CHAPTER XIII.
THE day of the concert smilingly dawned.
At breakfast, Uncle Reuben surprised them by saying, “I’m going over the river to-day, Mean. Don’t you want to go ’long, and stop to George’s?”
Aunt Mean hesitated.
“You kin wear your best bunnet, so’s to stop to the concert on the way back.”
“Reuben Whittaker! you’re not going to blow in a single cent on any concert, and you know it. If Gertrude is foolish ’nough to go and take Chee, that ain’t none of my business.” Aunt Mean looked toward her nieces as she spoke, but the cousins’ eyes were fixed upon their plates.
“Why, Mean,” said Uncle Reuben, mildly, “the minister says the hull town is going to turn out. Even—”
“When did you see the minister?” interrupted his sister.
“Even Miss Flanigin sent for her sister to take keer of the young’ns,” continued Uncle Reuben, without notice of any question. “I never reckoned on our being behind the Flanigins.”
“Humph! those Flanigins,” was Aunt Mean’s only comment. But Gertrude noticed, as they drove away, a bonnet with a purple poppy had won the day.
“What could have possessed Uncle Reuben to take her off to-day, of all days?” gleefully questioned Chee.
“Everything is turning out just right, that’s a fact,” replied her cousin.
A thought of half suspicion came to Chee. “You don’t suppose—” she began, impressively, when Gertrude gave a little cry of pleasure, saying, “If here doesn’t come Herman, the old dear, and the house all to ourselves.”
What a day of it they had! With only her two good friends to watch her, Chee forgot her usual reserve, and quite surprised them with her happy chatter. Without the restraint of Aunt Mean’s practical presence, some of the child’s queer fancies and odd expressions crept into her talk.Until then, Gertrude had but half realized how truly the little cousin’s nature was made up of the sensitive perceptions and legendary instincts of her mother’s people.
Toward evening a thunder-storm threatened. The three were sitting in Aunt Mean’s plant-room at the time.
“Grandfather is speaking,” said Chee, pleasantly, as the first distant mutterings of thunder were heard. Cousin Herman looked up questioningly.
“Who?” asked Gertrude.
“Grandfather—don’t you hear him?”
Just then a sharp clap rang through the air. Gertrude held her fingers to her ears.
“That was M’dessun,” said Chee. Then noticing her companions’ bewildered glances, added, “It’s very easy to know his voice from grandfather’s other sons’—he talks so angrily.”
The thunder still roared. Mr. Farrar closed the plant-room door. “I guess we hadn’t better sit out here for awhile,” he said, gathering up Gertrude’s books. “We can come back, it won’t last long, I think.”
“Don’t go! What made you shut the door?I love to hear them,” and Chee stepped out into the rising storm fearlessly, as though the sky had been all sunshine.
“Come in, Chee. Oh, do come in!” cried Gertrude, pale with alarm.
The child ran quickly, and throwing her arms around her cousin, asked, “Why, are you sick? What is the matter? Don’t you like Thunder? He is our grandfather, you know.”
“Is the girl crazy?” asked Mr. Farrar.
“I think she refers to some legend,” answered Gertrude. Chee had always been interesting; her personality was felt, even when she was her usual, reserved little self; to-day, all embarrassment cast away, she was fascinating.
“We don’t know about it, Birdie; can’t you tell us?”
“I forgot you didn’t know,” replied Chee. Then as if in penitence, she added, “I’ll close the door again, if you’d rather, Cousin Gertrude.”
“No, leave it open. The storm is going around us. It will be pleasanter soon. Now tell us what you meant by ‘Grandfather.’”
So Chee began,—the rain dripping from theroof, and the fresh, purified air blowing in at the wide-swung door,—“Why, as I said, Thunder is our grandfather. He has three boys. That loud, sharp sound that hurt Cousin Gertrude’s ears was the baby; he is cross and cruel. But grandfather will never allow him to harm us. Grandfather lets him kill animals sometimes.
“His other sons are kind, gentle boys; they never do any harm, but cool the air instead, and make the earth fresh again. Thunder that just threatens and mutters is grandfather’s voice.”
“What about lightning?” asked Cousin Herman, with a twinkle in his eye. “Is that kind and good?”
Chee laughed. “Lightning? She’s—well, she’s his wife.” They all laughed at her answer, and Mr. Farrar mischievously glanced at Gertrude. Chee noticed that she blushed, but took courage and added, “There’s an old story about grandfather; would you like to hear it?”
Of course they were only too glad to keep her talking, so, clasping her hands around one knee, she commenced the story—her low, dreamy voice fitting well with the tale.
“Well, once, years and years ago,[2]there were two Indian homes. In each home there was a beautiful daughter; they were lovely, good friends, but they couldn’t see each other very often, for their wigwams were such a long ways apart. But one awful hot day, one of them asked her mother if she couldn’t go and see the other girl, and her mother said ‘no,’ ’cause she was so pretty. But the girl teased so hard she had to let her go.
“She hadn’t gone very far before a tall man came and walked beside her, and said such nice things to her she forgot all about where she was going, until she found right in front of them a big rock with a hole in it. The man said, ‘This is where I live. Won’t you come in?’
“She was afraid of the dark, so she wouldn’t go. But he coaxed, and finally she said she’d go in if he’d go first. So he went, but just the minute he got inside, he turned right into an ugly old Wi-will-mecq, and she was scared most to pieces.”
“May we ask what a ‘Wi-will-mecq’ is?” asked Mr. Farrar.
I’VE SAVED YOU FROM THE GREAT WI-WILL-MECQ“‘I’VE SAVED YOU FROM THE GREAT WI-WILL-MECQ’”
“‘I’VE SAVED YOU FROM THE GREAT WI-WILL-MECQ’”
“‘I’VE SAVED YOU FROM THE GREAT WI-WILL-MECQ’”
“It’s a great, horrid worm, and the girl tried to run away from it, but just then an awful loud thundering was heard, and she didn’t know anything more until she opened her eyes in a great big room with an old man in it.
“He said, ‘I’m your grandfather. I’ve saved you from the great Wi-will-mecq.’ Then he showed it to her, out-doors, all chopped up in a hundred little pieces. He told the girl she must give him a smoke when he asked for it, to show she was grateful. Then he sent her home safe and sound. Do you like that story?”
“Very much,” answered Cousin Herman. “But I can see from her face that Gertie is wondering how in the world the girl could give old Thunder a smoke.”
“The Indians used always to do that after grandfather was so good to one of their people. They build a fire out-doors every time grandfather calls for it, and put some tobacco in it; it goes up in the smoke, and so he gets it.[3]Now you see I couldn’t be afraid, could I?”
Cousin Gertrude patted Chee’s braids. Mr.Farrar whistled softly to himself. Chee noticed that neither answered her question.
“Well, anyway,” she exclaimed, her eyes flashing, “you can ask just as many people as you like, and every one will tell you that there never was an Indian or anything he owned killed in a thunder-storm.[4]My daddy asked lots of wise people, and none ever could tell of a single one.”
Mr. Farrar could no longer whistle, his lips were trying to smile. With a smothered “Ha, ha,” he hurried out to feed his horse.
Chee was very much displeased. She went to the open door, and leaning her head against the casement, looked over the freshened fields. Before long, Gertrude joined her. Drawing the little girl to her, she too stood watching the landscape.
“Birdie,” she asked, at length, then hesitated, as though loath to go on, “do you honestly believe that pretty little story?”
Chee turned her face toward her questioner, all resentment gone—that soft light in her eyes, only there when she was deeply moved.
“Cousin Gertrude, dear,” she answered, lookingclearly into the other’s face, “don’t worry. I know what you mean. Yes, and no. For the time I was telling it I believed it. But now when you ask me, I know quite well that Our Father sends the thunder, just as He sends the rain when we need it. Daddy told me so. But anyway, I shouldn’t be afraid because it’s just the same. He won’t let anything hurt me. Daddy told me that, and I think I should know it, anyway. Sometimes when the breeze blows softly against my cheek, it tells me so, and if ever I forget, the stars at night tell me how wrong it is to fear Our Father who loves us so.”
Cousin Gertrude made no reply, she only held the little one closer. Chee was not a heathen, but she was certainly a strange child.