CHAPTER TEN
ON THE FARM
W
WEEJUMS had not only one new ribbon, but many; for the story of her rescue came out in the papers, and a number of people sent her presents. Gifts arrived also from several of the passengers on the “Belle of Minnetaska” who had made her acquaintance in the ladies’ cabin.
There were blue ribbons and pink ribbons and Nile-green ribbons, and one whole bolt of yellow-and-white striped ribbon with little red flowers in the stripes. It sounds dreadful, but was really most artistic; and Weejums had on a large bow of it the day when she met the polecat. No one saw the encounter; but when she came home, the striped ribbon had to be pulled off over her head with a pairof tongs, while even her own kittens fled at her approach.
“WEEJUMS HAD NOT ONLY ONE NEW RIBBON, BUT MANY”
“WEEJUMS HAD NOT ONLY ONE NEW RIBBON, BUT MANY”
“What on earth shall we do with her?” Mrs. Wood said in despair. “She can’t come into the house for a month,—for a year!”
“What would you do, if it was me?” asked Eunice, reproachfully.
“If it was you? I’d take you out into the grove, and undress you, and bury your clothes, and wash you in twenty waters with carbolic soap and lavender water, and tie you up in a laundry-bag for a week.”
“Well, I can do some of that to Weejums,” Eunice replied. “I’ll go bury her, right away.”
“My dear child, don’t you know that it would kill the poor cat?”
“I’m not a baby!” said Eunice, with dignity. And Mrs. Wood went out to see what she was planning to do.
First she dug a Weejums-shaped hole in a sunny spot with the coal-shovel; then pounced upon the unhappy cat, gathering her up in an old flour sack. Weejums was rather pleased than otherwise by the attention, as of late her most friendly advances had been repulsed. But when Eunice laid her in the hole, and covered her very carefully with earth,—all but the head,—her look of rage was something comical. It was not that shewas uncomfortable, but seemed to feel the implied insult, and growled like a little earthquake all the time. Her only comfort was that Torn-nose was not there to witness it.
Eunice poured a little earth over her head and forehead without getting it in her eyes, and when she was finally dug out, no one would suspect that she had ever heard of a skunk. But Mustard and Elijah distrusted her for some time.
Grandmother had taken a great fancy to Mustard when she came out on a visit, because he spit at her bare feet the first time that he met them. This was in the middle of the night, when she went down to the kitchen after a drink of water, and Mustard took her feet for white, clipped poodle-dogs, and fought them until they carried Grandmother out of the room before she intended to go.
“I like that cat,” she told Eunice the next morning. “You must give him to me, without fail. Bring him up when you and Kenneth come to the farm next month.”
“I was going to bring Weejums,” Eunice said. “Just for a change of air.”
“Well, bring them both then. Any change in Weejums would be desirable.”
This was because Weejums had refused to roll in the catnip Grandmother brought her, and had sneered at Clytie and Ivanhoe when they rolled.
“I hope she’ll like the new house,” Eunice said.
The family was to move uptown that fall, and Eunice and Kenneth were to go with Grandmother to the farm until things were a little settled. When the day came, they took luncheon with the Bateses, while Weejums chased Mary’s cats out of their own kitchen, and ate their chicken bones. Then she cuffed Mustard for not being Elijah, whom she greatly preferred, and Mustard lamented all the way down to the station. People in the street-cars tried to imitate his voice, but failed.
“Now stay here while I see about the trunk,” said Grandmother, as they reached the waiting-room.And the children stood admiring the bunch of bananas that hung over the news-stand, and the oranges piled in an open-work wire dish.
“Wouldn’t it be fun to buy the whole bunch?” whispered Eunice.
“I bet you it costs as much as a dollar,” said Kenneth.
“I’d like to go up and say, ‛Just give me a dollar’s worth of bananas.’”
“Well, I wouldn’t, I’d say, ‛How much for the bunch?’ and he’d say, ‛A dollar,’ and I’d say, ‛I’ll take ’em.’”
Just then there came a terrible outcry from the cat-basket; Weejums burst open the cover and, with one parting spit at Mustard, shot through the station door. Eunice dashed after her, and Kenneth made a grab at Mustard, who dived under one of the seats and began dabbing at the swinging legs of a child. The infant did not understand that this was only play and roared with fright; its mother scolded, and just at this moment Grandmotherappeared. “Where’s Eunice?” she asked, looking around.
“Weejums!” said Kenneth, pointing to the door.
“What’s all this commotion about?”
“Mustard!” answered Kenneth, briefly.
“You stay here till I come back. And take that kitten, or the woman’ll throw him at us.”
The baby’s mother had dragged Mustard out from under the seat through a cloud of peanut-shells, and was holding him at arm’s length by the back of the neck. His eyes were closed, his tail curled meekly upward, and his mouth was drawn back in a forced smile. Kenneth stuffed him hastily into the basket, just as Grandmother returned, leading Eunice by the hand.
“No, we can’t wait over another train, and there’s no time to look anywhere else. I’ll telegraph Mrs. Teechout to let us know when Weejums comes home, and Mother will go down and get her.”
“But she won’t know the w-a-y,” said Eunice, her voice vanishing upward in a squeak of misery. “She was lost before, and couldn’t find the way h-o-me.”
“That was because she was young, and didn’t know the city. She’ll get back this time, don’t you be afraid. Now wait here while I send the telegram.”
When they were in the train, Grandmother told Eunice all the stories that she could remember, about cats who had been lost or otherwise disposed of, and who reached home long before the people that disposed of them. And Eunice was so tired that she presently fell asleep on Grandmother’s shoulder, and dreamed that some one was saying, in a far-off voice, “Plague take the cat, anyhow, it’s more bother than it’s worth!”
Then she heard the regular click, click of hoofs, like music through her sleep, and opened her eyes on a sweep of golden prairie dipping to meet the sky.
“Most ready for supper?” asked CousinDavid, laughing, as she struggled to sit up in his lap.
“Oh, David, let me drive!” she said, “I didn’t know I was here.”
Cousin David lived with Grandmother at the farm, and had driven in, twenty miles, to meet them.
“What’s the matter with Chucklehead’s tail?” asked Grandmother, severely. “It never looked like that before!”
“Just a little baldness, Auntie. You know that tail’s seen a heap of service, and he’s an old horse.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” said Grandmother. But Kenneth thought that there were tears in her eyes.
“Can’t we ride Ole after supper to-night?” he asked.
“Yes, if Jansen’s willing, and you’re not too tired.”
Ole was the herder’s pony, and the children were allowed to ride him evenings, after the cattle had been brought home.
When they reached the farm, the cattle had just gone into the corral, and Jansen, the herder, was holding a nervous young cow by the nose, while somebody tried to milk her.
“Why, that’s my Ellen!” said Grandmother, letting down the bars. “Poor Ellen! let go of her, Jansen, and see if she knows me.” She went fearlessly in through the crowd of horns, and made her way to where Ellen stood, spluttering in the herder’s grasp. Every eye of every cow was fixed on her as she soothed and petted the excited creature, until Ellen’s glance became genial, and she rested her head on Grandmother’s shoulder.
“Ellen’s kind of a pet with her,” David explained to the children. “Aunt Eunice raised her from a calf, and once last summer, when Ellen was sick, and had to be tied in the barn, Auntie used to go out and read to her.”
“Stories?” asked both children eagerly.
“Oh, anything! Ellen wasn’t particular. One day I remember ’twas a cook-book.”
“What’s he been telling you?” said Grandmother,laughing, as they went back to the house.
Senator Hicks was waiting for them on the porch, and delighted Eunice by coming to meet her. He was a large, soft pussy with a comfortable stomach, and limp white paws that dangled adorably over one’s arm. And he would purr, even when his mouth was pressed against one’s ear,—a moist, windy purr, most tickling and sweet.
The other farm cat was named Andrew Banks, Jr., and no one had ever heard him purr. He lived in the barn, and caught immense rats, with his double toes like mittens. But Eunice loved him in spite of his wild ways, and felt sure that his purr, if one could only hear it, would be fully equal to the Senator’s.
After supper Jansen saddled Ole, and the children took turns riding him. Ole made no objections, although he had been out all day, but switched his white tail in a thoughtful manner, when Eunice started out, for the third time, down the road.“I don’t need to hurry,” she decided, as she saw Kenneth and Grandmother go back to the house. So she cantered on still farther, her little petticoats bouncing up nearly to her ears with each rise of the horse.
It was splendid riding out into the sunset, with no other person or thing in sight, and feeling that she might gallop on forever and ever to countries beyond the clouds.
“There’s a red horse in the sky, with a mane like Ole’s,” she thought. And, indeed Ole’s mane was quite crimson in the glow. “I suppose he has a red tail too, if I could just turn round and see it.”
Back in the farmhouse Grandmother had begun to watch the road, and when the red light faded, she became uneasy.
“Perhaps she’s slipped in some back way, without my seeing her,” she thought, and went out to ask the men.
But at the door she met David, looking much disturbed, “Say, Auntie, I hate to tell you,” he said; “but the pony’s come home,—withoutany saddle, and we’re just hitching up to go down and see what’s happened.”
Grandmother started off down the road on a run, with Kenneth puffing frantically in her rear.
“Won’t you wait for the buggy?” called David through his hands.
“No!” she answered. And Kenneth thought he had never heard her voice sound like that before.
“Oh, my baby, Grandma’s baby!” she said once, under her breath, and tears began to mingle with yellow dust on the face of the small toiler behind.
“Kenny, hadn’t you better go home, dear?” she asked at last, turning to the little companion, whose spirit was willing, although his legs were short.
“No!” he replied, in a voice that was an echo of Grandmother’s own. “She may be your granddaughter, but,” here he sniffed, and rubbed more dirt into his eyes, “she’s my sister, and don’t you forget it!”
“Come!” said Grandmother, holding outher hand. “I’ll help you find your sister. Isn’t that a wagon coming down the road? Perhaps the driver will have seen her.”
“That isn’t a wagon,” said Kenneth, after looking at it a minute in silence.
“Yes, it is, boy,—a two-horse wagon. Don’t you see how big it is?”
Kenneth looked again, and broke into a joyous shout. “It’s Eunice!” he said, and darted off up the road.
“It can’t be!” said Grandmother. “No, it isn’t—yes—no! Haven’t I lived in this atmosphere long enough not to be fooled by it again?”
For it was Eunice, and the reason that Grandmother had taken her for a two-horse wagon was, that she was carrying the saddle,—big, heavy thing though it was,—and the strange effect of the western air had made her into a sort of mirage. As they approached, she suddenly dropped to her natural size, and hurried to meet them, with one long stirrup trailing in the dust.
“I’m so sorry, Grandmother,” she said; “but I turned around to look at his tail, and the belt burst.”
“The girth, you mean. Then Ole didn’t throw you?”
“No, he just swelled and broke the belt, and then the saddle came off.”
“And you weren’t hurt?”
“Oh, no!” And Eunice laughed. “He looked so s’prised when he saw me sitting in the road,—just as if he didn’t know where I came from. I tried to catch him, but he wouldn’t catch. And then he seesawed with all his legs, and started for home.”
“You can leave the saddle beside the road, now,” said Grandmother. “David will come after it.”
After they reached home, she said to David: “I’m really glad that she wasn’t thrown. I never knew a Wood to be thrown!”
In the excitement of her ride, Eunice had almost forgotten Weejums, but was reminded of her by Mustard, who suffered from shynessunder the cold stare of Senator Hicks, and filled all the night with his corn-colored howls.
“You’ll have to take him to bed with you,” said Grandmother. So Eunice and Mustard went to sleep in each other’s arms, and shared a common grief.