MELINDA
Mellie Garson sat on an overturned pickle keg sourly contemplating theinequity of fate. If he was no better than the next man, he toldhimself, neither was he worse. So why should some be rewarded with afree buggy ride while others received a kick from the mules pulling thebuggy?
Mellie shifted his right foot, his newest reason for eating bitterbread, and glared at the crutches without which he was helpless. It wasindeed a bitter blow, but it seemed to Mellie as he sat there that hisentire life had been one blow after another.
Though he was the father of children, the very fact that there was noson among them was a desperate situation. How did one hand a coon hound,not to mention the mass of coon lore that Mellie had acquired during hissixty-seven years on earth, down to a girl child?
The lusty wail of a baby floated out of the house. Mellie shuddered, andonly by exercising a heroic effort could he refrain from putting hishands over his ears. It was not that he didn't love his daughters and dofor them as a proper father should. But did his thirteenth child, nowyelling away in her crib, have to be a girl, too?
Mellie ran down the list of his offspring: Marilyn, Maxine, Martha,Minerva, Margaret, Mildred, Minnie, Melinda, Mary, Maud, Marcy,Marcella, and finally, Michelle. There'd been some hope they'd run outof Ms, but he'd hoped that clear back when Mary arrived and now hope wasdead. He couldn't have thought of Michelle. But his daughters could andthat, he supposed, was no more than he deserved for exposing them toMiss Cathby's school.
Mellie often wondered if he'd been born in the wrong time of the moon.Maybe he'd even been born in a caul, but he'd never know whence camehis talent for fathering girls, because by the time he started wonderinghis parents had gone to their eternal reward and it was too late to askthem.
He sighed. Thirteen girl children were thirteen facts of life thatnobody could change. There were rare intervals, when they didn't allstart talking at once, that it was even pleasant to have them around.But how explain the rest of his misfortunes?
Mellie retraced the chain of events that had culminated in this starktragedy.
Morning Glory, his pup out of Raw Stanfield's Queenie by Butt Johnson'sThunder, showed every indication of becoming a rare coon hound indeed.Though Mellie would have been satisfied had she inherited the talent ofeither parent, there were reasons to believe that she combined the bestof both.
However, Glory must have some education and tonight, this matchlessautumn night, Raw Stanfield with Queenie and Butt Johnson with Thunderwere meeting at Mun Mundee's house. Had they planned a coon hunt, andthat only, Mellie would have contented himself with just beingheart-broken. But Mun and Harky Mundee were going along with Duckfootand Mellie had been invited to bring Glory. So--
Yesterday he'd been mule-kicked!
Mellie groaned his misery. Glory and Duckfoot had an opportunity tolearn their trade under masters such as Queenie and Thunder. Now Glorycouldn't go, and what had Mellie ever done to merit such catastrophe?
No doubt Duckfoot would be there, and thinking of Duckfoot, Melliewondered why a little of the Mundee luck couldn't rub off on MellieGarson. It had been a terrible blow to lose Precious Sue. But to stumbleon Sue's pup, even if he was half duck, and to find that he probablywould be as good as Sue ever was. How come the Mundees were so favored?
Mellie glanced bitterly around as a mule-drawn wagon came from behindthe barn. Morning Glory wagged contentedly behind it and four ofMellie's daughters comprised the crew that was bringing in another loadof corn. Mellie fixed his eyes on Melinda.
Twelve years old, limber as a willow withe and pretty as a week-oldcolt, she was driving the self-same mules that had kicked Mellie rightout of a coon hunt. Furthermore, she was driving them more skillfullythan her father ever had. Mellie permitted himself a troubled frown.
Certain Melinda would be a boy, and a firm exponent of starting theworthwhile things of life as early as possible, Mellie had even dickeredfor a hound pup so the two babies might grow up together. Somebody hadcrossed him up, or sneaked up on him, but Melinda should have been aboy.
She could throw a rock straighter than Harky Mundee; catch bass whenMellie himself couldn't lure them; handle in perfect safety mules thatcould kick flies off each other's ears and were anxious to kick anythingelse; she could do everything most boys could and do it better. If morewas needed, Glory adored her with a passion few hounds bestow on anyhuman.
Melinda backed the wagon into the barn, and as her three sisters startedto unload the corn, she unhitched the mules and drove them to theirstable. A fiendish plan formed in Mellie's brain. Girls were about aswelcome on a coon hunt as bees at a sewing circle, but why should Melliedo all the suffering? Melinda came out of the stable and floated towardthe house. Mellie came to a decision and called,
"Melinda."
She danced to him on feet that never seemed to touch the ground. "Yes,Pa?"
"Raw Stanfield an' Butt Johnson'll be at Mun Mundee's come evenin'.They're goin' to take Duckfoot on a coon hunt. How'd you like to go withGlory?"
"Pa! You mean it?"
"Sure I mean it, honey."
She stooped and kissed him, and suddenly Mellie felt sorry forunfortunate fathers who do not have at least thirteen daughters.
* * * * *
Making himself as small as possible, Harky Mundee kept his fingerscrossed and hoped Mun had forgotten he was alive. Everything had workedout so much better than he'd dared hope that surely there must be somemistake.
After eleven days at Miss Cathby's school, he was ready and unwilling tobegin the twelfth when he happened to glance toward the pasture. Hehimself, after helping milk them at half past five, had turned the cowsout. But though he'd turned all six out, only five remained. OldBrindle, Mun's ornery cow, had decided to take herself for a walk. Itwas nothing that could be ignored. Old Brindle was fast as a deer and ifshe decided she'd had enough of human society, she'd be as hard tocatch.
"You'd best help me get her," Mun said.
"Yes, Pa."
They'd scarcely left the house, when, apparently having decided that thefree life is for those who want it, Old Brindle jumped back into thepasture she'd just jumped out of. But instead of turning on Harky androaring for him to be off to school, Mun said nothing at all.
It had been easy as that, which is why Harky worried. Though it was hardeven to imagine Mun's having thoughts to spare for Miss Cathby and herschool with a coon hunt coming up, dismal experience had taught Harkythat it was easier to forecast the next skip of a sand flea than toanticipate Mun.
Until he knew exactly how the wind was blowing, Harky thought, silencewas not only golden but silver, gold and diamonds. If Mun was thinkingabout sending him back to school, to school he would go. If he was not,an incautious word might start him thinking.
Harky watched furtively as Mun put on his coon-hunting pants, boots,and curled the brim of his coon-hunting hat. Then he went to the toolbox for his coon-hunting axe.
"Harky!" he roared. "What's your shotgun doin' in my toolbox?"
"Why," Harky hoped he appeared innocent, "is it in there, Pa?"
"Git it out!"
Harky drew his first easy breath since Old Brindle's escape. If Mun hadforgotten why he'd confiscated Harky's shotgun, he'd forgotten aboutschool. The ordeal was over, at least for this year, and Harky was freeto concentrate on important matters. For the immediate future, the onlymatter of importance consisted of wishing it was night so they could gocoon hunting.
Evening finally arrived, and, with Queenie and Thunder at theirrespective heels, Raw Stanfield and Butt Johnson arrived with it. Theolder hounds sneered in their own fashion at Duckfoot, whoenthusiastically sneered right back, and curled up on the porch.
None of the men, as yet, knew that Mellie was sending his daughter tosubstitute for him. When Queenie, Thunder, and Duckfoot set up adesultory baying, all thought that Mellie would join them shortly. Todo so he would follow prescribed etiquette of the Creeping Hills, whichinvolved openi
ng the door and walking in.
When Mellie did not enter, but someone knocked, the four hunters firstlooked astounded. Then they looked at each other. It was Harky whodecided that one way to find out who was knocking would be to go openthe door. His astounded bellow made Queenie cringe and sent Thunderslinking from the porch.
"What in tunket do you want?"
"Hello, Harold," Melinda trilled.
She was dressed in the boy's trousers she always wore except when shewent to school, a boy's shirt which immediately gave the lie to thetheory that girls can't wear boys' clothing and look like girls, and adenim jacket. Her feet were encased in an old pair of shoes, and a boy'shat was pushed back on her saucy black curls. Without a second glancefor Harky, she walked past him into the kitchen.
"Pa's been mule-kicked and can't come," she announced. "I broughtGlory."
"Right kind of ya," said Mun. "We'll take good care of her an' see thatshe gits back."
"Oh, I'll take her back myself," Melinda said. "Pa will expect it."
"Nice of ya to offer," said Mun. "But Harky an' me, we sort of batch ithere. The house ain't rightly fixed fer a girl to stay in an' we may begone all night."
"Don't you worry about that, Mr. Mundee," Melinda reassured him. "I'mgoing hunting with you."
Harky gagged. Melinda turned to face him.
"You sound as though you've been eating green apples, Harold," she saidsweetly. "Have you?"
"Why'n'choo go home?"
"Harky!" Mun roared, but not very loudly, "mind your tongue!"
"Thank you, Mr. Mundee," Melinda said, with the barest hint of a sob inher young voice. "You do want me along, don't you?"
"Well uh--" Mun stammered and appealed to Raw Stanfield. "We do want heralong, don't we?"
"Well uh--" Raw aped Mun and looked at Butt Johnson.
Butt stuttered, "Why--why--why--" and fixed his gaze on Harky.
"There!" Melinda said triumphantly. "The other three want me! Now whatdo you say?"
"Hope ya fall in the mud!"
"Harold!" Melinda wrinkled her distinctly fetching nose. "How terrible!"
"Hope ya fall in the mud, an' I'll stomp on your head if ya do!" Harkysaid.
"Harky!" This time Mun voiced a full-throated roar. "Mind your tongue!"
"Le's get coon huntin'," Raw Stanfield choked. "Le's do anything long'swe git out of here!"
The Duck-footed Hound Page 8