Mary Louise in the Country Page 3

  CHAPTER IIITHE FOLKS ACROSS THE RIVER

  Her first glance told the girl that here was a distinctly unusualpersonage. His very appearance was quaint enough to excite comment froma stranger. It must have been away back in the revolutionary days whenmen daily wore coats cut in this fashion, straight across thewaist-line in front and with two long tails flapping behind. Modern"dress coats" were much like it, to be sure, but this was of a fadedblue-bottle color and had brass buttons and a frayed velvet collar on it.His trousers were tight-fitting below the knee and he wore gaiters anda wide-brimmed silk hat that rivaled his own age and had doubtless seenhappier days.

  Mary Louise couldn't see all these details from her seat in thepavilion across the river, but she was near enough to observe thegeneral effect of the old man's antiquated costume and it amazed her.

  Yes, he was old, nearly as ancient as his apparel, the girl decided;but although he moved with slow deliberation his gait was not feeble,by any means. With hands clasped behind him and head slightly bowed, asif in meditation, he paced the length of the well-worn path, reachedthe bridge and disappeared down the road toward the village.

  "That," said a voice beside her, "is the Pooh-Bah of Cragg's Crossing.It is old Cragg himself."

  Gran'pa Jim was leaning against the outer breast of the pavilion, bookin hand.

  "You startled me," she said, "but no more than that queer old man did.Was the village named after him, Gran'pa?"

  "I suppose so; or after his father, perhaps, for the place seems evenolder than old Cragg. He has an 'office' in a bare little room over thestore, and I rented this place from him. Whatever his former fortunesmay have been--and I imagine the Craggs once owned all the land abouthere--old Hezekiah seems reduced to a bare existence."

  "Perhaps," suggested Mary Louise, "he inherited those clothes with theland, from his father. Isn't it an absurd costume, Gran'pa Jim? And inthese days of advanced civilization, too! Of course old Hezekiah Craggis not strong mentally or he would refuse to make a laughingstock ofhimself in that way."

  Colonel Hathaway stared across the river for a time without answering.Then he said:

  "I do not think the natives here laugh at him, although I remember theycalled him 'Old Swallowtail' when I was directed to him as the onlyresident real estate agent. I found the old man quite shrewd in drivinga bargain and thoroughly posted on all the affairs of the community.However, he is not a gossip, but inclined to be taciturn. There is afathomless look in his eyes and he is cold and unresponsive. Countrylife breeds strange characteristics in some people. The whimsical dressand mannerisms of old Mr. Cragg would not be tolerated in the cities,while here they seem regarded with unconcern because they have becomefamiliar. I was rather, pleased with his personality because he is theCragg of Cragg's Crossing. How much of the original plot of land hestill owns I don't know."

  "Why, he lives in that hovel!" said the girl.

  "So it seems, although he may have been merely calling there."

  "He fits the place," she declared. "It's old and worn and neglected,just as he and his clothes are. I'd be sorry, indeed, to discover thatMr. Cragg lives anywhere else."

  The Colonel, his finger between the leaves of the book he held, to markthe place where he was reading, nodded somewhat absently and started toturn away. Then he paused to ask anxiously:

  "Does this place please you, my dear?"

  "Ever so much, Gran'pa Jim!" she replied with enthusiasm, leaning fromher seat inside the pavilion to press a kiss upon his bare gray head."I've a sense of separation from all the world, yet it seems good to behidden away in this forgotten nook. Perhaps I wouldn't like it foralways, you know, but for a summer it is simply delightful. We canrest--and rest--and rest!--and be as cozy as can be."

  Again the old gentleman nodded, smiling at the girl this time. Theywere good chums, these two, and what pleased one usually pleased theother.

  Colonel Hathaway had endured a sad experience recently and his handsomeold face still bore the marks of past mental suffering. His onlydaughter, Beatrice Burrows, who was the mother of Mary Louise, had beenindirectly responsible for the Colonel's troubles, but her death hadlifted the burden; her little orphaned girl, to whom no blame could beattached, was very dear to "Gran'pa Jim's" heart. Indeed, she was allhe now had to love and care for and he continually planned to promoteher happiness and to educate her to become a noble woman. Fortunatelyhe had saved considerable money from the remains of an immense estatehe had once possessed and so was able to do anything for his grandchildthat he desired. In New York and elsewhere Colonel James Hathaway had ahost of influential friends, but he was shy of meeting them since hislate unpleasant experiences.

  Mary Louise, for her part, was devotedly attached to her grandfatherand preferred his society to that of any other person. As the erectform of the old gentleman sauntered away through the trees she lookedafter him affectionately and wagged her little head with heartyapproval.

  "This is just the place for Gran'pa Jim," she mused. "There's no one tobother him with questions or sympathy and he can live as quietly as helikes and read those stuffy old books--the very name 'classics' makesme shudder--to his heart's content. He'll grow stronger and happierhere, I'm sure."

  Then she turned anew to revel in the constantly shifting view of riverand woodland that extended panoramically from her seat in the pavilion.As her eyes fell on the old cottage opposite she was surprised to see adishpan sail through the open window, to fall with a clatter of brokendishes on the hard ground of the yard. A couple of dish-towelsfollowed, and then a broom and a scrubbing-brush--all tossed out in anangry, energetic way that scattered them in every direction. Then onthe porch appeared the form of a small girl, poorly dressed in a shabbygingham gown, who danced up and down for a moment as if mad with rageand then, observing the washtub, gave it a kick which sent it rollingoff the porch to join the other utensils on the ground.

  Next, the small girl looked around her as if seeking more inanimatethings upon which to vent her anger, but finding none she dashed intothe cottage and soon reappeared with a much-worn straw hat which shejammed on her flaxen head and then, with a determined air, walked downthe plank and marched up the path toward the bridge--the same directionthat old Cragg had taken a short time before.

  Mary Louise gave a gasp of amazement. The scene had been dramatic andexciting while it lasted and it needed no explanation whatever. Thechild had plainly rebelled at enforced drudgery and was going--where?

  Mary Louise sprang lightly from her seat and ran through the grounds totheir entrance. When she got to the road she sped along until she cameto the bridge, reaching one end of it just as the other girl started tocross from the opposite end. Then she stopped and in a moment the twomet.

  "Where are you going?" asked Mary Louise, laying a hand on the child'sarm as she attempted to pass her.

  "None o' yer business," was the curt reply.

  "Oh, it is, indeed," said Mary Louise, panting a little from her run."I saw you throw things, a minute ago, so I guess you mean to runaway."

  The girl turned and stared at her.

  "I don't know ye," said she. "Never saw ye before. Where'd ye come fromanyway?"

  "Why, my grandfather and I have taken the Kenton house for the summer,so we're to be your neighbors. Of course, you know, we must getacquainted."

  "Ye kin be neighbors to my Gran'dad, if ye like, but not to me. Not bya ginger cookie! I've done wi' this place fer good an' all, I hev, andif ye ever see me here ag'in my name ain't Ingua Scammel!"

  "Here; let's sit down on the bridge and talk it over," proposed MaryLouise. "There's plenty of time for you to run away, if you think you'dbetter. Is Mr. Cragg your grandfather, then?"

  "Yes, Ol' Swallertail is. 'Ol' Humbug' is what _I_ calls him."

  "Not to his face, do you?"

  "I ain't so foolish. He's got a grip on him like a lobster, an' whenhe's mad at me he grips my arm an' twists it till I holler. WhenGran'dad's aroun' you bet I hev to knuckle down, er I gits the
worst ofit."

  "So he's cruel, is he?"

  "Uh-huh. Thet is, he's cruel when I riles him, as I got a habit o'doin'. When things runs smooth, Gran'dad ain't so bad; but I ain'tgoin' to stand that slave life no longer, I ain't. I've quit fer good."

  "Wherever you go," said Mary Louise gently, "you will have to work forsomeone. Someone, perhaps, who treats you worse than your grandfatherdoes. No one else is obliged to care for you in any way, so perhapsyou're not making a wise change."

  "I ain't, eh?"

  "Perhaps not. Have you any other relatives to go to?"

  "No."

  "Or any money?"

  "Not a red cent."

  "Then you'll have to hire out as a servant. You're not big enough orstrong enough to do much, so you'll search a long time before you findwork, and that means being hungry and without shelter. I know more ofthe world than you do, Ingua--what an odd name you have!--and Ihonestly think you are making a mistake to run away from your owngrandfather."

  The girl stared into the water in sullen silence for a time. MaryLouise got a good look at her now and saw that her freckled face mightbe pretty if it were not so thin and drawn. The hands lying on her lapwere red and calloused with housework and the child's whole appearanceindicated neglect, from the broken-down shoes to the soiled andtattered dress. She seemed to be reflecting, for after a while she gavea short, bitter laugh at the recollection of her late exhibition oftemper and said:

  "It's too late to back, down now. I've busted the dishes an' smashedthings gen'rally."

  "That _is_ bad," said Mary Louise; "but it might be worse. Mr. Craggcan buy more dishes."

  "Oh, he can, can he? Where's the money comin' from?"

  "Is he poor?"

  "He ain't got no money, if that's what ye mean. That's what he says,anyhow. Says it were a godsend you folks rented that house of him,'cause it'll keep us in corn bread an' pork for six months, ef we'rekeerful. Bein' keerful means that he'll eat the pork an' I gits a chunko' corn bread now an' then."

  "Dear me!" exclaimed Mary Louise in a distressed voice. "Don't you getenough to eat?"

  "Oh, I manages it somehow," declared Ingua, with indifference. "I be'nswipin' one egg a day fer weeks an' weeks. Gran'dad says he'll trim megood an' plenty if he catches me eatin' eggs, 'cause all that ourchickens lays he takes down to the store an' sells. But he ain't homedaytimes, to count what eggs is laid, an' so I watches out an' grabsone a day. He's mighty cute, I tell ye, Gran'dad is; but he ain't cuteenough to catch me at the egg-swipin'."

  Mary Louise was greatly shocked. Really, she decided, something must bedone for this poor child. Looking at the matter from Ingua's report,the smashing of the dishes might prove serious. So she said:

  "Come, dear, let's go together to your house and see if we can'trestore the damage."

  But the girl shook her head.

  "Noth'n' can't mend them busted dishes," she said, "an' when Gran'dadsees 'em he'll hev a fit. That's why I did it; I wanted to show him I'dhad revenge afore I quit him cold. He won't be home till night, but Igotta be a long way off, afore then, so's he can't ketch me."

  "Give it up," suggested Mary Louise. "I've come here to live allsummer, Ingua, and now that we're friends I'm going to help you to getalong more comfortably. We will have some splendid times together, youand I, and you will be a good deal better off than wandering amongstrangers who don't care for you."

  The girl turned and looked into Mary Louise's face long and earnestly.Her eyes wandered to her neatly arranged hair, to the white collar ather throat, then down to her blue serge dress and her dainty shoes. Butmostly she looked straight into the eyes of her new friend and foundthere sincerity and evident good will. So she sighed deeply, cast aglance at her own bedraggled attire, and said:

  "We ain't much alike, us two, but I guess we kin be friends. Othergirls has come here, to the rich people's houses, but they all stuck uptheir noses at me. You're the first that's ever give me a word."

  "All girls are not alike, you know," responded Mary Louise cheerfully."So now, let's go to your house and see what damage has been done."