"Aunt Maria, will you let me make some molasses taffy? Monday is Carrie's birthday and I haven't anything else to send her. She always gives me something on my birthday. I will be real careful and clean up everything when I am through."
"Well, I suppose you can try it, though I hate to have you messing around while I am getting your father's things ready for his trip."
"I won't mess, truly, Aunt Maria," and thankful at receiving even this grudging permission, she flew out into the tiny kitchen to the pleasant task of candy-making, reciting, as she rattled among the pots and pans:
"Lars Porsena of Clusium,By the Nine Gods he sworeThat the great house of TarquinShould suffer wrong no more.
"Lars Porsena of Clusium,By the Nine Gods he sworeThat the great house of TarquinShould suffer wrong no more.
One cup of molasses, one cup of sugar—that molasses looks awfully black; I wonder if thetaffy will be dark. I like the light-colored best.
'Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,With all the speed ye may;I, with two more to help me,Will hold the foe in play.'
'Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,With all the speed ye may;I, with two more to help me,Will hold the foe in play.'
A lump of butter and a tablespoon of vinegar. How pretty the stuff looks boiling up higher and higher every minute. Hm, but it's hot work bending over this stove.
Four hundred trumpets soundedA peal of warlike glee,As that great host, with measured tread,And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,Rolled slowly toward the bridge's head,Where stood the dauntless Three.
Four hundred trumpets soundedA peal of warlike glee,As that great host, with measured tread,And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,Rolled slowly toward the bridge's head,Where stood the dauntless Three.
My! I would like to have been there and watched them. Isn't Horatius a splendid name! And Herminius—isn't it grand! But they are like Dionysius, no one ever uses them nowadays. I believe that candy is almost done. It is brittle when I put it into water.
Round turned he, as not deigningThose craven ranks to see;Naught spake he to Lars Porsena,To Sextus naught spake he."
Round turned he, as not deigningThose craven ranks to see;Naught spake he to Lars Porsena,To Sextus naught spake he."
She seized the kettle of boiling syrup and lifted it off the stove, still speaking the impassioned lines of that stirring poem, and gesticulating wildly, heedless of the utensils in her hands.
"So he spake, and speaking sheathedThe good sword by his side,And with his harness on his back,Plunged headlong in the tide."
"So he spake, and speaking sheathedThe good sword by his side,And with his harness on his back,Plunged headlong in the tide."
Bang! went the kettle against a chair-back, and the seething, bubbling mess of sticky brown syrup poured in a flood over furniture, girl and floor, and trickled in a rivulet around the brim of her father's hat carelessly laid on the table while he wrestled with a refractory buckle on his grip, packed ready for his departure. A gasp of dismay escaped her lips, and Tabitha stood aghast in the midst of the ruin.
"Tabitha Catt!" exclaimed the aunt, appearing that moment in the doorway.
"Tabitha Catt!" echoed the father, looking up at the sound of the crash. "I never saw such carelessness in my life. Look at that hat! My best, too!"
"You needn't have left it on the table; that's no place for your wardrobe," burst out the indignantTabitha, sucking one blistered finger, and frantically shaking her foot where the hot drops of syrup had clung and burned.
Her unfortunate words were like oil to a flame.
"I'll have none of your impertinence, young lady," cried the irate father, seizing her by the shoulder none too gently and giving her a shake. "You deserve to be trounced."
Tabitha's heart stood still. The day of the licking had come at last! He looked around for a stick, but the woodbox contained nothing but heavy billets, and her sentence might have been suspended had his eyes not rested upon his house slippers still lying in the middle of the floor where he had thrown them upon discovering that fussy Aunt Maria had packed them among his belongings for his journey to the east. Grabbing one of these, he struck the trembling girl half a dozen light blows across the shoulders, and then dropped it, ashamed of himself and startled at the frightened, pleading look in the black eyes raised to his in mute appeal. As the first blow descended, the terror in the thin face gave way to anger, intense, unreasoning; but she stood like a statue, silentand dry-eyed, until the slipper fell from her father's hands and he pushed her from him, saying sternly,
"What have you to say for yourself?"
She wheeled and looked at him with scornful eyes; then without a word of reply, gathered up both slippers from the floor, walked deliberately to the stove and threw them into the bed of live coals before either father or aunt could prevent.
"There, Lynne Maximilian Catt!" she exclaimed in a voice tense with passion, "you will never use that pair to larrup me with again."
He looked at her in silent amazement, and the rage died in his heart. She was the image of him. How could he blame her for displaying the passions that he himself had not learned to control? He turned back to his satchel on the floor and she, surprised that no further punishment followed her open rebellion, rushed away to her room, dribbling taffy as she ran.
"Oh, dear, Mrs. Vane's rule doesn't work at all," she moaned, nursing her blistered fingers and smarting foot, heedless of the molasses trickling down the front of her dress. "I never remember to count ten, and I suppose ifI did get that far, I would let the hateful words fly after them. It is just like me. That is what comes of being a Catt! If I only had a different name maybe it would be easier; but with a whole cat name, how is anyone going to keep from scratching?"
The hot tears came, and for a long time she lay sobbing into the fat pillow which had seen so many floods of this kind that it had grown very much accustomed to it.
She heard the door open and shut and her father's footsteps died away in the distance. He had gone without another word to her; but then this was nothing unusual. He never said good-by to anyone when he left home—that is, he had never done so but once. When he had started on his last trip, he had waved his hand to her, and called, "Good-by, Tabitha. Be a good girl." She had been startled at the unexpected words, and little thrills of joy had crept through her heart every time she thought of them. They were one of the hoarded treasures in her memory book, and she had hoped he would always remember to wave a farewell when he went away again. Now she had made him angry. Well, he had made her angry,too. She didn't intend to spill the candy; he ought to know that; but he had struck her. She was twelve years old now and this was the first licking. She had dreaded it all her life; and was just beginning to think she had grown beyond the age of whippings when the dreadful punishment had befallen her. No, it didn't hurt much, the blows were not heavy enough for that, but the ignominy of it!
Why couldn't her father be like Carrie's? When he had waved his hand at her, she had thought maybe in time he might become like Mr. Carson, and now he had punished her with the licking that had threatened her ever since she could remember. She hated him!
"But I was impudent," she told herself as her fierce anger abated somewhat. "I needn't have said anything about his hat. Maybe then he wouldn't have struck me at all. Perhaps if I had said I was sorry and had cleaned up his hat again, he would have waved good-by to me. Perhaps—justperhaps he might have kissed me as Carrie's father does. But I suppose it would be too soon to expect kisses."
"Tabitha, have you gone to bed?" It was Aunt Maria's voice nervous and shaking.
"Not yet. What's the matter?" she asked.
"I thought maybe you would just as soon sleep in Tom's room tonight. There's a band of gypsies camping a little way up the road, and I don't like the idea of us two women folks being left alone all night. I tried to get Max to stay until morning, but he said he couldn't make connections if he did. I don't suppose there is anything to be afraid of, but this is our first night without a man in the house, and I am as nervous as a witch." This was a long speech for Aunt Maria, but she had a bad attack of the fidgets, and found relief in words.
Tabitha had forgotten that her father's departure would mean she and Aunt Maria must stay alone on the desert, for Tom had gone away to college ten days before; and now at her aunt's words she felt a little tremor of fear pass over her. She had never quite outgrown the feeling of oppression these black nights on the desert gave her, for the hills shut out the lights of town, and Carson's house was the only tenanted one near them. Somewhere she had heard that a man had died in the other little cottage in their neighborhood which had stood vacant ever since their arrival at SilverBow, and it was even hinted that his ghost had come back to haunt it. True, she had never seen anything to warrant her believing these stories, but she stood in awful dread of that house beyond them; so she was only too glad for her aunt's suggestion that she sleep in Tom's bed.
Trying to put these things out of her mind and to think of more cheerful subjects, she gathered up her belongings, and crept into the little box-like room, hardly big enough to turn around in, saying in reassuring tones to Aunt Maria,
"Of course there is nothing to be afraid of. Those campers aren't gypsies, but a lot of prospectors, and I think they moved on after they had cooked supper. At least, I saw them going towards town, horses and all. I reckon they had to lay in some more supplies and so camped near the stores to get an early start in the morning."
"Well, I wish there was a man in the house. I never did like to stay alone at night, and this desert is the blackest place I ever got into. I don't believe I shall ever get used to it."
"You aren't alone. I'm here, and I'm past twelve. There isn't anything to hurt us, andwe haven't anything that robbers would want if they should come along. Thieves would know better than to visit a desert town, Aunt Maria."
Nevertheless, the woman's nervous terror found an echo in Tabitha's heart, and instead of undressing, she exchanged her soiled dress for a fresh one, removed her shoes, and climbed into bed with her clothes on. For a long time she lay tossing on the unfamiliar couch, listening to the night sounds without, and the hideous brays of the wandering burros; but at last she fell into an uneasy slumber, and dreamed that she had gone away to boarding school, but instead of having Carrie for a playmate, her companions were two blazing shoes who kept offering her molasses taffy out of her father's hat. She awoke with a start, trembling in every limb, and frightened at her strange surroundings. Then she remembered how she came to be there, and lay down again on her pillow; but she could not sleep.
In the distance she heard the sound of a dog's insistent barking, and was annoyed by the plaintive howls. She stopped her ears but could not shut out the sound, and in desperationshe sat up and looked out of the window, wishing that morning would dawn.
The night was very dark, but the starlight seemed to break the heavy blackness that hung like a pall over the landscape. Off toward the horizon, in the direction of the dog's barking was a faint glimmer of wavering light, and Tabitha watched it idly for a moment, wondering if there were campers in that little hollow, too. Then the light grew brighter and more flickering, the barking more frantic, and Tabitha started up in terror.
"It's the hermit's house on fire! What can I do? Neither Tom nor Dad is here to give the alarm, and town is so far away."
She flew out of bed and to the dresser where her father's pistol was kept, lifted the ugly weapon from its case and mechanically cocked it. Tom had taught her to use a rifle, but she had never been allowed to handle a revolver, though she had watched him so often that she was familiar with its mechanism, and had no thought of fear as she sped fleetly out of the house, pausing only long enough to slip on her sticky shoes.
Bang, bang, bang! went the gun in rapidsuccession; bang, bang, bang! Six times the report rang sharply through the still night air,—the signal of fire in this little desert town. Then tossing the empty pistol aside, she ran down the road as fast as her feet would carry her, all her terror of the night swept away in the one idea that the townspeople might be too late to help the old man if he should happen to be in the burning house. She never stopped to wonder what aid she, a child of twelve, could render, she never thought of arousing Mr. Carson, but stumbled breathlessly on in the darkness toward the shack now burning merrily.
Somewhere behind her she heard a second revolver alarm; then someone passed her in the road, and a man's voice called, "Go home, Tabitha. This is no place for you." But still she kept on, having scarcely heard the words, and hardly aware that other help than her own feeble strength was at hand.
That was a night she never forgot. In these desert mining towns where water costs a dollar a barrel and the system of piping it into the houses is yet in its infancy, fire is not an easy thing to fight, and many a time the whole camp has been destroyed before the conflagrationcould be checked or would burn itself out. The hermit's hut, however, was so isolated that the town was in no danger, even from the flying sparks, but there was not a drop of water to throw on the flames, and the roads were too steep and rough for the volunteer fire department to drag their chemicals to the rescue.
So the little shack burned to the ground, but Mr. Carson and Tabitha arrived in time to pull the lone occupant to safety, though it was a close call for the old miner, for he was almost suffocated with the smoke and his head and hands were badly burned.
Mr. Carson, too, suffered from his buffeting with the flames, but Tabitha came out unscathed, and when the men from town arrived, hatless and anxious, they found the child helping the brave superintendent in his efforts to revive the unconscious hermit, while the little yellow cur whined in terror at their feet, and the blaze of the burning house mounted high in the heavens.
Dr. Vane was among the crowd, and he quietly took charge of the patient, easing his suffering and binding up his wounds as best he could while someone went for a rig that the injuredman might be carried back to town more easily.
"Now, put some of that stuff on Mr. Carson's hands," commanded Tabitha, who had watched the proceedings with interest, holding bandages and passing ointments under the physician's directions. "His are all scorched, too."
"How are your own?" someone asked her, noticing how drawn and white her face was in the lurid glare.
"I did that making candy last evening," she answered, displaying her blistered fingers, now raw and sore. "I forgot all about them."
Overcome by excitement, weariness and pain, she let the doctor gather her in his strong arms, and the proud citizens of Silver Bow bore their little heroine triumphantly home.
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By the next morning Tabitha had fully recovered from her terrible night's experience, but it was days before the old hermit awoke to consciousness to find himself lying in a white bed in the Miners' Hospital of Silver Bow with Dr. Vane bending over him and a motherly woman in white cap and apron moving about the room.
"Where am I?" he asked faintly.
"In the Silver Bow Hospital," answered the doctor.
"How came I here?"
"You were hurt. You mustn't talk now. When you are stronger you can ask questions."
"But I must know how I got here. Who found me? I was sick, I remember, and I think I tried to send Bobs for help, but he wouldn't leave me."
"You upset a lamp or something and set thehouse afire. Catt's little girl Discovered the blaze, gave the alarm and helped Carson haul you out. It was a tight pull, my man, but you will soon be all right now."
"Catt's girl? Carson?"
"Yes. No more questions at present. Save your strength and get well."
So the bandaged man lay quiet among the pillows and waited for health to return to him again; nor did he ask for further information until one day the doctor told him that on the morrow he might go for a walk in the open air if he wished.
"Could you bring that little girl to see me?" he asked, and the physician, surprised because the patient had never before manifested any interest in his rescuers, replied that he would see about it. So that afternoon when school had closed, Tabitha was met at the door by Dr. Vane and went with him to see the hermit of the hills, Surly Sim.
She found him sitting by the window, looking out toward the flaming west where the sun was already sinking behind the mountain tops, and he did not turn when she entered the room, or give any sign that he saw or heard her. Shewaited in silence for some moments beside his chair, and then, thinking he had not heard her enter, she said timidly,
"How do you do, Mr. Hermit? Dr. Vane said you would like to see me."
The man started at the sound of her voice and turning in his chair stared so fixedly at her that she was frightened and wished Dr. Vane had stayed with her. "Is there something—can I do anything for you? Would you like to have me speak some pieces for you?" Poor Tabitha had not the faintest idea what to say to this man, whose scarred face shocked and disconcerted her, and there was no one in the room to help her.
"What's your name?" finally asked the hermit.
"Tabitha Catt."
"Pretty name!" He laughed mirthlessly and the girl shrank as if she had been struck. She had not expected him to make fun of her and was undecided whether to be hurt or angry. He was kind to animals; she had hoped to meet that same kindness toward herself.
"It's a horrid name, but I can't help it, for I didn't name myself," she answered with dignity,resolved to hold firmly to the fiery temper that caused her so much unhappiness.
"Why don't you drop it and take some other?" he asked curiously, aware that she was making an effort to control herself.
"I did once," replied the girl with a dejected air, in such contrast to her former haughty tearing that he was amused. "But it didn't pay."
"Why not?"
"Dad made me take it all back."
"Tell me about it."
"That's all there is to tell. I let folks believe my name was something else and he made me tell them what it really was."
"What was the name you adopted?"
"Theodora Marcella Gabrielle Julianna Victoria Emeline."
"Whew! How could they ever remember it all? That's a long handle for a little girl."
"They called me Theodora Gabrielle for short."
He smiled in spite of himself. "And do you really wish your name was that whole string?"
"I did wish so once. That was when I was alittle bit of a girl. I am twelve now. In next April I will be thirteen. Girls are young ladies when they get into their teens, Aunt Maria says. If I could change my name now, I would rather it would be Theodora Eugenia Louise. That is shorter, and long names are not the style any more. Theodora was my mother's name and I should want that for mine always."
"Do you look like your mother?"
"I reckon not. She died when I was too little to know anything, but if either of us looks like her it must be Tom. I am afraid I resemble Dad."
"Afraid?"
He spoke this word with a peculiar rising inflection, but she did not catch the significance of the question, and replied, "Yes. He is tall and thin and black and slab-sided. That's me, too, except I am short yet; but I expect I will grow. Besides, I've got the Catt inside of me. I scratch like fury when I am mad. Now Tom doesn't get mad, though his name is almost, or just, as bad as mine."
"What do you get mad at?"
"Lots of things, but 'specially my name.Folks make such fun of it and say the hatefullest rhymes, and when they do that I just light into them with my fists."
"And you a girl!"
"I am always sorry afterwards, but then it is too late to help it. I've got to learn to let them tease without getting mad at all and then they won't torment me, but it is a mighty hard thing to do, I think. I've been trying for twelve years now and it is almost as bad as ever. Tom says I am doing splendidly, but he doesn't know how often I get mad."
"Where is Tom?"
"Going to college at Reno."
"College, eh? He's a smart boy, is he?"
"Yes, indeed! We're both smart." He laughed at her naive reply, and her face flushed, but she continued convincingly, "I am almost as far as I can get in school here. I am ready for Latin. Mrs. Carson says if I can't go to boarding school next fall, she will teach me herself, so I can keep up with Carrie."
"Why didn't you go this year?"
"There wasn't any money."
"Would you like to go?"
"Wouldn't I!" was the emphatic exclamation,as she clasped her hands in rapturous longing.
"If you could have one wish granted what would it be?"
"What do you mean?"
"If you were told that you could have any one thing you wanted, what would you choose?"
"Only one?"
"Yes."
"Well, it would be pretty hard to choose. I want to go to boarding school awfully bad, but—I believe—I would choose a home like Carrie Carson's."
"Carrie Carson's! What is the matter with your own? Isn't your house as big as theirs or as nice?"
"No, but I wasn't thinking of houses just now. A house isn't a home always. Our house isn't. Tom and I are the home part of our house. Aunt Maria is housekeeper and Dad just stops there once in a while. They don't care about having a home, I reckon."
The man was silent with astonishment at her keen observations, and mistaking his silence for disapproval at her criticisms, she hastily resumed,"The kind of a home I mean is where all the folks in it like each other and are always nice like the Carsons."
"So your father isn't like Mr. Carson?"
"Not a bit—yet."
"Is he mean to you?"
"N-o, not exactly. He is a Catt, that's all. I reckon it is me—I, who is mean. I get mad and sass him when he shakes me, and once when he whipped me I burned up his slippers."
"Does he whip you often?"
"No, this was the only time—so far. I spilled candy on his best hat, which is enough to make any man mad; but being a Catt, he wasverymad. I haven't seen him since, because he is away on a trip, but when he comes back I am going to tell him I am sorry I burned up his shoes. I was just beginning to think maybe there was hopes of his being like Mr. Carson yet when I made him mad. Now I suppose I will have to begin all over again."
"Then you think your father is improving?"
"Why, you see, Dad has had a hard time of it. There have been so many things to make him feel bad. When he was in college he got expelled because of something dreadful anotherboy did, and then a man who was working with him in the mines cheated him out of all his share, and mamma died, and money has been hard to get and—well, he got cross."
"So he took his spite out on his children, eh? Who was the man who cheated him?"
"I don't know, but Dad doesn't believe in friends any more. He says there is no such thing as a true friend. Mr. Carson says that is because the man he trusted 'betrayed his confidence'—those are his very words."
The bandaged figure in the invalid chair moved uneasily, and a silence fell over the hospital room while he stared gloomily out into the fading light, and she sat lost in her own thoughts. Suddenly he roused, and his voice sounded sharp and curt as he said, "It is nearly night. Time you were going home."
Tabitha's face crimsoned at his peremptory dismissal, and she bounced out of her chair indignantly.
"You sent for me. I didn't come because I wanted to. Good-by."
She was gone before he recovered his breath, and never a word had passed between them concerning the fire which had so nearly cost himhis life, though his purpose in sending for her was that he might thank her for her bravery. He called after her, but she did not hear his voice, and the door closed with an emphatic bang which told him plainer than words how angry she was.
For a long time after she left him he lay quietly by the window in the twilight, thinking over what she had told him and battling with himself; but in the end his better nature conquered. The next day he went for his walk, as Dr. Vane had suggested, and that was the last Silver Bow saw of him for some time. Some folks thought he had met with foul play, others that he had wandered too far for his strength and had either perished or been taken care of by some prospector, while still others held the opinion that he had taken French leave. Speculation as to his disappearance soon died down, however, and Surly Sim, Tabitha's hermit of the hills, was forgotten.
The holidays came, bringing Carrie home for a brief vacation, and she was bubbling over with such enthusiastic reports of life at boarding school that Tabitha found it harder than ever to let her go back to enjoy the privilegeswhich were denied her. So great was her grief that after seeing her flaxen-haired playmate on board the train to return to her school, she rushed away to pour out her despair to sympathetic Mrs. Vane.
"I don't see why it is that some people have everything and others nothing," she sobbed bitterly. "I can't help envying Carrie. She has the nicest mother and father and the prettiest house and the loveliest books and clothes and all the money she wants. And so has Jerome. They both go away to school and have splendid times and see the world, and I can't have any of it."
"Poor little girlie!" murmured the woman to herself. "How unjust it does seem, even from a grown-up's standpoint!" So she stroked the heavy black hair and cuddled tearful Tabitha until the storm was spent; then she spoke tenderly, "That is one of the problems that has puzzled the world all these years, dear, and has caused all sorts of trouble. But it is something that we can overcome, every one of us, if we want to."
"What do you mean?"
"Just this, Puss; don't sulk and be cross becauseyou can't have everything you want. Be happy where you were put. Did you ever hear the little poem calledThe Discontented Buttercup? It is the story of a buttercup who mourned because she couldn't be a daisy with white frills like her neighbor flowers, and she didn't see the loveliness of the day nor feel the softness of the breezes because she spent all her time in vain wishes. So she asked a robin who had paused to rest near her if he wouldn't try to find her a nice white frill some time when he was flying. And then these verses follow:
'You silly thing,' the robin said,'I think you must be crazy;I'd rather be my honest self,Than any made-up daisy.You're nicer in your own bright gown;The little children love you;Be the best buttercup you can,And think no flower above you.Look bravely up into the sky,And be content with knowingThat God wished for a buttercupJust here, where you are growing.'
'You silly thing,' the robin said,'I think you must be crazy;I'd rather be my honest self,Than any made-up daisy.
You're nicer in your own bright gown;The little children love you;Be the best buttercup you can,And think no flower above you.
Look bravely up into the sky,And be content with knowingThat God wished for a buttercupJust here, where you are growing.'
Take this little lesson to heart, dear, and make sunshine where you are, instead of being sorrowful because you can't have what Carrie has. Maybe when you have learned the lesson thoroughly, these other things will come to you; but if they don't, then keep on making sunshine. Everyone loves a happy heart, and every smile or kind word spoken cheers the old world a little. Life is like a stairway, but because all of us can't reach the top of the flight, we should not sit down on the first step and mourn because we can't have what those on the last stair are enjoying. We must climb as fast and as far as we can if we want to make the most of our lives; but when we have done our very best, that is all we can do. If there are others who can do better than we can, we must try not to envy them, but be glad of their success. It is a question, dear, that you will understand better as you grow older. But if you will remember the buttercup verses and make the most of what you are and have, I am sure you will be happier."
"Teach me the verses, Mrs. Vane, and I will try to remember them when I get to envying again; though I still wish I could have nice dresses and go to boarding school."
Mrs. Vane smiled at her candor, but found the little poem for Tabitha, and when she skipped out into the dusk for home, she was saying over and over,
"Look bravely up into the sky,And be content with knowingThat God wished for a buttercupJust here, where you are growing."
"Look bravely up into the sky,And be content with knowingThat God wished for a buttercupJust here, where you are growing."
She had hardly disappeared over the hill when another visitor climbed the steep path to the Vane cottage and knocked. The doctor himself opened the door and was confronted by a tall stranger muffled to his ears in a heavy ulster.
"Come right in, sir," said the doctor, motioning his visitor into the cosy office, and waiting for him to state his errand.
"You don't remember me?" asked the man, as he sat down and threw open his coat. The voice sounded very familiar, but at first the doctor could place neither face nor figure. Then he remembered—it was Surly Sim.
"Well, well, where did you come from? I have often wondered what became of you. This country is a bad place for a sick man to get lost in."
The hermit laughed. "I had some business that had to be attended to and I was afraid you wouldn't let me go so soon. Can you keep a secret?"
The doctor was startled at the abrupt question, but replied gravely, "That is part of a physician's life."
"Yes, but I have no reference to your professional duties. I mean this—I want you to take this money and see that Tabitha Catt is educated—boarding school, college, whatever she likes. I think that sum will cover—"
"Why don't you take it to her yourself?"
The doctor was more than puzzled at this unusual request from such a person as Surly Sim, the supposed crazy man, the hermit of the hills.
Startled at the unexpectedness of the question, the man stammered confusedly, "I—no—I can't—not yet. I have reasons for preferring to handle the matter in this manner at present. You need have no scruples. I earned every cent ofthismoney; it is my very own. The child saved my life, and I owe her whatever help I can give her. This is a little sum, but it is thebest I can do just now. Will you take it and do as I ask?" Still the doctor hesitated. "Then see here, perhaps I can convince you of the truth of what I say. Read this." He laid on the table before the doctor a written document which the physician carefully perused, and laid back on the table. "Do you believe me now?"
"Yes."
"And will you take the money for the little girl?"
"Yes, but I wish I could convince you that it would be better for you to go to Mr. Catt—"
"Not yet, not yet! I can't meet him yet. He mustn't know who I am yet. When I have righted the wrong, then I will come back; but for the present I would ask you to keep my secret and see that the little girl is sent to school. You will do this?"
"To the best of my ability."
They shook hands and out into the darkness the hermit went.
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"Behind him lay the gray Azores,Behind the gates of Hercules;Before him not the ghost of shores,Before him only shoreless seas.The good mate said: 'Now must we pray,For lo! the very stars are gone;Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?''Why say, sail on! and on!'
"Behind him lay the gray Azores,Behind the gates of Hercules;Before him not the ghost of shores,Before him only shoreless seas.The good mate said: 'Now must we pray,For lo! the very stars are gone;Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?''Why say, sail on! and on!'
There goes another cup. I am always forgetting and letting my hands fly when I speak. Yes, Aunt Maria, I am coming."
"Hurry up with those dishes, Tabitha, I want you to run down to the McKittrick's and get me that pattern she promised to loan me. Child, what have you done? I don't know what we will eat out of when you get all these dishes broken. How did you smash that?"
"It banged against the door when I opened it."
"I'll warrant you were haranguing around with another new piece. Why don't you payattention to what you are doing until it is finished, and then do your reciting?"
"I just hate to wash dishes and dust and sweep, Aunt Maria, but I forget all about it when I am speaking and get through with them lots quicker."
"Yes, but see how many dishes you break, and the things you spill because you will flap your arms about like a Dutch windmill instead of keeping them in the dishpan where they belong. I do wish you would learn to do one thing at a time."
"It is of no use, Aunt Maria. My thoughts won't stay on dishes, try as hard as I will to keep them there. There isn't anything splendid or inspiring in a pile of dirty dishes or those dusty chairs, is there? But those poems are simply grand! I am the best speaker at school, but I have to practice all I can to keep ahead. Just listen to this:
Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,And through the darkness peered that night.Ah, darkest night! and then a speck—A light! a light! a light! a light!It grew—a star-lit flag unfurled!It grew to be Time's burst of dawn;He gained a world! he gave that worldIt's watch-word: 'On! and on!'
Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,And through the darkness peered that night.Ah, darkest night! and then a speck—A light! a light! a light! a light!It grew—a star-lit flag unfurled!It grew to be Time's burst of dawn;He gained a world! he gave that worldIt's watch-word: 'On! and on!'
Isn't that perfectly grand?" The black eyes glowed, the face lighted with enthusiasm and her whole form swayed with the stirring inspiration of the lines.
Aunt Maria was visibly impressed. "Yes, it is fine and you certainly do put life into anything you say; but that's just it, you put too much life in it and smash up everything you touch. Hurry now and get that pattern, for I want it as soon as possible."
"All right, I will be back in a jiffy." Tabitha snatched up her sunbonnet and disappeared up the path toward town, still reciting,
"Sail on! sail on! and on!"
"Sail on! sail on! and on!"
And silence descended upon the cottage that bright Saturday morning, for Aunt Maria was too much absorbed in some very important sewing to pay any attention to the housework and cooking still waiting to be done. In the midst of her thoughts as she sat puzzling over a fashion book, came the sound of an incessant buzzingor hissing, so unlike any noise she had ever heard that she paused in surprise to listen.
"Now, what in creation has that child done this time?" she exclaimed after a moment. "It doesn't sound like the teakettle or as if she had left the water running. What can it be? I have to follow her around like I would a baby—she is that careless!"
With an impatient sigh the woman dropped her work in the nearest chair and shuffled out to the kitchen to investigate the peculiar sound, formulating in her mind a lecture to be delivered to the erring Tabitha upon her return from McKittrick's.
But the lecture was straightway forgotten in the sight that met her gaze as she stepped into the room; and she stopped, paralyzed with horror. In the middle of the floor, coiled as if ready to strike, lay a long, hideous snake, its head raised, forked tongue darting, and hissing that ceaseless buzzing note that had attracted her attention in the first place; while around and around the reptile circling nearer and ever nearer, walked the hermit's crooked-tailed, cropped-eared cat, its back arched, tail erect, fur standing stiff all over its body, and roundyellow eyes glued in fascination to the enemy luring her to death. Not a sound did the poor cat make, but continued her march with a spasmodic rhythm that would have seemed ludicrous had it not been so pathetically fearful. Even Aunt Maria's arrival upon the scene did not break the charm, and the horrified woman stood still in the doorway too frightened to move, too terrified to call, too shocked to think. It was almost as if the snake had cast its horrible spell over her, also.
"Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled dinOf fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin."
"Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled dinOf fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin."
The sound of Tabitha's hurrying steps outside, and the fresh young voice thrilling over those familiar words brought the woman to her senses, and with a cry of desperation, Aunt Maria caught up the heavy ironing board in the corner and banged it with all her strength full upon the hissing coil on the floor, regardless of the fate of the cat. But the hysterical scream of the woman had broken the charm, and the frightened feline made a frantic dashfor the screen door, spitting and clawing in its frenzy to escape; while Aunt Maria, trembling and unnerved, sank into a sobbing heap on the floor, too much shaken to think of escape.
Such was the scene that confronted Tabitha, as she rushed up to the door, terrified by her aunt's cry and the wild scratching of the imprisoned cat. As she flung open the screen there was a flash of black, a quavering meow and pussy, crazed by her terrible experience, streaked out of sight up the mountainside. But Tabitha did not pause to watch her flight, so amazed was she at the sight of Aunt Maria in tears huddled in the corner and shaking as if with ague.
"Why, Aunt Maria, what is the matter?" she cried in scared tones, pausing just inside the door. "Are you hurt? Did the cat go mad? Were you ironing and the board tipped over?" She stooped to lift the heavy piece off the floor, and the woman suddenly found her tongue: "Don't touch it, don't touch it! There's a snake under it! Oh, oh, oh!"
"Are you bitten, Aunt Maria? Tell me, are you bitten?"
"Oh, that snake!"
"Shall I get the doctor?"
"Oh, that snake!"
Leaping across the board still pinning the reptile to the floor—dead or alive she did not know—Tabitha clutched the hysterical woman by the shoulder and shook her, demanding, "Tell me this minute if you are hurt!"
But Aunt Maria continued her incoherent cries, still rocking back and forth in her corner, too dazed to make any further explanations. Tabitha surveyed the scene in perplexity. What should she do? The Carsons were away from home and no one else near enough to summon to her aid. If the snake had bitten her aunt, something must be done at once. All the remedies for poisonous bites that she had ever heard of seemed to have slipped from her memory. It might be too late by the time a doctor could be called. Precious seconds were rapidly passing. Supposing the snake were not dead yet. She glanced at the board in the middle of the floor and fancied it moved. In desperation she seized the teakettle from the stove and let its scalding contents fly over the spot where the snake might be.
At that instant her eyes fell upon the flaskher father carried on his trips among the mountains, and she remembered in a flash that whiskey is a good antidote for rattlesnake bites. This might not be a rattlesnake and it might not even be a poisonous one, but she would take no chances. Snatching off the cap, she poured a stream of the fiery liquid into the woman's open mouth, nearly strangling her. Choking and spluttering, Aunt Maria tried to scream, but could only gasp for breath, and to Tabitha's frightened eyes her face took on a dying look. A pail of water stood on the stand under the faucet, and catching up this, the child deluged the convulsed form in the corner.
There was a sharp in-drawing of breath, a sound of mingled surprise and wrath, and the irate aunt towered above the astonished girl, her eyes blazing as Tabitha had never seen them before.
"Tabitha Catt!" she managed to articulate, "of all outrageous things I ever heard tell of in my life! What do you think you are doing? Trying to murder me? Haven't I had enough scares this morning without your burning the skin all off my mouth and throat and chokingme half to death and then trying to drown me? What do you mean by it, I say?"
"Oh, Aunt Maria, are you bit?"
"Bit, bit, bit, did you say? Yes, bit by that fire you poured into me. What did you think bit me?" She had forgotten all about the snake! And Tabitha had difficulty in explaining the situation to her.
But that decided matters for Aunt Maria. She had hated the desert ever since she had come there nearly four years ago, and this was the last straw. What did she care if the snake did prove to be a harmless thing? If she couldn't live in a house without being in danger of a snake invasion at any time, she simply would not live there at all. Her temper was thoroughly aroused, and when Mr. Catt arrived home that night she made known her decision in no gentle terms to him.
"I have lived in this forsaken hole just as long as I am going to, Max Catt! I've routed out centipedes and scorpions and poison bugs of all kinds until I am tired of it. Tabitha caught a baby tarantula under her bed the other morning, and we found something in the wood-pile last week that the folks at the hotelcalled a Gila monster. Why, one can't stir around here in the spring and summer without running the risk of getting killed by some of your varmints, and I've had enough of it. I am going back to civilization."
"Now, Maria, be sensible. That snake couldn't have got into the house if the screen had been shut the way it should have been."
"I suppose the spiders and centipedes come in through the open screen, too, don't they, and roost in the dishpan hanging on the wall! That is where I found one not long ago, and I caught another stowed away in my clothes when I went to dress yesterday. I don't dare go to sleep nights any more for fear they will bite me. Life is a perfect nightmare. It is bad enough to have to stay here nine-tenths of the time with nobody in the house but Tabitha, without being in constant fear of one's life all the time."
"How many people do you ever hear of being killed here on the desert by centipedes or scorpions or tarantulas, or even snakes? I tell you they aren't half as bad as they are made out to be."
"Well, I ain't going to risk my life to findout how poisonous they are, Maximilian, and you needn't think it."
"But Maria, what will become of Tabitha? She can't stay here alone and keep house," he argued.
"There ain't any need of her staying here alone. She can go to boarding school in Los Angeles with Carrie Carson. If you weren't so thoroughly selfish you would have sent her there long ago with your own money; but even now when that hermit she saved from being burned up has given her enough money to put her clear through college, you won't let her touch a penny of it."
"Maria Catt, how am I to know that money was honestly his? I believe he stole it, and I don't care to get mixed up in any robbery case. There is something underhanded about the deal or he would have come to me with the money. I may be selfish but I am not dishonest," he ended, hotly.
"Dr. Vane is satisfied, and he is a shrewd enough man to know what is what. That hermit wasn't a robber and you know that without any proof. He has mining claims here that prove where he got his money."
"Then why didn't he turn it over to me, instead of to the doctor? He has virtually made Dr. Vane trustee of those funds."
"That only shows he has some sense," his sister interrupted with energy. "You don't know how to look after a child properly. But you know well enough why he didn't come to you. How could he, with you off chasing up syndicates and other fools to buy up your claims—"
"Those claims are worth money, Maria Catt, and some day I will prove it to you. I wouldn't think of parting with one of them if I had the money to work them the way they ought to be worked. The 'Tom Cat' is particularly promising."
"That may be, but it is a sin and shame to pay more attention to those old mines than you do to your children. Here is Tom working his way through college when it is your duty to put him through—"
"I told Tom long ago that if his wanted a college education he would have to earn it. I can't see that University courses make any better men of the boys that get them than experience does of the boys that are not as well educated.In fact, I think—and always did—that experience is the best teacher."
"You've got a grouch against the world because you think it hasn't treated you right, and you're spitting your spite out on your children. Here is Tabitha, now,—as bright a child as I ever laid eyes on—"
"And as ugly a one."
"Whose fault is that, Maximilian Catt? If she had been brought up differently she would compare favorably with any child in the country. Shedoescompare favorably in spite of her bringing up. The teacher says she never had such a bright scholar in all her school experience. She learns surprisingly quick."
"I don't see anything surprising about that. The Catts are not ignoramuses, none of them."
"I know that all right. I'm a Catt myself, and while I never set myself up to be overly quick-witted, I think I have my share of brains, and might have amounted to something if I had some more education."
"Shucks! What are you always harping on that string for? Education isn't everything in the world. Tabitha can get all the learning a woman needs right here in this town."
"Because the girl hankers for knowledge, you are just determined to make her as miserable as you can, and if she was half as much Catt as you are, she would grow up just as spiteful and selfish; but thank goodness, she has some of her mother's traits. If she was a little mite and needed my care, I would stay, even if I did get killed for my trouble; but she is big enough now so I can leave without any qualms of conscience, and I am going to leave. You can do just whatever you like with her, but I will not stay here for love or money. Find a housekeeper if you can, but whether or not you do, I am going back East just as soon as I can get my things packed. I am absolutely unnerved over that snake. I can't turn around without seeing the thing coiled ready to spring, and that poor cat chasing around like a thing crazy; and when I shut my eyes there are whole strings of 'em dancing up and down like all possessed until I am half wild. That cat never came back and I believe that is a warning. I am going to follow its example."
No arguments could prevail to change her mind, and she immediately began packing for her departure.
Poor Mr. Catt, what was he to do? The possibility of Aunt Maria's leaving them had never occurred to him, in spite of her oft repeated threats; and now that she had suddenly determined to return to her own home he was facing anything but an agreeable situation.
It was out of the question for Tabitha to take charge of the housekeeping and stay there alone much of the time as she would have to do when he was away. It was equally out of the question to secure a reliable housekeeper in this little desert town. But the idea of accepting the hermit's money and sending her away to school was very repugnant to him and he was at a loss to know what to do.
Aunt Maria's fright had given her unusual courage and she had told him some unpleasant truths, things she would never have dared say under ordinary circumstances; but after his surprise at her daring had died down he faced her accusations, fought them out one by one, recognized the truth of them and capitulated. Tabitha could go away to boarding school. Words are inadequate to express Tabitha's joy when told this delightful news; she was literally entranced with the prospect.
The night that Aunt Maria had departed for her eastern home, Tabitha sat disconsolately on the back steps, alternately patting General Grant's head resting on her knee, and trying to study her grammar lesson, but the nouns and verbs would become hopelessly mixed, and the adjectives and adverbs fought scandalously with each other. Mr. Catt, tilted back in his chair beside the window, tried to read the city paper, but found his glance wandering constantly to the lonely figure on the steps.
"I am a beast," he said to himself, as the brown hand swept a tear off the page she was supposed to be studying. "This is no place for a child like that. She has the making of a fine woman in her, and I haven't done right by her. Sheisbright, and Maria is right. Tabitha!"
She started violently. "Yes, sir."
"Come here."
Closing her book but keeping it clasped in her hands she went inside the house and stood waiting to know his pleasure, surprise—almost apprehension at this unexpected summons—showing plainly in her face. "You were reciting some gabble on the steps a little bit ago. Say it again."
"Gabble?" said the puzzled girl questioningly.
"Yes, something about Ghent."
"Oh, that wasn't gabble! That is a masterpiece, teacher says. Why, Robert Browning wrote that!"
"Um-hm. I'm not interested in Robert Browning. All I want is that piece. Speak it."
Astonished and not comprehending this demand in the least, Tabitha began falteringly, somewhat indifferently: