CHAPTER V.
A TIME FOR PATIENCE.
THEY thought at first that she was hiding in the barn, afraid to comeout, lest Molly might be lying in wait to grab her. So they begancalling: "Come on, Lloyd! King's X! King's excuse! Home free! You maycome home free!" But there was no answer, and Betty, suddenlyremembering the trap-door, grew white with fear.
The children played in the barn so much that Mr. Appleton's first order,when he hired a new man, was that the trap-door must always be closedand fastened the moment he finished pitching the hay down to the mangerbelow. The children themselves had been cautioned time and again to keepaway from it, but Lloyd, never having played in the barn before, was notaware of its existence.
"Lloyd, Lloyd!" called Betty, hurrying into the twilight of the bigbarn. There was no answer, and peering anxiously ahead, Betty saw thatthe trap-door was open, and on the floor below was the gleam of theLittle Colonel's light pink dress, shining white through the dusk.
Betty's startled cry brought the other children, who clattered down thebarn stairs after her, into the straw-covered circle where the youngcalves were kept. They met Mr. Appleton, coming in from the corn-cribwith a basket on his shoulder, and all began to talk at once. The words"Lloyd" and "trap-door" were all he could distinguish in the jumble ofexcited exclamations, but they told the whole story.
Hastily dropping his basket, he strode across to the manger that Bettypointed out, with a look of grave concern on his face. They all crowdedbreathlessly around him as he bent over the quiet little figure, liftingit gently in his arms. It was a solemn-faced little company thatfollowed him up the hill with his unconscious burden. A cold fear seizedBetty as she walked along, glancing at the Little Colonel's closed eyes,and the tiny stream of blood trickling across the still white face.
"Oh, if godmother were only here!" she groaned.
"There's no telling how badly Lloyd is hurt. Maybe she'll be a cripplefor life. Oh, I wish I'd never heard of such a game as Barley-bright."
If the accident had happened at Locust, a doctor would have beensummoned to the spot, as fast as telephones and swift horses could bringhim, and the whole household would have held its breath in anxiety. Butvery little fuss was made over accidents at the Cuckoo's Nest. It was aweekly occurrence for some of the children to be brought in limp andbleeding from various falls. Bradley had once sprained his neck turningsomersaults down the hay-mow, so that he had not been able to look overhis shoulder for two weeks. Scott had been picked up senseless twice,once from falling out of the top of a walnut-tree, and the other timebecause a high ladder broke under him. Every one of the boys but Puddinghad at some time or another left a trail of blood behind him from barnto house as he went weeping homeward with some part of his body to bebandaged. So Lloyd's fall did not cause the commotion it might have donein a less adventurous family.
"Oh, she's coming around all right," said Mr. Appleton, cheerfully, asher head stirred a little on his shoulder, and she half opened her eyes.
"Here you are," he added a moment later, laying her on the bed in theparlour. "Scott, run call your mother. Bring a light, Molly. We'll soonsee what is the matter."
There were no bones broken, and in a little while Lloyd sat up, whiteand dizzy. Then she walked across the room, and looked at herself in thelittle mirror hanging over a shelf, on which stood a bouquet of stiffwax flowers. It was hung so high and tilted forward so much, and the waxflowers were in the way, so that she could not get a very satisfactoryview of her wounds, but she saw enough to make her feel like an oldsoldier home from the wars, with the marks of many battles upon her.
A bandage wet with arnica was tied around her head, over a large knotthat was rapidly swelling larger. Several strips of court-plastercovered the cut on her temple. One cheek was scratched, and she wasstiff and sore from many bruises.
"But not half so stiff as you'll be in the morning," Mrs. Appletonassured her, cheerfully. "All that side of your body that struck againstthe manger is black and blue."
"I think I'll go to bed," said the Little Colonel, faintly. "This dayhas been long enough, and I don't want anything else to happen to me.Fallin' through a trap-doah and havin' my mothah leave me is enough fo'one while. I think I need her moah than Aunt Jane does. You'll have tosleep with me to-night, Betty. I wouldn't stay down heah alone fo'anything."
It was very early to go to bed, scarcely more than half-past seven, whenBetty blew out the candle and climbed in beside the Little Colonel. Shelay for a long time, listening to the croaking of the frogs, thinkingthat Lloyd had forgotten her troubles in dreamland, until a mournfullittle voice whispered, "Say, Betty, are you asleep?"
"No; but I thought you were."
"I was, for a few minutes, but that dreadful false face of Molly's wokeme up. I dreamed it was chasing me, and I seemed to be falling andfalling, and somebody screamed at me '_Look out! The witches will catchyou!_' It frightened me so that I woke up all a tremble. I know I amsafe, here in bed with you, but I'm shaking so hard that I can't go tosleep again. Oh, Betty, you don't know how much I want my mothah! I'llnevah leave her again as long as I live. My head aches, and I'm so stiffand soah I can't tu'n ovah!"
"Do you want me to tell you a story?" asked Betty, hearing the sob inLloyd's voice, and divining that her pillow had caught more than onetear under cover of the darkness.
"Oh, yes!" begged the Little Colonel. "Talk to me, even if you don't sayanything but the multiplication table. It will keep me from hearin'those dreadful frogs, and seein' that face in the dark. I'm ashamed tobe frightened at nothing. I don't know what makes me such a coward."
"Maybe the fall was a sort of shock to your nerves," said Betty,comfortingly, reaching out to pat the trembling shoulders with amotherly air. "There, go to sleep, and I'll stay awake and keep away thehobgoblins. I'll recite the Lady Jane, because it jingles sobeautifully. It goes like a cradle."
A little groping hand reached through the darkness and touched Betty'sface, then buried itself in her soft curls, as if the touch brought asoothing sense of safety. In a slow, sing-song tone, as monotonous asthe droning of a bee, Betty began, accenting every other syllable with asleepy drawl.
"The _la_-dy _Jane_ was _tall_ and _slim_, The _la_-dy _Jane_ was _fair_. Sir _Thomas_ her _lord_ was _stout_ of _limb_, His _cough_ was _short_ and his _eyes_ were _dim_, And he _wore_ green _specs_ with a _tortoise_ shell _rim_, And his _hat_ was re-_mark_-ably _broad_ in the _brim_, And _she_ was un-_common_-ly _fond_ of _him_, And _they_ were a _lov_-ing _pair_. And the _name_ and the _fame_ of this _knight_ and his _dame_ Were _every_-where _hailed_ with the _loud_-est ac-_claim_."
But it took more than the Lady Jane to put the restless little listenerto sleep that night. Maud Muller was recited in the same sing-songmeasure, and Lord Ullin's daughter followed without a pause, till Bettyherself grew sleepy, and, like a tired little mosquito, droned lower andlower, finally stopping in the middle of a sentence.
* * * * *
They woke in the morning, to hear thunder rumbling in the distance.Betty, peeping through the curtains, announced that the sky was graywith clouds, and she thought that it must surely begin to rain soon.Lloyd, so stiff and sore from the effects of her fall that she couldscarcely move, sat up with a groan.
"Oh, deah!" she exclaimed. "What is there to do heah on rainy days? Nobooks, no games, no piano! Mothah said that the lesson set fo' me tolearn was patience, but I'd lose my mind, just sitting still in front ofa clock and watching the minutes go by. I don't see how Job stood it."
"Job didn't do that way," said Betty, soberly, as she looked up fromlacing her shoes. "They didn't have any clocks in those days, andbesides, patience isn't just sitting still all day without fidgeting.It's putting up with whatever happens to you, without making a fussabout it. The best way to do it is not to think about it any more thanyou can help."
"I'd like to know how I'm goin' to keep from thinkin' about my bruisesand cuts," groaned
the Little Colonel, limping stiffly across the roomto look again in the little mirror, at her bandaged forehead, herscratched cheek, and her temple, criss-crossed with strips ofcourt-plaster. "What _would_ Papa Jack say if he could see me now?"
She repeated Betty's definition of patience to her reflection in themirror, making a wry face as she did so. "'Puttin' up with whatevahhappens to you, without makin' a fuss about it.' Well, I'll try, butit's mighty hard to do when one of the happenings is fallin' through atrap-doah, and gettin' as stiff and soah as I am."
She thought about the definition more than once during the long morningthat followed; when the hash was too salty at breakfast, and the oatmealwas scorched; when Betty was busy in the spring-house, and she was leftall alone for awhile with nothing to entertain herself with but thealmanac and a week-old paper. The thunder, that had been only a lowmuttering over the distant hills when they awoke, was coming nearer, andthe damp air was heavy with the approaching storm.
"I'll have one little run out-of-doahs befo' it begins to rain," thoughtLloyd, and started up to skip across the porch; but her skipping changedto a painful walk as her aching muscles reminded her of her fall, andshe limped slowly down the lane toward the gate.
A strong wind suddenly began lashing the cherry-trees that lined thelane, and sent a gust of dust and leaves into her face. She stopped amoment to rub her eyes, and as she did so something fluttering on thehedge-row broke loose from the thorns that held it, and came blowingtoward her. It was something soft and gray, and it fluttered alonguncertainly, like a bit of fleecy thistledown, as the wind bore it toher feet.
"Oh, it's mothah's gray veil!" she exclaimed. "It was on the back of theseat when she waved good-bye to me, and they were drivin' so fast itmust have blown away."
She picked up the dainty piece of silk tissue, soft and filmy as acloud, and held it against her cheek. Then she hurried into the housewith it, lest some of the boys should see her and notice the tears inher eyes. But inside the dark closet, where she climbed to lay the veilon a shelf, the lonely feeling was too strong for her to overcome.Crouching down in a corner, with her face hidden in the softviolet-scented veil, she cried quietly for a long time.
Then something came to her mind that had happened when she was only fiveyears old, before she had gone to Locust to live. It was that firstlonesome evening when she had been left to spend the night at hergrandfather's, and she grew so homesick as twilight fell that shedecided to run away. And while she stood with her hand on the latch ofthe great gate, peering through the bars at the darkening world outside,Fritz (the wisest little terrier that ever peeped through tangled bangs)found something in the dead leaves at her feet. It was a little grayglove that her mother had dropped, when she stooped to kiss hergood-bye. Lloyd remembered how she had squeezed it, and cried over it,and fondled it as if it held the touch of her mother's hand, and then,baby though she was, she had tucked it into her tiny apron pocket as atalisman to help her be brave. Then she walked back to the house withoutanother tear.
"That visit had a beautiful ending," thought Lloyd, tenderly folding theveil. "Then I had only Fritz for company, but now I have Betty. I'lljust stop wishin' I could run away from the Cuckoo's Nest, and I'll haveall the good times that I can get out of this visit."
She felt better now. The tears seemed to have washed away the ache inher throat. Bradley was calling her, and only stopping at the wash-standa moment to bathe her red eyes, she went out to see what he wanted.
His freckled face was all alight with a beaming smile, as if he were thebearer of good news. His hands were behind his back, and as he cametoward her he called out, in the pleasantest of voices, "Which will youtake, Lloyd, right or left?"
Forgetting that Betty had cautioned her about his love of teasing, andremembering the apples he had brought her the day before, she answered,with a friendly smile, "I choose what's in the right hand."
"Then shut your eyes, and hold fast all I give you."
Squinting her eyelids tightly together, Lloyd held out her unsuspectinglittle hand, only to receive a squirming bunch of clammy, wrigglingfishing worms. She gave a loud shriek, and wrung the hand that the wormshad touched, as if it had been stung.
"Oo-ooh! Bradley Appleton! You horrid boy!" she cried. "How could you beso mean? There's nothing I _hate_ like worms. I could touch a mouse oreven a snake soonah than those bare crawly things! Oh, I'll nevah, nevahbe able to get the feel of them off my hands, even if I should scrubthem a week. I don't mind things with feet, but the feel of thesquirmin' is awful!"
Bradley laughed so loudly over the success of his joke, that Betty cameout smiling to see what was the matter, and was surprised to see Lloydmarching indignantly into the house, her head held high and her facevery red.
"Well, I didn't do anything but give her a handful of angleworms," saidBradley, in reply to Betty's demand for an explanation. "Molly heard hersay that she despised worms, and that nothing could make her touch oneor put it on a hook. I was just showing her for her own good that thereis nothing to be afraid of in a harmless little fishing-worm, and shehad to go off and get mad. Girls are such touchy things. They make metired."
Long experience had taught Betty that the best thing to do, when Bradleywas in a teasing mood, was to keep out of his way, so she turned withouta word and went in search of Lloyd. As she did so, the rain that theyhad been expecting all morning came dashing against the window-panes intorrents. Suddenly it grew so dark one could scarcely see to readwithout lighting a lamp.
"Come up to my room, Lloyd," called Betty, stopping at the parlourdoor, with Davy tagging behind her. "It's lighter up there, and I loveto be close up under the roof when the rain patters on it."
"Wait till I finish washing my hands," answered Lloyd, looking up with adisgusted face. "Ugh! I can't wash away that horrid squirmin' feelin',even with a nail-brush."
As Davy climbed the stairs after them he caught Lloyd by the dress."Say!" he exclaimed in a half whisper, "it was Molly that told Bradleyto put those worms on you. She dared him to, and they're laughing aboutit now, down in the kitchen."
It was on the tip of Lloyd's tongue to say, "They're both of them mean,hateful things, and I'll get even with them if it takes all the rest ofmy visit to do it." But before the words could slip out she rememberedthe definition, "Putting up with anything that happens to you withoutmaking a fuss about it."
"There couldn't anything nastier happen than fishin'-worms," she said toherself, "so this must be one of the times I need patience the verymost."
Although the lesson was remembered in time to keep her from getting intoa rage, it did not put her into a good humour. It was a very unhappylittle face that looked out of the gable window, against which theautumn rain was dashing. Her head ached from all its bumps and bruises,and her eyes wore as forlorn an expression as if she were some unhappyCrusoe, cast away on a desert island with no hope of rescue.
Davy perched himself on the trunk and awaited developments. Betty lookedaround the room in search of something to brighten the dull day; but thebare walls offered no suggestion of entertainment. Lloyd's fingersdrumming restlessly on the window-pane, and the patter of the rain onthe roof, were the only sounds in the room.
"I wondah if it's rainin' where Joyce and Eugenia are," said the LittleColonel, after awhile, breaking the long silence.
"Oh, let's write to them," cried Betty, eagerly. "One can write East andone can write West, and we'll tell them all that has happened in theCuckoo's Nest since we came back to it."
Davy slid off the trunk in silent disapproval when the writing materialwas brought out, and the girls began their letters. The scratching ofthe pens across the paper and the dismal dripping of the rain was toomonotonous for him, and he felt forced to go below in search of liveliercompanionship.
The Little Colonel's Holidays Page 8