Dixie Martin, the Girl of Woodford's Cañon

by Grace May North

  CHAPTER EIGHT A QUEER BANK

  It did seem as though some little imp of mischief was trying to worrypoor Dixie Martin. She had been far more sorry about the failure oftheir apple-crop than she had confessed, for, although the old stovewould do for another year or two, the little mother knew that Carol'sbest dress was actually shabby, and that night, after the small pig hadbeen fed with a bottle, to the great delight of Jimmy-Boy, and after heand Ken were asleep in the lean-to, and Carol in the loft, Dixie sat upin bed and listened, to be sure than no one was awake.

  The light of the full moon streamed in at the small window of the loft,and so she did not need to light the candle. Lifting thecorn-husk-filled mattress at one corner, she drew forth an old woolensock that had belonged to Pine Tree Martin. Nobody knew how the girl,who had inherited so many of his courageous, optimistic qualities,treasured that and every other little thing that had belonged to the manwhom she so loved. Indeed, as Carol's admiration had been all for hermother, very much of Dixie's had been for her father, which was notstrange, for she had been old enough to see how selfish were the demandsof the rather weak, though truly beautiful, woman, and how constant werethe willing sacrifices of her father.

  The money in the stocking was Dixie's savings for the entire year, andshe knew, even before she emptied the few dimes and nickels out upon thecounterpane of her bed, that there was nowhere near enough to buy Carola store dress, and even if there might be enough for material, who wasthere to make it? Kind old Grandmother Piggins on the Valley Ranch hadmade them each a dress two years before, the ones that buttoned down thefront, but now she was dead, and there was no one to care for them.

  Slowly Dixie counted. There was just two dollars and thirty cents, andJimmy-Boy ought to have a warm coat before winter, that is, if he wereto go to school. When he didn't go, the other three children had to taketurns staying at home with him, and when one only went to school twodays out of every three, one couldn't make as much headway as onedesired, that is, not if one were as ambitious as Dixie. With a sighthat would have been perfectly audible had any one been awake to hearit, the dimes and nickels were replaced, the sock again knotted, andDixie was about to put it under the mattress when she suddenly held itclose to her, and, looking up at the sky, she sobbed under her breath:"Oh, Dad! Dad! You'd know just what I'd ought to do. How I wish you werehere to tell me!"

  Just then Carol turned over, and, fearing that she might waken, Dixieslipped the precious sock into its hiding-place and climbed back intobed, but not to sleep, for her thoughts kept going over the problemwithout finding a solution.

  Ever since her father had died, Mr. Clayburn, the kindly banker over atGenoa, had sent Dixie twelve dollars a month, which, he said, wasinterest on money that her father had left there for his children. Theprincipal, he had assured Ken and Dixie, was invested in good securitiesthat would probably continue to provide for them the princely income oftwelve dollars a month.

  During the summer it was not hard for Dixie to manage, for Ken raisedmany things in his garden, but in winter, when there were warm clothesto buy and no garden to help provide, the little mother found it veryhard to make ends meet, and now it was October and there was only twodollars and thirty cents in the sock.

  "Well," she thought at last with a sigh, "Carol's old dress will have todo, and Jimmy'll just have to stay at home from school when cold weathercomes."

  It was very late when Dixie Martin closed her eyes in restless slumber,but even then the little imp of mischief was not satisfied, for, whenthe girl's gold-brown eyes opened wearily, it was on a day when a stillgreater problem was to confront her.