“Yes; you were gone a long time,” she said.
Wesley glanced at a package she carried. “Have to have another book?” he asked.
“No, I bought this for mother. I’ve had such splendid luck selling my specimens, I didn’t feel right about keeping all the money for myself, so I saved enough from the Indian relics to get a few things I wanted. I would have liked to have gotten her a dress, but I didn’t dare, so I compromised on a book.”
“What did you select, Elnora?” asked Wesley wonderingly.
“Well,” said she, “I have noticed mother always seemed interested in anything Mark Twain wrote in the newspapers, and I thought it would cheer her up a little, so I just got his ‘Innocents Abroad.’ I haven’t read it myself, but I’ve seen mention made of it all my life, and the critics say it’s genuine fun.”
“Good!” cried Sinton. “Good! You’ve made a splendid choice. It will take her mind off herself a lot. But she will scold you.”
“Of course,” assented Elnora. “But, possibly she will read it, and feel better. I’m going to serve her a trick. I am going to hide it until Monday, and set it on her little shelf of books the last thing before I go away. She must have all of them by heart. When she sees a new one she can’t help being glad, for she loves to read, and if she has all day to become interested, maybe she’ll like it so she won’t scold so much.”
“We are both in for it, but I guess we are prepared. I don’t know what Margaret will say, but I’m going to take Billy home and see. Maybe he can win with her, as he did with us.”
Elnora had doubts, but she did not say anything more. When they started home Billy sat on the front seat. He drove with the hitching strap tied to the railing of the dash-board, flourished the whip, and yelled with delight. At first Sinton laughed with him, but by the time he left Elnora with several packages at her gate, he was looking serious enough.
Margaret was at the door as they drove up the lane. Wesley left Billy in the carriage, hitched the horses and went to explain to her. He had not reached her before she cried, “Look, Wesley, that child! You’ll have a runaway!”
Wesley looked and ran. Billy was standing in the carriage slashing the mettlesome horses with the whip.
“See me make ’em go!” he shouted as the whip fell a second time.
He did make them go. They took the hitching post and a few fence palings, which scraped the paint from a wheel. Sinton missed the lines at the first effort, but the dragging post impeded the horses, and he soon caught them. He led them to the barn, and ordered Billy to remain in the carriage while he unhitched. Then leading Billy and carrying his packages he entered the yard.
“You run play a few minutes, Billy,” he said. “I want to talk to the nice lady.”
The nice lady was looking rather stupefied as Wesley approached her.
“Where in the name of sense did you get that awful child?” she demanded.
“He is a young gentleman who has been stopping Elnora and eating her lunch every day, part of the time with the assistance of his brother and sister, while our girl went hungry. Brownlee told me about it at the store. It’s happened three days running. The first time she went without anything, the second time Brownlee’s girl took her to lunch, and the third a crowd of high school girls bought a lot of stuff and met them at the bridge. The youngsters seemed to think they could rob her every day, so I went to see their father about having it stopped.”
“Well, I should think so!” cried Margaret.
“There were three of them, Margaret,” said Wesley, “that little fellow—”
“Hyena, you mean,” interpolated Margaret.
“Hyena,” corrected Wesley gravely, “and another boy and a girl, all equally dirty and hungry. The man was dead. They thought he was in a drunken sleep, but he was stone dead. I brought the little boy with me, and sent the officers and other help to the house. He’s half starved. I want to wash him, and put clean clothes on him, and give him some supper.”
“Have you got anything to put on him?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Bought it. It ain’t much. All I got didn’t cost a dollar.”
“A dollar is a good deal when you work and save for it the way we do.”
“Well, I don’t know a better place to put it. Have you got any hot water? I’ll use this tub at the cistern. Please give me some soap and towels.”
Instead Margaret pushed by him with a shriek. Billy had played by producing a cord from his pocket, and having tied the tails of Margaret’s white kittens together, he had climbed on a box and hung them across the clothes line. Wild with fright the kittens were clawing each other to death, and the air was white with fur. The string had twisted and the frightened creatures could not recognize friends. Margaret stepped back with bleeding hands. Sinton cut the cord with his knife and the poor little cats raced under the house bleeding and disfigured. Margaret white with wrath faced Wesley.
“If you don’t hitch up and take that animal back to town,” she said, “I will.”
Billy threw himself on the grass and began to scream.
“You said I could have fried chicken for supper,” he wailed. “You said she was a nice lady!”
Wesley lifted him and something in his manner of handling the child infuriated Margaret. His touch was so gentle. She reached for Billy and gripped his shirt collar in the back. Wesley’s hand closed over hers.
“Gently, girl!” he said. “This little body is covered with sores.”
“Sores!” she ejaculated. “Sores? What kind of sores?”
“Oh, they might be from bruises made by fists or boot toes, or they might be bad blood, from wrong eating, or they might be pure filth. Will you hand me some towels?”
“No, I won’t!” said Margaret.
“Well, give me some rags, then.”
Margaret compromised on pieces of old tablecloth. Wesley led Billy to the cistern, pumped cold water into the tub, poured in a kettle of hot, and beginning at the head scoured him. The boy shut his little teeth, and said never a word though he twisted occasionally when the soap struck a raw spot. Margaret watched the process from the window in amazed and ever-increasing anger. Where did Wesley learn it? How could his big hands be so gentle? He came to the door.
“Have you got any peroxide?” he asked.
“A little,” she answered stiffly.
“Well, I need about a pint, but I’ll begin on what you have.”
Margaret handed him the bottle. Wesley took a cup, weakened the drug and said to Billy: “Man, these sores on you must be healed. Then you must eat the kind of food that’s fit for little men. I am going to put some medicine on you, and it is going to sting like fire. If it just runs off, I won’t use any more. If it boils, there is poison in these places, and they must be tied up, dosed every day, and you must be washed, and kept mighty clean. Now, hold still, because I am going to put it on.”
“I think the one on my leg is the worst,” said the undaunted Billy, holding out a raw place. Sinton poured on the drug. Billy’s body twisted and writhed, but he did not run.
“Gee, look at it boil!” he cried. “I guess they’s poison. You’ll have to do it to all of them.”
Wesley’s teeth were set, as he watched the boy’s face. He poured the drug, strong enough to do effective work, on a dozen places over that little body and bandaged all he could. Billy’s lips quivered at times, and his chin jumped, but he did not shed a tear or utter a sound other than to take a deep interest in the boiling. As Wesley put the small shirt on the boy, and fastened the trousers, he was ready to reset the hitching post and mend the fence without a word.
“Now am I clean?” asked Billy.
“Yes, you are clean outside,” said Wesley. “There is some dirty blood in your body, and some bad words in your mouth, that we have to get out, but that takes time. If we put right things to eat into your stomach that will do away with the sores, and if you know that I don’t like bad w
ords you won’t say them any oftener than you can help, will you Billy?”
Billy leaned against Wesley in apparent indifference.
“I want to see me!” he demanded.
Wesley led the boy into the house, and lifted him to a mirror.
“My, I’m purty good-looking, ain’t I?” bragged Billy. Then as Wesley stooped to set him on the floor Billy’s lips passed close to the big man’s ear and hastily whispered a vehement “No!” as he ran for the door.
“How long until supper, Margaret?” asked Wesley as he followed.
“You are going to keep him for supper?” she asked
“Sure!” said Wesley. “That’s what I brought him for. It’s likely he never had a good square meal of decent food in his life. He’s starved to the bone.”
Margaret arose deliberately, removed the white cloth from the supper table and substituted an old red one she used to wrap the bread. She put away the pretty dishes they commonly used and set the table with old plates for pies and kitchen utensils. But she fried the chicken, and was generous with milk and honey, snowy bread, gravy, potatoes, and fruit.
Wesley repainted the scratched wheel. He mended the fence, with Billy holding the nails and handing the pickets. Then he filled the old hole, digged a new one and set the hitching post.
Billy hopped on one foot at his task of holding the post steady as the earth was packed around it. There was not the shadow of a trouble on his little freckled face.
Sinton threw in stones and pounded the earth solid around the post. The sound of a gulping sob attracted him to Billy. The tears were rolling down his cheeks. “If I’d a knowed you’d have to get down in a hole, and work so hard I wouldn’t ’a’ hit the horses,” he said.
“Never you mind, Billy,” said Wesley. “You will know next time, so you can think over it, and make up your mind whether you really want to before you strike.”
Wesley went to the barn to put away the tools. He thought Billy was at his heels, but the boy lagged on the way. A big snowy turkey gobbler resented the small intruder in his especial preserves, and with spread tail and dragging wings came toward him threateningly. If that turkey gobbler had known the sort of things with which Billy was accustomed to holding his own, he never would have issued the challenge. Billy accepted instantly. He danced around with stiff arms at his sides and imitated the gobbler. Then came his opportunity, and he jumped on the big turkey’s back. Wesley heard Margaret’s scream in time to see the flying leap and admire its dexterity. The turkey tucked its tail and scampered. Billy slid from its back and as he fell he clutched wildly, caught the folded tail, and instinctively clung to it. The turkey gave one scream and relaxed its muscles. Then it fled in disfigured defeat to the haystack. Billy scrambled to his feet holding the tail, while his eyes were bulging.
“Why, the blasted old thing came off!” he said to Wesley, holding out the tail in amazed wonder.
The man, caught suddenly, forgot everything and roared. Seeing which, Billy thought a turkey tail of no account and flung that one high above him shouting in wild childish laughter, when the feathers scattered and fell.
Margaret, watching, began to cry. Wesley had gone mad. For the first time in her married life she wanted to tell her mother. When Wesley had waited until he was so hungry he could wait no longer he invaded the kitchen to find a cooked supper baking on the back of the stove, while Margaret with red eyes nursed a pair of demoralized white kittens.
“Is supper ready?” he asked.
“It has been for an hour,” answered Margaret.
“Why didn’t you call us?”
That “us” had too much comradeship in it. It irritated Margaret.
“I supposed it would take you even longer than this to fix things decent again. As for my turkey, and my poor little kittens, they don’t matter.”
“I am mighty sorry about them, Margaret, you know that. Billy is very bright, and he will soon learn—”
“Soon learn!” cried Margaret. “Wesley Sinton, you don’t mean to say that you think of keeping that creature here for some time?”
“No, I think of keeping a well-behaved little boy.”
Margaret set the supper on the table. Seeing the old red cloth Wesley stared in amazement. Then he understood. Billy capered around in delight.
“Ain’t that pretty?” he exulted. “I wish Jimmy and Belle could see. We, why we ist eat out of our hands or off a old dry goods box, and when we fix up a lot, we have newspaper. We ain’t ever had a nice red cloth like this.”
Wesley looked straight at Margaret, so intently that she turned away, her face flushing. He stacked the dictionary and the geography of the world on a chair, and lifted Billy beside him. He heaped a plate generously, cut the food, put a fork into Billy’s little fist, and made him eat slowly and properly. Billy did his best. Occasionally greed overcame him, and he used his left hand to pop a bite into his mouth with his fingers. These lapses Wesley patiently overlooked, and went on with his general instructions. Luckily Billy did not spill anything on his clothing or the cloth. After supper Wesley took him to the barn while he finished the night work. Then he went and sat beside Margaret on the front porch. Billy appropriated the hammock, and swung by pulling a rope tied around a tree. The very energy with which he went at the work of swinging himself appealed to Wesley.
“Mercy, but he’s an active little body,” he said. “There isn’t a lazy bone in him. See how he works to pay for his fun.”
“There goes his foot through it!” cried Margaret. “Wesley, he shall not ruin my hammock.”
“Of course he shan’t!” said Wesley. “Wait, Billy, let me show you.”
Thereupon he explained to Billy that ladies wearing beautiful white dresses sat in hammocks, so little boys must not put their dusty feet in them. Billy immediately sat, and allowed his feet to swing.
“Margaret,” said Wesley after a long silence on the porch, “isn’t it true that if Billy had been a half-starved sore cat, dog, or animal of any sort, that you would have pitied, and helped care for it, and been glad to see me get any pleasure out of it I could?”
“Yes,” said Margaret coldly.
“But because I brought a child with an immortal soul, there is no welcome.”
“That isn’t a child, it’s an animal.”
“You just said you would have welcomed an animal.”
“Not a wild one. I meant a tame beast.”
“Billy is not a beast!” said Wesley hotly. “He is a very dear little boy. Margaret, you’ve always done the church-going and Bible reading for this family. How do you reconcile that ‘Suffer little children to come unto Me’ with the way you are treating Billy?”
Margaret arose. “I haven’t treated that child. I have only let him alone. I can barely hold myself. He needs the hide tanned about off him!”
“If you’d cared to look at his body, you’d know that you couldn’t find a place to strike without cutting into a raw spot,” said Wesley. “Besides, Billy has not done a thing for which a child should be punished. He is only full of life, no training, and with a boy’s love of mischief. He did abuse your kittens, but an hour before I saw him risk his life to save one from being run over. He minds what you tell him, and doesn’t do anything he is told not to. He thinks of his brother and sister right away when anything pleases him. He took that stinging medicine with the grit of a bulldog. He is just a bully little chap, and I love him.”
“Oh good heavens!” cried Margaret, going into the house as she spoke.
Sinton sat still. At last Billy tired of the swing, came to him and leaned his slight body against the big knee.
“Am I going to sleep here?” he asked.
“Sure you are!” said Sinton.
Billy swung his feet as he laid across Wesley’s knee. “Come on,” said Wesley, “I must clean you up for bed.”
“You have to be just awful clean here,” announced Billy. “I like to be clean, you feel so good, after the hurt is over.”
; Sinton registered that remark, and worked with especial tenderness as he redressed the ailing places and washed the dust from Billy’s feet and hands.
“Where can he sleep?” he asked Margaret.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she answered.
“Oh, I can sleep ist any place,” said Billy. “On the floor or anywhere. Home, I sleep on pa’s coat on a store-box, and Jimmy and Belle they sleep on the storebox, too. I sleep between them, so’s I don’t roll off and crack my head. Ain’t you got a storebox and a old coat?”
Wesley arose and opened a folding lounge. Then he brought an armload of clean horse blankets from a closet.
“These don’t look like the nice white bed a little boy should have, Billy,” he said, “but we’ll make them do. This will beat a storebox all hollow.”
Billy took a long leap for the lounge. When he found it bounced, he proceeded to bounce, until he was tired. By that time the blankets had to be refolded. Wesley had Billy take one end and help, while both of them seemed to enjoy the job. Then Billy lay down and curled up in his clothes like a small dog. But sleep would not come.
Finally he sat up. He stared around restlessly. Then he arose, went to Wesley, and leaned against his knee. He picked up the boy and folded his arms around him. Billy sighed in rapturous content.
“That bed feels so lost like,” he said. “Jimmy always jabbed me on one side, and Belle on the other, and so I knew I was there. Do you know where they are?”
“They are with kind people who gave them a fine supper, a clean bed, and will always take good care of them.”
“I wisht I was—” Billy hesitated and looked earnestly at Wesley. “I mean I wish they was here.”
“You are about all I can manage, Billy,” said Wesley.
Billy sat up. “Can’t she manage anything?” he asked, waving toward Margaret.
“Indeed, yes,” said Wesley. “She has managed me for twenty years.”
“My, but she made you nice!” said Billy. “I just love you. I wisht she’d take Jimmy and Belle and make them nice as you.”
“She isn’t strong enough to do that, Billy. They will grow into a good boy and girl where they are.”
The Best of Gene Stratton-Porter Page 35
