Wheat and Huckleberries; Or, Dr. Northmore's Daughters

by Amanda M. Douglas

  CHAPTER III

  BETWEEN TIMES

  It was at breakfast the next morning that the great decision wasannounced.

  "Well, young ladies," said the doctor, looking from one to the other ofhis older daughters, "what do you think your mother and I have decidedto do with you?" He paused for just an instant, then gave the answerhimself without waiting for theirs. "Nothing short of sending you Eastfor the rest of the summer. We've held a council, and decided thatnothing else will do in your case."

  They caught their breath, gasping for a moment at the suddenness of it,then Kate brought her hands together with a clap. "Glorious!" she cried;"that's the best news I ever heard. But, do you know, I felt in my boneslast night that it was coming."

  The doctor laughed. The idea of this plump young creature deriving anypremonitions from her bones amused him. "And what did yours indicate?"he asked, turning to Esther.

  "Nothing as delightful as that," she said. Her face was not as bright asKate's. She wondered, with a sudden misgiving, whether her discontentedmood of the evening before had any share in bringing the decision, andthe thought was in the glance which she sent at that moment toward hermother.

  The latter met it with a smiling clearness. "Your father has been infavor of it for some time," she said, "and now that the wheat has turnedout so well there is really nothing in the way."

  The shadow flitted from Esther's eyes. "Oh, it will be beautiful to go,perfectly beautiful! I only wish Virgie could go, too," she said, with aglance at the little sister, whose face had grown very sober.

  "Now you needn't worry a bit about Virgie," said the doctor, putting hisarm around the child, who sat beside him. "Your mother and I couldn'tstand it without her, and we're going to see that she has a good time.Just you wait, Virgie," he added, lowering his voice confidentially, "Ihave a plan for this fall, and you're going to be in it. There'll be afine slice of cake left for us three when the others have eaten theirsall up."

  He was exceedingly fond of his children. With their training, eitherphysical or mental, he had never charged himself,--perhaps because theywere girls,--but to gratify their wants, and to shield them as far aspossible from the hardships of life, was a side of parental privilege towhich he was keenly responsive.

  "But when are we going?" Kate was already demanding.

  "Just as soon as your mother can get you ready," said the doctor; "and Ishouldn't think that need to take very long. I fancy she has yourwardrobe planned already. Something kept her awake last night, and whenI asked her, sometime in the small hours, what it was, she said she wascontriving a new way to make over one of your old dresses. For yourmother," he added, smiling at that lady, "is like the wife of JohnGilpin. Though bent on pleasure--yours, of course--she has 'a frugalmind.'"

  "Think of being likened to that immortal woman!" cried Mrs. Northmore."I only hope my plans will work better than hers did."

  "Oh, your plans always work," said the doctor. "But don't tax your witstoo far reconstructing old clothes. Get some new ones; get 'em prettyand stylish. I want the girls to be fixed up nice if they're going tovisit those Eastern relatives."

  "Hear! hear!" cried Kate. "Papa, your ideas and mine fit beautifully."

  He was in the best of spirits. The good wheat crop had already broughtthe payment of some long-standing medical bills, and Dr. Northmore couldalways adjust himself to a time of abundance more gracefully than to theday of small things.

  "We shall treat you handsomely in the matter of our expenses, you maydepend on that," said his wife. She had no intention of relaxing hercarefulness in the use of money; but she never wounded her husband'spride, and she always indulged him in the amused smile with which, intimes of comparative ease, he seemed to regard feminine economies.

  There were plenty of them in the days that immediately followed, but thegirls had most of the things they wanted, and their father was more thansatisfied with the pretty becoming dresses in which they bloomed out,one after another, for his benefit. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Northmorewas quite as desirous as he that her girls should be well provided forthis summer outing. She was a bit of a philosopher, but she neveraffected the slightest indifference to the matter of dress. She hadexcellent taste herself, and had given it to her children.

  Things moved so swiftly that in little more than a week they were ready.There were good-by calls to be made, and a host of others to be receivedfrom friends who came to offer their congratulations and expresseffusive hopes for their pleasure during the summer, for the news oftheir plan had spread rapidly. But there was one friend to whom wordcame late, and who, but for accident, might have missed it altogether.

  This was Morton Elwell. The girls were walking home from the villagelate one afternoon, when Kate, glancing back, saw the young man with theNew Light preacher. The two had been harvesting together at the otherend of the county, and since that day at the farm neither of them hadbeen in town.

  "There's Mort Elwell!" she exclaimed; and then she faced about, drawingher sister with her, and waited frankly for him to come up.

  The two men quickened their steps instantly. "Upon my word, I didn'tknow you till you turned," said Morton. "My, how fine you look!"

  Kate smiled, and Esther flushed. Perhaps it was one of the liberties shedid not quite like his taking, that he should be so plainly observant oftheir new dresses.

  "Well, it's a wonder that anybody knows _you_, face to face, Mort," saidKate. "I declare you're as brown as a mulatto."

  "Am I?" said the young man cheerfully. "Well, I'm at the engine now, andwhat with smoke and sunburn it paints a fellow up in good style."

  "I suppose you know we're going away next Wednesday," said Kate. She hadfallen behind with him, leaving Esther to walk with the preacher.

  "Why, no, I didn't know it," said Morton, fairly stopping in his walk."Is that so?"

  "'Certain true, black and blue,' as we used to say when we werechildren," replied Kate. "We're going to Grandfather Saxon's. It was allsettled that night after we got home from the threshing." She paused amoment; then, as he had not spoken, added, with a little pout: "Isuppose you couldn't strain a point to say you're glad. Everybody elseseems to say it easily enough."

  "Why, of course I'm glad," said Morton, hastily, "and I hope you'll havea tremendously good time; but it sort of takes a body's breath away,it's so sudden. When are you coming back?"

  "We're not thinking of that part yet," said Kate; "but not beforeSeptember."

  His face lengthened. "Why, I shan't see anything of you girls allvacation," he said. "I did think when the harvesting was over I shouldget an occasional glimpse of you. I wish threshing hadn't begun so earlythis year."

  "What's that?" said the preacher, turning his head. "Wanting seed timeand harvest put off for your special benefit! That won't do, Mort."

  "Oh, not that exactly," said the young man. "But it _is_ sort of hard ona fellow not to get any chance of seeing his friends all summer, whenthat's the only time in the year he's at home."

  "There'll be plenty of your friends left," said Esther. She had halfturned her head, and was looking wonderfully pretty in her new leghornhat with the corn-flowers and poppies.

  "Oh!" he said, reproachfully; but he had no chance to say anything morejust then, for the preacher claimed her attention.

  "How far East are you going?" he asked.

  "To mother's old home in New England," said the girl. The preacher gavea surprised whistle. "Was your mother raised back there?" he demanded."Well, I never should have known but she was a born Hoosier."

  As a born Hoosier herself the young lady appreciated the compliment."No," she said, "mother came from Massachusetts; but she's lived heretwenty years, and I don't suppose there's much difference now."

  "Oh, we'll let her have the name now," said the preacher,good-naturedly. "But it's queer I never heard her say a word about'Boston.'"

  "She didn't come from Boston," said Esther. "There's ever so much of NewEngland outside of Boston, you know."

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p; "'Pears to cover the whole ground for most Yankees," said the preacher,dryly. "I don't recollect as I ever talked with any of 'em--except yourmother--that it didn't leak out mighty quick if they'd come fromanywheres near the 'Hub.' 'Peared to carry it round as a sort ofmeasuring stick, to size up everything else by."

  His figure was a trifle mixed, but it met the case. After a moment headded: "Well, I'm right glad you're going. It's a good thing for youngfolks to see something of the world outside of the home corner. I alwaysthought I'd like to travel a bit myself, but I reckon I'll never get todo it any other way than going round with a threshing machine, and thatdon't exactly hit my notion of travelling for pleasure. Eh, Mort?" hequeried, turning to the young man behind him.

  The latter was not in a mood to feel the full humor of the remark, whichhe had heard in spite of his apparent attention to Kate's livelychatter. "Can't say there's much variety in it," he replied ratherabsently.

  "However," continued the preacher, turning again to Esther, "I did go toKentucky once when I was a little chap. No," he said, shaking his head,as he caught the eager question in her eyes, "not in the Blue Grasscountry where your father was raised, but in among the knobs where theCumberlands begin. It was a mighty poor rough country. I reckon you'llsee something of the same sort where you're going."

  "Oh, but that is a beautiful country! Mother has always said so," criedthe girl, looking quite distressed.

  "Well, maybe you'd call that country down there pretty too," said thepreacher, with easy accommodation, "though it's all in a heap, and rocksall over it. Reminds me of the story about a soldier from somewherehereabouts that was going through there in the war-time, and stopped totalk a minute with a fellow that was hoeing corn. 'Well, stranger,' sayshe, 'reckon you're about ready to move out of here.' 'Why so?' says thefellow, looking sort of stupid. 'Why, I see you've got the land allrolled up ready to start,' says the soldier."

  The preacher interrupted his mellow drawl for a moment to join in herlaugh at the story, then went on: "Now my notion of a pretty country isone that looks as if you could raise something on it; the sort we've gotround here, you know," he added, stretching out his arm with aninclusive gesture.

  His idea of landscape beauty was not Esther Northmore's, but as shelooked at that moment over the peaceful country, golden and green withits generous harvests, with here and there a stretch of forest risingtall and straight against the sky, she felt its quiet charm with athrill of pride and gladness. "Yes; this is a beautiful country," shesaid softly. "I shall never change my mind about that."

  They had reached a point where another road crossed the one they werefollowing, and the preacher paused in his walk. "I must turn off here,"he said. "Good-by! and take care of yourselves." He shook hands heartilywith each of the girls, and added, with a nod at Esther: "Give myspecial regards to your mother. Tell her I've just found out that she'sa Yankee, and I don't think any less of her for it."

  He was an odd genius, this New Light preacher. The Northmores were by nomeans of his flock, but the feeling between them was most cordial. Inhis office of comforter he had touched that of the healer more than onceamong the families under his care, and the touch had left a mutualrespect between him and the doctor. With Mrs. Northmore the feeling waseven warmer. Rough and ill-educated as he was, there was a native forceand shrewdness in the man by no means common, and they were joined witha frank honesty which would have attracted her in a far less interestingperson than he.

  Morton Elwell walked on to the house, but refused the girls' invitationto come in to supper. "You know mother would like to have you," Esthersaid, with polite urgence. "She was complaining the other day that wesaw so little of you."

  But Morton was resolute. Perhaps the thresher's costume in which he wasarrayed, the blue flannel shirt, jean trousers, and heavy boots, nonetoo black, helped him to stand by the promise he had given Mrs. Elwell."No," he said; "I told Aunt Jenny I wouldn't fail to come home tosupper." But he leaned on the gate when he had opened it for the girls,and stood for a minute as if he found it hard to turn away.

  "HE LEANED ON THE GATE WHEN HE HAD OPENED IT FOR THEGIRLS."]

  "Of course you'll write to me first," he said, glancing from one to theother. There had been a correspondence of a desultory sort between themever since he went away to college, and he seemed to take for grantedthat it would go on now. And then he added, looking to Esther, "Youwrote to me real often when you were a little girl, and went to yourgrandfather's before."

  Her color rose a trifle. "You have a remarkably good memory, Mort, toremember such little things when they happened so long ago," she saidlightly.

  "Why, I've got every one of them now," he replied. "I was looking themover not so very long ago, and they were the jolliest kind of letters,with little postscripts added by Kate in cipher. She was five, Ibelieve, then. They were joint productions in those days, but youneedn't feel obliged to make them so now."

  "I suppose we needn't feel '_obliged_' to write them at all," she said,lifting her eyebrows a little.

  "Oh, you wouldn't go back on a fellow like that!" said Morton. "Why, itwould break me all up."

  There was something so affectionately boyish in his manner that Katesaid instantly: "Of course we'll write to you, and tell you everythingthat happens. You may wish my letters were postscripts again before youget through with them."

  And Esther added cheerfully, "Yes, if you want to add a few morespecimens of my handwriting to that ancient collection, you shallcertainly have them."

  "Maybe we'll send you our pictures too," said Kate. "We're going to havesome taken after we get there, and if they're good--"

  He broke in upon her with a sudden eagerness. "Well, don't let yourcousin get you up like statues. I hate that kind."

  Kate burst into a laugh, but Esther looked impatient. "Oh, dear, don'tyou know that common, everyday faces like ours can't be made to lookthat way?" she said.

  "Can't they? Well, I'm awfully glad of it," he replied. "Good-by." Andthen he grasped their hands for a moment, and struck off at a long,swinging gait across the field that lay between their home and hisuncle's.

  The days that were left ran fast. They were full and hurried, as thelast days of preparation are apt to be in spite of the best-laid plans.But the girls managed to take some rides with their father, who, in viewof the coming separation, seemed to expect more of their company thanusual, and Kate contrived to hold some sittings in the kitchen with AuntMilly, who had been in a depressed state of mind ever since the summerplan had been decided on. In spite of being one who held with nosuperstitions, a fact she never failed to mention when she had anythingof a mysterious nature to communicate, the number of dreams andpresentiments she had in regard to this visit was remarkable, and theyall tended to throw doubt on the probability of her darlings' return.

  "Why, we came back when we were children," said Kate one evening, whenthe old woman was unusually depressed, "and it was just as far tograndfather's then as it is now. It's because you're getting old andrheumatic that you feel so blue about us, Aunt Milly."

  But Milly sighed as she shook her head. "It was different in those days,honey," she said. "You couldn't help comin' back to your ole mammy whenyou were chil'en. But you're older now, an' a mighty good looking pairo' girls, if I do say it, an' there's no tellin' what may happen whenyou get to gallivantin' roun' with the young men in your mother'scountry."

  "Now, Aunt Milly," laughed Kate, "you've always pretended to think we'reonly children still, and all at once you talk as if we were grown-upyoung ladies. It's no such thing. Besides," she added cunningly, "didn'twe come back safe and sound from Kentucky last year? And you know thereare no young men anywhere to hold a candle with those down there."

  "That's a fac', honey," said Aunt Milly, lifting her head. "The oleKentucky stock don't have to knock under yet, if some things ischanged."

  "Trust Milly to stand up for her own country," laughed Dr. Northmore,who had paused in his passage through the kitchen, and caught the lastr
emark.

  "And me for mine, papa," cried Kate. "I shall always like it better thanany other. I know I shall."

  Apparently he did not disapprove the sentiment, but he added warningly,"Well, make it big enough." And then he took her away with him to jointhe family conclave in talking over the proposed journey.

  They were small travellers, the Northmores, and the excursions from homehad of late years been short. The length of the one about to be takenimpressed them all. Mrs. Northmore spoke of it with manifest anxiety,and the doctor spent much time poring over the railroad guide andtime-table. It was a work which, in spite of its fascination, harassedhim, and he alternated between the exasperated opinion that it wasimpossible for any man not inspired to understand its vexatious figures,and a disposition to combat with vehemence any one who reached aconclusion different from his own on a single point. By this time thecourse of the journey had been fully decided on. There would be but onechange of cars, and this had been hedged about with so much ofexplanation and admonition that no two girls of average sense couldpossibly go wrong.

  The day came at last, and a perfect day it was, when they started off.The doctor and Virgie accompanied them to the station, but Mrs.Northmore preferred to say the last word quietly at home. There was acrowd of young people gathered at the station, but the time for good-byswas brief. The through train for the East was not a moment behind time.There was a short impatient stop of the iron steed, a sudden crowdingtogether for hurried farewells, then two flushed faces, half smiling,half tearful, pressed against the window, and the great wheels were inmotion again and the travellers on their way.

  They drew a long breath as they settled fairly into their seats. "I'mglad that part of it's over," said Kate.

  "So am I," said Esther; and then she added: "I'm glad we don't get thereright away. It's nice to have an interlude between the acts."