CHAPTER XIV
The Candy Enterprise Grows
"I believe I shall," and drawing closer to the phaeton the Professorpeered more closely at its occupant as he said:
"I say, little girl, I think I'll take all you have there. They areexceedingly palatable. And I would really like to know how it happensthat a child apparently so respectable as yourself should be peddlingsweets. You--why you might really be a gentleman's daughter," hedrawled.
Now it had never for a moment occurred to Jean that appearances mightprove misleading to those whose powers of observation were not of thekeenest, or that a much disheveled child driving about the country inan antiquated phaeton, to which was harnessed a patriarchal horse,might seem to belong to a rather lower order in the social scale thanher mother had a right to claim. So the near-sighted Professor'sremark held anything but a pleasing suggestion. For a moment shehardly grasped its full significance, then drawing up her head like aninsulted queen, she regarded the luckless man with blazing eyes as sheanswered:
"I am a Carruth, thank you, and the Carruths do as they _please_. Youneed not buy these candies if you don't wish to. I can get plenty ofcustomers among my friends--the boys."
When did unconscious flattery prove sweeter? Those same "friends--theboys" would have then and there died for the small itinerant whosewares had so touched their palates, and who was openly choosing theirpatronage over and above that of an individual who had now and againcaused more than one of them to pass an exceedingly bad quarter of anhour. A suppressed giggle sounded not far off, but the Professor'sface retained its perfect solemnity as he bent his head toward Jean toget a closer view.
"Hum; ah; yes. I dare say you are quite right. I was probably overhasty in drawing conclusions," was the calm response.
"_Mammy_ says a _gentleman_ can always rec'o'nize a lady," flashedJean, unconsciously falling into Mammy's vernacular.
"And who is Mammy, may I inquire?" asked the imperturbable voice, itsowner absently eating lumps of fudge and pralines at a rate calculatedto speedily reduce the supply he had on hand, the lads meanwhileregarding the vanishing "lumps of delight" with longing eyes.
"Why she's _Mammy_," replied Jean with considerable emphasis.
"Mammy _what_?" was the very unprofessional question which followed.
"Mammy Blairsdale, of course. _Our_ Mammy."
There was no answer for a moment as the candy continued to melt fromsight like dew before the morning sun. Then the Professor looked ather steadily as he slowly munched his sweets, causing Jean to think ofthe Henrys' cow when in a ruminative mood.
"Little girl, are you from the South?"
"Don't _call_ me 'little girl' again!" flared Jean, bringing her footdown upon the bottom of the phaeton with a stamp. "I just naturallydespise to be called 'little girl.' I'm Jean, and I want to be calledJean."
"Jean, Jean. Pretty name. Well _Miss_ Jean, are you from the South?"
"My _mother is_. She was a _Blairsdale_," replied "Miss" Jean, much asshe might have said she is the daughter of England's Queen, muchmollified at having the cognomen added.
"Do you happen to know which part of the South you come from?"
"_I_ don't come from the South at all. I was born right here inRiveredge. My mother came from Forestvale, North Carolina."
"I thought I knew the name. Yes, it is very familiar. Blairsdale. Yes.Quite so. Quite so. Rather curious, however. So many years. Mygrandmother was a Blairsdale too. Singular coincidence, _she_ had redhair, I'm told, Yes, really. Think I must follow it up. Very good,indeed. Did _you_ make them? I judge not. Who did? I must know whereto get more when I have a fancy for some," and having eaten the lastpraline the Professor absent-mindedly put into his mouth the paper inwhich they had been wrapped, having unconsciously rolled it into anice little wad while talking.
A funny twinkle came into his eyes when his mistake dawned upon himand turning to the grinning boys he said:
"I have heard of men putting the lighted end of a cigar into theirmouths by mistake. This was less unpleasant at all events," and thewad was tossed to the driveway. The boys burst into shouts of laughterand the ice was broken. Crowding about the phaeton they asked:
"Who makes the candy? Do you always sell it? When can we get somemore? Say, Professor, do you really know her folks? Who _is_ she anyhow?"
"I told you my name, and I live in Riveredge. My sister makes thecandy, but she doesn't know I'm selling it. Maybe she'll let me bringyou some more, and maybe she won't. I don't know. And maybe I'll catchHail-Columbia-Happy-Land when I get back home," concluded the younglady, her lips coming together with decision and her head waggingbetween doubt and defiance. "But I don't care one bit if I do. I'vesold _all_ the candy, and I've got just piles of money; so _that_proves that I _can_ help as well as the big girls even if _I_ am toolittle to be trusted with their old secrets. And now I've got to gostraight back home or they'll all be scared half to death. Perhapsthey won't want to scold so hard if they are good and scared."
"One of us will go with you till you get past McKim's Hollow," criedthe boys. "Ned can, can't he, Professor?"
"I believe I'll go myself," was the unexpected reply. "I was about towalk over to Riveredge, but I think perhaps Miss Jean will allow me toride with her," and without more ado Professor Forbes, B.A., B.C.,B.M., and half a dozen other Bachelors, gravely removed the coveringsfrom old Baltie, folding and carefully placing the blanket upon theseat and laying the rug over Jean's knees. After he had tucked hersnugly in, he took his seat beside her.
"Now, Miss Jean, I think we are all ready to start."
If anything could have been added to complete Jean's secret delight atthe attention shown her, it was the dignified manner in which theProfessor raised his hat, the boys as one followed his example, asBaltie ambled forth. "That is the way I _like_ to be treated. I _hate_to be snubbed because I'm only ten years old," thought she.
As they turned into the road the distant whistles of South Riveredgeblew twelve o'clock. Jean started slightly and glanced quickly up ather companion.
"The air is very clear and still to-day," he remarked. "We hear thewhistles a long distance."
"It's twelve o'clock. I wonder what Mammy is thinking," was Jean'sirrelevant answer.
"Does Mammy think for the family?" asked the Professor, a funny smilelurking about the corners of his mouth.
Jean's eyes twinkled as she answered:
"She was _mother's_ Mammy too."
"Ah! I think I understand. I lived South until I was fifteen."
"Did you? How old are you now?" was the second startling question.
"How old should you think?" was the essentially Yankee reply, whichproved that the southern lad had learned a trick or two from hisnorthern friends.
Jean regarded him steadily for a few moments.
"Well, when you raised your hat a few minutes ago your hair looked alittle thin on _top_, so I guess you're going to be bald pretty soon.But your eyes, when you laugh, look just about like the boys'. Perhapsyou aren't so very old though. Maybe you aren't much older than Mr.Stuyvesant. Do you know him?"
"Yes, I know him. He is younger than I am though." The Professor didnot add "exactly six months."
"Yes, I thought you were lots older. He's the kind you _feel_ is youngand you're the kind you feel is old, you know."
"Oh, am I? Wherein lies the difference, may I inquire?" The voicesounded a trifle nettled.
"Why I should think anyone could understand _that_," was the surprisedreply. "Mr. Stuyvesant is the kind of a man who knows what childrenare thinking right down inside themselves all the time. They don'thave to explain things to _him_ at all. Why the day I found Baltie heknew just as well how I felt about having him shot, and I knew just aswell as anything that _he'd_ take care of him and make it all right.We're great friends. I love him dearly."
"Whom? Baltie?"
"Now there! What did I tell you? _That's_ why _you_ are _years_ and_years_ older than Mr. Stuyvesant. He _would'nt_ have had
to say'Whom? Baltie?' He'd just know such things without having to ask." Thetone was not calculated to inspire self-esteem.
"Hum," answered the man who could easily have told anyone the distanceof Mars from the earth and many another scientific fact. "I think I'mbeginning to comprehend what constitutes age."
"Yes," resumed Jean as she flapped the reins upon Baltie who seemed tobe lapsing into a dreamy frame of mind. "You can't always tell _how_old a person is by just looking at 'em. Maybe you aren't nearly as oldas I think you are, though I guess you can't be far from forty, andthat's pretty bad. But if you'd sort of get gay and jolly, and try tothink how you felt when you were little, or maybe even as big as theboys back yonder, you wouldn't seem any older to me than Mr.Stuyvesant."
The big eyes were regarding him with the closest scrutiny as thoughtheir owner wished to avoid falling into any error concerning him.
"Think perhaps I'll try it. It may prove worth while," and theProfessor fell into a brown study while old Baltie plodded on and Jeanlet her thoughts outstrip his slow progress. At the other end of hercommercial venture lay a reckoning as well she knew, and like mostreckonings it held an element of doubt as well as of hope. It wasnearly one o'clock when they came to the outskirts of Riveredge. Thepretty town was quite deserted for it was luncheon hour. When theyreached the foot of Hillside street, Jean said:
"This is my street; I have to go up here," and drew up to the sidewalkfor her passenger to descend. He seemed in no haste to take the hint,and Jean began to wonder if he would turn out a regular old man of thesea. Before she could frame a speech both positive and polite as asuggestion for his next move, her ears were assailed by:
"Bress Gawd, ef dar aint dat pesterin' chile dis very minit! What Igwine _do_ wid yo'? Jis' tell me dat?" and Mammy came puffing andpanting down the hill like a runaway steam-roller.
Professor Forbes roused himself from the reverie in which he hadapparently been indulging for several moments, and stepping from thephaeton to the sidewalk, advanced a step or two toward the formidableobject bearing down upon him, and raising his hat as though saluting aroyal personage, said:
"I think I have the pleasure of addressing Mammy----_Blairsdale_."
Three Little Women: A Story for Girls Page 14