CHAPTER VIIIA NEW ACQUAINTANCE
That night’s experience was one Posey never forgot. The road she had chosen she was now on for the first time; where it led to she had no idea; all she knew about it was that it would take her away from Mrs. Hagood, and in the direction where she thought there would be least danger of her being looked for. But once fairly started she hurried on, her one thought and anxiety to put all the distance possible between herself and Horsham before her absence was discovered.
But what it cost her to do this! To her excited fancy the commonest objects—innocent stumps, wayside bushes, fence-corner shadows—took on in the weird light grotesque shapes that filled her with fear and trembling. If she had a stretch of lonely woods to pass through she ran till the beating of her own heart fairly startled her. Was she out of sight of houses, she wouldquicken her steps and almost fly. When a house came in sight she walked more slowly; to be near people, even if they knew nothing of her, was something, and the barking of a dog was always a welcome sound. When she heard it she knew there was something living and awake, which lessened a little her feeling that she was a sort of wandering spirit, driven on and on in a dim world where, save for the uncanny night birds, nothing was astir but herself. Yes, Posey was afraid, at times desperately afraid, but she felt that every step was taking her farther from Mrs. Hagood, and for the sake of that she was willing both to dare much and to endure much.
By and by, however, signs of the coming morning began to appear. First a faint line of light along the eastern sky, then lights were seen gleaming here and there in farmhouse windows, and curls of smoke rising from chimneys, in token that the world was rousing to the new day; once across the fields she heard a loud hearty voice calling, “Coo-boss, coo-boss,” to the cows in some out-of-sight pasture, and again she caught a distantglimpse of some boys with bags on their shoulders, evidently off for an early nutting expedition. Gradually these signs of life multiplied, the clouds grew more rosy, the trees, no longer vague, dark masses, showed their brilliant hues of red and gold; wayside objects lost their dim and spectral look; all the world was waking into the crisp brightness of a clear, fresh, autumn morning, sweet with the fruity smell of ripened orchards, and rich with the soft mellowness of the long summer time.
With everything around her new and strange Posey had no idea how far she had come. This she did know, that the bundle and basket she carried were all the time growing heavier, that her aching feet dragged more and more slowly, and that she was so tired she could go only a little way without stopping to rest.
The sun was now well up, and as Posey paused she looked around the unfamiliar landscape. What she saw was a stretch of level, low-lying fields which merged into a wooded swamp—a thick tangle of trees and bushes whose dark line spread out as far asher eye could follow. Beyond the swamp, and at no great distance, rose a steep range of wooded hills; solid masses of gayly tinted colors they appeared that morning, following with gentle curves the windings of the swamp; and crowning the highest of these hills, rising above the trees, lifted the white spire of a church, its gilted weather-vane glittering in the sun. Before her the white road lifted in a long upward swell that made her sigh with the thought of climbing it, and shut in her view to the flat around. But one house was near—a tall gaunt house of weather-beaten red, standing on a slight knoll a little back from the road, with a single tree, a tall and sombre pine, beside it, and all the green paper curtains that shaded its front windows drawn closely down. A dreary house it was in Posey’s eyes, and the people who lived in it she thought must grow so tired of looking out on those flat pastures, tufted with hillocks of coarse, marshy grass, and the swamp with its bordering fringe of dead, grey bushes.
But it may be that to her eyes the fairest view would have taken on something of herdesolate mood. In the sand that now made the road, her steps dragged heavier and more slowly, but save for brief pauses to rest she dared not stop. She was not far enough away. Oh, no, not yet. Mrs. Hagood might be hunting her even then, was the thought hurrying her on. She was hungry, too, with the crisp air, and her exertion, for all the hearty lunch she had taken at starting; but she was afraid to make any inroad on the contents of her basket, for when once that was gone she had no idea how or where she would get anything more. It would be dreadful to keep feeling so faint and hungry, and was there anybody anywhere, she wondered, who would pity her enough to give her something to eat, or take her in when it came night again? Or would she have to go on and on, till she fell down somewhere and died? And a slow trickle of tears ran down her cheeks at the foreboding. This was a hard world, she bitterly felt, for girls who had no homes. If God was good why didn’t He make homes, real homes, for all of them? She was sure she would if she were God, and especially one for poor Posey Sharpe.
A little stream, its course marked by fringing reeds and rushes, wound its way through the fields and crossed the road a little way before her, spanned there by a wooden bridge with high, close sides, overhung at each end by clumps of willows which formed a thick green screen. Slowly and wearily Posey stumbled up the slight ascent leading to the bridge; she had taken but a few steps when a loose board rattled under her tread, and a moment later she started with a little cry as the face of a boy suddenly appeared around a side at the farther end.
His eyes also grew wide with surprise, and it was no wonder, for a strange little figure it was which met his gaze. Her shoes were white with dust, her hat was jammed to one side, her cape was all askew, her gingham bundle hung limply from one arm, and in the other hand was the basket, from which she had lost her handkerchief that at first had covered it. This basket with the saucer pumpkin pie on top, was what first caught the boy’s notice, and he called out in a half bargaining, half jesting tone, “Any extra pies you want to trade for tinware this morning?”Then as he saw the tear-stains on her cheeks, into which the dust had settled in grimy streaks, and her swollen, overflowing eyes, he quickly swung himself around onto the bridge, asking, “What is it; what’s the matter?”
Now notice was of all things what Posey most dreaded, and as the morning was still early few people were yet stirring, so till now she had not attracted attention. For one thing she had been careful not to do so; since daylight she had crept carefully by the few houses she had passed, as much in the shadow of the fences as possible; and once when she saw a wagon coming, with people and trunks, as if for some railroad station, she had hidden behind a clump of bushes till they were gone by. For her great fear was that some one would send word to Mrs. Hagood, or even return her by force, and every hour but added to her fierce determination never to go back—never!
Of course she knew that she would be seen and questioned. “And I must have something ready to say,” had been her thought. “Yes, I know, when any one asks me whereI am going, I shall tell them that my Aunt Mary is sick and has sent for me. I know it’s a lie, and I hate liars, but I can’t tell the truth, and if I had an Aunt Mary and she was sick I’m sure she’d send for me,” and with this she had salved her conscience. But now as she heard the friendly tone, and looked into the frank boyish face, with honest, merry blue eyes, and a kindly expression under the sunburn and freckles, she forgot all her prudent plans in a longing for the sympathy that spoke in his tone, and lifting her eyes to his she answered simply, “I’m running away.”
He gave a slight whistle of surprise, “Running away? What are you doing that for?”
By this time Posey had come close to him, and putting her bundle and basket down on the abutting stone work of the bridge, she rolled up her sleeve and showed her arm, across which ran a number of angry red welts. “And they’re worse here,” she said, putting her hand up to her shoulders.
“My!” he exclaimed, his tone full of mingled sympathy and indignation. “Whatever did you do that your mother whipped you like that?”
“She wasn’t my mother,” was the vehement reply, all Posey’s sense of outraged suffering breaking out afresh. “She was only the woman who took me from the Refuge in Cleveland; she made me work from morning till night, and scolded me the whole time; she was the crossest woman you ever saw, and she wouldn’t let me go to school after she had promised at the Refuge that I should. And she was mad and whipped me that way because I told her that she was a mean, wicked liar, just as she was.” Her eyes flashed with the remembrance.
“Haven’t you anybody of your own?” he asked.
She shook her head. “My mother and father both died when I was a little bit of a girl.” Then with a piteous little cry, “I don’t see why my mother couldn’t have lived or I have died, too!” and overcome with a mingling of weariness, nervous excitement, and emotion, Posey dropped down beside her bundle, and hiding her face in it burst into a passion of sobs.
“There, there,” and as he spoke there was a shake in his own voice, and a moisture inhis own eyes. “Don’t cry so, don’t. I’m awfully sorry for you. I’ve lost my father and mother, too, and I know how tough it is on a fellow, though Uncle John and everybody have been good to me.”
By this time Posey had succeeded in checking her sobs, and in answer to his questions she poured out her whole story, ending with her flight. “You’re a regular brick,” he exclaimed with boyish enthusiasm as she finished, “to start off that way, alone in the night. I’d like to see my cousin Emma or Fannie doing anything of that sort, and they both bigger than you are; but my, they hardly dare to look out of doors alone after it comes dark! Won’t I have something to tell them, though, when I go home? And I don’t blame you for running away, either, though to be sure,” he added impartially, “it might have been better if you had kept out of a row.”
“Yes, it would,” Posey admitted meekly.
“But now that you have done it,” he asked in a practical tone, and with a business-like clearness, “what are you going to do?”
“I—I don’t know,” answered Posey, realizing suddenly and with confusion, how veryvague her ideas were, and what a wild undertaking hers was. “I didn’t know—I thought—I hoped—that I might find somebody—somewhere, who would let me live with them. I can wash dishes, and iron, and sweep, and churn, and bake apple pies and ginger-cake—Mrs. Hagood taught me—and do lots of things about the house,” sadly feeling that her list was after all but a short one. “I would trysohard to suit. Don’t you think I could find such a place?” and she looked in his face appealingly.
“I should think so,” he answered after a moment’s pause. For with all his boyishness there was about him a certain thoughtfulness and readiness of decision, which led Posey to regard him with an instinctive trust and reliance. “At any rate,” he added, “you might try; I don’t think of anything better just now that you could do.”
All this time there had been a frequent splashing and stamping down below them in the creek, and several times the boy had looked over the side of the bridge to call, “Whoa, there, whoa,” or “Stand steady,Billy.” “Let’s see,” he went on, “you’re about eight miles from Horsham now,—you must have clipped it pretty lively, but you look awful tuckered, and I don’t believe you could make another eight miles.”
“I—I’m afraid not,” Posey sadly agreed, for having once stopped it seemed to her that she never could start on again.
“And as you’re running away I suppose you want to get as far away as you can?”
“Yes, indeed, I do.”
“Well, then, I guess I will give you a lift. Of course you don’t know me, but my name’s Ben Pancost, and I’m a tin peddler,” the last with an air of business-like pride.
“You don’t look old enough to be a tin peddler,” was Posey’s comment. “All I ever saw were old men with hook noses.”
“I was fifteen last March. I guess Mr. Bruce thinks that will do, at any rate I’ve been on one of his wagons all summer. I stayed last night at that house,” indicating by a jerk of his thumb the red house on the knoll, “and this morning one of the wagon tires seemed loose, so I drove into the creekto let Billy drink, and swell up the wheel. You saw my red cart as you came along, didn’t you?”
“No; the willows must have hid it. I didn’t know that there was anybody anywhere near, that was why I was scared when you looked around the corner of the bridge. And, oh, it’s so good of you to let me ride!”
But Ben had a boy’s horror of thanks. “I guess by this time the wheel is soaked,” he hastened to say, “so I’ll drive out of the creek and then this train will be ready to pull out.”
An hour before Posey would hardly have believed that she could ever again feel like laughing. But there was something so infectious in the cheery good humor, the ready self-confidence, and above all the hearty sympathy of her new friend, that she laughed gayly at his merry tone and twinkling eyes, as, swinging around the corner of the bridge, he jumped down, and soon the stout bay horse and red cart came into view at the opposite end of the bridge—such a cart as she had more than once seen that summer, with great sacks of rags piled high on its top, anda fringe of old rubber boots dangling around the bottom.
While Ben was making sure that everything was in good order and securely fastened before he started, Posey ran down to the clear water and wetting her handkerchief washed her face and hands, straightened her hat and cape, and made herself look as tidy as she could. Her spirits had even risen so high that sitting down on the grassy bank she ventured into her lunch, and fancying that she saw Ben give another glance at the pie, as a slight expression of her overflowing gratitude she held it out to him, urging, “Do take it. I know it’s good, for Mrs. Hagood always makes such nice pumpkin pies.”
Ben looked at the tempting delicacy with a true boy’s appetite. “I’ll tell you what I will do,” drawing out his pocketknife, “I’ll cut it in two and eat one half if you will the other. No, I sha’n’t take the whole of it. Besides, I’ve read of people breaking bread together as a pledge of friendship; well, we’ll break this pie together as our pledge.”
“You see,” he continued as he wiped awaythe last flaky crumb, “the potatoes this morning were warmed over, the pork was warmed over, the coffee was warmed over, and it was a sort of a warmed-over breakfast generally. But then I oughtn’t to complain, for Billy and I had our lodging and breakfast, and I only had to give a tin dipper, a quart basin, and two pie tins for it all. That’s why I stop at houses instead of hotels when I can, the women, mostly, will take tinware for pay, and as there’s a profit on it, why, that makes my expenses that much the less for Mr. Bruce.”
As he helped Posey to the high seat, and mounting beside her gathered up the lines and chirruped to the horse, she gave a start. “Why, you are going back the way I came.”
“Only a little way. The road bends so you didn’t notice where the one you were on came into this, but I’ll show you the place; Horsham is south, and I’m going west; then after a little I shall turn north, for I’ve quite a circuit to make to-day.”