“Of course, sir, we will pay for the mule. My folks wouldn’t, I mean couldn’t, accept such a gift from a stranger. Our house-boat is tied up at the little wharf down yonder and we’ll likely be there for awhile. I’ll come back soon and tell what they say.”
Colonel Dillingham made no motion as if he heard and James was too afraid he would repent of the bargain to tarry. But Billy wasn’t easy to lead. He followed peaceably enough as far as the designated bars, even stepped over the fallen rails into the grassy fields beyond. But there he firmly planted his fore-feet and refused to go further.
Left behind and scarcely believing his own eyes, Ephraim now respectfully inquired, with pride at having guessed the man’s title:
“How much dese yeah millyouns wuth, Cunnel?”
The question was ignored although the gentleman seemed listening to something. It was the dispute now waging in the field beyond, where Jim was trying to induce Billy to move and the other lads were offering suggestions in the case. At last something akin to a smile stole over the farmer’s grim features and he roughly ordered:
“Shut up, you nigger! Huh! Just as I thought. I couldn’t sell Billy and Billy won’t be given. Eh? what? Price of melons? You black idiot, do you reckon a gentleman who can afford to give away a mule’s goin’ to take money for a few trumpery water-melons? Go on away. Go to the packin’-house yonder and find a sack. Fill it. Take the whole field full. Eat enough to kill yourself. I wish you would!”
Far from being offended by this outbreak, Ephraim murmured:
“Yes, suh, t’ank yo’, suh,” and hobbled over the uneven ground toward the whitewashed building in the middle of the patch. Some more thrifty predecessor had built this for the storing and packing of produce, but under the present owner’s management it was fast tumbling to ruin. But neither did this fact surprise Ephy, nor hinder him from choosing the largest sack from a pile on the floor. With this in hand hehurried back to the goodly heap of melons he had made ready and hastily loaded them into the sack.
Not till then did he consider how he was to get that heavy load to the Water Lily. Standing up, he took off his hat, scratched his wool, hefted the melons, and finally chuckled in delight.
“‘Mo’ ways ’an one to skin a cat’! Down-hill’s easier ’an up!”
With that he began to drag the sack toward the fence and, having reached it, took out its contents and tossed them over the fence. When the bag was empty he rolled and tucked it into the back of his coat, then climbed back to the field outside. The controversy with Billy was still going lustily on, but Ephy had more serious work on hand than that. Such a heap of luscious melons meant many a day’s feast, if they could be stored in some safe, cool place.
“Hello! Look at old Eph!” suddenly cried Gerald, happening to turn about.
“Huh! Now ain’t that clever? Wonder I never thought o’ that myself!” cried the Colonel, with some animation. “Clever enough for a white man. Billy, you’d ought have conjured that yourself. But that’s always the way. I cayn’t think a thought but somebody else has thought it before me. I cayn’t never get ahead of the tail end of things. Oh! hum!”
The Colonel might be sighing but the three lads were laughing heartily enough to drown the sighs, for there was the old negro starting oneafter another of the great melons a-roll down the gentle slope, to bring up on the grassy bank at the very side of the Water Lily. If a few fell over into the water they could easily be fished out, reasoned Ephraim, proud of his own ingenuity.
But the group beside the bars didn’t watch to see the outcome of that matter, nor Ephraim’s reception. They were too busy expostulating with Billy, and lavishing endearments upon him.
“‘Stubborn as a mule’,” quoted Melvin, losing patience.
“Or fate,” responded the Colonel, drearily.
“Please, sir, won’t you try to make him go?” pleaded Gerald. “I think if you just started him on the right way he’d keep at it.”
“Billy is—Billy!” said the farmer. He was really greatly interested. Nothing so agreeable as this had happened in his monotonous life since he could remember. Here were three lads, as full of life as he had been once, jolly, hearty, with a will to do and conquer everything; and—here was Billy. A great, awkward, inert mass of bone and muscle, merely, calmly holding these clever youngsters at bay.
“Can he be ridden?” demanded Jim, at length.
“He might. Try;” said the man, in heart-broken accents.
Jim tried. Melvin tried. Gerald tried. With every attempt to cross his back the animal threw up his heels and calmly shook the intruder off.
The Colonel folded his arms and sorrowfullyregarded these various attempts and failures; then dolefully remarked:
“It seems I cayn’t evengiveBilly away. Ah! hum.”
Jim lost his temper.
“Well, sir, we’ll call it off and bid you good night. Somebody will come back to pay you for the melons.”
As he turned away in a huff his mates started to follow him; but Melvin was surprised by a touch on his shoulder and looked up to see the Colonel beside him.
“Young man, you look as if you came of gentle stock. Billy was brought up by a gentlewoman, my daughter. She forsook him and me for another man. I mean she got married. That’s why Billy and I live alone now, except for the niggers. They’s a right and a wrong way to everything.This—is the right way with Billy. Billy, lie down.”
For an instant the animal hesitated as if suspecting some treachery in this familiar command; then he doubled himself together like a jack-knife, or till he was but a mound of mule-flesh upon the grass.
“She taught him. She rode this way. Billy, get up.”
This strange man had seated himself sidewise upon the mule’s back, leisurely freeing his feet from the loose-hanging harness and balancing himself easily as the animal got up. Then still sitting sidewise he ordered:
“Billy, proceed.”
At once Billy “proceeded” at an even and decorous pace, while the lads walked alongside, vastly entertained by this unusual rider and his mount. He seemed to think a further explanation necessary, for as they neared the bottom of the slope he remarked:
“Learned that in Egypt. Camel riding. She came home and taught him.”
Then they came to the edge of the bank and paused in surprise. Instead of the gay welcome they had expected, there was Chloe walking frantically up and down, hugging a still dripping little figure to her breast and refusing to yield it to the outstretched arms of poor old Ephraim, who stood in the midst of his melons, a woe-begone, miserable creature, wholly unlike his jubilant self of a brief while before.
“What’s—happened?” asked Jim, running to Chloe’s side.
“’Tis a jedgmen’! A jedgmen’! Oh! de misery—de misery!” she wailed, breaking away from him and wildly running to and fro again, in the fierce excitement of her race.
Yet there upon the roof of the cabin, cheerily looking out from his “bridge” was Cap’n Jack. He was waving his crutches in jovial welcome and trying to cover Chloe’s wailing by his exultant:
“I fished him out with a boat-hook! With—a—boat-hook, d’ye hear?”
Attracted by the wild flowers growing in the fields around the cove where the Water Lily was moored, the four girls had left the boat a little while before the melon seekers had done so.
Mabel and Aurora cared little for flowers in themselves but Dorothy’s eagerness was infectious, and Elsa’s pale face had lighted with pleasure. But even then her timidity moved her to say:
“Suppose something happens? Suppose we should get lost? It’s a strange, new place—I guess—I’m afraid—I’ll stay with Mrs. Calvert, please.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind, my dear,” said that lady, smiling. “You’ve done altogether too much ‘staying’ in your short life. Time now to get outdoor air and girlish fun. Go with Dorothy and get some color into your cheeks. You want to go back to that father of yours looking a very different Elsa from the one he trusted to us. Run along! Don’t bother about a hat and jacket. Exercise will keep you from taking cold. Dolly, dear, see that the child has a good time.”
Elsa’s mother had died of consumption and her father had feared that his child might inherit that disease. In his excessive love and care for her he had kept her closely housed in the poor apartment of a crowded tenement, the only home he could afford. The result had been to render her more frail than she would otherwise have been. Her shyness, her lameness, and her love of books with only her father for teacher, made her contented enough in such a life, but was far from good for her. The best thing that had ever happened to her was this temporary breaking up of this unwholesome routine and her having companions of her own age.
So that even now she had looked wistfully upon the small bookshelf in the cabin, with the few volumes placed there; but Mrs. Calvert shook her head and Elsa had to obey.
“But, Dorothy, aren’t you afraid? There might be snakes. It might rain. It looks wet and swampy—I daren’t get my feet wet—father’s so particular——”
“If it rains I’ll run back and get you an umbrella, Aunt Betty’s own—the only one aboard, I fancy. And as for fear—child alive! Did you never get into the woods and smell the ferns and things? There’s nothing so sweet in the world as the delicious woodsy smell! Ah! um! Let’s hurry!” cried Dolly, linking her arm in the lame girl’s and helping her over the grassy hummocks.
Even then Elsa would have retreated, startledby the idea of “woods” where the worst she had anticipated was a leisurely stroll over a green meadow. But there was no resisting her friend’s enthusiasm; besides, looking backward she was as much afraid to return and try clambering aboard the Lily, unaided, as she was to go forward.
So within a few minutes all four had entered the bit of woodland and, following Dorothy’s example, were eagerly searching for belated blossoms. Learning, too, from that nature-loving girl, things they hadn’t known before.
“A cardinal flower—more of them—a whole lot! Yes, of course, it’s wet there. Cardinals always grow in damp places, along little streams like this I’ve slipped my foot into! Oh! aren’t they beauties! Won’t dear Aunt Betty go just wild over them! if Father John, the darling man who ‘raised’ me, were only here! He’s a deal lamer than you, Elsa Carruthers, but nobody’s feet would get over the ground faster than his crutches if he could just have one glimpse of this wonderland!
“Did you ever notice? Almost all the autumn flowers are either purple or yellow or white? There are no real blues, no rose-colors; with just this lovely, lovely cardinal for an exception.”
Dorothy sped back to where Elsa stood nervously balancing herself upon a fallen tree-trunk and laid the brilliant flowers in her hands. Elsa looked at them in wonder and then exclaimed:
“My! how pretty! They look just as if they were made out of velvet in the milliner’s window! And how did you know all that about the colors?”
“Oh! Father John, and Mr. Winters—Uncle Seth, he likes me to call him—the dear man that gave us the Water Lily—they told me. Though I guessed some things myself. You can’t help that, you know, when you love anything. I think, I just do think, that the little bits of things which grow right under a body’s feet are enough to make one glad forever. Sometime, when I grow up, if Aunt Betty’s willing, and I don’t have to work for my living, I shall build us a little house right in the woods and live there.”
“Pshaw, Dolly Doodles! You couldn’t build a house if you tried. And you’d get mighty sick of staying in the woods all the time, with nobody coming to visityou——”remarked Mabel coming up behind them.
“I should have the birds and the squirrels, and all the lovely creatures that live in the forest!”
“And wild-cats, and rattlesnakes, and horrid buggy things! Who’d see any of your new clothes?”
“I shouldn’t want any. I’d wear one frock till it fell to pieces——”
“You wouldn’t be let! Mrs. Calvert’s awful particular about your things.”
“That’s so,” commented Aurora. “They’re terrible plain but they look just right, somehow.Righter ’n mine do, Gerry says, though I don’t believe they cost near as much.”
“Well, we didn’t come into these lovely woods to talk about clothes. Anybody can make clothes but only the dear God can make a cardinal flower!” cried Dorothy, springing up, with a sudden sweet reverence on her mobile face.
Elsa as suddenly bent and kissed her, and even the other matter-of-fact girls grew thoughtful.
“It’s like a church, isn’t it? Only more beautiful,” whispered the lame girl.
“Yes, isn’t it? Makes all the petty hatefulness of things seem not worth while. What matter if the storm did break the engine—that stranded us right here and gave usthis. If we’d kept on down the bay we’d have missed it. That’s like dear Uncle Seth says—that things aremeant. So I believe that it was ‘meant’ you should come here to-day and have your first taste of the woods. You’ll never be afraid of them again, I reckon.”
“Never—never! I’m glad you made me come. I didn’t want to. I wanted to read, but this is better than any book could be, because like you said—God made it.”
Aurora and Mabel had already turned back toward the Lily and now called that it was time to go. Though the little outing had meant less to them than it had to Elsa and Dorothy, it had still given them a pleasure that was simple and did them good. Aurora had gathered a big bunchof purple asters for the table, thinking how well they would harmonize with the dainty lavender of her hostess’s gown; and Mabel had plucked a lot of “boneset” for her mother, remembering how much that lady valued it as a preventive of “malary”—the disease she had been sure she would contract, cruising in shallow streams.
“Come on, girls! Something’s happened! The boys are waving to us like all possessed!” shouted Mabel, when they had neared the wharf and the boat which already seemed like home to them.
Indeed, Gerald and Melvin were dancing about on the little pier beckoning and calling: “Hurry up, hurry up!” and the girls did hurry, even Elsa moving faster than she had ever done before. Already she felt stronger for her one visit to that wonderful forest and she was hoping that the Water Lily might remain just where it was, so that she might go again and again.
Then Gerald came to meet them, balancing a water-melon on his head, trying to imitate the ease with which the colored folks did that same trick. But he had to use his hands to keep it in place and even so it slipped from his grasp and fell, broken to pieces at Elsa’s feet.
“Oh! What a pity!” she cried, then dropped her eyes because she had been surprised into speaking to this boy who had never noticed her before.
“Not a bit! Here, my lady, taste!”
She drew back her head from the great piece he held at her lips but was forced to take one mouthful in self-defence. But Dorothy, in similar fix was eating as if she were afraid of losing the dainty, while Gerald merrily pretended to snatch it away.
“Ha! That shows the difference—greed and daintiness!”
Then in a changed tone he exclaimed:
“Pretty close shave for the pickaninny!”
Dorothy held her dripping bit of melon at arm’s length and quickly asked:
“What do you mean? Why do you look so sober all of a sudden?”
“Metty came near drowning. Tried to follow his mother over the field to the melon-patch and fell into the water. Mrs. Calvert was walking around the deck and heard the splash. Nobody else was near. She ran around to that side and saw him. Then she screamed. Old Cap’n says by the time he got there the little chap was going under for the last time. Don’t know how he knew that—doubt if he did—but if he did—but he wouldn’t spoil a story for a little thing like a lie. Queer old boy, that skipper, with his pretended log and his broken spy-glass.He——”
“Never mind that, go on—go on! He was saved, wasn’t he? Oh! say that he was!” begged Dolly, wringing her hands.
“Course. And you’re dripping pink juice all over your skirt!”
“If you’re going to be so tantalizing——” she returned and forgetful of lame Elsa, sped away to find out the state of things for herself.
Left alone Elsa began to tremble, so that her teeth chattered when Gerald again held the fruit to her lips.
“Please don’t! I—I can’t bear it! It seems so dreadful! Nothing’s so dreadful as—death! Poor, poor, little boy!”
The girl’s face turned paler than ordinary and she shook so that Gerald could do no less than put his arm around her to steady her.
“Don’t feel that way, Elsa! Metty isn’t dead. I tell you he’s all right. He’s the most alive youngster this minute there is in the country. Old Cap’n is lame; of course he couldn’t swim, even if he’d tried. But he didn’t. He just used his wits, and they’re pretty nimble, let me tell you! There was a boat-hook hanging on the rail—that’s a long thing with a spike, or hook, at one end, to pull a boat to shore, don’t you know? He caught that up and hitched it into the seat of Metty’s trousers and fished him out all right. Fact.”
Elsa’s nervousness now took the form of tears, mingled with hysterical laughter, and it was Gerald’s turn to grow pale. What curious sort of a girl was this who laughed and cried all in one breath, and just because a little chap wasn’t drowned, though he might have been?
“I say, girlie, Elsa, whatever your name is,quit it! You’re behaving horrid!Metty isn’t dead.He’s very much happier than—than I am, at this minute. He’s eating water-melon and you’d show some sense if you’d do that, too. When his mother got back, after stealing her melon, she found things in a fine mess. Old Cap’n had fished the youngster out but he wasn’t going to have him drip muddy water all over his nice clean ‘ship.’ Not by a long shot! So he carries him by the boat-hook, just as he’d got him, over to the grass and hung him up in a little tree that was there, to dry. Yes, sir! Gave him a good spanking, too, Mrs. Bruce said, just to keep him from taking cold! Funny old snoozer, ain’t he?”
In spite of herself Elsa stopped sobbing and smiled; while relieved by this change Gerald hurriedly finished his tale.
“He was hanging there, the Cap’n holding him from falling, when his mother came tearing down the hill and stopped so short her melon fell out her skirt—ker-smash! ‘What you-all doin’ ter mah li’l lamb?’ says she. ‘Just waterin’ the grass,’ says he. ‘Why-fo’?’ says she. ‘’Cause the ornery little fool fell into the river and tried to spile his nice new livery. Why else?’ says he. Then—Did you ever hear a colored woman holler? Made no difference to her that the trouble was all over and Methuselah Washington Bonaparte was considerable cleaner than he had been before his plunge; she kept on yelling till everybodywas half-crazy and we happened along with—Billy! Say,Elsa——”
“Gerald, I mean Mr. Blank, is all that true?”
“What’s the use eyeing a fellow like that? I guess it’s true. That’s about the way it must have been and, anyway, that part that our good skipper fished the boy out of the water is a fact. Old Ephraim grand-daddy hated Cap’n Jack like poison before; now he’d kiss the ground he walks on, if he wasn’t ashamed to be caught at it. Funny! That folks should make such an everlasting fuss over one little black boy!”
“I suppose they love him,” answered Elsa. She was amazed to find herself walking along so quietly beside this boy whom she had thought so rough, and from whom she shrank more than from any of the others. He had certainly been kind. He was the one who had stayed to help her home when even Dorothy forsook her. She had hated his rude boisterous ways and the sound of his voice, with its sudden changes from a deep bass to a squeaking falsetto. Now she felt ashamed and punished, that she had so misjudged the beautiful world into which she had come, and, lifting her large eyes to Gerald’s face, said so very prettily.
But the lad had little sentiment in his nature and hated it in others. If she was going to act silly and “sissy” he’d leave her to get home the best way she could. The ground was pretty even now and, with her hand resting on his arm, shewas walking steadily enough. Of course, her lame foot did dragbut——
A prolonged bray broke into his uncomfortable mood and turning to the startled Elsa, he merrily explained:
“That’s Billy! Hurry up and be introduced to Billy! I tell you he’s a character——”
“Billy?Billy!Don’t tell me there’s another boy come to stay on the Lily!”
“Fact. The smartest one of the lot! Hurry up!”
Elsa had to hurry, though she shrank from meeting any more strangers, because Gerald forgot that he still grasped her arm and forced her along beside him, whether or no. But she released herself as they came to the wharf and the people gathered there.
This company included not only the house-boat party but a number of other people. So novel a craft as a house-boat couldn’t be moored within walking distance of Four-Corners’ Post-Office, and the waterside village of Jimpson’s Landing, without arousing great curiosity. Also, the other boats passing up and down stream, scows and freighters mostly these were, plying between the fertile lands of Anne Arundel and the Baltimore markets, had spread the tale.
Now, at evening, when work was over, crowds flocked from the little towns to inspect the Water Lily and its occupants. Also, many of them to offer supplies for its convenience. The betterto do this last, they unceremoniously climbed aboard, roamed at will over both boat and tender, inspected and commented upon everything and, finally, demanded to see the “Boss.”
Outside on the grass beside the wharf sat Colonel Dillingham of T, side-saddle-wise upon great Billy, who had gone to sleep. He was waiting to be presented to Mrs. Calvert and would not presume to disturb her till she sent for him. Meanwhile he was very comfortable, and with folded arms, his habitual attitude, he sadly observed the movements of his neighbors.
Most of these nodded to him as they passed, with an indifferent “Howdy, Cunnel?” paying no further attention to him. Yet there was something about the man on mule-back that showed him to be of better breeding than the rustics who disdained him. Despite his soiled and most unhappy appearance he spoke with the accents of a gentleman, and when his name was repeated to Mrs. Calvert she mused over it with a smile.
“Dillingham? Dillingham of T? Why, of course, Dolly dear, he’s of good family. One of the best in Maryland. I reckon I’ll have to go into the cabin and receive him. Is it still full of those ill-bred men, who swarmed over this boat as if they owned it?”
“Yes, Aunt Betty, pretty full. Some, a few, have gone. Those who haven’t want to see the ‘Boss.’”
Mrs. Calvert peered from her stateroom whither she had fled at the first invasion of visitors, and smiled. Then she remarked:
“Just go ashore and be interviewed there, dear.”
“Auntie! What do you mean?”
“I fancy you’re the real ‘boss,’ or head of this company, when it comes to fact. It’syourWater Lily,youare bearing the expenses, I’m your guest, and ‘where the honey is the bees will gather.’ If these good people once understand that it’s you who carry the purse——”
“But I don’t! You know that. I gave it to Mrs. Bruce. I asked her to take care of the money because—Well, because I’m careless, sometimes, you know, and might lose it.”
“It’s the same thing. Ask her to go with you and advise you, if there is anything you need. But, remember, money goes fast if one doesn’t take care.”
It sounded rather strange to Dorothy to hear Aunt Betty say this for it wasn’t the lady’s habit to discuss money matters. However, she hadn’t time to think about that for here was Mrs. Bruce, urging:
“Dorothy, do come and do something with these men. There’s one fairly badgering me to buy cantaloupes—and they do look nice—but with all the water-melons—Yes, sir; this is the ‘Boss;’ this is Miss Calvert, the owner of the Water Lily.”
A man with a basket of freshly dug potatoeshad followed Mrs. Bruce to the door of Mrs. Calvert’s stateroom which, with a hasty “Beg pardon” from within, had been closed in their faces. Another man, carrying smaller baskets of tempting plums, was trying to out-talk his neighbor; while a third, dangling a pair of chickens above the heads of the other two, was urging the sale of these, “raised myself, right here on Annyrunnell sile! Nicest, fattest, little br’ilers ever you see, Ma’am!”
“Huh! that pair of chickens wouldn’t make a mouthful for our family!” cried the matron, desperately anxious to clear the cabin of these hucksters. She had made it her business to keep the Water Lily in spotless order and this invasion of muddy boots and dirt-scattering baskets fretted her. Besides, like all the rest of that “ship’s company,” her one desire was to make Mrs. Calvert perfectly comfortable and happy. She knew that this intrusion of strangers would greatly annoy her hostess and felt she must put an end to it at once. But how?
Dorothy rose to the occasion. Assuming all the dignity her little body could summon she clapped her hands for silence and unexpectedly obtained it. People climbing the crooked stairs to the roof and the “Skipper’s bridge” craned their necks to look at her; those testing the arrangement of the canvas partitions between the cots on one side stopped with the partitions half-adjusted and stared; while the chattering peddlers listened, astonished.
“Excuse me, good people, but this boat is private property. None should come aboard it without an invitation. Please all go away at once. I’ll step ashore with this lady and there we’ll buy whatever she thinks best.”
Probably because her words made some of the intruders ashamed a few turned to leave; more lingered, among these the hucksters, and Dorothy got angry. Folding her arms and firmly standing in her place she glared upon them till one by one they slipped away over the gang-plank and contented themselves with viewing the Water Lily and its Pad from that point.
As the last smock-clad farmer disappeared Dorothy dropped upon the floor and laughed.
“O Mrs. Bruce! Wasn’t that funny? Those great big men and I—a little girl! They mustn’t do it again. They shall not!”
“The best way to stop them is to do as you promised—step to the shore and see them there. Those potatoes were real nice. We might get some of them, but the chickens—it would take so many. Might get one for Mrs. Calvert’s breakfast—oatmeal will do for the rest of us.”
Dorothy sprang up and hurried with her friend off from the Lily. But she made a wry face at the mention of oatmeal-breakfasts and explained:
“Aunt Betty wouldn’t eat chicken if none of the others had it. And just oatmeal—I hate oatmeal! It hasn’t a bit of expression and I’m as hungry after it as before. Just do get enough of those ‘br’ilers’ for all. Please, Mrs. Bruce!There’s nobody in the world can broil a chicken as you do! I remember! I’ve eaten them at your house before I ever left Baltimore!”
Naturally, the matron was flattered. She wasn’t herself averse to fine, tasty poultry, and resolved to gratify the teasing girl that once. But she qualified her consent with the remark:
“It mustn’t be such luxury very often, child, if you’re to come out even with this trip and the money. My! What a great mule! What a curious man on it! Why does he sit sidewise and gloom at everybody, that way?”
Dorothy hadn’t yet spoken with Colonel Dillingham though the boys had given her a brief description of him and their attempted purchase. But she was unprepared to have him descend from his perch and approach her, saying:
“Your servant, Miss Calvert. You resemble your great-grandfather.Hewas a man. He—wasa man! Ah! yes! he was a—man! I cayn’t be too thankful that you are you, and that it’s to a descendant of a true southern nobleman I now present—Billy. Billy, Miss Calvert. Miss Calvert, Billy!”
With a sigh that seemed to come from his very boots the gallant Colonel placed one of the mule’s reins in Dorothy’s astonished hand and bowed again; and as if fully appreciating the introduction old Billy bobbed his head up and down in the mournfulest manner and gravely brayed, while the observant bystanders burst into a loud guffaw.
“Aunt Betty, what does that ‘of T’ mean after that queer Colonel’s name?”
“There is no sense in it, dear, of course. The family explained it this way. The gentleman’s real name is Trowbridge. His wife’s family was Dillingham. It was of much older origin than his and she was very proud of it. When she consented to marry him it was upon the condition that he would take her name, not she take his. A slight legal proceeding made it right enough but he added the ‘of T.’ It was a tribute to his honesty, I fancy, though it’s quite a custom of Marylanders to do as the Dillinghams did. Here he comes now. I must ask him about his daughter. He had one, a very nice girl I’ve heard.”
“Coming! Why, Aunt Betty, we haven’t had breakfast yet!”
Mrs. Betty laughed.
“Another familiar custom, dear, among country neighbors in this old State. Why, my own dear mother thought nothing of having a party of uninvited guests arrive with the sunrise, expectingjust the same cordial welcome she would have accorded later and invited ones. It never made any difference in the good old days. There was always plenty of food in the storehouse and plenty of help to prepare it. The Colonel isn’t so very old but he seems to cling to the traditions of his ancestors. I wonder, will he expect us to feed Billy also! And I do hope Mrs. Bruce will have something nice for breakfast. The poor gentleman looks half-starved.”
“Oh! yes, she has. We bought a half-dozen pairs of ‘broilers’ last night; but she meant them to last for supper, too.”
“Run. Bid her cook the lot. There’ll be none too many.”
“But, Auntie, dear! They cost fifty cents a-piece. Six whole dollars for one single breakfast? Besides the potatoes and bread and other stuff! Six dollars a meal, eighteen dollars a day, how long will what is left of three hundred dollars last, after we pay for Billy, as you said we must?”
This was on the morning after the Colonel’s first call at the Water Lily. This had been a prolonged one because of—Billy. That wise animal saw no stable anywhere about and, having been petted beyond reason by his loving, sad-hearted master, decided that he dared not—at his time of life—sleep out of doors. At least that was the way James Barlow understood it, and no persuasion on the part of his new friends couldinduce the mule to remain after the Colonel started for home.
“Tie him to the end of the wharf,” suggested Gerald.
“That would be cruel. He might fall into the water in his sleep. We don’t want two to do that in one day,” protested Dorothy.
At that point Billy began to bray; so mournfully and continuously that Mrs. Calvert sent word:
“Stop that beast! We shan’t be able to sleep a wink if he keeps that noise up!”
The Colonel paused once more. His departure had been a succession of pauses, occasioned by two things: one that the lazy man never walked when he could ride; the other, that he could not bring himself to part from his “only faithful friend.” The result was that he had again mounted the stubborn beast and disappeared in the darkness of his melon-patch.
Now he was back again, making his mount double himself up on the ground and so spare his rider the trouble of getting off in the usual way.
“My hearties! Will you see that, lads?” demanded Melvin, coming down the bank with his towels over his arm. He had promptly discovered a sheltered spot, up stream, where he could take his morning dip, without which his English training made him uncomfortable. “Pooh! He’s given the mule and himself with it! He’s fun fora day, but we can’t stand him long. I hope Mrs. Calvert will give him his ‘discharge papers’ right away.”
“If she doesn’t I will!” answered Gerald, stoutly. “A very little of the ‘Cunnel’ goes a long way with yours truly.”
Jim looked up sharply. His own face showed annoyance at the reappearance of the farmer but he hadn’t forgotten some things the others had.
“Look here, fellows! This isn’t our picnic, you know!”
Melvin flushed and ducked his head, as if from a blow, but Gerald retorted:
“I don’t care if it isn’t. I’d rather quit than have that old snoozer for my daily!”
“I don’t suppose anybody will object to your quitting when you want to. The Water Lily ain’t yours, though you ’pear to think so. And let me tell you right now; if you don’t do the civil to anybody my mistress has around I’ll teach you better manners—that’s all!”
With that Jim returned to the polishing of his useless engine, making no further response to Gerald’s taunts.
“Mistress!Mistress?Well, I’ll have you to know, you young hireling, that I’m my own master.Idon’t work for any mistress, without wages or with ’em, and in my set we don’t hobnob with workmen—ever. Hear that? And mind you keep your own place, after this!”
An ugly look came over Jim’s face and hishands clenched. With utmost difficulty he kept from rising to knock the insolent Gerald down, and a few words more might have brought on a regular battle of fists, had not Melvin interposed in his mild voice yet with indignation in his eyes:
“You don’t mean that, Gerald. ‘A man’s a man for a’ that.’ I’m a ‘hireling,’ too, d’ye mind? A gentleman, that you boast you are, doesn’t bully his inferiors nor behave like a ruffian in a lady’s house—or boat—which is the same thing. Gentlemen don’t do that—Not in our Province.”
Then, fortunately, Chloe appeared, asking if one of them would go to the nearest farmhouse and fetch a pail of cream for breakfast.
“They’s quality come, so li’l Miss says, an’ ole Miss boun’ ter hev t’ings right down scrumptious, lak wese do to home in Baltimo’.”
With great willingness each and every lad offered to do the errand; and in a general tussle to grab her outstretched “bucket” their anger vanished in a laugh. The “good side” of Gerald came uppermost and he awkwardly apologized:
“Just forget I was a cad, will you, boys? I didn’t mean it. I’d just as lief go for that cream as not.”
“I’d liefer!” said Melvin.
Jim said nothing but the ugly look vanished from his face and it was he who secured the pail and started with it on a run over the plank and the field beyond.
“I’ll beat you there!” shouted Melvin; and “You can’t do it!” yelled Gerald; while Chloe clasped her hands in dismay, murmuring:
“Looks lak dere won’t be much cweam lef’ in de bucket if it comes same’s it goes!”
That visit to the farmhouse, short though it was, gave a turn to affairs on the Water Lily. The farmer told the lads of a little branch a few miles further on, which would be an ideal place for such a craft to anchor, for “a day, a week, or a lifetime.”
“It’s too fur off for them village loafers to bother any. You won’t have to anchor in midstream to get shet of ’em, as would be your only chance where you be now. I was down with the crowd, myself, last night an’ I was plumb scandalized the way some folks acted. No, sir, I wasn’t aboard the Water Lily nor set foot to be. I come home and told my wife: ‘Lizzie,’ says I, ‘them water-travellers’ll have a lot o’ trouble with the Corner-ites and Jimpson-ites. It’s one thing to be civil an’ another to be imperdent.’ I ’lowed to Lizzie, I says: ‘I ain’t volunteerin’ my opinion till it’s asked, but when it is I’ll just mention Deer-Copse on the Ottawotta Run. Ain’t a purtier spot on the whole map o’ Maryland ’an that is. Good boatin’, good fishin’, good springs in the woods, good current to the Run and no malary. Better ’n that—good neighbors on the high ground above.’ That’s what I says to Lizzie.”
Jim’s attention was caught by the name Deer-Copse. He thought Mrs. Calvert would like that, it was so much like her own Deerhurst on the Hudson. Also, he had overheard her saying to Mrs. Bruce: “I do wish we could find some quiet stream, right through the heart of green woods, where there’d be no danger and no intruders.” From this friendly farmer’s description it seemed as if that bit of forest on the Ottawotta would be an ideal camping-ground.
There followed questions and answers. Yes, the Water Lily might be hauled there by a mule walking on the bank, as far as the turn into the branch. After that, poling and hauling, according to the depth of the water and what the Lily’s keel “drawed,” or required. They could obtain fresh vegetables real near.
“I’m runnin’ a farm that-a-way, myself; leastwise me an’ my brother together. He’s got no kind of a wife like Lizzie. A poor, shiftless creatur’ with more babies under foot ’an she can count, herself. One them easy-goin’ meek-as-Moses sort. Good? Oh! yes, real good. Too good. Thinks more o’ meetin’ than of gettin’ her man a decent meal o’ victuals. Do I know what sort of mule Cunnel Dillingham has? Well, I guess! That ain’t no ornery mule, Billy Dillingham ain’t. You see, him and the Cunnel has lived so long together ’t they’ve growed alike. After the Cunnel’s daughter quit home an’ married Jabb, Cunnel up an’ sold the old place.Thought he’d go into truck-farmin’—him the laziest man in the state. Farmin’ pays, course, ’specially here in Annyrunnell. Why, my crop o’ melons keeps my family all the year round an’ my yuther earnin’s is put in the bank. Cunnel’s got as big a patch as mine an’ you cayn’t just stop melons from growin’ down here in Annyrunnell! No, sir, cayn’t stop ’em! Not if you ’tend ’em right. They’s an old sayin’, maybe you’ve heard. ‘He that by the plough would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive.’ The Cunnel won’t do ary one. He leaves the whole thing to his crew o’ niggers an’, course, they’re some shiftlesser ’n he is. They’re so plumb lazy, the whole crowd, ’t they won’t even haul their truck as fur as Jimpson’s, to have it loaded on a boat for market, an’ that ain’t further ’n you could swing a cat! Losin’ his old home an’ losin’ his gal, an’ failin’ to make truck pay, has made him downhearteder’an he was by natur’—and that’s sayin’ consid’able. Must ye go, boys? Got any melons? Give ye as many as ye can carry if ye want ’em. Call again. Yes, the cream’s wuth five cents. Not this time, though. Lizzie’d be plumb scandalized if I took pay for a mite o’ cream for breakfast—such a late one, too. We had ours couple hours ago. Eh? About Billy? Well, if he war mine, which he ain’t, an’ if I war asked to set a price on him, which I couldn’t, I should say how ’t he war a fust-class mule, but not wuth a continental without theCunnel—nor with him, nuther. If you take one you’ll have to take t’other. Call again. My respects to the lady owns the house-boat an’—Good-by!”
As the lads thanked their talkative neighbor and hurried down the fields, Jim exclaimed:
“Was afraid this cream’d all turn to butter before he’d quit and let us go! But, we’ve learned a lot about some things. I’m thinking that Ottawotta Run is the business for us: and I fear—Billy isn’t. There must be other mules in Anne Arundel county will suit us better. Mrs. Calvert won’t want him as a gift—with the Colonel thrown in!”
Mrs. Bruce met them impatiently.
“Seems as if boys never could do an errand without loitering. There’s all those chickens drying to flinders in that oil-stove-oven, and that horrid old man talking Mrs. Calvert into a headache. Least, he isn’t talking so much as she is. Thinks she must entertain him, I suppose. The idea! Anybody going visiting tobreakfastwithout being asked!”
But by this time the good woman had talked her annoyance off, and while she dished up the breakfast—a task she wouldn’t leave to Chloe on this state occasion—Jim hastily condensed the information he had received and was glad that she promptly decided, as he had, that a sojourn on the quiet, inland Run would best please Aunt Betty.
“It would certainly suit me,” assented the matron.
“Oh! hang it all! What’s the use? Hiding in a silly little creek when there’s the whole Chesapeake to cruise in!” cried the disgusted Gerald, leaning upon the little table and hungrily eyeing the platter of chicken.
“How can we dare, how could we if we dared, try the Bay? We haven’t any engine to use now,” said Jim.
“Well, get one, then! If that girl can afford to run a house-boat and ask folks to stay on it, she ought to provide something decent for their entertainment. Whenweowned the Water Lily we did things up to the queen’s taste. I’m not going to bury myself in any backwoods. I’ll quit first.”
“Boy, are you always so cross before breakfast?” asked a girl’s voice over his shoulder, and he turned to see Dorothy smiling upon him.
“No. Except when I’m sent for cream and hear fool talk from a measly old farmer in a blue smock,” he answered, laughing rather foolishly.
“Was it the color of his smock made him measly? And what was that I heard about quitting?”
“Oh! nothing. I was just fooling. But, I say, Dorothy, don’t you let any old woman coax you into a dead-and-alive hole in the woods. Mark what I say. They’ll be trying it, but the Water Lily’s your boat now, isn’t it?”
“So I understood. But from the amount of advice I receive as to managing it, I think, maybe, it isn’t. Well, I’ve heard you—now listen to me. ‘The one who eats the most bread-and-butter can have the most cake’—or chicken. They look terrible little, don’t they, now they’re cooked? And I warn you, I never saw anybody look so hungry in all my life—no, not even you three boys!—as that poor, unhappy Colonel of T, in there with Aunt Betty. Yes, Mrs. Bruce, we’re ready for breakfast at last. But mind what I say—all we youngsters like oatmeal! Wemustlike it this time for politeness sake. Fourteen eaters and twelve halves of broiled chicken—Problem, who goes without?”
But nobody really did that. Mrs. Bruce was mistress of the art of carving and managed that each should have at least a small portion of the delicacies provided, though she had to tax her ingenuity to accomplish this.
At the head of her table Mrs. Calvert motioned Chloe to serve her guest again and again; and each time that Ephraim jealously snatched a dainty portion for her own plate she as promptly and quietly restored it to the platter.
Also, the “Skipper” at his own board played such a lively knife and fork that dishes were emptied almost before filled and Gerald viciously remarked:
“Aren’t as fond of ship’s biscuit as you were, are you, Cap’n Jack?”
The Captain helped himself afresh and answered with good nature:
“Oh! yes. Jes’ as fond. But I likes a change. Yes, I c’n make out to relish ’most anything. I ain’t a mite partic’lar.”
This was too much for the lads and a laugh arose; but the old man merely peered over his specs at them and mildly asked:
“What you-all laughin’ at? Tell me an’ lemme laugh, too. Laughin’ does old folks good. Eh, Cunnel? Don’t you think so?” he asked, wheeling around to address the guest of honor.
But that gentleman was too engaged at that moment to reply, even if he would have condescended so to do. Just now, in the presence of Mrs. Calvert, whose mere name was a certificate of “quality,” he felt himself an aristocrat, quite too exalted in life to notice a poor captain of a house-boat.
Breakfast over, Aunt Betty excused herself and withdrew to the shelter of her little stateroom. Shelter it really was, now, against her uninvited guest. She had done her best to make his early call agreeable and to satisfy him with more substantial things than old memories. They had discussed all the prominent Maryland families, from the first Proprietor down to that present day; had discovered a possible relationship, exceedingly distant, he being the discoverer; and had talked of their beloved state in itspast and present glories till she was utterly worn out.
He had again “given” her his most cherished possession, Billy the mule; and she had again declined to receive it. Buy him, of course, Dorothy would and should, if it proved that a mule was really needed. But not without fair payment for the animal would she permit “him” to become a member of her family. The Colonel so persistently spoke of the creature as a human being that she began to think of Billy as a monstrosity.
The morning passed. Aunt Betty had deserted, and Dorothy had to take her place as hostess. All her heart was longing for the green shore beyond that little wharf, where now all the other young folks were having a lively frolic. It was such a pity to waste that glorious sunshine just sitting in that little cabin talking to a dull old man.
He did little talking himself. Indeed, warmed by the sunshine on the deck where he sat, and comfortably satisfied with a more generous meal than he had enjoyed for many months, the Colonel settled back on the steamer chair which was Aunt Betty’s own favorite and went to sleep. He slept so long and quietly that she was upon the point of leaving him, reflecting:
“Even a Calvert ought not to have to stay here now, and watch an old man—snore. It’s dreadful, sometimes, to have a ‘family name.’ Livingup to it is such a tax. I wish—I almost wish—I was just a Smith, Jones, Brown, or anybody! I will run away, just for a minute, sure! and see what happens!”
But, despite the snores, the visitor was a light sleeper. At her first movement from her own chair, he awoke and actually smiled upon her.
“Beg pardon, little lady. I forgot where I was and just lost myself. Before I dropped off I was goin’ to tell you—Pshaw! I cayn’t talk. I enjoy quiet. D’ye happen to see Billy, anywhere?”
“Certainly. He’s right over on that bank yonder and the boys are trying to fix a rope to his harness, so he can begin to draw the boats up stream. They want to try and see if it will work. Funny! To turn this lovely Water Lily into a mere canal-boat. But I suppose we can still have some good times even that way.”
The Colonel shook his head.
“No, you cayn’t. Nobody can. They ain’t any good times for anybody any more.”
“What a lot of ‘anys’! Seems as if out of so many there might be one good time for somebody. I was in hopes you were having such just now. What can I do to make it pleasanter for you?”
“Sit right down and let me speak. Your name’s Calvert, ain’t it?”
“Why, of course. I thought you knew;” answered the girl, reluctantly resuming her seat.
“Never take anything for granted. I cayn’tdo it, you cayn’t do it. Something’ll always go wrong. It did with your great-grandfather’s brother that time when he hid—Ah! hum! It ought to be yours, but it won’t be. There couldn’t be any such luck in this world. Is Billy lookin’ comf’table?”
Billy answered for himself by a most doleful bray. Indeed, he was resenting the lads’ endeavors to remove his harness. Jim fancied he could fix it better for the purpose of hauling the Water Lily, but the animal objected, because that harness had never been taken from his back since it was put on early in the spring. Then the more ambitious of the negroes who managed the Colonel’s truck-farm had equipped Billy for ploughing the melon-patch. After each day’s work the beast had seemed tired and the gentleman-farmer had suggested:
“Don’t fret him takin’ it off. You’ll only have to put it on again, to-morrow.”
This saved labor and suited all around; and Billy was trying to explain to these tormenting lads how ill-at-ease and undressed he would feel, if he were stripped of his regalia.
“Sounds like he was in trouble, poor Billy. But, of course, he is. Everybody is. You are. If you had that buried—Pshaw! What’s the use! You ain’t, you cayn’t, nobody could find it, else things wouldn’t have happened the way they did; and your great-grandfather wouldn’t have forgot where he buried it; and it wouldn’t have goneout the family; and since your great-grandfather’s brother married my great-grandmother’s sister we’d all have shared and shared alike. It’s sad to think any man would be so careless for his descendants as to go and do what your great-grandfather’s brother did and then forget it. But—it’s the way things always go in this lop-sided world. Ah! um.”
The Colonel’s breakfast had made him more talkative than had seemed possible and because she could do no better for her own amusement, Dorothy inquired:
“Tell me the story of our great-grand-folks and what they buried. Please. It would be interesting, I think.”
“Very well, child, I’ll try. But just keep an eye on Billy. Is he comf’table? I don’t ask if he’s happy. He isn’t. Nobody is.”
“Beg pardon, but you are mistaken about that mule. No matter what the boys and Captain Hurry try to do with him, he manages to get his nose back to the ground again and eat—Why, he hasn’t really stopped eating one full minute since he came. That makes me think. Will the man who owns that grass like to have him graze it that way? Isn’t grass really hay? Don’t they sell hay up home at Baltimore? Won’t it cost a great deal to let Billy do that, if hay is worth much?”
“You ask as many questions as—as I’ve heard your folks always do. But it’s no use worryin’over a little hay. It ain’t wuth much. Nothing’s wuth anything in Annyrunnell. The only thing in the whole county wuth a continental is what your great-grandfather’s brother buried in the woods on Ottawotta Run. Deer-Copse was the spot. Buried it in a brass-bound chest, kept the key, and then forgot. Ah! hum.”
“Ottawotta Run? Deer-Copse! Why, that’s the very place the boys said the man said that you say—Oh! Aunt Betty! Aunt Betty! There’s a buried fortune belonging to our family out in the woods! We’ll find it, wemustfind it, and that will save all your Old Folks their Home and you won’t have to sell Bellvieu!” almost shrieked Dolly, running to her aunt’s stateroom and flinging wide the little door, regardless of knocking for admittance. But disappointment awaited her—the stateroom was empty.
Farmer Wickliffe Stillwell proved a friend in need.
About the middle of that eventful morning he appeared with a big basket on either arm, his blue-checked smock swaying in the breeze that had arisen, his iron-gray, luxuriant whiskers doing the same, and his head bare.
He had started with his Sunday hat perched on his “bald-spot,” which was oddly in contrast with the hirsute growth below. Lizzie, his wife, had affirmed such headgear was “more politer” than the old straw hat he commonly wore and that had the virtue of staying where it was put, as the stiff Derby did not.
Having arrived at the wharf where the Water Lily was fastened he paused and awaited the invitation without which he wouldn’t have crossed the gang-plank. He had plenty of time to rest before the invitation came. None of the lads who had visited his place for cream was in sight. Mrs. Calvert and Mrs. Bruce glanced toward him and looked away. They supposed him to be another of those “peddlers” who had swarmedover the boat the evening of its arrival, and didn’t wish “to be annoyed.”
The Colonel saw him but gave no sign of recognition. He waited to see what his hostess would do and would then follow her example. She looked away—so did this too chivalrous guest.
The girls had gone to the woods, searching for wild grapes; and Cap’n Jack, with the lads, had taken the row-boat down stream on a fishing trip. Fish, of many varieties, had been brought to the Lily for sale, but fish that one caught for one’s self would be finer and cost less; so they reasoned with a fine access of economy.
Ephraim and Chloe were “tidying up;” and only little Methuselah and Billy-mule gave the visitor a word of welcome. These two were fast becoming friends, and both were prone on the ground; one suffering from a surfeit of grass—the other of water-melon.
Metty looked up and sat up—with a groan:
“Say, Mister, ’d you evah hab de tummy-ache?” while Billy’s sad bray seemed to be asking the same question.
“Heaps of times. When I’d eaten too much green stuff. Got it?”
“Yep. Dey’s a orful misery all eroun’ me yeah! I’d lak some peppymin’ but Mammy she ain’ done got none. Oh! my!”
“Get arollin’. Nothing cures a colic quicker than that. And, look-a-here? How’s this for medicine?”
Metty considered this the “mos’ splendides’ gemplemum” he had ever met. A gentleman made to order, indeed, with a paper bag in his pocket, chock full of beautiful red and white “peppymin’s” which he lavishly dealt out to the small sufferer—a half one at a time! But many halves make several wholes, and Metty’s now happy tones, in place of complaints, brought Chloe to the spot, and to the knowledge of the stranger’s real errand.
“Come right erway in, suh. I sure gwine tell Miss Betty you-all ain’ none dem peddlah gemplemums, but a genuwine calleh. Dis yeah way, suh. Metty, yo’ triflin’ little niggah! Why ain’ yo’ tote one dese yeah bastics?”
A familiar, not-too-heavy, cuff on the boy’s ear set him briskly “toting” one basket while his mother carried the other. Mr. Stillwell followed his guide to where Mrs. Calvert sat and explained himself and his visit so simply and pleasantly that she was charmed and exclaimed:
“This is delightful, to find neighbors where we looked for strangers only. How kind and how generous of your wife! I wish I could see and thank her in person.”
Chloe had uncovered the daintily packed baskets and Mrs. Bruce fairly glowed in housewifely pleasure over the contents.
“Looks as if an artist had packed them,” said Aunt Betty; and it did.
Tomatoes resting in nests of green lettuce;half-husked green corn flanked by purple eggplant and creamy squashes; crimson beets and brown skinned potatoes; these filled one basket. The other was packed with grapes of varying colors, with fine peaches, pears, rosy apples and purple plums. Together they did make a bright spot of color on the sunny deck and brought a warm glow to Mrs. Calvert’s heart. The cheerful face of the farmer and his open-hearted neighborliness were an agreeable contrast to the dolefulness of the more aristocratic Colonel—called such by courtesy and custom but not from any right to the title.
“If the girls would only come!” said Mrs. Bruce. “I’d like to have them see the things before we move one out of its pretty place.”
“Well, they will. I’m sure Mr. Stillwell will wait and take our mid-day dinner with us. Besides being glad to make his acquaintance, I want to ask advice. What we are to do with the Water Lily; how to safely get the most pleasure out of it. Would you like to go over the boats, Mr. Stillwell?”
This was exactly what he did wish; and presently Aunt Betty was guiding him about, displaying and explaining every detail of the little craft, as eager and animated as if she had designed it. The Colonel stalked solemnly in the rear, sighing now and then over such wasted effort and enthusiasm, and silently wondering how a Calvert could meet on such equal terms amere farmer, one of those “common Stillwells.”
However, neither of the others paid him any attention, being too absorbed in their own talk; and the stranger in maturing a plan to help his hostess and her household.
When everything had been examined and tested by his common sense he explained:
“If this here Water Lily war mine, which she isn’t; and I wanted to get the most good and most fun out of her, which I don’t, I’d light right out from this region. I’d get shet of all them gapin’ Corner-ites and Jimpson-ites, and boats passin’ by an’ takin’ notes of things. I’d get a sensible tug to haul me, tender an’ all, a mite further up stream till I met the Branch. I’d be hauled clean into that fur as war practical, then I’d ‘paddle my own canoe.’ Meanin’ that then I’d hitch a rope to my mule, or use my poles, till I fetched up alongside Deer-Copse on the Ottawotta Run. There ain’t no purtier spot on the face of God’s good earth nor that. I war born there, or nigh-hand to it. If a set of idle folks can’t be happy on the Ottawotta, then they sure deserve to be unhappy.”
Aunt Betty was enchanted. From his further description she felt that this wonderful Run was the very stream for them to seek; and with her old decision of manner she asked Mr. Stillwell to arrange everything for her and not to stint in the matter of expense. Then she laughed:
“I have really no right to say that, either, forI’m only a guest on this boat-party. The Water Lily belongs to my little niece and it is she who will pay the bills. I wonder how soon it could be arranged with such a tug! Do you know one?”
“Sure. Right away, this evenin’, if you like. I happen to have a loose foot, to-day, and can tend to it. To-morrow’s market and I’ll have to be up soon, and busy late. Is ’t a bargain? If ’tis, I’ll get right about it.”
By “evening” meant with these Marylanders all the hours after mid-day; and, declining any refreshment, Mr. Stillwell departed about this business. His alertness and cheerfulness put new life into Aunt Betty and the widow, who hustled about putting into fresh order the already immaculate Lily.
“If we’re going to move I want everything spick-and-span. And the girls’ll come in right tired after their wood tramp. Wonderful, ain’t it? How ’t that peeked, puny Elsa is a gainin’ right along. Never see the beat. She’ll make a right smart lot of good, wholesome flesh, if she keeps on enjoyin’ her victuals as she does now. Looks as if she lived on slops most of her short life. See anything more wants doing, Mrs. Calvert?”
“No, Mrs. Bruce, I do not. I wish you’d let Chloe bear her share of the work, not do so much yourself. I want you to rest—as I’m doing,” answered the other.
“It plumb wears me out to have folks fussin’ so, Ma’am. They ain’t no use. A day’s only a day, when all’s said and done. Why not take it easy? Take it as easy as you can and it don’t amount to much, life don’t. Ah! hum.”
But the Colonel’s protest was lost on energetic Mrs. Bruce. She tossed her comely head and retorted:
“Some folks find their rest in doin’ their duty, not in loafin’ round on other people’s time and things. Not meaning any disrespect, I’m sure, but I never did have time to do nothin’ in. I’m going right now and set to work on that dinner. I do wish the girls could see those baskets, first, though!”
“Leave them untouched, then, Mrs. Bruce. Surely, we had enough provided before we had this present.”
“Yes, Mrs. Calvert, we did have—for our own folks; and counting a little on the fish the men-folks was to bring in. Seems if they’s gone a dreadful spell, don’t it? And I heard that old Cap’n Jack say something about the Bay. If he’s enticed ’em to row out onto that big water—Oh! dear! I wish they’d come!”
The Colonel roused himself to remark:
“Squalls is right frequent on the Chesapeake. And that old man is no captain at all. Used to work on an oyster boat and don’t know—shucks. Likely they’ve had an upset. Boys got to foolin’and—Ah! hum! Wasn’t none of ’em your sons, were they, Ma’am?”
From the moment of their first meeting there had been a silent battle between the capable housekeeper and the incapable “southern gentleman.” She had had several talks with Dorothy and Jim over the finances of this trip and she knew that it would have to be a short one if “ends were to meet.” She felt that this man, aristocrat though he might be, had no right to impose himself and his prodigious appetite upon them just because the lads had tried to buy his old mule and he had, instead, so generously presented it.
“I don’t see what good that yapping Billy does, anyway! He doesn’t work at all and he’s living on somebody else’s grass. There’ll be a bill coming in for his fodder, next we know;” she had grumbled. It may be said, to her credit, that she was infinitely more careful of Dorothy’s interests than she would have been of her own. But all her grumbling and hints failed to effect what she had hoped they would—the Colonel’s permanent departure for home along with the useless Billy.
Now all that was to be changed. Almost before he had gone, it seemed, Farmer Stillwell came steaming down stream on a small tugboat, which puffed and fussed as if it were some mighty steamship, and passing the Water Lily manoeuvred to turn around and face upstream again. Presently, a rope was made fast to theprow of the house-boat and securely tied, and Mr. Stillwell stepped aboard to announce:
“All ready to move, Ma’am. Your company all back?”
“Not all. The girls have just come but the Captain and the boys are still away. We’ll have to wait for them.”
Mrs. Calvert’s answer fell on unheeding ears.
“Guess not, Ma’am. This here tug’s got another job right soon and if we lose this chance may not be another in a dog’s age. I knowed she was around and could help us out, was the reason I spoke to you about her. I guess it’s now or never with the ‘Nancy Jane.’ Once she goes up to Baltimo’ she’ll have more jobs an’ she can tackle. Wouldn’t be here now, only she had one down, fetching some truck-scows back. Well, what you say?”
A brief consultation was held in the cabin of the Water Lily in which the voices of four eager girls prevailed:
“Why, let’s take the chance, of course, Auntie dear. We can leave a note pinned to the wharf telling the boys and Cap’n Jack that we’ve gone on to the Ottawotta. They can follow in their row-boat. And, Colonel Dillingham, can’t you ride Billy alongside, on the shores we pass? We can’t possibly take him on board, and he won’t go without you.”