CHAPTER XXXIII. CARL IS--NOT--WHIPPED
"There is something I think I ought to tell you," said Mary Vancemysteriously.
She and Faith and Una were walking arm in arm through the village,having foregathered at Mr. Flagg's store. Una and Faith exchanged lookswhich said, "NOW something disagreeable is coming." When Mary Vancethought she ought to tell them things there was seldom much pleasure inthe hearing. They often wondered why they kept on liking Mary Vance--forlike her they did, in spite of everything. To be sure, she was generallya stimulating and agreeable companion. If only she would not have thoseconvictions that it was her duty to tell them things!
"Do you know that Rosemary West won't marry your pa because she thinksyou are such a wild lot? She's afraid she couldn't bring you up rightand so she turned him down."
Una's heart thrilled with secret exultation. She was very glad tohear that Miss West would not marry her father. But Faith was ratherdisappointed.
"How do you know?" she asked.
"Oh, everybody's saying it. I heard Mrs. Elliott talking it over withMrs. Doctor. They thought I was too far away to hear, but I've got earslike a cat's. Mrs. Elliott said she hadn't a doubt that Rosemary wasafraid to try stepmothering you because you'd got such a reputation.Your pa never goes up the hill now. Neither does Norman Douglas. Folkssay Ellen has jilted him just to get square with him for jilting herages ago. But Norman is going about declaring he'll get her yet. AndI think you ought to know you've spoiled your pa's match and _I_ thinkit's a pity, for he's bound to marry somebody before long, and RosemaryWest would have been the best wife _I_ know of for him."
"You told me all stepmothers were cruel and wicked," said Una.
"Oh--well," said Mary rather confusedly, "they're mostly awful cranky, Iknow. But Rosemary West couldn't be very mean to any one. I tell you ifyour pa turns round and marries Emmeline Drew you'll wish you'd behavedyourselves better and not frightened Rosemary out of it. It's awful thatyou've got such a reputation that no decent woman'll marry your pa onaccount of you. Of course, _I_ know that half the yarns that are toldabout you ain't true. But give a dog a bad name. Why, some folks aresaying that it was Jerry and Carl that threw the stones through Mrs.Stimson's window the other night when it was really them two Boyd boys.But I'm afraid it was Carl that put the eel in old Mrs. Carr's buggy,though I said at first I wouldn't believe it until I'd better proof thanold Kitty Alec's word. I told Mrs. Elliott so right to her face."
"What did Carl do?" cried Faith.
"Well, they say--now, mind, I'm only telling you what people say--sothere's no use in your blaming me for it--that Carl and a lot of otherboys were fishing eels over the bridge one evening last week. Mrs. Carrdrove past in that old rattletrap buggy of hers with the open back. AndCarl he just up and threw a big eel into the back. When poor old Mrs.Carr was driving up the hill by Ingleside that eel came squirming outbetween her feet. She thought it was a snake and she just give one awfulscreech and stood up and jumped clean over the wheels. The horse bolted,but it went home and no damage was done. But Mrs. Carr jarred her legsmost terrible, and has had nervous spasms ever since whenever she thinksof the eel. Say, it was a rotten trick to play on the poor old soul.She's a decent body, if she is as queer as Dick's hat band."
Faith and Una looked at each other again. This was a matter for theGood-Conduct Club. They would not talk it over with Mary.
"There goes your pa," said Mary as Mr. Meredith passed them, "and neverseeing us no more'n if we weren't here. Well, I'm getting so's I don'tmind it. But there are folks who do."
Mr. Meredith had not seen them, but he was not walking along in hisusual dreamy and abstracted fashion. He strode up the hill in agitationand distress. Mrs. Alec Davis had just told him the story of Carl andthe eel. She had been very indignant about it. Old Mrs. Carr was herthird cousin. Mr. Meredith was more than indignant. He was hurt andshocked. He had not thought Carl would do anything like this. He was notinclined to be hard on pranks of heedlessness or forgetfulness, butTHIS was different. THIS had a nasty tang in it. When he reached home hefound Carl on the lawn, patiently studying the habits and customs of acolony of wasps. Calling him into the study Mr. Meredith confronted him,with a sterner face than any of his children had ever seen before, andasked him if the story were true.
"Yes," said Carl, flushing, but meeting his father's eyes bravely.
Mr. Meredith groaned. He had hoped that there had been at leastexaggeration.
"Tell me the whole matter," he said.
"The boys were fishing for eels over the bridge," said Carl. "Link Drewhad caught a whopper--I mean an awful big one--the biggest eel I eversaw. He caught it right at the start and it had been lying in his basketa long time, still as still. I thought it was dead, honest I did. Thenold Mrs. Carr drove over the bridge and she called us all young varmintsand told us to go home. And we hadn't said a word to her, father, truly.So when she drove back again, after going to the store, the boys daredme to put Link's eel in her buggy. I thought it was so dead it couldn'thurt her and I threw it in. Then the eel came to life on the hill andwe heard her scream and saw her jump out. I was awful sorry. That's all,father."
It was not quite as bad as Mr. Meredith had feared, but it was quite badenough. "I must punish you, Carl," he said sorrowfully.
"Yes, I know, father."
"I--I must whip you."
Carl winced. He had never been whipped. Then, seeing how badly hisfather felt, he said cheerfully,
"All right, father."
Mr. Meredith misunderstood his cheerfulness and thought him insensible.He told Carl to come to the study after supper, and when the boy hadgone out he flung himself into his chair and groaned again. He dreadedthe evening sevenfold more than Carl did. The poor minister did not evenknow what he should whip his boy with. What was used to whip boys? Rods?Canes? No, that would be too brutal. A timber switch, then? And he, JohnMeredith, must hie him to the woods and cut one. It was an abominablethought. Then a picture presented itself unbidden to his mind. He sawMrs. Carr's wizened, nut-cracker little face at the appearance of thatreviving eel--he saw her sailing witch-like over the buggy wheels.Before he could prevent himself the minister laughed. Then he was angrywith himself and angrier still with Carl. He would get that switch atonce--and it must not be too limber, after all.
Carl was talking the matter over in the graveyard with Faith and Una,who had just come home. They were horrified at the idea of his beingwhipped--and by father, who had never done such a thing! But they agreedsoberly that it was just.
"You know it was a dreadful thing to do," sighed Faith. "And you neverowned up in the club."
"I forgot," said Carl. "Besides, I didn't think any harm came of it.I didn't know she jarred her legs. But I'm to be whipped and that willmake things square."
"Will it hurt--very much?" said Una, slipping her hand into Carl's.
"Oh, not so much, I guess," said Carl gamely. "Anyhow, I'm not going tocry, no matter how much it hurts. It would make father feel so bad, ifI did. He's all cut up now. I wish I could whip myself hard enough andsave him doing it."
After supper, at which Carl had eaten little and Mr. Meredith nothing atall, both went silently into the study. The switch lay on the table. Mr.Meredith had had a bad time getting a switch to suit him. He cut one,then felt it was too slender. Carl had done a really indefensible thing.Then he cut another--it was far too thick. After all, Carl had thoughtthe eel was dead. The third one suited him better; but as he picked itup from the table it seemed very thick and heavy--more like a stick thana switch.
"Hold out your hand," he said to Carl.
Carl threw back his head and held out his hand unflinchingly. But he wasnot very old and he could not quite keep a little fear out of his eyes.Mr. Meredith looked down into those eyes--why, they were Cecilia'seyes--her very eyes--and in them was the selfsame expression he had onceseen in Cecilia's eyes when she had come to him to tell him somethingshe had been a little afraid to tell him. Here were her eyes in Carl'slittl
e, white face--and six weeks ago he had thought, through oneendless, terrible night, that his little lad was dying.
John Meredith threw down the switch.
"Go," he said, "I cannot whip you."
Carl fled to the graveyard, feeling that the look on his father's facewas worse than any whipping.
"Is it over so soon?" asked Faith. She and Una had been holding handsand setting teeth on the Pollock tombstone.
"He--he didn't whip me at all," said Carl with a sob, "and--I wish hehad--and he's in there, feeling just awful."
Una slipped away. Her heart yearned to comfort her father. Asnoiselessly as a little gray mouse she opened the study door and creptin. The room was dark with twilight. Her father was sitting at his desk.His back was towards her--his head was in his hands. He was talking tohimself--broken, anguished words--but Una heard--heard and understood,with the sudden illumination that comes to sensitive, unmotheredchildren. As silently as she had come in she slipped out and closed thedoor. John Meredith went on talking out his pain in what he deemed hisundisturbed solitude.
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