Wheat and Huckleberries; Or, Dr. Northmore's Daughters

by Amanda M. Douglas

  CHAPTER VII

  HUCKLEBERRYING

  It seemed as if a summer of ordinary time was compressed into that firstfortnight at the old homestead. Esther wondered sometimes whether thesurrounding hills, over whose tops the morning broke earlier, and inwhose soft green hollows the twilights seemed to linger longer than anyshe had known before, had not something to do with the lifting of thedays into the lengthened space of life and happiness. The charm of theNew England landscape, its restful yet enticing beauty, its reserves,its revelations, had captured her fancy and her heart completely. Herletters were full of the new delight. Mrs. Northmore smiled as she readthem, and felt that in Esther she was living over again the joys of herown girlhood.

  As for Kate, she was feeling the new environment as keenly as hersister, but there was a difference in the letters. They were notrhapsodical, and they were sprinkled with questions, such, for instance,as, "_Don't_ we speak as correctly in the West as they do in NewEngland?" "_Isn't_ it absurd to drop the _r_ clear out of words, and_do_ we over-do it?"

  Between herself and Tom Saxon there was continual sharpshooting as tothe relative merits of their respective sections, but it did notdiminish in the least their relish for each other's company. She rodewith him in the mornings to the milk factory, and occasionally took downthe load of cans in his stead. She went with him for the cows, and wasregularly depended on as the person to take the luncheon to the hayfieldin the middle of the forenoon. Sometimes she stopped and ate a doughnutwith the workmen under the trees, but she had not yet developed afondness for the peculiar beverage compounded of water, molasses, andvinegar, vaguely called "drink," which seemed the approved liquid inthis region for quenching the thirst of haymakers.

  Indeed, the daily round furnished to each of the girls so much ofenjoyment that they could easily have spared the more formal pleasures,but Aunt Elsie had definite ideas as to the courtesies due betweenfamilies, and Stella's prestige in the community gained ready attentionfor her cousins. There were calls in plenty to be received and returned,and for picnics and teas there were early invitations.

  Esterly was counted one of the most social of New England towns, and itssummer population included city boarders who had a mind for pleasure.They fell in with whatever was planned for them, Kate and Esther, withready enjoyment, yet for them both the distinctive engagements of theold home and the old farm remained easily the best. One of them,suggested by Aunt Elsie one day at table, brought a thrill of peculiarpleasure.

  "I do wish," she said, with a glance at the young people which includedthem all, "that we could get some huckleberries. They say they're ripeon Gray's Hill, and I do need something to make pies of."

  Stella gave a little sigh. It was the first invitation of the season toan occupation which she detested; but Esther exclaimed: "Gohuckleberrying! Oh, I should like that so much! I've heard mother talkabout huckleberrying, and I want to see what it's like."

  "So do I," said Kate, eagerly. "Why can't we go this afternoon?"

  Stella gave another sigh, this time a deeper one. "Oh, whataccommodating creatures you are!" she said. "I ought to want to go withyou, of course, but to tell the honest truth I don't hanker for it, andI'm positively opposed to climbing Gray's Hill unless we know forcertain that those berries are ripe."

  "I saw some there yesterday, over on the south side," said Tom.

  "Then maybe you'd better go too," said his mother, persuasively. "Youcould show the girls right where they are."

  Tom may have regretted that he had aired his knowledge, but there was noescape for him now, especially as his grandfather added briskly, "Yes,Tom, you can go as well as not, for we shan't get in the hay that's downthis afternoon, it's so cloudy."

  And so it happened that an hour later the four, well supplied with tinpails, were off in search of huckleberries. Across the fields odorous ofnew-mown hay, by the foot-bridge over the meadow brook, across the oldcounty road and over the low stone wall, they made their pleasantpilgrimage. Tom and Kate were ahead, she keeping steady pace with hiseasy swing, lowlander though she was, and not to the manner born of suchclimbing as this. Once, in a dimple of the hill, she made a dashforward, and, swinging her pail above her head, shouted: "I've found thefirst! Here they are!"

  But Tom, who was up with her in a moment, gave a whoop of disdain as hescanned the low cluster of bushes. "Those! why, those are blueberries.Don't you know the difference?"

  Kate confessed with some humility that she did not, but the humilityvanished when he added loftily: "And just as like as not you never will.There were some Westerners boarding over at Lester's one summer, andthose folks couldn't tell one from t'other clear up to the end of theseason."

  "Well," said Kate, with a toss of her head, "maybe we can't tellhuckleberries from blueberries, but we can always tell hickory nuts fromwalnuts, which is more than you folks here can do, and there's a sightmore difference between them than there is between _these_ littlethings."

  She broke a blueberry bush, and looked at it with an attention whichpromised that she, at least, would know the species when she met itagain, then started on with the remark, "Well, whichever of them I get,I mean to fill my bucket with something before I leave this hill."

  "There you go again," grumbled Tom, who had been rather set back by thetaunt about the nuts. "You always call a pail a bucket."

  "Well, it _is_ a bucket," cried Kate, beating a tattoo on the bottom ofhers with spirit. "You couldn't prove that I was wrong when you went tothe dictionary about it, and anyway it isn't half as funny to call apail a bucket as to call a frying-pan a 'spider' and a stool a'cricket.'"

  "I suppose you children are quarrelling about something as usual,"observed Stella, who with Esther had just caught up with the advanceguard. "I wonder how you can keep it up so steadily. I should thinkyou'd sometimes get tired."

  "I'll tell you one thing, sis," said Tom, with brotherly responsiveness,"you'll have to keep at the picking a little steadier than you generallydo, or it won't make anybody tired to carry home the berries you'll get.This is the way she does," he added, turning to his cousins; "she goesfidgeting round, looking for the place where they're thickest, and whenshe finds it she settles down and draws a picture of a tree, or a rock,or something. I'll bet she's got her drawing things with her now."

  Stella did not deny the charge. "What irrelevant remarks you do contriveto make, Tom!" she said. "Come, go ahead, if you mean to show us wherethose berries are."

  They found them, and were all busily picking in a few minutes more.However Stella's interest in huckleberries might flag later on there wasno criticism to be made on her attention at first, and her fingers flewover the bushes at a rate which augured well for the filling of herpail. As for the Northmore girls, they were in ecstasies. Kate settleddown to the business at once, though for a while she ate most of theberries she picked, while Esther paused between the handfuls to takelong whiffs of the sweet fern which grew everywhere among the bushes,and to fill her eyes with the landscape which looked fairer than everfrom the side of this green old hill.

  Everything was interesting--the sights, the smells, the blossoms whichwere all around them; even the sprig of lobelia which Tom presented forhis cousins' tasting, having first cunningly prepared the way withspearmint and pennyroyal--how Kate wished she could return the favor witha green persimmon!--and the slender yellow worm, industriously measuringthe bushes, had its own claim to attention. Its name and manner oftravel reminded Kate of one of Aunt Milly's songs with an admonishingrefrain of, "Keep an inching along, Keep an inching along," and shetrolled it out with a rollicking plantation accent that charmed heraudience.

  Perhaps it was the singing which drew a traveller who was climbing upthe hill in their direction. In a pause of the verses Tom suddenlyexclaimed: "Upon my word, there's Solomon Ridgeway. He's got his pack onhis back, too. Let's have some fun."

  It was indeed the queer protege of Aunt Katharine who appeared at thatmoment, bowing and smiling as he emerged from behind a rock. Evidentl
yTom did not share his grandfather's extreme dislike for the man'ssociety, for he advanced to meet him in the most friendly manner.

  "Well, Solomon," he exclaimed, "so you thought you'd comehuckleberrying, too! Do you expect to fill that box of yours thisafternoon?"

  The face of the little old man, which was fairly twinkling withpleasure, expressed an eager dissent. "Oh, no, I--I didn't comehuckleberryin'," he said, "and I couldn't think of puttin' 'em in thisbox. Why this box--" he lowered his voice with a delighted chuckle--"hasgot some of my jewels in it You see, I'm goin' over to see little MaryBerger. They say she's got the mumps, and I kind o' thought 'twouldbrighten her up to see 'em. It don't hurt the children--bless theirhearts--to see fine things; it does 'em good. And I always tell 'em," headded earnestly, "that there _air_ things better 'n pearls and rubies.Tain't everybody that the Lord gives riches to, and if they're goodthey'll be happy without 'em."

  "Why, that's quite a moral, Solomon," said Tom. "You ought to have beena preacher." He sent a roguish glance at the girls, then, throwing anaccent of solicitude into his voice, added: "But aren't you afraid youmight get robbed going through those woods? There's quite a strip ofthem before you get to Berger's."

  The owner of the jewels sent an apprehensive glance into the woods whichskirted the brow of the hill and answered bravely: "Yes, I be, Thomas. Ibe a little afeared of it. I--I won't go so far as to say I ain't. But Idon't b'lieve a body or' to stan' back on that account when there'ssomethin' they feel as if they or' to be doin', and I've always beentook care of before--I've always been took care of."

  The manliness of this ought to have shamed Tom out of his waggishness,but he was not done with it yet. "Solomon," he said, with the utmostgravity,--"I should think you'd want to get your property into somethingbesides jewellery. Then you wouldn't run such risks. Besides, if you hadit in the bank, you know, it would be growing bigger all the time."

  The little man's face wore a look of distress, and he put his hand onhis box protectingly. "They tell me that sometimes," he said in aplaintive tone, "but I--I couldn't think of it. It wouldn't be half asmuch comfort to me as 'tis this way. Besides, I'm rich enough now, andwhen a body's got enough, it's enough, ain't it? And why can't yousettle down and take the good of it?"

  "I think you're quite right, Mr. Ridgeway," said Stella. "It's perfectlyvulgar for people to go straining and scrambling after more money whenthey have as much as they can enjoy already. The world would be a gooddeal pleasanter place than it is if more people felt as you do aboutthat."

  She punctuated this with reproving glances at Tom, to which, however, hepaid not the smallest attention.

  "But you know, Solomon," he said artfully, "if you only had your moneywhere you could draw on it, you wouldn't have to work as you do now.They keep you trotting pretty lively at the farm, don't they? And I'llwarrant Aunt Katharine finds you chores enough when you're at herhouse."

  The little man's face was clear again. Here, at least, was a point onwhich he had no misgiving. "Law, Thomas," he said, "I--I like to keepbusy. Why, there ain't a bit o' sense in a body bein' all puffed up andthinkin' he's too good to work like other folks jest 'cause he's rich.'Tain't your own doings, being rich, leastways not all of it. It'spartly the way things happen, and then it's the disposition you've got.That's the way I look at it. And it always 'peared to me," he added,with the most touching simplicity, "that, when a body's rich as I be, heor' to do a leetle more 'n common folks to sort o' try 'n' pay up forit."

  "Mr. Ridgeway," exclaimed Stella--it was impossible after this to letthat graceless brother say another word--"would you mind showing us someof your pretty things right now? My cousins never saw them, and I'm surethey'd enjoy it ever so much."

  The countenance of Solomon Ridgeway was aflame with pleasure. He loweredhis box from his shoulders and unstrapped it with a childish eagerness."Why, I--I'd be proud to, Miss Stella," he said, with a hurrying rapture.Then, looking about for a suitable place of exhibition, he added, "Jestcome under that big chestnut tree over there, and I'll spread 'em allout so you can see 'em."

  It was not huckleberrying, but something much more unique, which engagedthem for the next half hour. The collection which Solomon Ridgeway drewfrom his box and spread before their dazzled eyes was a marvel of tinseland glitter. There were brooches and rings and chains enough to havemade the fortune of half a dozen pedlers; trumpery stuff, most of it,but what of that?

  The owner was not one to let a carping world settle for him the value ofhis treasure. There was paste that gleamed like diamonds in settingsburnished like the finest gold, and there were the colors of topaz andemerald and sapphire and ruby. Who cared whether they flashed in bits ofglass or in stones drawn from the mines? They were things of beauty fora' that, and they filled their owner's soul with joy. He had gatheredthem slowly through the savings of earlier years, and the gifts offriends; he loved them every one, and believed them to be of fabulousvalue.

  "They ain't all I've got, you know. There's a lot more," he saidrepeatedly; and then he rubbed his hands together and smiled upon hisaudience with the air of a Croesus demanding, "Do you know any one richerthan I?"

  It was impossible not to wish to give him pleasure, and more than oncethe girls exclaimed over the beauty of some trinket. Esther wasespecially warm in her admiration, and there was no insincerity in herwords when she said: "I think you have some perfectly lovely things, Mr.Ridgeway. I don't wonder you prize them, and I'm sure that little girlwho is sick will thank you all her life for letting her see them."

  He had almost forgotten his friend on the other side of the hill. Hegathered up his treasures now with a sudden remembrance, lifted his boxto his shoulders again and was off, turning back again and again to makehis little bow, half of pomposity and half of humility, as he hurriedaway.

  "Is he crazy, or isn't he?" exclaimed Kate, when he was fairly out ofhearing.

  "He's queer. That's all you can say," said Stella; "but for my part, Idon't mind him. People are so much of a pattern here in America that Ithink it's rather nice to have one of a different sort mixed in now andthen."

  "I don't see how he can keep up his notion of being rich and live in apoorhouse," said Kate.

  "Don Quixote thought all the inns were castles," said Stella. "I don'tknow why a person with an imagination like his shouldn't take apoorhouse for a first-class hotel."

  Her interest in huckleberrying was gone now, and the mood Tom hadforetold was upon her. Esther divined it as she saw her looking at thechestnut tree, with her head tipped to one side.

  "Oh, do sketch it, dear," she whispered. "Did you really bring drawingmaterials with you?"

  Stella laughed, and drew a pencil and small pad from the bag that hungat her belt.

  "Fill my pail for me, and you shall have it for a souvenir," she said.

  The sketch was a pretty thing, and the pails, though not all full,contained a goodly quantity of berries, when they descended the hill inthe late afternoon. As they reached the bottom a sudden thought came toEsther. "Do you suppose your mother would care if I should take myberries round to Aunt Katharine?" she asked.

  "My mother would be ready to give you a special reward for thinking ofit," said Stella. "But do you really feel like going round by AuntKatharine's? It's ever so far out of our way!"

  "Oh, I don't care for that," said Esther, and she added quickly: "butplease don't feel that you must go too. I know the way."

  Perhaps she was not really anxious that Stella should accompany her, norsorry that Kate was already far ahead with Tom, when she turned down theold road a few minutes later with her face toward Aunt Katharine's. "Ishall only stay a little while," she called back. "You won't be homevery long before me."

  But she was wrong as to this. Supper was over and the sunset fading whenshe appeared at her grandfather's.

  "She insisted on my staying, though I had no thought of her asking me,"she explained to Aunt Elsie. "She was delighted with the huckleberries."

  Sitting in the south door
way afterward with Stella, she said veryearnestly: "You never saw anybody pleasanter than Aunt Katharine was allthe time I was there. I'm sure she's a great deal kinder than you thinkshe is. Do you know we got talking of Solomon Ridgeway, and she told mesome real interesting things about him. She says he was married when hewas young, but his wife only lived a few months. Evidently AuntKatharine didn't think much of her, for she said she was a silly littlething, who cared more about finery than anything else. But he was allbound up in her, and when she died it almost killed him. He had aterrible sickness, and when he got over it his mind had this queer kinkin it, and never came right afterward." She paused a moment, then added,"Somehow I couldn't help thinking that there might be a clew in thatstory to the reason why she is so good to him."

  "She's just as queer in her way as he is in his. I guess it's anaffinity of queerness," said Stella, carelessly. And then she called hercousin's attention to the color of the clouds, which were fading in airyfringes over Gray's Hill.