the lad to be in the barn and not hear thecheery voice that had called, Dixie's anxiety increased. She entered thewide, front door and glanced about. At first, coming as she did from thedazzling sunshine the girl could not see the boy, who was seated in thefarthest, darkest corner. His hands were over his ears, and that was whyhe had not heard her approach. Truly, he did look the very picture ofdespair. Instantly Dixie knew that her surmise had been correct.Something had gone wrong about the apples.

  Hurrying to his side, she slipped an arm over his shoulder and laid hercheek on his thick, red-brown hair. "Brother, dear," she said, as shesat beside him on the bench, "here's Dixie, your partner. Please let mecarry my share of whatever it is."

  The boy reached out and grasped the hand of his sister and held it hard.When he looked up, there were tears trickling down the freckled facethat was so like her own. "Did you go to town this morning, Ken?" wasthe question she asked.

  The boy nodded. "Yes," he said, "I went before sun-up. I heard theapple-buyer from Reno would be at the inn to-day, and I wanted to be onhand early. I took along a basket of apples to show, and I thought theywere fine, b-but, Dixie, they w-weren't fine at all. W-when I saw theapples from the Valley Ranch, I knew ours were just a twisty little oldcull kind. Tom Piggins was there from the V.R., and he said our applesare the sort they feed to their hogs. I didn't stay to show them to thebuyer, I can tell you. I just lit out for home, b-but now there won't beany money for you to buy a new stove."

  "I don't need a new stove," Dixie said emphatically. "My goodness me,come to think of it, I wouldn't have a new stove for anything, now thatI've spent two hours and twenty-five minutes polishing the old one. Itlooks so fine. I'm sure it will feel heaps more self-respecting, and Ishouldn't wonder if it would bake better, too." Then her eyes brightenedwith the light of inspiration. "Ken Martin, we'll give it a chance toshow what it can do right this very minute. You fetch in that basket ofapples you had for a sample, and I'll make an apple pudding, the kindyou like so much, and we'll celebrate."

  "Celebrate? For what?" Ken looked up curiously. Was there no end to thecheerfulness of this sister of his?

  Dixie was groping about in her mind for something over which they mightrejoice. "Oh, we'll celebrate because we have a new teacher," sheannounced triumphantly, and the next thought made her clap her handsjoyfully. "Ken Martin, if it's what you'd like to do, I wish you'd goright over to the inn and invite Miss Bayley to lunch."

  Their beautiful mother had always called the noon meal lunch, althoughPine Tree Martin could never remember, and had always called it dinner.

  Ken rubbed his sleeve over his eyes and looked up eagerly. "Then youreally aren't so terribly disappointed about the apples?"

  "Disappointed? Goodness, no! I'd feel sort of mean selling that oldstove of ours that's been so faithful all these years just forscrap-iron, and, what's more, I feel sure all this is a blessing indisguise." Dixie had risen and was smiling down at her brother, who alsorose.

  "Say, Dix," he said, "you're as good as a square meal when a fellow'shungry." Then he laughingly added, "But, if not selling the apples is ablessing, it sure certain is well disguised."

  "Most things are blessings soon or late," Dixie said. "Now, Ken, you goand tell Miss Bayley we're sort of celebrating, and we'd feel greatlyhonored if she would come."

  Then into the house Dixie bounced to share her joyous plan with Carol."Oh, how I do hope teacher will come," that little maid said. "Thenwe'll be first to have her, and won't I crow over that horrid JessicaArcher though?"

  "You'd ought not to feel that way about anybody, Carol, dear," the oldergirl admonished as she sat on the doorstep and began to pare apples. "Iffolks are horrid-acting, they are to be pitied, beca
use they can't behappy inside. Now, if you like, you may set the table with the bestcloth and china while I make the pudding and put some potatoes in tobake."

  The violet-blue eyes of the younger girl were shining. It was a greattreat to her to be allowed to open the big old-fashioned cupboard thatheld the set of china that had been their mother's. When Ophelia hadfirst come to the log cabin, there had been only the thickest and mostserviceable kind of ware, but when Pine Tree Martin found what ahardship it was for his wife to use it, he had sent to Reno and hadordered the choicest set they could procure. This was kept carefullylocked in the great old cupboard, and used only on rare occasions.

  Jimmy-Boy had been placed in his crib, which was in the lean-to room,where also was the big four-posted bed in which Ken slept. The twolittle girls chatted happily as they prepared for the great event.

  "What if teacher can't come?" Carol paused every now and then to say,and dozens of trips she took to the open door to look up the trailtoward the canyon road. At last she gave a triumphant squeal.

  "Here comes Ken, and teacher is with him. Oh, goodie, goodie, good!"Carol was pirouetting like a top. "Won't I brag it over Jessica,though!"

  Then, as the two drew nearer, the small girl called excitedly, "DixieMartin, whatever is that thing that Ken's carrying? It's wriggling so hecan hardly hold it. Whatever can it be?"