by John Fox
XII
June did not have to be awakened that morning. At the first clarion callof the old rooster behind the cabin, her eyes opened wide and a happythrill tingled her from head to foot--why, she didn't at first quiterealize--and then she stretched her slender round arms to full lengthabove her head and with a little squeal of joy bounded out of the bed,dressed as she was when she went into it, and with no changes to makeexcept to push back her tangled hair. Her father was out feeding thestock and she could hear her step-mother in the kitchen. Bub still sleptsoundly, and she shook him by the shoulder.
"Git up, Bub."
"Go 'way," said Bub fretfully. Again she started to shake him butstopped--Bub wasn't going to the Gap, so she let him sleep. For a littlewhile she looked down at him--at his round rosy face and his frowsy hairfrom under which protruded one dirty fist. She was going to leave him,and a fresh tenderness for him made her breast heave, but she did notkiss him, for sisterly kisses are hardly known in the hills. Then shewent out into the kitchen to help her step-mother.
"Gittin' mighty busy, all of a sudden, ain't ye," said the sour oldwoman, "now that ye air goin' away."
"'Tain't costin' you nothin'," answered June quietly, and she picked upa pail and went out into the frosty, shivering daybreak to the old well.The chain froze her fingers, the cold water splashed her feet, and whenshe had tugged her heavy burden back to the kitchen, she held her red,chapped hands to the fire.
"I reckon you'll be mighty glad to git shet o' me." The old womansniffled, and June looked around with a start.
"Pears like I'm goin' to miss ye right smart," she quavered, and June'sface coloured with a new feeling towards her step-mother.
"I'm goin' ter have a hard time doin' all the work and me so poorly."
"Lorrety is a-comin' over to he'p ye, if ye git sick," said June,hardening again. "Or, I'll come back myself." She got out the dishes andset them on the table.
"You an' me don't git along very well together," she went on placidly."I never heerd o' no step-mother and children as did, an' I reckonyou'll be might glad to git shet o' me."
"Pears like I'm going to miss ye a right smart," repeated the old womanweakly.
June went out to the stable with the milking pail. Her father had spreadfodder for the cow and she could hear the rasping of the ears of cornagainst each other as he tumbled them into the trough for the oldsorrel. She put her head against the cow's soft flank and under hersinewy fingers two streams of milk struck the bottom of the tin pailwith such thumping loudness that she did not hear her father's step;but when she rose to make the beast put back her right leg, she saw himlooking at her.
"Who's goin' ter milk, pap, atter I'm gone?"
"This the fust time you thought o' that?" June put her flushed cheekback to the flank of the cow. It was not the first time she had thoughtof that--her step-mother would milk and if she were ill, her father orLoretta. She had not meant to ask that question--she was wondering whenthey would start. That was what she meant to ask and she was glad thatshe had swerved. Breakfast was eaten in the usual silence by the boy andthe man--June and the step-mother serving it, and waiting on the lordthat was and the lord that was to be--and then the two females sat down.
"Hurry up, June," said the old man, wiping his mouth and beard with theback of his hand. "Clear away the dishes an' git ready. Hale said hewould meet us at the Pine an' hour by sun, fer I told him I had to gitback to work. Hurry up, now!"
June hurried up. She was too excited to eat anything, so she beganto wash the dishes while her step-mother ate. Then she went into theliving-room to pack her things and it didn't take long. She wrapped thedoll Hale had given her in an extra petticoat, wound one pair of yarnstockings around a pair of coarse shoes, tied them up into one bundleand she was ready. Her father appeared with the sorrel horse, caught uphis saddle from the porch, threw it on and stretched the blanket behindit as a pillion for June to ride on.
"Let's go!" he said. There is little or no demonstrativeness in thedomestic relations of mountaineers. The kiss of courtship is the onlyone known. There were no good-bys--only that short "Let's go!"
June sprang behind her father from the porch. The step-mother handed herthe bundle which she clutched in her lap, and they simply rode away, thestep-mother and Bub silently gazing after them. But June saw the boy'smouth working, and when she turned the thicket at the creek, she lookedback at the two quiet figures, and a keen pain cut her heart. Sheshut her mouth closely, gripped her bundle more tightly and the tearsstreamed down her face, but the man did not know. They climbed insilence. Sometimes her father dismounted where the path was steep, butJune sat on the horse to hold the bundle and thus they mounted throughthe mist and chill of the morning. A shout greeted them from the top ofthe little spur whence the big Pine was visible, and up there they foundHale waiting. He had reached the Pine earlier than they and was comingdown to meet them.
"Hello, little girl," called Hale cheerily, "you didn't fail me, didyou?"
June shook her head and smiled. Her face was blue and her little legs,dangling under the bundle, were shrinking from the cold. Her bonnet hadfallen to the back of her neck, and he saw that her hair was parted andgathered in a Psyche knot at the back of her head, giving her a quaintold look when she stood on the ground in her crimson gown. Hale had notforgotten a pillion and there the transfer was made. Hale lifted herbehind his saddle and handed up her bundle.
"I'll take good care of her," he said.
"All right," said the old man.
"And I'm coming over soon to fix up that coal matter, and I'll let youknow how she's getting on."
"All right."
"Good-by," said Hale.
"I wish ye well," said the mountaineer. "Be a good girl, Juny, and dowhat Mr. Hale thar tells ye."
"All right, pap." And thus they parted. June felt the power of Hale'sbig black horse with exultation the moment he started.
"Now we're off," said Hale gayly, and he patted the little hand that wasabout his waist. "Give me that bundle."
"I can carry it."
"No, you can't--not with me," and when he reached around for it andput it on the cantle of his saddle, June thrust her left hand into hisovercoat pocket and Hale laughed.
"Loretta wouldn't ride with me this way."
"Loretty ain't got much sense," drawled June complacently. "'Tain't noharm. But don't you tell me! I don't want to hear nothin' 'bout Lorettynoway." Again Hale laughed and June laughed, too. Imp that she was, shewas just pretending to be jealous now. She could see the big Pine overhis shoulder.
"I've knowed that tree since I was a little girl--since I was a baby,"she said, and the tone of her voice was new to Hale. "Sister Sally ustertell me lots about that ole tree." Hale waited, but she stopped again.
"What did she tell you?"
"She used to say hit was curious that hit should be 'way up here allalone--that she reckollected it ever since SHE was a baby, and she usedto come up here and talk to it, and she said sometimes she could hear itjus' a whisperin' to her when she was down home in the cove."
"What did she say it said?"
"She said it was always a-whisperin' 'come--come--come!'" June croonedthe words, "an' atter she died, I heerd the folks sayin' as how sheriz up in bed with her eyes right wide an' sayin' "I hears it! It'sa-whisperin'--I hears it--come--come--come'!" And still Hale kept quietwhen she stopped again.
"The Red Fox said hit was the sperits, but I knowed when they told methat she was a thinkin' o' that ole tree thar. But I never let on. Ireckon that's ONE reason made me come here that day." They were close tothe big tree now and Hale dismounted to fix his girth for the descent.
"Well, I'm mighty glad you came, little girl. I might never have seenyou."
"That's so," said June. "I saw the print of your foot in the mud rightthere."
"Did ye?"
"And if I hadn't, I might never have gone down into Lonesome Cove." Junelaughed.
"You ran from me," Hale went on.
&
nbsp; "Yes, I did: an' that's why you follered me." Hale looked up quickly.Her face was demure, but her eyes danced. She was an aged little thing.
"Why did you run?"
"I thought yo' fishin' pole was a rifle-gun an' that you was a raider."Hale laughed--"I see."
"'Member when you let yo' horse drink?" Hale nodded. "Well, I was on arock above the creek, lookin' down at ye. An' I seed ye catchin' minnersan' thought you was goin' up the crick lookin' fer a still."
"Weren't you afraid of me then?"
"Huh!" she said contemptuously. "I wasn't afeared of you at all, 'ceptfer what you mought find out. You couldn't do no harm to nobody withouta gun, and I knowed thar wasn't no still up that crick. I know--I knowedwhar it was." Hale noticed the quick change of tense.
"Won't you take me to see it some time?"
"No!" she said shortly, and Hale knew he had made a mistake. It was toosteep for both to ride now, so he tied the bundle to the cantle withleathern strings and started leading the horse. June pointed to the edgeof the cliff.
"I was a-layin' flat right thar and I seed you comin' down thar. My,but you looked funny to me! You don't now," she added hastily. "You lookmighty nice to me now--!"
"You're a little rascal," said Hale, "that's what you are." The littlegirl bubbled with laughter and then she grew mock-serious.
"No, I ain't."
"Yes, you are," he repeated, shaking his head, and both were silent fora while. June was going to begin her education now and it was just aswell for him to begin with it now. So he started vaguely when he wasmounted again:
"June, you thought my clothes were funny when you first saw them--didn'tyou?"
"Uh, huh!" said June.
"But you like them now?"
"Uh, huh!" she crooned again.
"Well, some people who weren't used to clothes that people wear overin the mountains might think THEM funny for the same reason--mightn'tthey?" June was silent for a moment.
"Well, mebbe, I like your clothes better, because I like you better,"she said, and Hale laughed.
"Well, it's just the same--the way people in the mountains dress andtalk is different from the way people outside dress and talk. It doesn'tmake much difference about clothes, though, I guess you will want to beas much like people over here as you can--"
"I don't know," interrupted the little girl shortly, "I ain't seed 'emyit."
"Well," laughed Hale, "you will want to talk like them anyhow, becauseeverybody who is learning tries to talk the same way." June was silent,and Hale plunged unconsciously on.
"Up at the Pine now you said, 'I SEED you when I was A-LAYIN on theedge of the cliff'; now you ought to have said, 'I SAW you when I wasLYING--'"
"I wasn't," she said sharply, "I don't tell lies--" her hand shot fromhis waist and she slid suddenly to the ground. He pulled in his horseand turned a bewildered face. She had lighted on her feet and was poisedback above him like an enraged eaglet--her thin nostrils quivering, hermouth as tight as a bow-string, and her eyes two points of fire.
"Why--June!"
"Ef you don't like my clothes an' the way I talk, I reckon I'd better goback home." With a groan Hale tumbled from his horse. Fool that he was,he had forgotten the sensitive pride of the mountaineer, even while hewas thinking of that pride. He knew that fun might be made of her speechand her garb by her schoolmates over at the Gap, and he was trying toprepare her--to save her mortification, to make her understand.
"Why, June, little girl, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. You don'tunderstand--you can't now, but you will. Trust me, won't you? _I_ likeyou just as you are. I LOVE the way you talk. But other people--forgiveme, won't you?" he pleaded. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't hurt you for theworld."
She didn't understand--she hardly heard what he said, but she did knowhis distress was genuine and his sorrow: and his voice melted her fiercelittle heart. The tears began to come, while she looked, and when he puthis arms about her, she put her face on his breast and sobbed.
"There now!" he said soothingly. "It's all right now. I'm so sorry--sovery sorry," and he patted her on the shoulder and laid his hand acrossher temple and hair, and pressed her head tight to his breast. Almost assuddenly she stopped sobbing and loosening herself turned away from him.
"I'm a fool--that's what I am," she said hotly.
"No, you aren't! Come on, little girl! We're friends again, aren't we?"June was digging at her eyes with both hands.
"Aren't we?"
"Yes," she said with an angry little catch of her breath, and she turnedsubmissively to let him lift her to her seat. Then she looked down intohis face.
"Jack," she said, and he started again at the frank address, "I ain'tNEVER GOIN' TO DO THAT NO MORE."
"Yes, you are, little girl," he said soberly but cheerily. "You're goin'to do it whenever I'm wrong or whenever you think I'm wrong." She shookher head seriously.
"No, Jack."
In a few minutes they were at the foot of the mountain and on a levelroad.
"Hold tight!" Hale shouted, "I'm going to let him out now." At thetouch of his spur, the big black horse sprang into a gallop, faster andfaster, until he was pounding the hard road in a swift run like thunder.At the creek Hale pulled in and looked around. June's bonnet was down,her hair was tossed, her eyes were sparkling fearlessly, and her facewas flushed with joy.
"Like it, June?"
"I never did know nothing like it."
"You weren't scared?"
"Skeered o' what?" she asked, and Hale wondered if there was anything ofwhich she would be afraid.
They were entering the Gap now and June's eyes got big with wonder overthe mighty up-shooting peaks and the rushing torrent.
"See that big rock yonder, June?" June craned her neck to follow withher eyes his outstretched finger.
"Uh, huh."
"Well, that's called Bee Rock, because it's covered with flowers--purplerhododendrons and laurel--and bears used to go there for wild honey.They say that once on a time folks around here put whiskey in the honeyand the bears got so drunk that people came and knocked 'em in the headwith clubs."
"Well, what do you think o' that!" said June wonderingly.
Before them a big mountain loomed, and a few minutes later, at the mouthof the Gap, Hale stopped and turned his horse sidewise.
"There we are, June," he said.
June saw the lovely little valley rimmed with big mountains. She couldfollow the course of the two rivers that encircled it by the trees thatfringed their banks, and she saw smoke rising here and there and thatwas all. She was a little disappointed.
"It's mighty purty," she said, "I never seed"--she paused, but went onwithout correcting herself--"so much level land in all my life."
The morning mail had just come in as they rode by the post-office andseveral men hailed her escort, and all stared with some wonder at her.Hale smiled to himself, drew up for none and put on a face of utterunconsciousness that he was doing anything unusual. June felt vaguelyuncomfortable. Ahead of them, when they turned the corner of the street,her eyes fell on a strange tall red house with yellow trimmings, thatwas not built of wood and had two sets of windows one above the other,and before that Hale drew up.
"Here we are. Get down, little girl."
"Good-morning!" said a voice. Hale looked around and flushed, andJune looked around and stared--transfixed as by a vision from anotherworld--at the dainty figure behind them in a walking suit, a short skirtthat showed two little feet in laced tan boots and a cap with a plume,under which was a pair of wide blue eyes with long lashes, and a mouththat suggested active mischief and gentle mockery.
"Oh, good-morning," said Hale, and he added gently, "Get down, June!"
The little girl slipped to the ground and began pulling her bonnet onwith both hands--but the newcomer had caught sight of the Psyche knotthat made June look like a little old woman strangely young, and themockery at her lips was gently accentuated by a smile. Hale swung fromhis saddle.
"This is the l
ittle girl I told you about, Miss Anne," he said. "She'scome over to go to school." Instantly, almost, Miss Anne had been meltedby the forlorn looking little creature who stood before her, shy for themoment and dumb, and she came forward with her gloved hand outstretched.But June had seen that smile. She gave her hand, and Miss Annestraightway was no little surprised; there was no more shyness in thedark eyes that blazed from the recesses of the sun-bonnet, and Miss Annewas so startled when she looked into them that all she could say was:"Dear me!" A portly woman with a kind face appeared at the door of thered brick house and came to the gate.
"Here she is, Mrs. Crane," called Hale.
"Howdye, June!" said the Widow Crane kindly. "Come right in!" In herJune knew straightway she had a friend and she picked up her bundle andfollowed upstairs--the first real stairs she had ever seen--and intoa room on the floor of which was a rag carpet. There was a bed in onecorner with a white counterpane and a washstand with a bowl and pitcher,which, too, she had never seen before.
"Make yourself at home right now," said the Widow Crane, pulling open adrawer under a big looking-glass--"and put your things here. That's yourbed," and out she went.
How clean it was! There were some flowers in a glass vase on the mantel.There were white curtains at the big window and a bed to herself--herown bed. She went over to the window. There was a steep bank, lined withrhododendrons, right under it. There was a mill-dam below and down thestream she could hear the creaking of a water-wheel, and she could seeit dripping and shining in the sun--a gristmill! She thought of UncleBilly and ole Hon, and in spite of a little pang of home-sickness shefelt no loneliness at all.
"I KNEW she would be pretty," said Miss Anne at the gate outside.
"I TOLD you she was pretty," said Hale.
"But not so pretty as THAT," said Miss Anne. "We will be great friends."
"I hope so--for her sake," said Hale.
* * * * * * *
Hale waited till noon-recess was nearly over, and then he went to takeJune to the school-house. He was told that she was in her room and hewent up and knocked at the door. There was no answer--for one does notknock on doors for entrance in the mountains, and, thinking he had madea mistake, he was about to try another room, when June opened the doorto see what the matter was. She gave him a glad smile.
"Come on," he said, and when she went for her bonnet, he stepped intothe room.
"How do you like it?" June nodded toward the window and Hale went to it.
"That's Uncle Billy's mill out thar."
"Why, so it is," said Hale smiling. "That's fine."
The school-house, to June's wonder, had shingles on the OUTSIDE aroundall the walls from roof to foundation, and a big bell hung on top ofit under a little shingled roof of its own. A pale little man withspectacles and pale blue eyes met them at the door and he gave June apale, slender hand and cleared his throat before he spoke to her.
"She's never been to school," said Hale; "she can read and spell, butshe's not very strong on arithmetic."
"Very well, I'll turn her over to the primary." The school-bell sounded;Hale left with a parting prophecy--"You'll be proud of her some day"--atwhich June blushed and then, with a beating heart, she followed thelittle man into his office. A few minutes later, the assistant camein, and she was none other than the wonderful young woman whom Hale hadcalled Miss Anne. There were a few instructions in a halting voice andwith much clearing of the throat from the pale little man; and a momentlater June walked the gauntlet of the eyes of her schoolmates, every oneof whom looked up from his book or hers to watch her as she went to herseat. Miss Anne pointed out the arithmetic lesson and, without liftingher eyes, June bent with a flushed face to her task. It reddened withshame when she was called to the class, for she sat on the bench, tallerby a head and more than any of the boys and girls thereon, exceptone awkward youth who caught her eye and grinned with unashamedcompanionship. The teacher noticed her look and understood with a suddenkeen sympathy, and naturally she was struck by the fact that the newpupil was the only one who never missed an answer.
"She won't be there long," Miss Anne thought, and she gave June a smilefor which the little girl was almost grateful. June spoke to no one, butwalked through her schoolmates homeward, when school was over, like ahaughty young queen. Miss Anne had gone ahead and was standing at thegate talking with Mrs. Crane, and the young woman spoke to June mostkindly.
"Mr. Hale has been called away on business," she said, and June's heartsank--"and I'm going to take care of you until he comes back."
"I'm much obleeged," she said, and while she was not ungracious, hermanner indicated her belief that she could take care of herself. AndMiss Anne felt uncomfortably that this extraordinary young personwas steadily measuring her from head to foot. June saw the smartclose-fitting gown, the dainty little boots, and the carefully brushedhair. She noticed how white her teeth were and her hands, and she sawthat the nails looked polished and that the tips of them were likelittle white crescents; and she could still see every detail when shesat at her window, looting down at the old mill. She SAW Mr. Hale whenhe left, the young lady had said; and she had a headache now and wasgoing home to LIE down. She understood now what Hale meant, on themountainside when she was so angry with him. She was learning fast, andmost from the two persons who were not conscious what they were teachingher. And she would learn in the school, too, for the slumbering ambitionin her suddenly became passionately definite now. She went to the mirrorand looked at her hair--she would learn how to plait that in two braidsdown her back, as the other school-girls did. She looked at her handsand straightway she fell to scrubbing them with soap as she had neverscrubbed them before. As she worked, she heard her name called and sheopened the door.
"Yes, mam!" she answered, for already she had picked that up in theschool-room.
"Come on, June, and go down the street with me."
"Yes, mam," she repeated, and she wiped her hands and hurried down. Mrs.Crane had looked through the girl's pathetic wardrobe, while she wasat school that afternoon, had told Hale before he left and she had asurprise for little June. Together they went down the street and intothe chief store in town and, to June's amazement, Mrs. Crane beganordering things for "this little girl."
"Who's a-goin' to pay fer all these things?" whispered June, aghast.
"Don't you bother, honey. Mr. Hale said he would fix all that with yourpappy. It's some coal deal or something--don't you bother!" And June ina quiver of happiness didn't bother. Stockings, petticoats, some softstuff for a new dress and TAN shoes that looked like the ones thatwonderful young woman wore and then some long white things.
"What's them fer?" she whispered, but the clerk heard her and laughed,whereat Mrs. Crane gave him such a glance that he retired quickly.
"Night-gowns, honey."
"You SLEEP in 'em?" said June in an awed voice.
"That's just what you do," said the good old woman, hardly less pleasedthan June.
"My, but you've got pretty feet."
"I wish they were half as purty as--"
"Well, they are," interrupted Mrs. Crane a little snappishly; apparentlyshe did not like Miss Anne.
"Wrap 'em up and Mr. Hale will attend to the bill."
"All right," said the clerk looking much mystified.
Outside the door, June looked up into the beaming goggles of the Hon.Samuel Budd.
"Is THIS the little girl? Howdye, June," he said, and June put her handin the Hon. Sam's with a sudden trust in his voice.
"I'm going to help take care of you, too," said Mr. Budd, and Junesmiled at him with shy gratitude. How kind everybody was!
"I'm much obleeged," she said, and she and Mrs. Crane went on back withtheir bundles.
June's hands so trembled when she found herself alone with her treasuresthat she could hardly unpack them. When she had folded and laid themaway, she had to unfold them to look at them again. She hurried tobed that night merely that she might put on one of those wo
nderfulnight-gowns, and again she had to look all her treasures over. She wasglad that she had brought the doll because HE had given it to her, butshe said to herself "I'm a-gittin' too big now fer dolls!" and she putit away. Then she set the lamp on the mantel-piece so that she could seeherself in her wonderful night-gown. She let her shining hair fall likemolten gold around her shoulders, and she wondered whether she couldever look like the dainty creature that just now was the model she sopassionately wanted to be like. Then she blew out the lamp and sat awhile by the window, looking down through the rhododendrons, at theshining water and at the old water-wheel sleepily at rest in themoonlight. She knelt down then at her bedside to say her prayers--asher dead sister had taught her to do--and she asked God to blessJack--wondering as she prayed that she had heard nobody else call himJack--and then she lay down with her breast heaving. She had told himshe would never do that again, but she couldn't help it now--the tearscame and from happiness she cried herself softly to sleep.