SCENE XI.
_The Honeysuckle Porch._
MISS VILDA DECIDES THAT TWO IS ONE TOO MANY, AND TIMOTHY BREAKS AHUMMINGBIRD'S EGG.
It was a drowsy afternoon. The grasshoppers chirped lazily in the warmgrasses, and the toads blinked sleepily under the shadows of the steps,scarcely snapping at the flies as they danced by on silver wings. Downin the old garden the still pools, in which the laughing brook resteditself here and there, shone like glass under the strong beams of thesun, and the baby horned-pouts rustled their whiskers drowsily andscarcely stirred the water as they glided slowly through its crystaldepths.
The air was fragrant with the odor of new-mown grass and the breath ofwild strawberries that had fallen under the sickle, to make the sweethay sweeter with their crimson juices. The whir of the scythes and theclatter of the mowing machine came from the distant meadows. Field miceand ground sparrows were aware that it probably was all up with theirlittle summer residences, for haying time was at its height, and theGiant, mounted on the Avenging Chariot, would speedily make hisappearance, and buttercups and daisies, tufted grasses and blossomingweeds, must all bow their heads before him, and if there was anythingmore valuable hidden at their roots, so much the worse!
And if a bird or a mouse had been especially far-sighted and had locatedhis family near a stump fence on a particularly uneven bit of ground,why there was always a walking Giant going about the edges with agleaming scythe, so that it was no wonder, when reflecting on thesematters after a day's palpitation, that the little denizens of thefields thought it very natural that there should be Nihilists andSocialists in the world, plotting to overturn monopolies and othergigantic schemes for crushing the people.
Rags enjoyed the excitement of haying immensely. But then, his life wasone long holiday now anyway, and the close quarters, scanty fare, andwearisome monotony of Minerva Court only visited his memory dimly whenhe was suffering the pangs of indigestion. For in the first few weeks ofhis life at the White Farm, before his appetite was satiated, he waswont to eat all the white cat's food as well as his own; and as thishighway robbery took place in the retirement of the shed, where SamanthaAnn always swept them for their meals, no human being was any the wiser,and only the angels saw the white cat getting whiter and whiter andthinner and thinner, while every day Rags grew more corpulent andaldermanic in his figure. But as his stomach was more favorably locatedthan an alderman's, he could still see the surrounding country, and hehad the further advantage of possessing four legs (instead of two) tocarry it about.
Timothy was happy, too, for he was a dreamer, and this quiet lifeharmonized well with the airy fabric of his dreams. He loved every stickand stone about the old homestead already, because the place had broughthim the only glimpse of freedom and joy that he could remember in theselast bare and anxious years; and if there were other and brighteryears, far, far back in the misty gardens of the past, they only yieldedhim a secret sense of "having been," a memory that could never becaptured and put into words.
Each morning he woke fearing to find his present life a vision, and eachmorning he gazed with unspeakable gladness at the sweet reality thatstretched itself before his eyes as he stood for a moment at his littlewindow above the honeysuckle porch.
There were the cucumber frames (he had helped Jabe to make them); theold summer house in the garden (he had held the basket of nails andhanded Jabe the tools when he patched the roof); the little workshopwhere Samantha potted her tomato plants (and he had been allowed towater them twice, with fingers trembling at the thought of too little ortoo much for the tender things); and the grindstone where Jabe groundthe scythes and told him stories as he sat and turned the wheel, whileGay sat beside them making dandelion chains. Yes, it was all there, andhe was a part of it.
Timothy had all the poet's faculty of interpreting the secrets that arehidden in every-day things, and when he lay prone on the warm earth inthe cornfield, deep among the "varnished crispness of the jointedstalks," the rustling of the green things growing sent thrills of joyalong the sensitive currents of his being. He was busy in his room thisafternoon putting little partitions in some cigar boxes, where, verysoon, two or three dozen birds' eggs were to repose in fleece-linednooks: for Jabe Slocum's collection of three summers (every egg acquiredin the most honorable manner, as he explained), had all passed intoTimothy's hands that very day, in consideration of various services welland conscientiously performed. What a delight it was to handle theprecious bits of things, like porcelain in their daintiness!--to sortout the tender blue of the robin, the speckled beauty of the sparrow; toput the pee-wee's and the thrush's each in its place, with a swift throbof regret that there would have been another little soft throat burstingwith a song, if some one had not taken this pretty egg. And there was,over and above all, the never ending marvel of the one humming-bird'segg that lay like a pearl in Timothy's slender brown hand. Too tiny tobe stroked like the others, only big enough to be stealthily kissed. Sotiny that he must get out of bed two or three times in the night to seeif it is safe. So tiny that he has horrible fears lest it should slipout or be stolen, and so he must take the box to the window and let themoonlight shine upon the fleecy cotton, and find that it is still there,and cover it safely over again and creep back to bed, wishing that hemight see a "thumb's bigness of burnished plumage" sheltering it withher speck of a breast. Ah! to have a little humming-bird's egg to love,and to feel that it was his very own, was something to Timothy, as it isto all starved human hearts full of love that can find no outlet.
Miss Vilda was knitting, and Samantha was shelling peas, on thehoneysuckle porch. It had been several days since Miss Cummins had goneto the city, and had come back no wiser than she went, save that she hadmade a somewhat exhaustive study of the slums, and had acquired a moreintimate knowledge of the ways of the world than she had ever possessedbefore. She had found Minerva Court, and designated it on her return asa "sink of iniquity," to which Afric's sunny fountains, India's coralstrand, and other tropical localities frequented by missionaries werevirtuous in comparison.
"For you don't expect anything of black heathens," said she; "but thereain't any question in my mind about the accountability of folks livin'in a Christian country, where you can wear clothes and set up to anair-tight stove and be comfortable, to say nothin' of meetinghousesevery mile or two, and Bible Societies and Young Men's and Young Women'sChristian Associations, and the gospel free to all with the exception ofpew rents and contribution boxes, and those omitted when it'snecessary."
She affirmed that the ladies and gentlemen whose acquaintance she hadmade in Minerva Court were, without exception, a "mess of malefactors,"whose only good point was that, lacking all human qualities, they didn'tcare who she was, nor where she came from, nor what she came for; sothat as a matter of fact she had escaped without so much as leaving hername and place of residence. She learned that Mrs. Nancy Simmons hadsought pastures new in Montana; that Miss Ethel Montmorency stillresided in the metropolis, but did not choose to disclose her modestdwelling-place to the casual inquiring female from the rural districts;that a couple of children had disappeared from Minerva Court, if theyremembered rightly, but that there was no disturbance made about thematter as it saved several people much trouble; that Mrs. Morrison hadhad no relations, though she possessed a large circle of admiringfriends; that none of the admiring friends had called since her death orasked about the children; and finally that Number 3 had been turned intoa saloon, and she was welcome to go in and slake her thirst forinformation with something more satisfactory than she could get outside.
The last straw, and one that would have broken the back of anyself-respecting (unmarried) camel in the universe, was the offensivebelief, on the part of the Minerva Courtiers, that the rigid Puritanmaiden who was conducting the examination was the erring mother of thechildren, visiting (in disguise) their former dwelling-place. Theconversation on this point becoming extremely pointed and jocose, MissCummins finally turned and fled, escaping to the railway statio
n as fastas her trembling legs could carry her. So the trip was a fruitless one,and the mystery that enshrouded Timothy and Lady Gay was as impenetrableas ever.
"I wish I'd 'a' gone to the city with you," remarked Samantha. "Not thatI could 'a' found out anything more 'n you did, for I guess there ain'tanybody thereabouts that knows more 'n we do, and anybody 't wants thechildren won't be troubled with the relation. But I'd like to give thembold-faced jigs 'n' hussies a good piece o' my mind for once! You're tootimersome, Vildy! I b'lieve I'll go some o' these days yet, and carry agood stout umbrella in my hand too. It says in a book somewhar's thatthere's insults that can only be wiped out in blood. Ketch 'em hintin'that I'm the mother of anybody, that's all! I declare I don' know whatour Home Missionary Societies's doin' not to regenerate them places orexterminate 'em, one or t' other. Somehow our religion don't take holtas it ought to. It takes a burnin' zeal to clean out them slum places,and burnin' zeal ain't the style nowadays. As my father used to say,'Religion's putty much like fish 'n' pertetters; if it's hot it's good,'n' if it's cold 'tain't wuth a'--well, a short word come in there, butI won't say it. Speakin' o' religion, I never had any experience inteachin', but I didn't s'pose there was any knack 'bout teachin'religion, same as there is 'bout teachin' readin' 'n' 'rithmetic, but Ihed hard work makin' Timothy understand that catechism you give him tolearn the other Sunday. He was all upsot with doctrine when he come tosay his lesson. Now you can't scare some children with doctrine, nomatter how hot you make it, or mebbe they don't more 'n half believe it;but Timothy's an awful sensitive creeter, 'n' when he come to thatanswer to the question 'What are you then by nature? An enemy to God, achild of Satan, and an heir of hell,' he hid his head on my shoulder andbust right out cryin'. 'How many Gods is there?' s' e, after a spell.'Land!' thinks I, 'I knew he was a heathen, but if he turns out to be anidolater, whatever shall I do with him!' 'Why, where've you ben fetchedup?' s' I. 'There's only one God, the High and Mighty Ruler of theUnivarse,' s' I. 'Well,' s' e', 'there must be more 'n one, for the Godin this lesson isn't like the one in Miss Dora's book at all!' Landsakes! I don't want to teach catechism agin in a hurry, not tell I'vehed a little spiritual instruction from the minister. The fact is,Vildy, that our b'liefs, when they're picked out o' the Bible and setdown square and solid 'thout any softening down 'n' explainin' that theyain't so bad as they sound, is too strong meat for babes. Now I'mOrthodox to the core" (here she lowered her voice as if there might be astray deacon in the garden), "but 'pears to me if I was makin' outlessons for young ones I wouldn't fill 'em so plumb full o' brimstun.Let 'em do a little suthin' to deserve it 'fore you scare 'em to death,say I."
"Jabe explained it all out to him after supper. It beats all how he getson with children."
"I'd ruther hear how he explained it," answered Samantha sarcastically."He's great on expoundin' the Scripters jest now. Well, I hope it'lllast. Land sakes! you'd think nobody ever experienced religion afore,he's so set up 'bout it. You'd s'pose he kep' the latch-key o' theheavenly mansions right in his vest pocket, to hear him go on. Hecouldn't be no more stuck up 'bout it if he'd ben one o' the twobrothers that come over in three ships!"
"There goes Elder Nichols," said Miss Vilda. "Now there's a plan wehadn't thought of. We might take the children over to Purity Village. Ithink likely the Shakers would take 'em. They like to get young folksand break 'em into their doctrines."
"Tim 'd make a tiptop Shaker," laughed Samantha. "He'd be an Elder aforehe was twenty-one. I can seem to see him now, with his hair danglin'long in his neck, a blue coat buttoned up to his chin, and his handssee-sawin' up 'n' down, prancin' round in them solemn dances."
"Tim would do well enough, but I ain't so sure of Gay. They'd have theirhands full, I guess!"
"I guess they would. Anybody that wanted to make a Shaker out o' herwould 'a' had to begin with her grandmother; and that wouldn't 'a' donenuther, for they don't b'lieve in marryin', and the thing would 'a'stopped right there, and Gray wouldn't never 'a' been born int' theworld."
"And been a great sight better off," interpolated Miss Vilda.
"Now don't talk that way, Vildy. Who knows what lays ahead o' thatchild? The Lord may be savin' her up to do some great work for Him," sheadded, with a wild flight of the imagination.
"She looks like it, don't she?" asked Vilda with a grim intonation; buther face softened a little as she glanced at Gay asleep on the rusticbench under the window.
The picture would have struck terror to the sad-eyed aesthete, but anartist who liked to see colors burn and glow on the canvas would havebeen glad to paint her: a little frock of buttercup yellow calico, bareneck and arms, full of dimples, hair that put the yellow calico to shameby reason of its tinge of copper, skin of roses and milk that dared themicroscope, red smiling lips, one stocking and ankle-tie kicked off andfive pink toes calling for some silly woman to say "This little pig wentto market" on them, a great bunch of nasturtiums in one warm hand andthe other buried in Rags, who was bursting with the white cat's dinner,and in such a state of snoring bliss that his tail wagged occasionally,even in his dreams.
"She don't look like a missionary, if that's what you mean," saidSamantha hotly. "She may not be called 'n' elected to traipse over toAfricy with a Test'ment in one hand 'n' a sun umbreller in the other,savin' souls by the wholesale; but 't ain't no mean service to gothrough the world stealin' into folks' hearts like a ray o' sunshine,'n' lightin' up every place you step foot in!"
"I ain't sayin' anything against the child, Samanthy Ann; you saidyourself she wa'n't cut out for a Shaker!"
"No more she is," laughed Samantha, when her good humor was restored."She'd like the singin' 'n' dancin' well enough, but 't would be hardwork smoothin' the kink out of her hair 'n' fixin' it under one o' theirwhite Sunday bunnets. She wouldn't like livin' altogether with thewomen-folks, nuther. The only way for Gay 'll be to fetch her right upwith the men-folks, 'n' hev her see they ain't no great things, anyway.Land sakes! If 't warn't for dogs 'n' dark nights, I shouldn't care if Inever see a man; but Gay has 'em all on her string a'ready, from the boythat brings the cows home for Jabe to the man that takes the butter tothe city. The tin peddler give her a dipper this mornin', and thefish-man brought her a live fish in a tin-pail. Well, she makes thehouse a great sight brighter to live in, you can't deny that, Vildy."
"I ain't denyin' anything in partic'ler. She makes a good deal of work,I know that much. And I don't want you to get your heart set on one orboth of 'em, for 't won't be no use. We could make out with one of 'em,I suppose, if we had to, but two is one too many. They seem to set suchstore by one another that 't would be like partin' the Siamese twins;but there, they'd pine awhile, and then they 'd get over it. Anyhow,they'll have to try."
"Oh yes; you can git over the small-pox, but you'll carry the scars toyour grave most likely. I think 't would be a sin to part them children.I wouldn't do it no more 'n I'd tear away that scarlit bean that'stwisted itself round 'n' round that pink hollyhock there. I stuck astick in the ground, and carried a string to the winder; but I didn'tgit at it soon enough, the bean vine kep' on growin' the other way,towards the hollyhock. Then the other night I got my mad up, 'n' I jestoncurled it by main force 'n' wropped it round the string, 'n,' ifyou'll believe me, I happened to look at it this mornin,' 'n' there it't was, as nippant as you please, coiled round the hollyhock agin! Thensays I to myself, 'Samantha Ann Ripley, you've known what 't was to beeverlastin'ly hectored 'n' intefered with all your life, now s'posin'you let that bean have its hollyhock, if it wants it!'"
Miss Vilda looked at her sharply as she said, "Samantha Ann Ripley, Ibelieve to my soul you're fussin' 'bout Dave Milliken again!
"Well, I ain't! Every time I talk 'bout hollyhocks and scarlit beans Iain't meanin' Dave Milliken 'n' me,--not by a long chalk! I was onlygivin' you my views 'bout partin' them children, that's all!"
"Well, all I can say is," remarked Miss Vilda obstinately, "that thosethat's desirous of takin' in two strange children, and boardin' andlodgin' '
em till they get able to do it for themselves, and runnin' theresk of their turnin' out heathens and malefactors like the folks theycame from,--can do it if they want to. If I come to see that the baby istoo young to send away anywheres I may keep her a spell, but the boy hasgot to go, and that's the end of it. You've been crowdin' me into acorner about him for a week, and now I've said my say!"
Alas! that tiny humming-bird's egg was crushed to atoms,--crushed by aboy's slender hand that had held it so gently for very fear of breakingit. For poor little Timothy Jessup had heard his fate for the secondtime, and knew that he must "move on" again, for there was no room forhim at the White Farm.
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