CHAPTER III.
BACK TO THE CUCKOO'S NEST.
IT was very early on a bright September morning that Mrs. Sherman,Betty, and Lloyd took the train for the Cuckoo's Nest; but there wassuch a long time to wait at the little way station where they changedcars, that it was nearly sundown when they came to the end of theirjourney.
Mr. Appleton was waiting for them with the big farm wagon, into which helifted Betty's Bob, whining in his hamper, Mrs. Sherman's trunk, andthen Betty's shabby little leather one that had gone away half empty. Itwas coming back now, nearly bursting with all that her godmother hadpacked into it with the magic necklace, "for love's sweet sake."
"Shall we have to wait long for the carriage?" asked Lloyd, shading hereyes with her hand to look down the dusty road. "There is nothing insight now."
Mr. Appleton gave a hearty laugh as he pointed with his whip to thewagon. "That's the kind of a carriage folks ride in out here," he said."I reckon you never rode in one before. Well, it will be a newexperience for you, for it jolts considerable. I couldn't put in morethan one spring seat on account of the trunks, but there's room enoughfor you and your ma beside me, and I brought along a little stool forBetty to sit on."
Lloyd's face flushed at her mistake, and she was very quiet as theydrove along. The wagon did "jolt considerable," as Mr. Appleton said,and she wondered if she should find everything as queer during her visitas this ride from the railroad station to the house. The spring seat wasso high that her feet dangled helplessly. She could not touch the floorof the wagon bed even with her toes. Every time they went down a hillshe had to clutch her mother's arm to keep from pitching forward on topof Betty, seated on the low stool at her feet.
Betty was quiet, too, thinking how much had happened in the three monthssince she had passed along that road. She had gone away in a sunbonnet,with an old-fashioned brown wicker basket on her arm, and a feeling inher frightened little heart that the world was a great jungle, full ofall sorts of unknown terrors. She was coming back now, in a hat asstylish as Lloyd's own, with a handsome little travelling satchel inher hands, and a heartful of beautiful memories; for she had met nothingbut kindness, so far as she had travelled in the world's wide jungle.
"There's the schoolhouse," she cried, presently, with a thrill ofpleasure as they passed the deserted playground, overgrown with weeds.It was still vacation time in this country district. "There's ourplayhouse under the thorn-tree," she added, half rising from the stoolto point it out to Lloyd. "And that bare spot by the well-shed is wherewe play vineyard and prisoner's base. We always have so much fun atrecess."
The Little Colonel looked where Betty pointed, but the weather-beatenschoolhouse, the weeds, and the trampled spot of ground did not suggestany good times to her. It seemed the lonesomest, dreariest place she hadever seen, and she turned away with a slight shrug of the shoulders. Notso slight, however, but Betty saw it. Then, suddenly she began to lookat everything through the Little Colonel's eyes. Somehow everythingbegan to appear ragged and gone-to-seed and little and countrified andcommon. So she did not exclaim again when they passed any of the otherold landmarks that had grown dear to her from long acquaintance.
There was the half-way tree, and the bridge where they always stopped tolean over the railing and make rings in the water below, by droppingpebbles into the clear pools. And there was the flat rock where theycould nearly always find a four-leaf clover, and, farther along, thestile where a pet toad lived. She and Davy always pretended that thetoad was a toll-gate keeper who would not let them climb the stileunless they paid him with flies.
All these places were dear to Betty, and she had intended to point themout to Lloyd as they went along; but after that shrug, she felt thatthey would have no interest for any one but herself. So she sat quietlyon the little stool, wishing that Lloyd could enjoy the ride home asmuch as she was doing.
"Oh, how lonesome looking!" exclaimed Lloyd, as they turned the lastcorner and came to the graveyard, with its gleaming tombstones. Bettyonly smiled in reply. They were like old friends to her, but of courseLloyd could not understand that. She had never strolled among them withDavy on summer afternoons, or parted the tangled grass and myrtle vinesto read the names and verses on the mossy marbles, or smelled the pinksand lilies growing over the neglected mounds.
The wild rose was gone, that had hung over the old gray picket-fence towave good-bye to Betty the morning she went away, but the same bush heldout a long straggling branch that almost touched her face as they drovepast, and the sunset glow shone pink across it. Beside it was theheadstone with the marble hand for ever pointing to the place in themarble book where were deeply carven the letters of the text, "_Be yealso ready_." With that familiar greeting Betty felt that at last shehad really reached home, and indeed that she had scarcely been away. Foreverything was just as she had left it, from the spicy smell of thecedar boughs, to the soft cooing of a dove in a distant woodland.Cow-bells jingled in the lane, and the country quiet and contentmentseemed to fill the meadows, as the sunset glow filled all the eveningsky.
"There's Davy," said Mr. Appleton, as a chubby, barefoot boy came racingdown the lane to open the gate for them, and then hang on the back ofthe wagon as it rattled along to the house.
"He has been talking about you all week, Betty. He couldn't eat anydinner to-day, he was so excited about your coming."
Betty smiled back at the beaming little face, as shining as yellow soapand perfect happiness could make it, and her conscience smote her thatshe had not missed him more, and written to him oftener while she wasaway from him. But however great his loneliness might have been, it wasall forgotten at the sight of her, and his delight was unbounded whenthe hamper was unstrapped and Bob came tumbling out to frisk over hisbare toes.
"Now Betty will have two shadows," laughed Mr. Appleton. "That boyfollows her everywhere."
Betty led the way into the house. On the porch steps Lloyd stopped herto whisper: "Mercy, Betty! How many children are there?" Several towheads like Davy's were peering around the corner of the house, and atwo-year-old baby toddled across the porch, squeezing a kitten in hisarms.
"There are six, altogether," answered Betty. "Scott is just Rob Moore'sage, but he is so bashful that you'll not see much of him. Then there'sBradley. He is such a tease that we keep out of his way as much aspossible. Davy comes next. He's the nicest in the bunch. Then Morgan issix, and Lee is four, and that's the baby over there. They haven't namedhim yet, so the boys just call him Pudding."
"And is that your cousin Hetty?" whispered Lloyd, as a tall, thin womancame out on the porch to greet her guests. In that greeting Bettyforgot that Mrs. Appleton was only a fourth cousin, her welcome was sowarm; she thought only how nice it was to have a family to come back to.Looking into the woman's tired face with eyes that had grown wiser inthe summer's absence, the child saw that it was hard work and care thathad made it grow old before its time, and realised that the tendernessshe had longed for had been withheld only because her cousin Hetty hadbeen too overworked to take time to show it.
"Maybe she might have been as bright and sweet as godmother, if shehadn't had to work so hard," thought Betty. "Still I can't imaginegodmother saying snappy cross things, no matter how tired she mightget."
"Supper's 'most ready," said Mrs. Appleton, ushering them into thehouse. "I reckon you'll want to tidy up a bit after that long ride onthe dusty cars. Well, Molly didn't forget to fill the water-pitcher,after all, though she usually forgets everything, unless I'm at herheels every blessed minute to remind her."
"Molly!" repeated Betty, in surprise. "Who is she?"
"Oh, I forgot you didn't know. She is an orphan I took from the asylumsoon after you left. It's been such a hard summer that I had to havesomebody to help, so Mr. Appleton went to St. Joseph's orphan asylum andpicked me out this girl. She's fourteen, and big for her age, but aswild as a Comanche Indian. So I can't say she's been as much help as I'dhoped for. But she's good to the baby, and she can wash dishes. Theytaught
her that at the asylum. I tell you I've missed _you_, Betty. Ididn't realise how many steps you saved me until you were gone. Now, ifyou'll excuse me, Mrs. Sherman, I'll go and see about supper. You'llfind your room just as you left it, Betty."
As the door closed behind her and Betty, the Little Colonel turned toher mother with a puzzled face. "Did you evah see anything so queah inall yo' life?" she asked. "A bed in the pahlah! What if somebody shouldcome to call aftah I've gone to sleep. Oh, I think this place is awful!I don't see how people can be happy, living in such an odd way."
"That is your first holiday lesson," said Mrs. Sherman, beginning tounpack her travelling bag. "You'll have to learn that our way of livingis not the only way, and that people can be just as good and useful andhappy in one place as another. Some people are so narrow-minded thatthey never learn that. They are like car-wheels that can move only whenthey have a certain kind of track to run on. You can be that kind of aperson, or you can be like a bicycle, able to run on any road, from thenarrowest path to the broadest avenue. I've found that people who canfit themselves to any road they may happen to be on are the happiest,and they are the easiest to live with. That is one of the greatestaccomplishments any one can have, Lloyd. I'd rather have my littledaughter able to adapt herself gracefully to all circumstances, than tosing or paint or model or embroider.
"You are going to find things very different here from what you havebeen accustomed to at home, but it wouldn't be polite or kind to appearto notice any difference. For instance, some of the best people I everknew think it is silly to serve dinner in courses, as we do. They liketo see everything on the table at once,--soup, salad, meats, anddesserts."
"I hate everything all higgledy-piggledy!" muttered the Little Colonel,with her face in a towel. "I'll try not to show it, mothah, but I'mafraid I can't help it sometimes."
Meanwhile, Betty, with Davy tagging after her, and Bob frisking onahead, had started up the steps to her own little room in the westgable. As she turned on the landing, the door at the foot of the stairsmoved slightly, and she caught the gleam of a pair of sharp gray eyespeering at her through the crack.
"It's Molly!" whispered Davy, catching Betty's skirts, and scramblingafter her as fast as his short fat legs would allow.
"Say, Betty, did you know that she's a _witch_? She says that she can gothrough keyholes, and that on dark nights she sails away over thechimney on a broomstick with a black cat on her shoulder. Even Scott andBradley are afraid of her. They dasn't do anything she tells them notto."
"Sh!" whispered Betty, warningly, with a backward glance over hershoulder. The girl behind the door had stepped out on the landing for abetter view, but she darted back to her hiding-place as Betty turned,and their eyes met.
"She looks like a gypsy," thought Betty, noticing her straight blackhair hanging around her eyes. "And she seems ready to dodge at a word."
"She tells us ghost stories every night after supper," exclaimed Davy.They had reached the gable room, and, while Betty hung up her hat andunlocked her trunk, he curled himself up comfortably on the foot of herbed. "She can make you shiver no matter how hot a night it is."
Betty scarcely noticed what the boy was saying. At any other time shewould have been surprised at his talking so much. Just now she waslooking around her with a feeling of strangeness. Everything seemed somuch smaller than when she had left the place. Her room had not seemedbare and cheerless before she went away, because she had seen no better.But now, remembering the pretty room that had been hers in the HouseBeautiful, the tears came into her eyes. For a moment the contrast madeher homesick. Instead of the crystal candlesticks, here was a batteredtin one. Here were no filmy curtains at the windows, no white fur rugson a dark polished floor. Only a breadth of faded rag carpet, spreaddown on bare unpainted boards. Here was no white toilet-table withfurnishings of gold and ivory; no polished mirror in which she could seeherself from head to foot. She looked mournfully into the tinylooking-glass that was so small that she could see only one-half of herface at a time. Then from force of habit she stood on tiptoe to see theother half. The mouth was not smiling as it used to in the old days.
She was recalled from her homesick reverie by Davy's voice again.
"Molly didn't want you and that other girl to come here," he confided."She said you'd be snobs; that all rich people were. Bradley asked Mollywhat a snob was, and said if it was anything bad that she shouldn't callyou that, 'cause you wasn't one, and always tied his fingers up when hecut hisself, and helped him with his mul'plication tables andeverything. And Molly said she'd call you what she pleased, and treatyou just as mean as you deserved, and if we dared say a word she'd shutthe first one that tried it up in the smoke-house in the dark; thenshe'd say _abra-ca-dab-ra_ over us."
Davy's voice sank to a frightened whisper as he rolled the dread wordover his tongue in unconscious imitation of Molly. He was quivering withexcitement, and his cheeks were unusually red. He had talked more in thefew minutes than he often did in days.
"Why, Davy, what's the matter?" cried Betty. "What do you mean byabracadabra?"
"Hush! Don't say it so loud," he begged earnestly. "It's Molly's hoodooword. Bradley says she can conjure you with it, same as coloured folkswhen they put a rabbit's foot on you. I had to tell, 'cause I'm afraidMolly's going to do something mean to you."
"Does your mother know that she tells you those silly things?" demandedBetty, turning on him quickly. But Davy had lost his tongue, now thathis confession was made, and only shook his head in reply.
"Then don't listen to her any more, Davy boy," she said, taking him bythe ears and kissing him playfully, first on one dimpled cheek and thenon the other. "Poor Molly doesn't know any better, and she must havelived with dreadful people before she went to the orphan asylum. Youstay with Lloyd and me, after this, and don't have anything more to dowith her when she tells you such stories."
"That's just what she said you'd do," said Davy, finding his voiceagain. "She said that you and that other girl would be stuck up andwouldn't play with her, or let us either, and that she'd always be leftout of everything. But she'd get even with you for coming in with yourhigh and mighty airs and fine clothes to turn us against her."
"That's the silliest thing I ever heard," answered Betty, indignantly.Then a puzzled look crept into her brown eyes, as she stood pouring outthe water to wash her face. "I'll ask godmother about it," she said toherself. "She'll tell us how we ought to treat her."
But there was no opportunity that evening. Molly sat down to thesupper-table with them, much to the surprise of the Little Colonel,unused to the primitive customs of farm life, where no social differenceis made between those who are served and those who do the serving.Remembering her mother's little sermon, she did not show her surprise bythe smallest change of expression.
After supper Betty offered to help with the dishes as usual, but hercousin Hetty sent her away, saying it would not do to soil her prettytravelling dress; that she was company now, and to run away andentertain Lloyd. So Betty, with a sigh of relief, went back to theporch, where Mr. Appleton, with Pudding in his lap, was talking withMrs. Sherman.
Betty hated dish-washing, and after her long holiday at the house partyit seemed doubly hard to go back to such unpleasant duties. She did notsee the swift jealous look that followed her from Molly's keen eyes, orthe sullen pout that settled on the older girl's lips, as, left toherself, she rattled the cups and plates recklessly, in her enviousmood.
Out on the porch Betty sank into a comfortable rocking-chair, and satlooking up at the stars. "Isn't it sweet and still out here, godmother?"she asked, after awhile. "I love to hear that owl hooting away off inthe woods, and listen to the pine-trees whispering that way, and thefrogs croaking down in the meadow pond."
"Oh, I don't," cried the Little Colonel, with something like a sob inher voice, as she nestled her head closer against her mother's shoulder."It makes me feel as lonesome as when Mom Beck sings 'Fa'well, my dyin'friends.' I think they're the most doleful so
unds I evah heard."
Presently, when Mr. Appleton went in to carry the sleepy baby to bed,the Little Colonel put her arms around her mother's neck, whispering,"Oh, mothah, I wish we were back at Locust. I'm so homesick anddisappointed in the place. Can't we go home in the mawnin'?"
"I think my little girl is so tired and sleepy that she doesn't knowwhat she wants," whispered Mrs. Sherman, in reply. "Come, let me takeyou to bed. You'll think differently in the morning. Do you remember theold song?
"'Colours seen by candle-light Never look the same by day.'"
The Little Colonel's Holidays Page 6
