'If at first you don't succeed,Try, try again.'
'If at first you don't succeed,Try, try again.'
So I keep on trying and maybe some day I can remember them all right."
"Oh, I just love to speak!" Tabitha cried. "I've just learnedBarbara Fritchie, and it isgrand!
"'who touches a hair in yon gray headDies like a dog! March on!' he said."
"'who touches a hair in yon gray headDies like a dog! March on!' he said."
Carrie clapped her hands. "Oh, say the whole of it, Theodora Gabrielle, please!"
So Tabitha flew to the top of the rock from which she had been surveying the waste of desert when Carrie had first put in appearance, and with ringing voice declaimed the stirring words to her admiring audience.
That was the beginning of the first real friendship poor Tabitha had ever known, and the world that opened before her was a beautiful fairyland. The Carson home was so unlike her own that unconsciously she held her breath whenever she entered the big house where the superintendent of the Silver Legion Mines lived, fearing that she might wake up and find it after all only a dream—the sweet-faced mother who kissed little Carrie every day, the smiling, genial father who always had some pretty gift in his pocket for his only child, the dainty furnishings of the big house which seemed so gorgeously splendid to the neglected girl, and particularly the wonderful toys and story-books that belonged to the flaxen-haired fairy who opened the door of this wonderland for her to enter.
Having never known a mother's love herself,Tabitha regarded dainty Mrs. Carson with a feeling of awe which deepened into worship as the acquaintance progressed, but proved to be a great barrier between them for a long time. She spoke of her in a hushed voice, treasured every smile as if it had been some precious gem, and hungered for the caresses so freely bestowed upon little Carrie, but feared to approach near enough this beautiful goddess to receive them herself.
Mr. Carson she could understand better. He was another Tom grown up, only where Tom was silent and shy, this man was jolly and friendly. He laughed a great deal, said funny things, never teased little girls except in a playful way that made one like to meet him, and was always very, very kind. She never heard him say a cross word to anyone, and once when she asked Carrie if he ever got mad and punished her, the blue-eyed girl was very indignant.
"My papa isnevermad," she stoutly declared. "When I do naughty things, he just looks so disappointed and says, 'I am so sorry,' in such a way that it makes me sorry, too."
To Tabitha this seemed a very queer way for a father to act, but for big brother Tom it was perfectly natural; so in her scale of relationship, Mr. Carson slipped down a peg and became a brother, bringing him much closer to her than he would otherwise have been, and making his influence over her much greater.
At first the Carsons did not much favor the friendship that had sprung up between the two girls, for Tabitha seemed so wild and passionate they feared her association with their little daughter might not be for the best; but by chance the superintendent met Tom one day in the surveyor's office, where the boy had found employment running errands and doing other odd jobs, and he was delighted with the unusual intelligence of the lad, as well as with the ambition Tom had for an education.
Like Tabitha, Tom craved fellowship with understanding people, and his appreciation of real kindness was as touching as it was keen. Mr. Carson made inquiry concerning the boy, learned the unfortunate circumstances of his starved life, and became his fast friend. So the two girls were allowed to play together unrestricted, each helping the other unconsciouslyin the building of character,—Carrie being taught reliance and self-confidence, while Tabitha was learning to subdue the fierceness of her untamed nature and to overcome her extreme sensitiveness.
Though Mr. Carson knew the truth about the unhappy names of brother and sister, he never so much as smiled, nor did he betray Tabitha's secret; and while he never called Tom by the name she thought so grand, he always addressed her as Theodora Gabrielle; and she was happy.
So for many precious weeks the world looked very bright to the black-eyed girl. The father was miles away most of the time, prospecting among the mountains; Aunt Maria seldom called her anything but Child; Tom's pet name, when he forgot her grand title, was Puss; and she began to think the hateful Tabitha was forever laid aside and forgotten.
The dreariness of the desert which had so oppressed her when they first arrived in Silver Bow slipped from her; she forgot the lack of trees and grass; the yuccas and Spanish bayonets lost their grimness; she grew to like the queer place with its queer vegetation; and thesunrises and sunsets were a source of intense delight to her, as they are to many another soul—for where in all the world are there such beautiful cloud pictures as on the desert with the mountains beyond, mysterious and wonderful in their purple haze or in the glistening white of the snow?
The Catts arrived at Silver Bow only a few weeks before school began, and owing to the fact that the cottage they had rented stood half hidden from the rest of the town by one of the many hills, with only the Carson house and a vacant bungalow for neighbors, Tabitha made the acquaintance of none of the other children in town until the commencement of the fall term. Usually this was an event to be dreaded by the sensitive girl, but it was with a feeling almost of pleasure that Tabitha accompanied pretty Carrie to the old weather-beaten schoolhouse of the mining camp the first Monday of September for the opening session.
Tom was too far advanced for the branches taught in the little school, so he was to remain with the surveyor and study in the evening under Mr. Carson's direction; but he knewfrom former experience what a scene Tabitha usually created before she could be persuaded to begin school each year, and dreaded the ordeal almost as much as did the passionate little sister.
Tabitha had confessed to Tom that Carrie called her by the wonderful name, Theodora Gabrielle, but he thought it was just in play and rejoiced that the superintendent's charming little daughter was so friendly and kind. He was unusually busy with his own thoughts and plans, for Mr. Carson had laid out a course of study for him by which he might prepare himself for college, the goal of his ambitions; and the world was looking very bright to him as well as to Tabitha, so perhaps he was excusable if he day-dreamed a little. But he never forgave himself for relaxing his vigilance over the small sister even in this slight measure, for it cost her many hours of bitter anguish. If only he had inquired about the name Tabitha had adopted, and discovered how real it had become! But intent upon his own thoughts, he missed this part of Tabitha's confession, and watched her set out for school hand in hand with Carrie, serene in the beliefthat all was well, and happy at her unexpected behavior in regard to school.
"Well, I'm beat!" Aunt Maria exclaimed as the two girls skipped joyously up the path and disappeared over the summit of the hill. "I thought sure she'd raise a fuss, but she never said a word."
"She is so wrapped up in Carrie that she has forgotten all about her name," answered Tom in his ignorance.
The aunt sighed, "Well, it's a shame she has to answer to it when she despises it so; though I can't see that it is much worse than Maria. I never paid much attention to my name that I remember. But if I'd had my way about it, I should have called you Peter Augustus, and her Aurora Isadena," (she pronounced them "A-roo-rie Isi-deen-ie") "but your pa had different notions. Said he'd suffered torment all his days being called Manx Cat and he was going to get even with folks for once; though I can't see how naming innocent children such names would help him any in his grouch against the world."
Neither could Tom, but it was seldom that Aunt Maria volunteered any information ofthis sort, and he made the most of his opportunity by asking, "Is Dad's other name Lynne?"
"Yes, but the boys plagued him when he was little calling him 'lean cat,' so he took to going by his middle name, Maximilian, but folks nicknamed that, too, and he got sulky." Then as if fearing she had said too much, she added, "That assaying man will be looking for you if you don't get up to the office pretty quick."
So though Tom had any quantity of questions he wanted to ask, he put on his cap and left the house. The school-bell was ringing its final summons when he reached the top of the hill, and he paused to look down the steep slope into the yard where the children were marching in double file into the building, smiling as he saw Tabitha's long, lean legs keeping step behind the short, plump ones of little Carrie, and mentally hoping that the day would go well with the little spitfire sister.
It did. A bright-faced woman stood at her desk and received the children as they entered, shook hands with them and gave them their seats, smiling all the while until Tabitha thought she had never seen anyone so pretty, except Mrs. Carson.
"Now children, my name is Miss Brooks," the new teacher began with an important air which would have told an older observer that this was her first experience in teaching. "I shall expect you always to address me in that manner. If I ask you a question, you must say, 'Yes, Miss Brooks,' or 'No, Miss Brooks,' for that is polite. Now, the first thing I intend to do this morning is to take down your names and get you classified. This little girl in the front seat of the outside row, what is your name?"
"Theodora Marcella Gabrielle Julianna Victoria Emeline Catt, Miss Brooks." Tabitha responded in one breath without a break, her voice ringing clearly through the silence of the room, for everyone was craning to see the new scholar and listening to catch her name.
The teacher gasped, the children tittered, and Tabitha crimsoned angrily, but before she had even time to clench the little fists that were accustomed to fight her battles, Carrie saved the day. "That's her whole name, Miss Brooks, but we call her just Theodora Gabrielle. She is a lovely speaker."
The flush of annoyance on the teacher's facedied instantly, and she smiled down into the beautiful eyes of the child before her as she said, "That is a very pretty name, I am sure. Now tell me where you are in your studies."
An answering smile came to Tabitha's face, and she replied with more confidence, "I've finished United States history, which is grand, 'specially Grant; I've reached Europe in geography, which isn't bad; I've got to 'emotion' in language, which is horrid; and in 'rithmetic I am stuck in decimal fractions, which is the worst yet. My brother, Dionysius Ulysses Humphrey Llewelyn, taught me history when he was studying it. I hain't had it in school yet."
This time the scholars as well as the teacher were silent in astonishment, but no one laughed; and seeing the surprised faces all around her, Tabitha again assumed a belligerent attitude, thinking they did not believe her.
"Well, that's so," she exclaimed defiantly, glaring at the strange children.
"Yes," added Carrie, "and she has read through the Fourth Reader and knows lots of pieces. You ought to hear her speakBarbara Fritchie."
"But I'm an awful speller," admitted the mollified Tabitha.
At this the teacher smiled again, and laying her hand on the black head she said, "You are a little girl to be so far along in your lessons. I am afraid I can't classify you just now. We will have to wait until I get the other girls and boys arranged according to studies, and then we will see where to put you. Now, children, I hope you will follow Theodora Gabrielle's example and study hard."
"Teacher's pet," whispered the boy across the aisle, but Tabitha was soaring in the realms of bliss and the teacher's smile, so she did not hear or care what the others might say. The world was growing very bright and she was finding how sweet the days could be.
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"Tabitha!"
The child was curled in a forlorn heap on the little front stoop which took the place of piazza to their cottage, staring with gloomy eyes toward the radiant sunset, but for once unaware of the glorious beauty of the skies. Her heart was very heavy. In two days more the school was to give their first exhibition—that was what Miss Brooks called it—in the town hall; and all the parents and friends were invited to come and hear them speak the pieces and sing the songs they had been learning ever since school had commenced, six weeks before. Miss Brooks thought it helped the scholars to have public exercises occasionally, for it brought the parents in closer touch with their boys and girls and encouraged the children to do better work; so she had planned to have these exhibitions every six weeks or two months in thetown hall. The school house wastoo small to seat many visitors if all the scholars were present.
Tabitha was to recite a long selection all by herself, and she had taken great pride in learning it with appropriate gestures, conscious of the fact that she was the best speaker in the room, and happy in the teacher's unstinted praise and her playmates' envious admiration.
But now! Miss Brooks had asked the girls to wear white dresses, and Tabitha had none! What a calamity! She had expected to wear her new green gingham. It wasn't a very pretty color, to be sure, or very becoming, but she had coaxed Aunt Maria to make it after the fashion of Carrie's dainty dresses and was delighted with the result. Now the rest of the girls would be in white, and it would look dreadful to have one green dress in the splendid array on the platform. What could she do?
It was useless to ask for a white gown, and even if there were any possibility of getting the new material it was too late to make it up in time for the exhibition, for Aunt Maria wasn't a great success as a seamstress, and it took her a long time to make a dress. Why,she had worked more than a week on the green gingham, and that was just tucked! If there could be a white dress it would have to have ruffles on it; all the other girls' white dresses had ruffles on them somewhere. Carrie's had two ruffles on the skirt, and Mamie Cole's hadthree. Bertha Dean's had only one ruffle around the shoulders and the skirt was tucked, but it was very pretty; and if Tabitha could not have ruffles on the skirt, she would want at least a shoulder ruffle with lace around it. Well, there was no use in planning, she could not have a white dress. But how could she face all those people in a green gingham and be the only odd girl there?
"Tabitha Catt!" The voice was sharp and insistent, and at the sound of the hateful name almost forgotten now, the child came suddenly out of her unhappy reverie.
"What is it, Aunt Maria?"
"Where in the world have you been? I've called you half a dozen times already. Go to my trunk and bring me that box of odd pieces just under the tray. I want to mend this dress before dark. Mind you are careful now. The tray is broken; lift it carefully."
Tabitha rose slowly to do her bidding, still thinking of the dress she did not have. Under ordinary circumstances she considered it a great honor to be allowed even to lift the cover of the big, old trunk in the corner, for it contained many wonderful relics for childish eyes, and sometimes Aunt Maria would let her look at some of the treasures, and even tell her a little about them on rare occasions. Today, however, even this prospect was not alluring, and with listless hands Tabitha pulled the rickety tray out of its place and bent over the trunk in search of the box in question. There were several boxes under the tray, but Aunt Maria never remembered this, and it was always necessary to open them to discover which was the one wanted. So the child seized the nearest and pulled off the cover. No pieces in that. But in the act of replacing the cover she noticed something shining in a mass of white, and paused to investigate. It was a string of glistening beads, and as she lifted them from their crushed tissue wrappings there lay disclosed the shimmering folds of a white silk dress, carefully laid away with dried "Sweet Mary" leaves.
"Child, are you making those pieces?" The girl started guiltily, dropped the cover over the box and pulled open its neighbor. There were the scraps Aunt Maria wanted, and with these in her hands she scurried out into the kitchen where the fussy old lady sat sewing in the waning light.
"There are seven boxes just under the tray, Aunt Maria," she announced. "I opened the wrong one by mistake, and there was a silk dress inside." She hesitated, not knowing how to ask for the information she desired, for the aunt, like the father, never encouraged the asking of questions.
"That was my first silk dress," the woman said reminiscently. "My grandfather gave it to me when I was a little girl so I could go to my favorite aunt's wedding. I never wore it but twice, for my mother did not believe in finery for children, and this being white, she was afraid it would get soiled. Did you close that trunk?"
Tabitha went back to put things in order again, but could not resist one more peep at the enticing box. How beautiful the silk looked, and how daintily it was made! To besure, there were no ruffles adorning the soft folds, but the bottom of the skirt was beautifully scalloped, so even and nice, and each scallop bound with a narrow strip of the same material.
She lifted the dress out of its box and looked at it with shining eyes. How rich one must be to own a silk dress! How she wished it belonged to her! If it had been hers, she should have worn it more than twice—such a dainty, pretty thing as that—and it was white. White? Yes. And she wanted a white dress so much.
"Tabitha!"
"Yes, Aunt Maria."
"What are you doing? I want you to set the table. It is almost supper time and Thomas will soon be here."
Tabitha dropped the dress hastily on the rug beside the trunk, put the cover on the empty box and slipped it back in its place with the other six. Down went the tray on top of them, the lid of the trunk fell with a snap, and the white silk dress was no longer inside. With beating heart and red face she carried the garment into her own tiny room and hung it inthe very darkest corner of the closet. Then she ran to set the table.
How the next day ever passed she never knew, for before her eyes wherever she looked danced that lovely, quaint old gown of shimmering silk, and she could think of nothing else. It hid the map of Europe when she opened her geography, it played leap-frog among common fractions when she tried to do her sums, it waved at the head of the Continental Army while she led those brave men to victory, and when it came to spelling class she could think of nothing but "s-i-l-k."
But Exhibition Day came at last. Aunt Maria was not going, as Tabitha well knew, so would not see her in the borrowed gown until too late to raise any objections. She had no intention of wearing the dress without Aunt Maria's knowledge, but she did intend to wear it first, and tell about it afterwards, accepting whatever punishment the woman saw fit to give her for the transgression. So she smuggled the gown out of the house in her school-bag, and up among the tall boulders beyond the Carson place, where there was no possibility of anyone finding her. Here shedressed, and under one great rock hid the once admired but now despised green gingham. Then with her long cape covering her quaintly gowned figure, she hurried up to Carrie's door to call for her playmate, having waited until the last minute in the hope that her friends would be gone. Nor was she disappointed. The doors were locked and no one came to answer her knock; so with flying feet she sped toward the hall, noting that only a few people were bound in that direction, and knowing that most of the expected visitors were already seated within.
"Oh, Theodora Gabrielle!" exclaimed the teacher as the child flew up the aisle to her place on the platform, "I was so afraid something had happened to keep you away. It would never do to have our best speaker absent, you know;" and she smiled into the shining black eyes of the breathless Tabitha; but the next instant the smile faded. Tabitha had loosened her cape, and Miss Brooks caught sight of the quaint, queer old gown underneath. "Child!" she cried involuntarily. "Whatever possessed you to put on that rig?"
The beloved silk dress called a "rig!" Tabithawas dismayed, and the tears came welling into the bright eyes, as with quivering lip she confessed, "It was the onlywhitedress I could get, Miss Brooks. I thought it would be very 'propriate, for I am to speak a war piece, you know. Aunt Maria had this when she was a little girl, and she must be pretty much older than the war."
"I meant that the silk was too good for common wear, dear," fibbed the teacher, seeing the sorrow in the thin, brown, wistful face. "It is a pretty idea to wear a dress that was made in war times, and I never would have thought of it myself. But we must take off the ribbons from your hair, Theodora, and fix it in the old-fashioned way to go with your gown. I remember a picture of my mother with her hair done in the queerest braids. Come, we will have to hurry."
As this inspiration flashed through the young teacher's mind, she saw a way out of the dilemma so that neither child nor school should be ridiculed because of Tabitha's mistake; and she hurriedly completed the small girl's "war times toilette" so that when Tabitha emerged from under her skillful hands she was the admirationand envy of all her mates. And truly she presented a pretty picture as she stood before the none too critical audience and recitedSheridan's Ridewith such vim and spirit that every heart was fired with patriotism and the applause was so prolonged that Miss Brooks told her she must speak another piece, even though it was not on the program. Purposely the teacher had left Tabitha's part in the exercises well toward the last, knowing that she could be depended upon to make a fitting climax for the afternoon's program, nor was she disappointed; and she fairly beamed upon the little girl as she gently pushed her toward the front of the platform to respond to her encore.
Having done so well with one war piece, Tabitha decided thatBarbara Fritchiewas a most appropriate selection to recite this second time, besides being quite in keeping with her old-fashioned dress. So she began the familiar lines:
Up from the meadow rich with cornClear in the cool September morn,The clustered spires of Frederick standGreen-walled by the hills of Maryland.
Up from the meadow rich with cornClear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick standGreen-walled by the hills of Maryland.
How she loved that poem, how vividly the whole scene seemed to lie before her, and how her very soul thrilled as she gave life to the stirring words!
Quick, as it fell, from the broken staffDame Barbara snatched the silken scarf.She leaned far out on the window-sill,And shook it forth with a royal will.
Quick, as it fell, from the broken staffDame Barbara snatched the silken scarf.
She leaned far out on the window-sill,And shook it forth with a royal will.
Suddenly from among the audience one face seemed to leap before her eyes,—white, set, terrified. Tom! And beside him, leaning forward as he stood near the door, his face grim and threatening, was her father! Her surroundings were forgotten; she seemed to be standing beside the dusty road again with a pail of blackberries at her feet; and with gaze rivetted upon those two figures in the back of the hall, she recited:
Slap, if you dare, you old gray head,I'll scratch like a—cat—till you'll wish you were dead.
Slap, if you dare, you old gray head,I'll scratch like a—cat—till you'll wish you were dead.
Was there a titter behind her, were the faces in the audience smiling? Was Miss Brooks speaking her name, were someone's armsaround her trying to drag her to her seat? It seemed an age that she stood there, words frozen on her lips, heart that seemed to have ceased its beating, and eyes that looked without seeing. Then, pausing for neither hat nor cape, she plunged down from the platform, fled blindly through the aisle and rushed out of the open door.
Up the rocky path she stumbled, but stopped on the summit of the first rise. What was the use of running away? He would find her and the punishment would come sooner or later. It might as well come now and be over with. Up on the nearest boulder she crept and waited, a heap of frozen misery. Would he remain until the exercises were over? How would he punish her?
The waiting was short, although to her it seemed hours before the parents and children came out of the hall and dispersed to their various homes. A few passed her on the trail, but she did not see them—not even Carrie, sobbing aloud as she stumbled along beside her mother.
When they were all gone, her father suddenly stood before her. When he came, or how he got there, she did not know.
"Tabitha Catt," she heard his even tones saying, "get down from there."
She slid to the ground beside him.
"Come with me."
She turned and followed him, not down the hill to the cottage as she had expected, but back towards town. The day was warm, but she was shivering violently, and even her teeth chattered until it seemed as if the silent man at her side could not fail to hear them.
"What have you told these people your name was?" the same even tones demanded.
"Theodora Marcella Gabrielle Julianna Victoria Emeline. I never told anyone but Carrie and Miss Brooks."
A glimmer of a smile played around the man's stern mouth, hidden by his moustache.
"And Tom's? What name did you give Tom?"
"Dionysius Ulysses Humphrey Llewelyn."
"Hm, not as long as yours."
"He thought it would do. I had some more he might have had."
"So he called himself that jargon, did he?"
"Oh, no! He couldn't remember them. That was just my name for him."
"Well, Miss Tabitha Catt, you have told these people a lie."
Lie? Tabitha was startled. Lie? Was it a lie to change one's name—just one's first name? It had not appealed to her in that light before. But the relentless voice was still speaking. What was it saying?
"You have stolen your aunt's dress—"
"I—"
"Not a word yet, Tabitha Catt. When I have finished, you will have a chance to explain. You are to go to every store and hotel in this town and say—listen now, so you will get it straight, 'I told you a lie. My name is Tabitha Catt and not Theodora Marcella Gabrielle Julianna Victoria Emeline; and my brother's name is Thomas Catt and not Dionysius Ulysses Humphrey Llewelyn.' Now go, and don't you miss a single store."
The child's black eyes flashed dangerously, but she obediently started down the main street of the town, counting on her fingers, "Two drug stores, three grocery stores—no, four—one butcher shop, two dry goods stores, one millinery shop, three hotels and the bakery."
The first in line was a hotel, Silver Bow Hotel, the largest in town, and the office was crowded when she entered. Every head was lifted and every pair of eyes looked curiously at the odd little figure in its quaintly scalloped dress and shining black braids. She hesitated, looked about her in desperation, saw no familiar face in all the crowd, and haltingly began her dreadful speech:
"I told you a lie. My name is Tabitha Catt—" Someone interrupted with a mocking laugh. She wheeled toward him, shook her tightly clenched fist, and with blazing eyes continued, "and not Theodora Marcella Gabrielle Julianna Victoria Emeline; and my brother's name is Thomas Catt and not Dionysius Ulysses Humphrey Llewelyn. My father's name is Lynne Maximilian Catt, but you can call him 'lean Manx Catt;' he doesn't like it, but it ain't any worse than ours. I have an Aunt Maria." She turned as if to go, but paused to throw back over her shoulder, "My mother's name was Theodora Marcella. She was a decent woman. The good die young." With a profound bow she was gone before the spell-bound group had recovered their breathThe next place was a grocery store, and though near the supper hour, it chanced to be empty, except for the proprietor, whom she knew, and with him for her audience she spoke her little piece again, omitting none of it, and leaving him in a state of utter bewilderment. On down the long street she went, into every store and shop. Sometimes the people laughed at her, but more often absolute silence greeted her speech, for her eyes burned like live coals and her thin face was pale as death, except for a scarlet spot high on either cheek. In one shop she saw Miss Brooks, but though the teacher pitied the child with all her heart, and longed to comfort her, she knew this was no time to say anything, and was silent with the rest.
So at last the terrible ordeal was over and Tabitha dragged her feet wearily up the last slope toward home. Her father met her where she had left him, and greeted her with the remark, "Now, what have you to say for yourself, Tabitha Catt?"
She lifted her eyes full of scorching scorn and looked straight into his face so like her own, as she replied with passionate emphasis,"That you're a beast, lean Manx Catt, and I'm ashamed of you!"
"She's right," he said to himself, and in silence followed the fleeing form through the sunset glow toward home.
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Tom had preceded her to the house and evidently had told Aunt Maria, for when the child burst into the kitchen trailing the green gingham which she had picked up on her way, the worthy woman said never a word of reproach, but with trembling fingers helped her out of the queer little rig and laid it away herself among its crumpled wrappings, while down her withered cheek stole two tears of pity for the unhappy Tabitha.
"Supper is all ready. Come and have something to eat. I opened a jar of jam just for you."
Tabitha shook her head, but gave her aunt a grateful look as she rushed away to her room, slammed the door and crawled into bed, where she lay trembling with anger and humiliation too great for tears. The beauty of the day was gone, her pride in her school achievements was ruthlessly swept away, happiness in these new surroundings was dead.
Her father had said she lied, he had made her tell everyone so, they would hate her now and have nothing to do with her, or else they would make the days miserable by rude taunts and hateful jeers as the children in other towns had done. Miss Brooks would be disappointed in her and give her only cold looks and maybe cross words. Probably even Carrie would no longer care to be her friend. At this thought the tears came, hot, passionate and bitter, and she sobbed convulsively under the pillow where she hid her head that no one might hear. It seemed as if her heart would break. Poor little Tabitha!
Outside the sunset colors faded, the twilight deepened and night came on. The birds twittered sleepily in their nests, a night-hawk screeched across the sky, in the distance the coyotes howled dismally, and the ceaseless throbbing of the mines filled the desert quiet.
In the kitchen Aunt Maria clattered nervously around, upset dishes, spilled the tea, burned the toast and forgot the potatoes entirely, for her perplexed thoughts were with the sobbing child in bed; and the minute the remnants of the evening meal were clearedaway, the woman vanished into her room for the night.
Tom tried to eat his supper, but the food choked him, and finding rest impossible at the house, he went out of doors and up the slope to the office, hopeful of finding work there to take his attention; but the door was locked. He turned toward town with its dim, scattered lights, but they mocked him, and everywhere he looked he saw only the strained face of terrified Tabitha, seeming to reproach him for his relaxed vigilance, and he blamed himself bitterly for the calamity the day had brought upon her. At last he crept home again and went to bed, where in the anguish of his spirit, boy though he was, he dampened the pillow with a few salty tears.
But strange as it may seem, Mr. Catt had the worst time of all. For the first time in all his selfish life he seemed to see things as they really were and to realize, in a measure, what a failure he had made of his fatherhood. His slumbering conscience was roused and for a few hours he had an uncomfortable struggle with himself; but though he regretted his harshness, the habits of a lifetime are not laidaside in a moment, and in the end he regarded himself as more sinned against than sinning.
If only Fortune had favored him as it had some other people—if only his wife had been spared him—if only friends had been true to him, it might have been different. Maybe he had been too severe with the girl, but she must be taught obedience. She was too much of a spitfire already, and there was no telling what she might do if some restraint was not put upon her. Still, perhaps a lighter punishment would have served the purpose just as well. She was a bright child; yes, he would admit that. Maybe if she had looked a little more like the angel mother—and yet sometimes he could scarcely bear to look at the boy because in Tom's face he saw so often the warm tenderness that had endeared the mother to all who knew her, and the deep, soft brown eyes that always looked straight in one's face seemed to reproach him for his sternness and neglect. He had mourned because the boy had not inherited the black hair and eyes and the disposition of the Catts, and now he was sorry because the girl had. He sighed; if only—
From the next room came a deep, heavy, sobbing sigh, as if an echo of his. Tabitha had at last fallen asleep and in her slumber had tossed aside the suffocating pillow from her hot, throbbing head. He sat looking at the closed door for some minutes; then, hardly knowing why he did so, he rose and entered her room.
She was still lying in a huddled heap, face down upon the mattress, but her head was turned to one side, exposing the flushed, tear-stained cheek and swollen lids where the tears were scarcely dry. One thin arm was still curved beneath her head, but the other had slipped away from her face and lay stretched across the covers, the hand still loosely clutching a damp ball of handkerchief. The pathetic little figure, still quivering convulsively with every breath, touched the heart of the selfish man, and drawing a five-dollar gold piece from his pocket he slipped it inside the moist, brown fist. Then, as if realizing what a paltry thing gold is in comparison with love, he stooped over the flushed face and kissed it gently,—the first kiss he had ever given his little daughter. She stirred, and the coin slippedfrom her hand, but in his hasty retreat from the room he did not hear it fall to the floor, roll across the light matting and lodge in a crack out of sight. So he stilled the small, inner voice, and going to his room sought his couch almost satisfied with himself.
The next morning when Tabitha awoke he was gone again, back to the mines and their alluring gold, little realizing what a sore heart he had left behind him in the cottage on the desert. At first she could not think what had happened to leave such a heavy weight on her heart that the very atmosphere seemed charged with grief, but as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, still hot and stinging from her cry, she remembered the whole dreadful story, and in the sympathetic pillow she again buried her face, too humiliated to meet the world, too discouraged to care.
She heard the clock on the mantel strike seven and lay dreading the call to get up. In the kitchen Aunt Maria was busy bustling about the morning work, getting breakfast, washing the dishes and sweeping. Once she heard Tom's voice, but though she strained her ears, she could catch the sound of no answering tones.
The clock struck eight. Aunt Maria never let her stay in bed that late, even on Sundays, when they all slept a little longer than usual. There was a knock at the kitchen door. Could it be Carrie on her way to school? Not very likely, as the Carson house was nearer town than their cottage, and it was always her place to call for Carrie. Besides, Carrie was never ready on time, and they always had to hurry to reach school before the last bell rang. Still, she held her breath expectantly when steps approached her door, and her heart sank when they stopped and no one entered.
Carrie? What could she be thinking of—she, who had told a lie, deceived people? Could she expect Carrie to call for her? Could she expect Carrie to be her friend after all that had happened? Down went her head into the pillow again and the hot tears flowed in a bitter flood.
The screen door banged, Tom had gone to work. The clock struck nine. There came another knock at the door, louder than the previous one, and for a long time she could hear Aunt Maria's voice speaking in low tones to someone who evidently stood on the steps outside.
Somewhere a sharp whistle sounded, and she flew up in bed startled to hear the clock on the mantel counting off the hour of twelve. She must have been asleep. Yes, she surely had been, for on the chair beside her bed stood a tray heaped high with bread and butter, cake and jam. A glass of milk was there also, and she drank it eagerly, for she was thirsty; but she could not touch the food.
So the long day passed. Once Tom slipped in and bent over her, but her eyes were closed, and thinking her asleep, he left a golden orange beside her and went away. Once Aunt Maria asked her if she didn't feel able to dress and go out of doors for the fresh air, but she turned wearily away and hid her face in the pillow, her only refuge.
The second morning someone had left her door ajar, and she heard Aunt Maria say to Tom, "I don't know what in the world to do with her. She will be sick if she stays that way much longer."
And in Tabitha's heart sprang the fierce longing to be sick, very sick, so sick that they would have to take her away from this horribledesert town. She had heard of such things happening; perhaps—
Tom's voice interrupted her thoughts.
"It is all my fault, Aunt Maria. She told me about the name, but I didn't pay enough attention to know that she had really taken it in place of her own.Iought to be thrashed instead of her being punished. Now she won't look at me or listen to me any more."
Tom took all the blame! Why, she had never for a moment thought of such a thing! Itwasn'this fault, she would tell him so.
"Tom!"
The scraping of his chair as he pushed it back from the table drowned the sound of her voice, and before she could call again he was gone. She jumped out of bed, threw on her clothes, and stopping only long enough to brush back her tangled hair, she rushed out of the house and up the hill toward the office of the surveyor.
Tom was standing by the big draughting table lettering a map, the surveyor was busy with some blueprints in the window, and Mr. Carson sat near by with a notebook in hand which he was searching industriously. All thisTabitha saw as she stumbled over the threshold, but without heeding either of the two men, she cast herself into Tom's arms with the wail, "O, Tom, you ain't to blame, and you don't deserve to be thrashed! I told a lie and I stole the white silk dress with those lovely scallops. But those were such grand names—yours 'specially, though mine was longer—and oh, I hate being a cat all my life! I said more'n Dad gave me to say and I told folks that his name was 'lean Manx Catt,' and I told 'em Aunt Maria's name. Miss Brooks won't like me any more, and I expect Carrie will hate me, too."
There was a stifled exclamation—she thought from Tom—then two strong arms closed around her, and she found herself crying into someone's vest pocket, but it wasn't Tom's. He had not yet attained the dignity of vests. Surprised, she hushed her sobs, though she still clung to the protecting arms, and in a moment she heard Tom say, "She will be all right now, sir. I will take her home."
But the big arms only held her closer and Mr. Carson's voice, trembling a little and husky with emotion, replied, "I want her for a little while, Tom. Leave her with me."
Laying aside the notebook with its fascinating rows of figures, the man led the amazed child out of the building and down the steep rocky path toward the Carson home, holding her hand fast in his own, and speaking gently, cheerily as they walked.
"It was all a mistake, little girl, and everyone makes mistakes. It wasn't a lie and it wasn't stealing. You ought to have asked someone about it and everything would have been all right, but you mustn't cry about it any more. Carrie loves you just the same and so does Mother Carson and so do I. I don't think Tabitha is a horrid name—"
"But TabithaCatt!" quavered the tearful little voice. "Folks make fun of me and say hateful things and call me Tabby Catt—"
"Tabby cats are such nice pets," the man interrupted, "so gentle and nice and pretty."
"But I'm homely. If I was pretty maybe they wouldn't call me names."
"No, dear, it isn't that. When they plague you, you scratch; and so they like to tease. If you paid no attention to the thoughtless things they said, they would soon stop teasing."
"Do you really think they would? Ithought it was because of the name. No one teased me much when my name was Theodora Marcella Gabrielle Julianna Victoria Emeline."
He smiled. The name sounded so perfectly incongruous for that slender slip of girl, more so than the despised Tabitha; but he understood what a charm the long, rhythmic words held for the child who had missed so much happiness in her short life, so he gravely answered,
"I am sure if you try to laugh with those who make fun of you, and won't get mad no matter what they say, they will soon forget all about the odd little name and will love you for what you are."
"That will be awfully hard to do," sighed Tabitha, thinking of the many times she had been tormented because of that name, "but if—you think it will work,—I'll try."
Before he had a chance to say anything further, the door of the Carson house flew open and happy-faced Carrie flew up the path to meet them, crying joyously, "Miss Brooks is here, and she wants to see you, 'cause we've missed you dreadfully at school."
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"Oh, Tabitha, Tabitha, come over to my house and see what papa has brought me!"
Carrie's voice was shrill with joy; and hastily setting the last cup on the pantry shelf, Tabitha seized her sunbonnet and rushed away to join her excited playmate. "It's out here on the back porch, and oh, it's a perfect darling! Tell me what to call him. Isn't he a beauty?"
Talking and laughing and capering in delight, Carrie led the way to the rear of the house, and there in a box on the steps was a beautiful, black, shaggy pup, with the longest, silkiest hair and the prettiest brown eyes.
"Oh, Carrie Carson, aren't you the luckiest girl!" cried Tabitha, looking enviously at the treasure as she bent over it to smooth the soft, shaggy coat. "Just see what beau-ti-ful ears he has! And what a cunning nose! See him lick my hand!"
"He's kissing you. Isn't he cute? One of papa's men at the mine owned four of these little pups, and he sold this one for five dollars. He is to be my very own and I am going to teach him tricks when he is old enough. Isn't he a darling?"
"I should say he is! I wish he belonged to me." The black eyes grew very wistful and the brown face unusually sober as she examined this new toy, this live toy that could really play with its little mistress and understand, at least in a measure, whatever was said to it.
Carrie saw the longing glance and promptly said, "You can play with him, too, Puss, and help me teach him things,—to speak when he wants something to eat, and to bring us sticks or stones when we throw them for him to chase, and to jump through barrel hoops, and to shake hands, and to walk on his hind legs like Jimmy's dog, Sport, does, and to play sleep, and to stand on his hind legs—"
"That will be ever so nice, but it isn't the same as if he was mine, Carrie," interrupted the mournful Tabitha, completely wrapped up in this tiny specimen of puppyhood.
"No—that's so," answered the other childthoughtfully, watching the precious possession with jealous eyes as it curled up in Tabitha's arms and shut its eyes for a nap.
"He likes me already, doesn't he? I've always wanted a pet, but we've never stayed long enough in one place to have anything of this kind. I had a rabbit once, but a dog caught it, and I cried so hard Aunt Maria said I never should have another."
"I'll tell you what! Part of this dog can be yours," said Carrie generously, though it cost her an effort to speak those words.
"Oh, Carrie, you don't mean that?" cried the astonished Tabitha. "Really own part of your beautiful pup? What will your father and mother say?"
"They won't care a bit. The dog is all mine to do what I like with, and I like to give you a share of him. Course he will live here, and I will feed him, so papa can tell me what to give him, as pups are very hard to raise properly and it takes someone that knows how to do it. But you can really, truly own half of him."
"What a good girl you are, Carrie!" exclaimed the other part owner, much impressedat Carrie's grand air of knowledge. "If I had a dog all my own, I'm afraid I'd never want to share him with anyone else, except to play with. I'd want to keep all the ownership myself."
"Well, it would be different with you. All the pets you ever have had was a bunny, while I've had a Shetland pony until we came up here on the desert where there isn't anything for him to eat, and a little lamb out on grandma's farm, and two brown hens, and a pair of doves, and three kitties, and this makes the second dog."
"Oh!"
"That's a lot of pets to have one person own, isn't it? But they didn't all belong to me at the same time, and this dog is the best of them all—except the pony. Dear little Arrow is at grandma's house now and when I go back to town to live, if I'm not too big I am to have her again."
"What a cute name for a pony! What are you going to call this pup?"
"I had thought of Ponto, but papa says he will grow up into a big dog, and he thought General would be a nice name."
"I like Ponto best, I believe. It has a grander sound to it than General. And yet—can I name my half of the dog, too?" as a sudden inspiration came to her mind.
"Why—yes—if it fits in with General," a little doubtfully, for Carrie's ideas of beautiful names differed materially from Tabitha's.
"It will go with it splendidly—Sheridan Sherman Grant McClellan."
"Which one?"
"All of them. That ain't too many, is it? I do like all those generals so much, and I should hate to have to drop any of them."
"It's an awfully long name to say when you want to call a dog," said the first little mistress reflectively, yet afraid to suggest the curtailing of it for fear of wounding her playmate.
"But you can shorten it up like—like I did once with—" The unhappy episode was still very fresh in her mind, and her heart still very sore; so she hesitated, unwilling to recall it further.
"I know," interrupted sympathetic Carrie hastily. "We can shorten it to General Sheridan or General—what would you shorten it to?"
"General McClellan is the grandest sounding name, but General Grant is the easiest to say, and I suppose a dog ought to be called the easiest name so he can remember it. We'll call him General Grant."
The dog was named.
That evening Tabitha was sitting on the steps studying her geography when Tom came home late for supper, but every moment or two she would look up from her books toward the Carson house, and stare intently at something he could not see, while she seemed to be listening for something he could not hear. From his seat at the table he could watch her unobserved, and when at last he had satisfied his appetite, he joined her on the steps, asking curiously, "What's the matter, Puss? Geography doesn't seem to be interesting you."
"Oh, Tom, it's the pup! Carrie has the dearest little shaggy dog. She said I might be part owner of it, and we've named him General Sheridan Sherman Grant McClellan. General is her name for him, and the rest is mine. It's most too long to say the whole of it every time we want him to come, so we aregoing to call him General Grant for short. Isn't that a nice name?"
"Well, I should say so. The General no doubt would be flattered if he could know."
"He's an awfully pretty pup and will make a great big dog when he's grown up. His feet are dreadfully big, but Mr. Carson says he will need them some day, and all big dogs have big feet when they are little. Carrie wanted to name him Ponto, but her father thought General sounded more dignified for such a big dog. Ponto is a pretty name, though, and if I had a pup all of my own I'd call him— Say, Tom, do you suppose Dad would let me have a dog for my very own self? It's nice to own part of one, but think how much better it would be if I had a whole one. Then Carrie wouldn't have to share hers, and I really think she would rather own all of General Grant herself. If I asked Dad, do you suppose he would say yes?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Puss, but I am afraid not. We had a pup once when I was small, and it chewed up everything it could get hold of. I had a little suit of black velvet—I remember it was the first I ever had with pocketsin it—and one day the pup got hold of it and tore it all to pieces. Dad gave him away at last because he did so much damage."
"What was its name?"
"Pinto."
"Why, isn't that funny—almost the name Carrie wanted! If I had a dog, Tom, I should name him Pinto Ponto Poco Pronto. Wouldn't that be grand? I never heard anything called that, and it has such a pretty jingle about it when you say them all together. It's a—what do you call it?—'literation? It means where a whole string of words begin with the same letter. Don't you think that would make a splendid name for a dog?"
"Capital," answered loyal Tom, and Tabitha again took up the study of her geography lesson, for while she had been talking, Mr. Carson had opened the door of the big house and carried General Grant, box and all, inside.
Tom was not the only one who had heard Tabitha's raptures over the new possession, however. Sitting by the open window behind his newspaper, Mr. Catt had caught every word of the conversation, unknown to his small daughter, who did not realize his close proximitywhile she was unburdening her heart to the big brother; and he smiled derisively at the narrative; so when the child found courage to ask him for a pet dog he answered curtly, "No, Miss Tabitha, we don't want any pups around here. Dogs and cats fight, you know."
Without another word, the small supplicant went mournfully away to gaze with longing eyes at the joint possession and wish more fervently than ever that it might be hers.
But Mr. Catt was not really heartless. A few days later on his way home from a short trip to his claims, he found a half-starved cat tied to a lonely yucca far up on the mountain trail, where it had been abandoned by its inhuman owners and left to this terrible fate. Indignation burned within the man as he realized the plight of the unhappy animal, and remembering Tabitha's plea for a pet, he carried the scrawny feline home to the child, feeling assured of its welcome there. But unfortunately the cat was as black as a coal, without a white hair on its body; its tail had a very perceptible crook in it which refused to be straightened out; its ears had been closely cropped, and altogether it was so gaunt andhideous that involuntarily one shuddered to look at it.
"A cat!" exclaimed disappointed Tabitha when she had been called to see the gift. "I never asked for a cat; I don't want a cat; I hate cats! There are enough cats in this house already without this horrible skeleton. I suppose you will want me to call it Tabby. Oh, dear, what a time I do have living!"
With a wail of woe Tabitha fled up the trail to her hidden chamber among the boulders and threw herself on the ground to sob out her grief and anger over this unexpected and wholly unwelcome pet. That she would regard the gift as an insult when he had presented it with the best of intentions had never occurred to the father, and not understanding her antipathy for all of the feline tribe, he was naturally somewhat angry at her attitude; so he insisted that the cat had come to stay. And indeed it looked as if she had, for no one wanted the homely, starved creature, and though three times Tabitha surreptitiously pushed her down the shaft of an abandoned mine on the other side of the mountain, the animal always appeared serenely at meal time with a more ravenous appetite than ever, and Tabithabegan to think that the "nine lives of a cat" was no joke, but a dreadful reality.
"I wish the owners of that thing had kept her. It was cruel to tie her to the yucca and leave her to starve to death, but I 'most wish she'd been dead when Dad found her. I hate the sight of her." She was sitting on the lower step, elbows on her knees and chin resting in her hands as she somberly surveyed the greedy animal lapping up the milk she had just set before it, and vainly wished she had no pet at all.
The kitchen door opened behind her and the father stepped out on the porch. His quick glance took in the whole situation in an instant, and recalling the conversation concerning the dog a few nights previously, he asked with some curiosity, "What have you named your cat, Tabitha?"
Without lifting her eyes or manifesting any interest in the subject she answered briefly, "Lynne Maximilian."
The man started as if he could not believe his ears, and then with an almost audible chuckle of amusement, he descended the steps and strode rapidly up the path toward the town.
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There was a new boy at school.
In this little town with its ever changing population of miners and fortune seekers, the advent of a stranger as a usual thing caused little if any excitement. But with this boy it was different, though the children could not have explained wherein he was unlike themselves. It could not be his clothes, for Jimmy Gates, the hotel-keeper's son, was the best-dressed boy in town; it could not be his appearance, for though he was undoubtedly good-looking, he did not begin to be as handsome as Herman Richards; it could not be the place where he lived, for the Carson house was the largest and most attractive in town. And yet there was something about him that won him a ready welcome wherever he went.
Tabitha was fairly hypnotized. She could not keep her eyes off him whenever the opportunity to look in his direction came to her,which fortunately was not often, as she sat in the front seat of the outside row, while his desk was towards the rear of the room in the same row, and they were both in nearly all the same classes, though he was obviously some two or three years older than she. However, he was further advanced in arithmetic, and recited in a different class, so she could watch him during that lesson while he was working at the blackboard, or sitting on the recitation bench in front of the whole school. He had the loveliest red-brown curls and big, red-brown eyes with long, heavy lashes! To be sure, his face was freckled, but he was always laughing and one forgot the freckles in watching his flashing white teeth or the dimples that came and went in his round cheeks.
Tabitha did not know that he hated these dimples almost as badly as she did her name, and that his beautiful curls were a great trial to him, as such things are to all boys of that tender age; but she did know that he was different from any boy she had ever seen, and so she worshipped him from afar.
Besides, he had thegrandestname! Why had she never heard of Jerome when she gaveTom the name of Dionysius Ulysses Humphrey Llewelyn? Maybe it wasn't too late yet. Oh, she had forgotten—how could she ever forget! And the crimson blood mounted her cheeks as she remembered that unhappy day in the long ago when she had marched up one side of the street and down the other and told the people that her name was Tabitha Catt. Tom and the Carsons and Miss Brooks had been very kind to her after that dreadful affair, and when she had gone back to school the children never once referred to the beautiful name that had been so ruthlessly snatched away from her, but they played with her just as if nothing had happened and even spoke the hateful word, Tabitha, with such a gentleness that it lost some of its sting. Carrie adopted Tom's pet name for her, so in time others of the children had taken it up and she was more frequently Puss than Tabitha; for all of which she was deeply grateful. Still, she could not help wishing that Tom's name could have been Jerome. That did sound so splendid! But Tom in her eyes was just as nice as Jerome Vane, even if he was solemn and shy while Jerome was laughing and debonair.
The new scholar had been in school just one week when one rainy day at recess while the children were playing quietly inside the building, as the weather was too forbidding to permit the usual games in the yard, Tabitha's sharp ears caught a snatch of conversation among the boys busy drawing horrible cartoons on the blackboard, and one of the speakers was her idol, Jerome Vane.
"Who's that black-haired kid that signs her name as 'T. C.' in the arithmetic class?" the new boy asked.
"Oh, that's Tabitha Catt."
"Tabitha Catt! What a funny name!" Jerome exclaimed; and Tabitha, darting a swift glance at him from the corner of her eye, saw that he was looking at her with an amused smile on his lips.
"Ain't it, though? She don't like it a bit, and took a different one; but her father made her take it all back. She's teacher's pet, so we daren't tease her."
"Huh!" declared the other with a swagger of bravado, "'twould take more than that to make me stop teasing her if I wanted to."
"Guess you don't know Miss Brooks very well."
"I don't care a hang about Miss Brooks. I'd tease if I wanted to."
"I dare you!"
"Taken!"
Tabitha was almost too shocked to move, but at this opportune moment, Carrie came running up to her desk with the news, "Sam Giles has just brought in a bucket of water. Don't you want a drink before recess is over?"
Glad to escape further observation, Tabitha followed blue-eyed Carrie over to the corner of the room where the bucket stood, surrounded by the thirsty boys and girls, all clamoring for a turn.
"Hurry up, Jack Leavitt, it's almost time for the bell and I want a drink!"
"Give me that dipper, you Jim Gates; I want another swig!"
"Wait your turn, stingy!"
At last Tabitha stood beside the pail with the dipper in her hand, but just as she lifted the big cup brimming over, someone behind her tweaked her long braid, and she heard Jerome's laughing voice saying,