CHAPTER V
POLLY
But it was not long before an event occurred which decided Agnes to make other plans. All through the winter she had been content to stay with her father at the new home of the M’Cleans, but as spring was nearing, the desire was strong upon her to possess the home to which her mother and the children should come. Her father, quiet and indifferent, worked steadily at whatever came to hand; but he rarely spoke, and if asked to give an opinion, looked bewildered and helpless. “Will he always be so?” thought Agnes, “and must we stay on this way month after month?” Then one day appeared Polly O’Neill.
Jeanie and Agnes were busy in the garden getting it ready for the first crop of vegetables, when through the trees which fringed the river they saw some one coming, and a voice called: “Joe M’Clean! Jeanie! Nancy! Are you all there?”
“It sounds like Polly O’Neill,” cried Agnes, dropping her hoe. Jeanie followed her example, and the two ran down the little path leading to the river. “It’s Polly herself and the children!” cried Agnes.
“Faith, then, it is,” came the reply from the approaching figure, who, with a child under each arm and two at her heels, was making her way toward them.
“Why, Polly, Polly, how did you get here?” exclaimed the girls in a breath.
“I kim by the river. I beeta come that way.”
“Of course you would have to do that, but where is Jimmy?”
Polly set down her children and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Faith, thin, I’m a lone woman. Jimmy’s been took be the Injuns, and whether I’ll see him agin or not, I’ll niver tell. The sittlemint’s broke up an’ ivery mother’s son av ’em has scattered, so I followed along an’ kem this way with others. I dunno will I iver see Jimmy agin, but I’m not beyant hopin’ I will. Annyway, he’ll know where to find me, for I left worrud.”
“Why, if they are all gone, how could you leave word?”
“I did thin. I got Johnny McCormick to write a bit on a board, an’ I planted it where the cabin was, an’ if Jimmy comes back, he’ll see it.”
“Oh, poor Polly! I do hope he will come. But now come right in and see mother,” Jeanie urged. “How the baby has grown! It is good to see you all again.”
That night the little cabin of the M’Clean’s was fullto overflowing, but these pioneers considered it a part of their duty to give a helping hand to whomever might come along, and there was no limit to their simple hospitality. Yet it seemed to Agnes that now, when the resources of the family were taxed to their utmost, she must seek another home, and she tried to consult her father upon the subject. But he would only mildly acquiesce to anything that she proposed, and therefore to Polly Agnes took her trouble.
“Father is able to work,” she told her, “but he seems to have no will, and would as lief do one thing as another. Oh, Polly, what shall I do? If my mother were here, we could take up land and build a little house; the neighbors would help, and soon Sandy would be big enough to take charge of things with our planning, and we could all be so comfortable. But they will not let me go off with him alone.”
“Why not jine foorces with Polly O’Neill if ye can stand the children’s clatter? I’m no for biding with Joe M’Clean longer than I kin gather me wits.”
“Oh, Polly, that would be a fine thing. We could go together, and I could furnish a man’s work if not his judgment. Oh, Polly, you have thought of the right thing!”
“Ye see, I’m much in your fix, Nancy, and I’ve been wonderin’ what would I do, an’ ye see it’ll be doin’ a turn for ye all at the same time I’m betterin’ mesel’. Now, I’ll tell ye what’s to be done: ye’ll get yer fatherto take up a bit of land; ye’ll have to go with him to see that he does it all straight an’ true, an’ we’ll build a bit of a cabin and live as commojus as a litter o’ pigs.”
Agnes laughed. “I’d like to live a little better than that.”
“Sure, then, I’m not sayin’ we’ll not live cleaner.”
“And when we get our share of the Muirhead place, you can keep the cabin. Oh, I must tell you all about the Muirheads.”
Polly listened attentively to the tale. “Ye’ll be havin’ a puir chanst av gettin’ it,” she said, “for the law, I’m thinkin’, ’ll give it to the son if so be there’s no will. Ye’d better put the notion out of yer head, Nancy. We’ll stand by one another, an’ if my Jimmy comes back, I’ll no object to goin’ annywhere he may be choosin’.”
Agnes thought the chances of Jimmy’s coming back were no better than the chances of getting the Muirhead property, but she did not say so, though for all that Polly mourned the loss of her husband, she was outwardly the same fun-loving, jolly creature. She entered into the new scheme with much zest, and pushed it so vigorously that before six weeks were gone, Agnes found herself established in a comfortable little abode on the other side of the river from the Muirhead place, but not very far from the M’Cleans. Every one of the neighbors gave a willing hand to the log-rolling, the house-raising, and the getting of the two families settled.Fergus Kennedy, in his mild way, seemed to enjoy it all, though the dread of Indians seemed to overpower him now and then, and then he became pitifully dependent upon Polly and Agnes. He worked at whatever task they set him, and as Polly was a master hand at managing, the little clearing soon took on an inhabited look. The children tumbled about on the puncheon floor, the big chimney-place showed a cheerful fire over which pots of various sizes bubbled and steamed, Polly’s spinning-wheel whirred in the corner to Agnes’s busy tread, and the whole place in an incredibly short space of time gave the appearance of thrift and energy.
Archie M’Clean came over, whenever he could spare the time, and Dod Hunter’s eldest son, Jerry, admiring Polly’s energy and wit, made frequent excuses to drop in to see how they were getting along, to help with the garden, or to bring in a haunch of venison or a wild turkey. Every one recognized the fact that Fergus Kennedy was not an efficient protector, but no one doubted the fact that Polly was. Agnes, auburn haired, blue eyed, fair skinned, was undeniably a girl to be admired by the stalwart young frontiersmen, and when she set out with Polly to any of the rude entertainments the settlement afforded, there was never a lack of an escort. It was a great event when a little log meeting-house was erected by these pious Scotch-Irish, and the going to meeting meant as much to the younger people as to their elders, though perhaps not in quite the sameway. The children, to be sure, rather dreaded the rigid discipline of sitting still through exceedingly long prayers and still longer sermons, but this exercise of self-control was to their advantage, and they liked the psalms, which because of the scarcity of psalm-books were lined out by Joseph M’Clean, who was precentor. The psalms were sung with great heartiness by young and old to the “Twelve common tunes,” though singing-masters farther east were beginning to introduce newer ones, thereby causing some dissension.
It was one Saturday afternoon that Archie appeared more spruced up than usual. His hair was sleeked down with bear’s oil, and his hunting-shirt was adorned with embroidery done with porcupine quills. Polly saw him coming and laughed. “Faith, but ye beeta look fine, Archie,” she cried. “It’s no the Sabbath yet, but yer rigged up to the nines, and strut like a turkey-gobbler.”
Archie flushed under his sunburn, but he answered Polly’s sally with, “It’s no so far from the Sabbath Polly, an’ ye’d better be catechising the children, so they’ll know what’s the chief end o’ man when the new meenister visits ye.”
“Now hear him!” Polly cried. “Is it a meenister himsel’ that is spakin’? Land o’ love, Nancy, see the solemn countenance av the lad. He’s come to tell us that he’s off to study for the meenistry, an’ that’s why he’s so prinked out. I’ll be gettin’ me dye kittle ready,Archie dear, to color yer blacks fur ye; ye’ll soon be needin’ ’em.”
Agnes came to the door where the two were standing. She was a little flushed from having been over the fire. “You’re pranked beyond a doubt, Archie,” she said. “What’s the occasion?”
Archie looked embarrassed. “It’s no occasion, Nancy, except I came over to see you, and ask you to go to church with me to-morrow. Father has a new horse, and I’ll take you on the pillion.”
Agnes put her head to one side rather shyly, as she glanced at Polly. “There’s father,” she said. “He loves to go to church, and he will miss me.”
“I’ll see to your father fast enough, if that’s all,” Polly answered, “but maybe ye’ll not be well dressed enough for this fine gentleman, Nancy.”
“Ah, now, Polly,” expostulated Archie, “you’d better stop your nonsense. Agnes looks well dressed in whatever she wears.”
“In—
‘Linsey-woolsey petticoat,And lappet cotton gown,Shoes and stockings in her hand,But barefoot on the ground,’”
‘Linsey-woolsey petticoat,And lappet cotton gown,Shoes and stockings in her hand,But barefoot on the ground,’”
‘Linsey-woolsey petticoat,And lappet cotton gown,Shoes and stockings in her hand,But barefoot on the ground,’”
‘Linsey-woolsey petticoat,
And lappet cotton gown,
Shoes and stockings in her hand,
But barefoot on the ground,’”
sang Polly. “Ye’ll not even wet yer good shoes by ridin’, Nancy, and I’d advise ye to take the lift when ye ken git it.” And so Agnes promised that she would go with Archie, secretly wishing that she had a new kerchiefand that her best bonnet was of something better than “six hundred” linen.
“Ye’ll come in and have a sup with us,” said Polly to Archie; “that is, if so fine a body kin set down with our linsey-woolsey, and it’s no pewter we have, but juist wooden bowls and trenchers.”
“As if I didn’t know,” returned Archie, with some annoyance. “And that reminds me, I fetched you over a set of bowls I’ve been making. They are of good ash knots and as hard as a bullet. I left ’em out here where your father is working, Nancy.”
“Run along with him and get them,” said Polly, giving Agnes a good-natured shove, “and I’ll be takin’ up the mush whilst ye tell yer father to come in.” She stood a moment looking after the youth and the maid as they went off together. With all her rough heartiness and shrewd common sense, Polly was sentimental and she loved Agnes as a younger sister. “They’re a likely looking pair,” she said to herself. “I hope they’ll hit it off, though I’m no so sure o’ Nancy. She’s far too unconscious-like when Archie’s around. He’s a good lad, though a bit too serious. Faith, he’d make a good meenister or a schoolmaster if he had the larnin’.” She turned into the house while Archie and Agnes went on through the clearing to where Fergus Kennedy was at work in the little garden.
“I saw that Hump Muirhead yesterday,” said Archie.
“Where? Did you speak to him?”
“No. He was over by M’Clintock’s. He was boasting that you’d never set foot on the place again. He says it’s his by right of his being the eldest and the son, and your mother would have no chance at court unless she had a will to produce to prove a claim, and there’s nobody can contradict that. I’d like to be able to oust him, but if anybody tried it, he would make it bad for them, for he is capable of doing anything, they say, and nobody can gainsay that he hasn’t his right by being the eldest. So I’m afraid you’ll have to give it up, Agnes.”
“Oh, how I hate to. I know my grandfather would never have told my mother that she would have that piece of property if he hadn’t have meant to leave it to her. I should like to get the best of him. Oh, I should.”
“So would I, but I think I’d fight shy of him. They say he’s a bad one if you get his ill-will, and he will harm you if he can, and it worries me, Agnes—to have you—you in danger.”
“Oh, I’m safe enough. I’m not afraid of anybody but the Indians, and they are not so troublesome about here where it is more thickly settled. I like to have you call me Agnes, Archie. ’Most everybody says Nancy.”
“I know you like it.”
“And that’s why you do it? Good boy. Don’t say anything to father about Humphrey Muirhead; it willonly confuse him, for he will try to remember, and you know he can’t. We’ll bide here awhile, anyhow, until—”
“Until I’m twenty-one,” interrupted Archie, coolly, “and then I will have a home for you.”
Agnes bit her lip; she had not meant to bring up that subject. But she thought it well not to answer, and hurried on to where her father was busy. “Father, supper’s ready,” she called cheerily. “Time to stop work. Saturday evening, you know, and to-morrow we go to meeting.”
“Yes, yes, lass. I’m ready,” he returned, straightening himself up. “To-morrow’ll be the Sabbath? I didn’t mind that; I’m glad ye told me.”
“Here’s Archie.”
“Archie?”
“Yes, Archie M’Clean, Joseph M’Clean’s son.”
“Oh, yes; Joe M’Clean’s son. Glad to see ye, my lad.” It was hard for him to remember Archie from time to time, but the lad never minded and always repeated his answers patiently to the often recurring questions.
“Archie has brought us a nest of bowls,” said Agnes. “Where did you put them, Archie?” He produced them from where he had laid them behind a hollow stump, and they were duly admired. A nest of such bowls as Archie could make from knots of the ash tree was something of a possession, and his art in making them gave him quite a name for cleverness, for few had his accomplishment of turning them.
“I’ve put up a fine sweep at our place,” Archie told them, “and you’ll be bringing your corn over, won’t you, Agnes? All the neighbors are at it, and keep it going steadily, but you shall have your turn, and I will grind all you need.”
“How good and kind you are,” Agnes returned. “When the corn gets hard, it is pretty heavy work for us. The grater does well enough now while the corn is tender, for you made us such a good one. You remember, father, it was Archie who made our grater, and now he has made a sweep at his father’s, and will grind our corn for us if we take it over.”
Her father nodded thoughtfully, not being quite sure of himself. He remembered the grater in daily use to prepare the meal for the family, but the maker of the crude little implement was not so familiar an object.
Carrying the bowls and Fergus Kennedy’s hoe, Archie strode along by the side of the two, Agnes secretly admiring his fine appearance, though she did not intend to let him know it. He, meanwhile, thought no one could look as pretty as Agnes; her soft auburn hair curled around her neck, and though she was rosy from sunburn and a crop of little freckles freely besprinkled her nose and cheeks, her forehead was purely white, and her throat, too. She carried her sunbonnet in her hand, and her feet, scratched and brown, were minus shoes and stockings. In the cold weather she had her shoepacks and moccasins, but now in the summershe must go barefooted like the rest of her friends. She was thankful that she was wearing, at the time their first cabin was burned, the only pair of shoes she had brought from home. These were saved for great occasions, and she thought of them with satisfaction, as she remembered that she could wear them to church the next day.
“There is a newcomer in the neighborhood,” Archie told them all at the table, between his mouthfuls of mush and milk—“gape and swallow,” Polly called it.
“And who is the stranger?” Agnes asked.
“A young man, David Campbell.”
“And what is he like? Where has he come from? Where will he settle?”
“Hear the lass’s questions,” laughed Polly. “Ye’ll be takin’ them wan be wan, Archie. Firstly, what is he like? Under this head come his features, his hair and eyes—”
Agnes shook her head. “Ah, but Polly, you are almost sacreleegious with your firstly and your heads.”
“I? Not a mite. Can no one but a meenister be sayin’ firstly and secondly, and so on up to seventhly?”
“Don’t bother with her, Archie; go on and tell us. I’m curious to know.”
“As if that needed tellin’,” continued Polly, bent on teasing.
Archie’s grave smile was his only reply to Polly’s words, then he went on to say: “He’s no so tall, butbroad shouldered; sandy hair and blue eyes he has. He’s rather a quiet-spoken man, but energetic, and seeming honest and weel intentioned.”
“Ah!” Agnes was suddenly thoughtful. Presently she laughed outright. “Has Jeanie seen him?”
“Yes, he was twice over in the past week. He’s thinking of settling down the other side of Gilfillan’s.”
“Has he a wife to follow him?”
“No; he’s but himself.”
“Ah!” Polly was disappointed. “Then there’ll be no housewarming.”
“Not yet. He’ll put up a bit of a shanty for shelter and do better later on.”
“I’m that anxious to see him,” Agnes said. “I’ve a reason for it. Ah, but, I’ll be glad to see Jeanie to-morrow.” Her eyes danced and the dimples played around the corners of her mouth as she spoke.
“Tell me what’s your consate, dear,” said Polly, coaxingly. “Ye’ve something that’s a sacret.”
“No, I’ll not tell.” Agnes shook her head. “You charged me with curiosity, Polly O’Neill, and I’ll not satisfy yours. Who’s curious now? Come early,” she called to Archie, as he started away, “for I want to have a word with Jeanie before we go into the meeting-house, and I want to see this David Campbell.”
Archie nodded, though to tell the truth he was a little troubled by Agnes’s eagerness to meet the newcomer. Suppose she should fancy him. Archie hadnever been jealous before, but it must be said that even the elegance of his attire failed to bring him comfort as he trudged through the woods toward his home.
Even the next morning he had an uneasy feeling that Agnes’s excitement on the way to church was not due to her being impressed by the honor of riding with him upon the new horse, but because of David Campbell’s appearance in the neighborhood.
“You’re overmerry for the Sabbath,” he said once, reprovingly, and was sorry a moment after the speech, because it had exactly the effect he feared.
“Then I’ll meditate upon my shortcomings the rest of the way,” Agnes retorted. “You’ll no need to address your remarks to me again, Archie M’Clean. I’ll take your meenisterial advice and hold self-communion.” And Archie, feeling that he had brought the situation upon himself, was obliged to continue his way in silence, and the slight hold of Agnes’s hand around his waist was the sole solace he had. He had counted so much upon this ride, and to have it turn out thus by his own hasty speech was too much. All the bravery of his new garments went for nothing. He longed to apologize, but his stubborn Scotch pride prevented him, and so they rode on in silence till they were in sight of the meeting-house. Then Archie ventured to lay his fingers for one moment upon Agnes’s hand, but she withdrew her hold, and he was aware that he had offended in this, too. He turned to look at her, butthe blue eyes were obstinately cast down. Agnes, too, possessed her share of Scotch pride.
They stopped before the cleared space where little groups of people stood. As Archie dismounted he saw that Agnes’s eyes were busy in looking over the arrivals. It was evident that there was no forgiveness for him unless he asked it. He raised his eyes to the girl as he lifted her down, but there was nothing but cold disdain in hers. “Ye’ll no hold my remark against me,” he whispered. “I was vexed for no reason but because ye were so eager to see David Campbell.”
“Was that it?” Agnes gave him a smile, for, womanlike, the reason of the offence wiped out the seriousness of the offence itself, and, as she rested her hand lightly on his shoulder while she dismounted, she nodded, “I’ll forgive you if you’ll point out David Campbell.”
“There he is, over by Sam Gilfillan.”
“I see him. I hope you enjoyed your ride; I did. I’m going to find Jeanie now.”
She was not long in seeking Jeanie out, and she quickly drew her to one side. “I want to show you something, Jeanie. Come over here.” She was so dimpling with repressed amusement that Jeanie followed, wondering. “Do you see that man over by the sycamore tree?” she asked. “The one talking to Sam Gilfillan, I mean.”
“Yes, I see him. It is David Campbell. How do you come to know him?”
“I don’t know him. He’s the one, Jeanie.”
“The one? What?”
“That you are to marry. Isn’t he just as I described?”
“Oh, Agnes!” Jeanie turned scarlet. “You naughty girl.”
“Well, then, he is. Not so very tall, sandy hair, blue eyes, quiet. What have you to say?”
“That you are a witch.”
“And you’ll lend me nothing if I come to borrow.”
“I’ll lend you anything.”
“Except David Campbell; I may want to borrow him sometimes.”
Jeanie was about to speak, but just then the minister appeared, and a decorous line of worshippers entered the little meeting-house. What it was that Jeanie meant to say Agnes did not find out; but it was quite true that during the long service Jeanie stole more than one glance at David Campbell.