Six Girls and Bob: A Story of Patty-Pans and Green Fields

by Marion Ames Taggart

  CHAPTER V

  TAKING POSSESSION

  CRESTVILLE had no public carriages, or "if it had," Happie said,"it kept them very private." Miss Bradbury, and what Bob called"her personally conducted party," walked around the platform of thelittle red station, discovering nothing but an open wagon to whichwere attached two sorry-looking horses with drooping heads and tails,a wagon which could not possibly be construed as intended to carrypassengers.

  A road ran past the station, crossing the track and continuing itsmuddy way up the hill, losing itself under the bare trees. The mud wasdisheartening, the silence oppressive. Mrs. Scollard, weak and tired,caught her breath in an arrested sob, feeling that with the dyingechoes of the train had died away also the last echoes of civilization.

  "Is there any one here who will take us to the Bittenbender farm?" MissBradbury asked the station-master.

  "That's owned by a city woman now," remarked that worthy reflectively.

  "Yes, I own it. How shall I get there?" said Miss Bradbury.

  "I heard she'd got some one here to open it up for her," said thestation-master.

  "Yes; I wrote Mrs. Shafer to see that the place was aired and cleaned;we've come up for the summer. Can you tell me how to get my friendsover there?" insisted Miss Bradbury, divided in mind between annoyanceand amusement.

  "The widow Shafer's got rheumatism too bad to clean anything, her ownhouse even, leave alone yours," said the station-master. "She couldn'topen up."

  "What did she do then? Why didn't she write me that she couldn't attendto it?" demanded Miss Bradbury, aghast at the prospect of taking herflock into a damp, chilly, uncleaned house.

  "Left it go," replied the station-master to her first question."I guess she was talking of writing, but her hands hain't muchgood--they're stiff."

  "Well, you haven't told me who I can get to take us over," MissBradbury reminded him, abandoning the subject of the widow.

  "There hain't nobody," replied the station-master succinctly.

  The owner of the wagon and the discouraged horses had come forth fromthe freight end of the station at the beginning of this conversation towhich he had attended with rapt attention, his jaws slowly moving upand down as he leaned forward, elbows on knees on the cart seat whichhe had ascended.

  "You couldn't come back after her, Jake?" suggested the station-masterturning to him.

  The man shook his head. "Goin' after a load," he said, not specifyingof what. "Mebbe I could send Pete Kuntz back after her; his hosseshain't haulin'."

  "Pete couldn't take 'em all--two, four, eight of 'em," said thestation-master reflectively. "He couldn't come back after another load,neither; 'twould make it too late. That's a bad road up along pastEli's, before you come to the Bittenbender place. If I was you, livin'up that way, I'd see if I couldn't git the road overseer to work thatroad. I declare I'd ruther come down with my team and work it myself,if I wuz you, even if 'twan't part of my reg'lar road tax, before I'dride it as 'tis."

  "That overseer hain't worth nothin'," declared the driver. "I wishtGeorge Lieder had got it--I'd er voted fer him, I would, if they'd erput him up."

  "Don't you think there's any way that this Pete you spoke of could getus over?" interrupted Miss Bradbury. "And wouldn't it be better todecide on something soon? It grows dark early, and my friend is ill."

  "Well, I guess!" said the man on the wagon. "There'd be nine of youwith Pete. Say, I never thought! Pete might go up an' git my threeseated hack wagon, an' take 'em all to oncet, usin' his team. Say,wouldn't that fix it, Jimmy?"

  "I guess," assented the station-master.

  "And what about the trunks?" suggested Miss Bradbury, indicating thegenerous pile that adorned the platform. "We must have some of themto-night."

  "Well, if you was to make it worth my while I'd do my haulin'to-morrer, an' take them there trunks up fer you," said the driver.

  "What do you ask?" inquired Miss Bradbury, inwardly resolved to meetany demand.

  "Guess I'd have to charge you a dollar and a-half," said the man,eyeing Miss Bradbury dubiously out of the shadow of his very long nose.

  Miss Bradbury gave a soft chuckle, though her face remained grave. Sheglanced at the six trunks which had come with them and said: "That's abargain."

  "Couldn't Bob and I ride over with him, Aunt Keren?" asked Happie.

  "I'm afraid it would prove a springless and tiresome drive, Happie,"said Miss Keren. "But I've no other objection, if your friend here hasnone--Mr.--Mr.----"

  "Shale, Jake Shale," supplemented the man. "I don't mind; I kinder likecomp'ny."

  He loaded the trunks on his wagon, and Happie clambered up beside him,while Bob adorned the top of the smallest trunk.

  "I hope you will send this Pete after us soon," said Miss Bradbury asshe saw Mrs. Scollard press her fingers into her throbbing temples.

  "Yes, ma'am; oh, my, yes, ma'am," responded Jake, gathering up thereins. "He'll be along quick. I'll hustle an' so'll he. Say, Jimmy,if you want any more of that there cider o' mine I've got a couple o'barrels you kin have's well's not. I'd like you to git it in your ownkaigs, though."

  "Well, if you could wait a little, I'd go up-stairs an' ask Hannah whatshe thought," said Jimmy. "Mebbe you'd better git along now, though,"he added, seeing Miss Bradbury's objection to further delay gettingready to explode. "I'll let you know to-morrer night. It's lodge night,anyhow, an' you'll be comin' down, won't you?"

  "I guess," said Jake, and actually drove away.

  To Happie's and Bob's surprise, in spite of his declaration of a mildliking for companionship, Jake did not show any desire to enter intoconversation during the long up-hill drive of three miles. They stoppedon their way to start "Pete Kuntz" back after the rest of the exiles,and to the children's relief, he seemed several degrees less slow andindifferent than their driver, or than Jimmy at the station. Therereally seemed ground for hoping, as they watched him get out his horsesand jump on one to go after Jake's "hack wagon," that their tiredrelatives left behind might get to their new home before nightfall.

  The road ran through woods, light growth chiefly, the second yieldafter forest fires. Sometimes these scrub oaks, birch, maples and therest, fell away, allowing glimpses of views that made these two exilescry out with pleasure, and gave them a fleeting hope that there mightbe balm in their Gilead. But the mud was thick, the wagon wheels sanklow, and the tired horses toiled till Happie and Bob, true animallovers, ached sympathetically.

  It was a lonely road; they passed but one farm, and Happie's heart grewheavier and heavier with forebodings that this new home was going totax severely her ability to live up to her nickname. The desolation,the sense of being cut off from everything on the face of the earthexcept mud and trees, the remembrance of her mother's weakness, wasbringing on a despair that the splendid views of distant hills andvalleys, caught through the openings in the trees, soon lost theirpower to alleviate.

  "Are there many tramps around here?" asked Bob suddenly, and Happieknew that he shared her thoughts and feelings.

  "Never none," said Jake promptly. "Too far from the railroad track."

  "Isn't that comfortable, Hapsie?" said Bob looking with pity at hiscourageous sister's pale face. "And did you ever see finer views? Anddon't forget how tired and hungry you are, Happie! Remember things lookvery different on a full stomach, and when you're rested."

  Happie nodded hard, not trusting herself to speak, and Bob gave uptrying to point out the brighter side, invisible to himself, andcontented himself with patting her hand.

  At last they began to climb a hill that was far higher and steeperthan any they had yet scaled, but on which, fortunately, the mud hadcompletely dried. The ascent was beautifully wooded, with real forestgrowths, and bright wintergreen berries gleamed at the foot of thetrees.

  As they neared the top, the woods fell away, and at the summit theycame out upon an open plain. On every side stretched a view that wasmore sublime than any upon whic
h Bob and Happie's young eyes hadever rested. Happie forgot her weariness, hunger and despair as shestraightened herself to drink it in, and Bob gave vent to a longwhistle, exclaiming: "My soles and uppers!"

  A little distance down the road they saw a dilapidated rail fence andwhat had once been a gate. Jake pointed to it with his boney hand."That's Bittenbender's," he said. "That's your grandmother's place."

  "The Ark, Hapsie, after such a long deluge!" exclaimed Bob. "But that'snot our grandmother, Mr. Shale; that's Miss Bradbury, whom nobody willever be lucky enough to have for a grandmother."

  Happie had bubbled over into her infective laugh at the suggestion ofMiss Keren-happuch as a grandmother, and both young people strainedtheir eyes for the first glimpse of the house.

  They got it in a moment, disclosing a brown house, sadly in needof paint, two stories high and decidedly over-shadowed by a big,ramshackle barn, gray from weather, with its front door swinging onone hinge. This melancholy building was flanked by a chicken house andgranary in worse repair than itself.

  "It has every foot of this glorious view!" cried Happie, seeing thedisgust on Bob's face, and sincerely able herself to rejoice in thethought.

  "Well, it needs it!" said Bob, and Happie could not deny that he spoketruly.

  Jake turned in at the gate; Bob ironically pointed out to Happie theadvantages of a gate that did not require opening.

  Jake paused at the steps of the house. "I guess I'll let the trunkshere," he said. "We couldn't take 'em into the house till they comewith the keys anyhow."

  Bob and Happie assented, and the trunks were deposited at the footof the steps, all three of which needed mending. But after Jake haddriven away, they found that the assumption that keys were needed toenter this house was a mistake--the door was not fastened; it opened onslight pressure, and Bob and Happie entered.

  The unattractive odors of an old house long closed saluted them asthey came in, and they caught a glimpse of a scantily furnishedsitting-room and dining-room. The stairs ran up straight before them,beginning just beyond the casements of the two doors; they were notcarpeted, but had once been painted a depressing drab, of which proofremained on the sides around the bannisters, though the middle of eachstep was worn quite bare.

  Happie shrank with an irrepressible shudder; the whole aspect was sobarren, so repulsive to her homesick soul.

  "Let's wait for the others to see it for the first time with us," shesaid. "Let's sit outside on the steps till they come."

  Bob smiled and drew her hand protectingly through his arm.

  "You can wait to see more, you are not impatient for your new home, areyou, Happie? And you like the view outside better than inside? Well,the house doesn't 'pretty much,' as old Mr. Frost used to say, but itcertainly has the greatest view in Pennsylvania."

  They sat down disconsolately on the steps, in the dampness of thedeclining day, and waited. The stillness was dreadful. Happie began tolaugh, tearfully, and Bob turned to her with an anxiously inquiringlook.

  "No, I'm not getting crazy or hysterical," she replied to it. "I wasthinking of that funny story of Ardelia in Arcady, and that the poorlittle street child was right when she said: 'Gee! N'Yawk's de place!'"

  "Now, Happie!" exclaimed Bob reproachfully.

  "I'm sorry, Bob," said Happie contritely. "I'll never so much as hintit again."

  In less time than they had expected, Bob and Happie saw the largecovered wagon, with its three wide seats "all filled with Scollards,"Bob said, appearing at the top of the hill, and they ran down to therickety gate to give their family a welcome which should in some sortmake up for the inhospitality of their surroundings.

  "Supper ready, Happie?" her mother called out cheerfully, seeing at aglance the effort that her girl was making to be blithe, and secondingit handsomely.

  "Tsupper ready, Happie?" echoed Penelope sincerely.

  "Not quite," Happie called back. "We waited to have you go throughthe house with us; we thought Aunt Keren had a right to the firstinspection, so we couldn't get supper till you came."

  "Where can we get supper?" asked Margery dismally.

  "In our own kitchen," returned Miss Bradbury. "We have laid in quiteenough provisions, and I shall not mind burning up the gate if there isno other fuel."

  Bob marshaled the family up the three dilapidated steps, and threw openthe door.

  "One at a time, if you please, gentlemen, as the parrot said when thecrows began pulling out his feathers," he remarked. "You have to go inand turn at once to the right or to the left, because there's no roomin the hall to assemble. But it's all right, Aunt Keren; it will bejolly after we have jollied it a little," he added hastily, rememberingthe kindness that had brought them there, and fearing Miss Bradburymight think him unappreciative.

  "We are explorers together, Bob; I am but your pilot, so don't dreadmy being hurt by your 'jollying,'" said Miss Bradbury. "I don't feelresponsible for this house. I am going up to lay off my bonnet; Idon't like to inaugurate our summer by putting my bonnet down on thedining-room table." And Miss Bradbury rigidly stalked up the steepstairs to begin her life in the country according to her ideas ofpropriety.

  Margery and Laura went into the living-room, while Mrs. Scollard withher two least girls turned towards the dining-room.

  Laura dropped on a chair, which promptly gave way under her, and shefell on the floor in a heap that effectually prevented the remarks shewas about to make.

  "Go light on our furniture, Laura," said Bob gravely. "It is marked:Fragile."

  "How was I to know that horrid chair's third leg was just stuck in?"demanded Laura, with tears in her eyes; she hated of all things to bemade ridiculous.

  "How indeed?" echoed Bob. "How were you to know which was its thirdleg? I'm sure I couldn't tell."

  "It's worse than I expected, Happie," said Laura indignantly, as if hersister were responsible for the fact.

  "I didn't expect such a magnificent view," said Happie staunchly. "Now,if you're the poet you want to be you'll think of nothing but that onething."

  "Aunt Keren said it would be slenderly furnished," said Margery, "but Idid not think any furnishing could be as slender as this is."

  "This isn't slender furnishing--it's generous unfurnishing, Margery,"said Happie. "Besides, what does it matter; Aunt Keren has sent up awhole carload of things! Let's go see mother and the kitchen."

  Mrs. Scollard turned to meet them with a smile that was heroic,considering her shocked state of mind, and her neuralgia, and MissBradbury came down stairs with an expression of resolution on her facethat would have befitted Jael, a likeness further carried out by MissKeren-happuch's first remark.

  "I must find some nails before I sleep and fasten something over thewindow in the room where I took off my bonnet; the glass is out," sheremarked. "Lassies, you and I are to get supper. There are few chairs,and they are like Jenny Wren, their 'backs are bad and their legs arequeer.' Fortunately there can't be less than one of a table, or weshould have nothing to eat off of, and we have one table--genuine oldpine! Bob, suppose you try getting water, and then forage for wood; thepump looks able-bodied, if you are."

  Bob was successful in his interview with the pump, and returnedvictorious from his forage for wood.

  The stove was rusty, and "its draught was draughty," Happie remarked,as she vainly coaxed it to give the wood the warm welcome they felt itdeserved.

  At last a fire was dully burning, and the water in a saucepan,appropriated in lieu of the leaking teakettle, had begun to bubblearound the edges, so that there was a cheering prospect of tea. Happievigorously beat eggs to be scrambled in the frying-pan which MissBradbury was scouring, and Margery cut the bread which they had broughtwith them, while Laura mournfully set the table with such odds and endsof crockery, politely called china, which the place afforded.

  When it was ready, it really was not a very bad supper, served with thebest of sauces, to all but Mrs. Scollard, who was far too worn-out todo more than nibble a crust of bread with her tea
.

  No one had remembered kerosene oil, so the three glass lamps discoveredin the cellar were "_hors de combat_," Laura said, priding herself onher French surviving her despair.

  There was no choice but to go to bed early for lack of light by whichto sit up. Everybody's spirits were several notches higher for thecomfort of food, and Penny grew quite hilarious playing trolley on acouch that had such bad springs that Bob remarked "there was no dangerof a live wire on that trolley."

  Jeunesse Doree contributed to the improved state of mind of the exilesby his funny antics, going on a voyage of discovery over his newquarters, backing and shying and swelling up at imaginary dangers, andat the singular forms of new shadows, and at last settling down withhis nose at a mouse hole from which there seemed to be good ground forhis excited expectancy of a mouse.

  One of the trunks which Jake had brought up from the station held bedclothing, and Margery and Happie, with Polly to fetch and carry, fellto making beds by the short April twilight.

  Laura tried to arrange the bureaux, but the dainty toiletteaccessories, which had been so pretty on the broad dressers at home,looked sadly out of place on the yellow pine, the gray with red roses,the high black walnut, and the brown bureau with the yellow and bluestripes around the edges of the drawers, which constituted the outfitof the Ark.

  There were five bedrooms furnished, after their fashion, and two moreunder the slanting kitchen roof which were unfurnished. The bedsteadswere painted pine and were old-time corded affairs, but none matched abureau--the state of things justified Laura's artistic despair.

  But Happie began to sing as she spread the heterogeneous collectionof beds with their white, fine sheets and soft blankets, and this waswhat she sang, improvising as she went, not poetically, but with betterresults on the listeners than all poetry yields:

  "Now this is a lark; For fear of the dark We must all go to bed in a minute, For we can't see to toil Without any oil, And no lamp has a drop of oil in it But we're glad to embark In our seedy old Ark-- If there's good to be had we will win it!"

  "You're your mother's comforter, Happie, my sunshine!" cried Mrs.Scollard, leaning towards her second daughter to pat the tousled headbent as its owner stooped to tuck in a blanket.

  "And your adopted aunt's reliance," added Miss Keren-happuchunexpectedly from the adjoining room. And Happie felt that life was notwithout promise.

  Miss Bradbury tucked little Penny away with her until her mothershould be well enough to take her into her room. Laura and Polly wereroommates, as they had been in the Patty-Pans, and Margery and Happieslept together, as they had all their lives.

  The two eldest girls whispered long after they had gone to bed, andsilence had fallen upon the Ark. Happie was too excited to sleep,Margery too miserable. To the eldest girl it seemed as if the lifeupon which she had entered was going to prove unbearable, but to theyounger there appeared on the distant horizon gleams of hope. Therewas a certain charm in all this discomfort, and that view was reallysublime. After Margery ceased to reply to her whispered remarks, Happiestill lay awake, planning, speculating, beginning to hope, yet halfcrying too, as she remembered the dear Patty-Pans, and the only homeshe had ever known, the great, noisy, ugly, splendid city. But at lasther mind settled down to contemplation of those glorious mountainsstretching away before her window, waiting for her to see them in themorning, guarding her while she slept. In the thought of them she foundcomfort, and gazing upon them in imagination, she fell asleep.