CHAPTER VI
HOLLIS FARM
Clayton was an easy-going, prosperous old town which, in theenthusiasm of youth, had started to climb the long hill to the north,but growing indolent with age, had decided instead to go around.
Main street, broad and shady under an unbroken arch of maple boughs,was flanked on each side by "Back street," the generic term applied toall the parallel streets. The short cross-streets were designated bythe most direct method: "the street by the Baptist church," "thestreet by Dr. Fenton's," "the street going out to Judge Hollis's," or"the street where Mr. Moseley used to live." In the heart of the townwas the square, with the gray, weather-beaten court-house, the new andformidable jail, the post-office and church.
For twenty years Dr. Fenton's old high-seated buggy had jogged overthe same daily course. It started at nine o'clock and passed withnever-varying regularity up one street and down another. When any onewas ill a sentinel was placed at the gate to hail the doctor, who wasas sure to pass as the passenger-train. It was a familiar joke inClayton that the buggy had a regular track, and that the wheels alwaysran in the same rut. Once, when Carter Nelson had taken too muchegg-nog and his aunt thought he had spinal meningitis, the usual routehad been reversed, and again when the blacksmith's triplets were born.But these were especial occasions. It was a matter for investigationwhen the doctor's buggy went over the bridge before noon.
"Anybody sick out this way?" asked the miller.
The doctor stopped the buggy to explain.
He was a short, fat man dressed in a suit of Confederate gray. Thehand that held the reins was minus two fingers, his willingcontribution to the Lost Cause, which was still to him the greatcatastrophe of all history. His whole personality was a bristlingarsenal of prejudices. When he spoke it was in quick, short volleys,in a voice that seemed to come from the depths of a megaphone.
"Strange boy sick at Judge Hollis's. How's trade?"
"Fair to middlin'," answered the miller. "Do you reckon that there boyhas got anything ketchin'?"
"Catching?" repeated the doctor savagely. "What if he has?" hedemanded. "Two epidemics of typhoid, two of yellow fever, and one ofsmallpox--that's my record, sir!"
"Looks like my children will ketch a fly-bite," said the miller,apologetically.
A little farther on the doctor was stopped again--this time by amaiden in a pink-and-white gingham, with a mass of light curlsbobbing about her face.
"Dad!" she called as she scrambled over the fence. "Where you g-going,dad?"
The doctor flapped the lines nervously and tried to escape, but shepursued him madly. Catching up with the buggy, she pulled herself upon the springs and thrust an impudent, laughing face through thewindow at the back.
"Annette," scolded her father, "aren't you ashamed? Fourteen yearsold, and a tomboy! Get down!"
"Where you g-going, dad?" she stammered, unabashed.
"To Judge Hollis's. Get down this minute!"
"What for?"
"Somebody's sick. Get down, I say!"
Instead of getting down, she got in, coming straight through the smallwindow, and arriving in a tangle of pink and white at his side.
The doctor heaved a prodigious sigh. As a colonel of the Confederacyhe had exacted strict discipline and unquestioning obedience, but henow found himself ignominiously reduced to the ranks, and anotherFenton in command.
At Hollis Farm the judge met them at the gate. He was large andloose-jointed, with the frame of a Titan and the smile of a child. Hewore a long, loose dressing-gown and a pair of slippers elaboratelyembroidered in green roses. His big, irregular features were softenedby an expression of indulgent interest toward the world at large.
"Good morning, doctor. Howdy, Nettie. How are you all this morning?"
"Who's sick?" growled the doctor as he hitched his horse to the fence.
"It's a stray lad, doctor; my old cook, Melvy, played the goodSamaritan and picked him up off the road last night. She brought himto me this morning. He's out of his head with a fever."
"Where'd he come from?" asked the doctor.
"Mrs. Hollis says he was peddling goods up at Main street and thebridge last night."
"Which one is he?" demanded Annette, eagerly, as she emerged from thebuggy. "Is he g-good-looking, with blue eyes and light hair? Or is heb-black and ugly and sort of cross-eyed?"
The judge peered over his glasses quizzically. "Thinking about theboys, as usual! Now I want to know what business you have noticing thecolor of a peddler's eyes?"
Annette blushed, but she stood her ground. "All the g-girls noticedhim. He wasn't an ordinary peddler. He was just as smart and f-funnyas could be."
"Well, he isn't smart and funny now," said the judge, with a grimlaugh.
The two men passed up the long avenue and into the house. At the doorthey were met by Mrs. Hollis, whose small angular person breathedprotest. Her black hair was arranged in symmetrical bands which weredrawn tightly back from a straight part. When she talked, agold-capped tooth was disclosed on each side of her mouth, giving riseto the judge's joke that one was capped to keep the other company,since Mrs. Hollis's sense of order and regularity rebelled against oneeye-tooth of one color and the other of another.
"Good morning, doctor," she said shortly; "there's the door-mat. No,don't put your hat there; I'll take it. Isn't this a pretty businessfor Melvy to come bringing a sick tramp up here--on generalcleaning-day, too?"
"Aren't all days cleaning-days to you, Sue?" asked the judge,playfully.
"When you are in the house," she answered sharply. Then she turned tothe doctor, who was starting up the stairs:
"If this boy is in for a long spell, I want him moved somewhere. Ican't have my carpets run over and my whole house smelling like ahospital."
"Now, Susan," remonstrated the judge, gently, "we can't turn the ladout. We've got room and to spare. If he's got the fever, he'll haveto stay."
"We'll see, we'll see," said the doctor.
But when he tiptoed down from the room above there was no questionabout it.
"Very sick boy," he said, rubbing his hand over his bald head. "If hegets better, I might take him over to Mrs. Meech's; he can't be movednow."
"Mrs. Meech!" cried Mrs. Hollis, in fine scorn. "Do you think I wouldlet him go to that dirty house--and with this fever, too? Why, Mrs.Meech's front curtains haven't been washed since Christmas! She andthe preacher and Martha all sit around with their noses in books, andnever even know that the water-spout is leaking and the porch needsmopping! You can't tell me anything about the Meeches!"
Neither of the men tried to do so; they stood silent in the doorway,looking very grave.
"For mercy sake! what is that in the front lot?" exclaimed Mrs.Hollis.
The doctor had an uncomfortable premonition, which was promptlyverified. One of the judge's friskiest colts was circling madly aboutthe driveway, while astride of it, in triumph, sat Annette, her dressripped at the belt, her hair flying.
"If she don't need a woman's hand!" exclaimed Mrs. Hollis. "I couldmanage her all right."
The doctor looked from Mrs. Hollis, with her firm, close-shut mouth,to the flying figure on the lawn.
"Perhaps," he said, lifting his brows; but he put the odds on Annette.
That night, when Aunt Melvy brought the lamp into the sitting-room,she waited nervously near Mrs. Hollis's chair.
"Miss Sue," she ventured presently, "is de cunjers comin' out?"
"The what?"
"De cunjers what dat pore chile's got. I done tried all de spells Iknowed, but look lak dey didn't do no good."
"He has the fever," said Mrs. Hollis; "and it means a long spell ofnursing and bother for me."
The judge stirred uncomfortably. "Now, Sue," he remonstrated, "youneedn't take a bit of bother. Melvy will see to him by day, and I willlook after him at night."
Mrs. Hollis bit her lip and heroically refrained from expressing hermind.
"He's a mighty purty chile," said Aunt Melvy, tentat
ively.
"He's a common tramp," said Mrs. Hollis.
After supper, arranging a tray with a snowy napkin and a steaming bowlof broth, Mrs. Hollis went up to the sick-room. Her first step hadbeen to have the patient bathed and combed and made presentable forthe occupancy of the guest-chamber. It had been with rebellion ofspirit that she placed him there, but the judge had taken one of thoseinfrequent stands which she knew it was useless to resist. She put thetray on a table near the big four-poster bed, and leaned over to lookat the sleeper.
Sandy lay quiet among the pillows, his fair hair tumbled, his lipsparted. As the light fell on his flushed face he stirred.
"Here's your supper," said Mrs. Hollis, her voice softening in spiteof herself. He was younger than she had thought. She slipped her armunder the pillow and raised his head.
"You must eat," she said kindly.
He looked at her vacantly, then a momentary consciousness flitted overhis face, a vague realization that he was being cared for. He put up ahot hand and gently touched her cheek; then, rallying all hisstrength, he smiled away his debt of gratitude. It was over in amoment, and he sank back unconscious.
"He smiled away his debt of gratitude"]
Through the dreary hours of the night Mrs. Hollis sat by the bed,nursing him with the aching tenderness that only a childless woman canknow. Below, in the depths of a big feather-bed, the judge slept inpeaceful unconcern, disturbing the silence by a series of long, loud,and unmelodious snores.
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