CHAPTER XIII TROUBLE FINDS THEM
After all, it was not Colonel Lewis nor Ran who first found the two lost ones, but that humble and frequently despised creature, Trouble. Trouble at whom Colonel Lewis always jeered, whom Phil often teased, and Mary Lee abused to his face, calling him mongrel cur while he wagged his tail in happy unconsciousness that she was not calling him a pet name. It was a favorite amusement of Mary Lee's to use all sorts of uncomplimentary words in a caressing voice when speaking to the dog, so that Trouble would believe he was being made much of and would respond in his best manner.
Nan suddenly remembered this after her return home and she called the dog, wrote a note and tied it around his neck, then bade him follow the carriage, which at that time was still in sight. He understood and obeyed gladly for he always delighted to be one of an outgoing party. That he did not follow them earlier in the afternoon was because Mary Lee had driven him back when he had tried to become one of their number. "He is always scaring up rabbits and frightening birds when Philand I want to observe their habits," she said in excuse.
"Observe their habits," mocked Nan. "Do let him go; he can follow me all he likes."
"That's just what he will not do," Mary Lee returned. "He always comes with us."
"Because you go prowling around and I sit still," retorted Nan. "He's just as fond of me, I know."
But Mary Lee had her way and called Unc' Landy to keep Trouble at home.
Colonel Lewis and Ran had already started upon their search when Trouble sprang out of the darkness toward the fire in front of which Ashby sat. Greatly pleased at discovering one of the family, Trouble nearly wagged off the hind part of his body. That Ashby was glad to see him goes without the saying, and the boy was glad for more than one reason.
"Good boy, Trouble, come here," he said. "You've had a long tramp, haven't you? What's that around your neck?" He unfastened the note which was tied to his collar. It read: "Send Trouble after Mary Lee and Phil. He can get the scent from their coats that we put in the carriage. Oh, I hope he can find them. Nan."
Ashby ran to the carriage and dragged forth the wraps. Quickly selecting a coat of Mary Lee's andone of Phil's, he held them out. "Here, Trouble," he said, "seek them. Find Mary Lee, Trouble." The dog sniffed the coat, trotted off a few steps, looked back to see if he was doing what was expected of him, and then, with nose to the ground, took up the scent and disappeared.
At this very moment, Phil was cowering in the leaves in momentary fear of hearing the wildcat's scream closer at hand. An owl hooting mournfully near-by suddenly awakened Mary Lee who gave a little shriek of terror as she realized where she was. "I've been asleep in these dreadful lonely woods," she said. "How could I do it? Oh, Phil, what's that?" For again the cry of the wildcat sounded through the forest.
"Never mind, Mary Lee," said Phil. "Don't be scared. I'll take care of you."
"How can you," said Mary Lee, "a boy with not even a pistol? What can you do to a wildcat?"
"I'll fight it as long as I can," said Phil between set teeth, "and you could get away anyhow. Hark! What's that?" For there was a new sound in the woods that was neither cry of wildcat nor hoot of owl, but the honest and friendly bark of a dog.
Phil sprang to his feet.
"Is it—is it a wolf?" asked Mary Lee in trepidation.
"No sir-ee," cried Phil, excitedly. "It's a dog, a sure enough dog, and, if I am not much mistaken, it's old Trouble."
Mary Lee scrambled from her nest of leaves and joined Phil in calling. "Trouble, Trouble! Hyar! Hyar!"
There was a joyous yelp, a scampering over dead leaves and presently Trouble dashed out of the darkness toward them.
"Oh, Trouble, Trouble, you blessed old dear!" Mary Lee flung her arms around the dog who could not keep still in his joy and excitement.
"Listen! Look!" cried Phil. There was a faint call in the distance, then the twinkle of a light seen through the naked trees. Phil's mountain call was answered and the lights came nearer and nearer. Trouble dashed toward them barking, yelping. The owl was silent, though they heard the soft rush of wings overhead. The cry of the wildcat sounded faint and far, but close at hand came a glad "Hallo!" followed by the call of "Phil, Phil, are you safe, boy?" And in another minute the forms of Colonel Lewis and Ran appeared in the gleam of their lanterns which shot long beams aslant the darkness, and discovered Phil and Mary Lee standing in the pile of dry leaves.
It was a triumphant journey home and no one was more contented than Trouble who lay snuggled by Mary Lee's side, his head in her lap, while the slow way was made down the mountainside.
It was almost midnight before the horses drew up before the house, but a light shining from the living-room showed that some one was still up and watching. At the sound of the wheels Aunt Sarah came forth and peered out.
"All safe," cried Ran, climbing down. He was followed by Ashby, Mary Lee and Trouble last, though upon this occasion not least.
Colonel Lewis drove away saying there was too much anxiety at his own home for him to stop a moment to talk.
After hearing particulars, and learning that they had eaten on their way home, Aunt Sarah hustled every one to bed, saying that rest was the best for each one of them.
Nan had fallen asleep at last, but, as Mary Lee slipped into bed beside her, she was conscious of her presence and stretched out a hand to be sure, then threw an arm around her sister as if to keep her from slipping away again.
There was great rejoicing in the morning and Jack was so full of the adventures of Phil and Mary Leethat she could not keep her mind on her Sunday-school lesson and heard scarce a word her teacher said.
Trouble was made much of and was saved so many tid-bits from the breakfast plates that he was in danger of an attack of indigestion. "I'll never call him a mongrel cur again," said Mary Lee tenderly. "If it hadn't been for him, we might never have been found."
"You forget," said Randolph, with a look across the table at Nan, "that if it hadn't been for Nan, Trouble would never have gone in search of you," and then and there Nan forgave him for his rude speech of the day before.
"If I hadn't come home, I would never have thought of sending him," she acknowledged. "He ought to have a medal, bless him."
"So he shall have," said Ran, and he gravely provided a tin medal on which was scratched: "For Heroic Service." This was fastened to the dog's collar and it was worn proudly.
However much Nan may have felt that Ran had made amends, the boy himself did not consider that he had and came to his cousin as she was tidying up the living-room. "Are you going to church, Nan?" he asked.
"I don't know," she replied. "I feel as if I hadbeen drawn through a knot-hole this morning. Of course, Mary Lee won't go and maybe I'll stay at home to keep her company, though she's still asleep, poor child."
"I thought if you were going I'd wait for you," said Ran.
Nan threw him a mocking smile. "I thought you didn't care for my company," she said.
"That was yesterday," returned Ran. "Besides, I didn't say I didn't want your company; I said I didn't want you to stay up there on the mountain and so I didn't, for I was afraid then that those two were lost and I knew it would be harder for you there than at home. Then I knew if we set out on a search you couldn't go and it would not do to leave you all alone."
"I realized all that afterward," Nan told him frankly.
"Then we have made up," said Ran with boyish eagerness.
"Of course," returned Nan. "I was miffed only for a few minutes. I knew before we got home that you spoke as you did so I wouldn't insist upon staying. Still," she added, "it was hard to go off and leave one's sister to wildcats, though I must say Mary Lee isn't thinking much about them at this moment, and I hope she isn't dreaming aboutthem. There comes Phil, so he is all right. Mary Lee says he was so brave and manly, little as he is."
Phil joined them. "Say, did any of you see my watch?" were his first words.
"Why, no," replied the two. "Have you lost it, Phil?" asked Nan.
"I'm afraid so. I must have caught the chain on something in the woods and snapped it so the watch fell out when I stooped over. The end of the chain was hanging from the buttonhole when I looked last night after I came home, but the watch was gone."
"Isn't that too bad?" said Nan, sympathetically. "You will have a hard time finding it, I am afraid."
"I'm afraid so. I wouldn't lose that watch for anything, and I'm going to hunt high and low for it."
"We'll all help," said Ran. "We'll organize a search party, Phil, and go up the mountain to-morrow afternoon."
"Say, that will be fine," said Phil, gratefully. His watch was one of his dearest possessions; he had not had it very long and was feeling very hopeless over its loss. "I don't suppose we shall find it," he went on, "but I'm glad to have your help in looking for it. How's Mary Lee?"
"She's asleep," Nan told him. "Aunt Sarah saidwe were not to disturb her. I think she is only worn out. You are all right, aren't you, Phil?"
"Yes, indeed, or I would be if I hadn't lost my watch. They are waiting for me; I must go or I will be late for church."
"I reckon I'll go," said Nan suddenly. Miss Sarah, the twins and Ashby had gone on, and soon Nan followed with Randolph. She was feeling very thankful for her sister's safety, and she was not the only one of that congregation who sent up a silent prayer of gratitude for the deliverance of two children from the "terror by night."
The next afternoon, the search party started forth though this time Miss Sarah declared the girls should not go, that they had not yet recovered from the effects of their last trip. However, since Colonel Lewis was to be their guide, and his daughter was going, too, consent was finally given to Mary Lee, though she was charged not to lose sight of the older members of the party.
"I really don't feel as if I ought to let you go," said Aunt Sarah, "but, since Polly and her father will be there, I can assume that you will be reasonably safe."
"When Phil was so good to me and would have fought the wildcat if it had attacked us, I ought to go," said Mary Lee. "I should feel downrightmean not to help look for the watch. Besides, I know where we were better than any one."
"Well, go along," said Aunt Sarah, "but don't you lose sight for one minute of Polly and her father and don't go traipsing off with Phil alone."
Mary Lee promised, and they set out.
Nan had had enough of the mountain for one while, and besides her arm was scarce strong enough for her to indulge in horseback riding, for it was in this fashion that the party determined to go. The twins were in terror of the wildcat and it was not difficult to persuade them to remain behind.
A thin stream of smoke curled up above the purple-brown trees against the blue sky as the riders turned toward the mountain path.
"I wonder if that is our fire still burning," said Mary Lee to the colonel.
"Hardly," he answered. "It is some cabin in the mountain I suppose."
Mary Lee watched the smoke drift away across the blue and wondered how it would seem to live so far from neighbors. She decided that she would not like it. They were able to penetrate much further with their horses, and this time Colonel Lewis's compass was put to use. When the path became too intricate they fastened their horses and the colonel led the way on foot, and finally reachedthe very log where Phil and Mary Lee had rested the night of their wanderings.
To their surprise, a little further on was a clearing, and it was discovered that the path they had taken led them to a cabin, from which came the stream of curling smoke they had seen as they came up the mountain. After searching all along their way and at last scattering the leaves by the log they concluded that they must give up the watch as irretrievably lost, and were about to turn away when Mary Lee saw some one watching them curiously from a little distance off.
"There's somebody," she said to her Cousin Polly. "I am going to ask if anything has been seen of the watch."
"Where's anybody?" asked Polly.
"Over there; it is a little girl about as big as I am."
"It must be Wordsworth's cottage girl," said Polly, "for she has 'a rustic woodland air, and she is wildly clad.' I reckon she will run if you speak to her, Mary Lee. These mountain people are mighty scary."
"Then don't you come. Maybe she won't be afraid of a girl her own size. You stay here."
Polly agreed and Mary Lee went toward the girl who did indeed show signs of alarm and looked asif she were about to run away when Mary Lee called to her, "don't go, please. I want to ask you something."
The girl stood her ground though she backed away as Mary Lee came up. She was a pretty, dark-eyed little creature with masses of light curly hair tousled about her neck. She wore a ragged, faded calico frock and her feet were bare.
"My cousin and I got lost up here Saturday night," said Mary Lee, "and if we had known there was a house so near we wouldn't have been so scared. We heard a wildcat and it frightened us nearly out of our wits."
The girl looked interested. Mary Lee had chosen the proper way to approach her. "We-alls ain't skeered of 'em," she drawled. "Maw shot one las' week, an' she come nigh gittin' another yessaday."
"Maybe it was the very one that scared us. I wish she had killed it. I wonder why we didn't see a light in your house. That is your house, isn't it?"
"Yes, we-alls lives hyah. They wasn't no light, 'scusin' the fiah, an' that died down arter supper. We-alls goes to bed with the chickens."
"We didn't get home till nearly midnight," Mary Lee told her, "and my, but I was tired. My cousin and I got lost from the rest and they had a greattime finding us. If we had only gone on a little further, we should have come to your house, shouldn't we?"
"We-alls don't come aroun' that-a-way from town; we comes up the other side; it's a little mite furder but it ain't so steep."
"Oh, that's it. I wish we had known." Then feeling that she had established a sufficient acquaintance to put her important question she asked, "You didn't happen to find a little watch in the leaves, did you? My cousin lost it. He sets such store by it and we all came up the mountain this afternoon to help him find it."
For answer the girl put her hand down into the bosom of her frock and drew forth something which she held out in her palm. It was Phil's watch.
"Oh!" Mary Lee turned and called: "Polly, Polly, it's found! it's found!" She turned to the girl again. "Where did you find it? and please tell me your name."
"My name's Daniella Boggs," said the girl, taking a shy look at Polly Lewis who now came up.
Polly put out her hand and gently detained the girl who seemed about to flee. "We are so much obliged," she said. "My little brother was distressed at losing his watch. Where did you find it?"
The girl who had put one finger in her mouth, took it out and pointed to the heap of leaves by the log. It was evident that in stooping over to gather them Phil had dropped the watch.
Colonel Lewis moved toward them but Polly waved him off. She saw that the girl was too shy to stand more company, and she left her with Mary Lee, herself returning to her father. "Offer her a reward," he said. "Of course it was very honest of her. She could easily have said that she had seen nothing of the watch. Here," he took a bill from his pocketbook and handed it to Polly, "give her this and tell her we all thank her very much."
Polly carried the bill to the girl. "My father and all of us are very much obliged to you," she said, "and we want you to take this."
Daniella retreated, shaking her head and putting her hands behind her. "I don't want it," she said. "I ain't done nothin' to earn it. 'Twa'n't no work nor nothin'."
"Oh, but," Polly argued, "when people lose things, they expect to give a reward to whoever finds them."
Daniella still shook her head. "I ain't done nothin'," she repeated. "Maw wouldn't like me to take money."
"But you could spend it in town."
"Don't never go to town."
"But isn't there anything you would like? Your mother could buy it for you, you know."
Daniella looked at the red knitted jacket which Mary Lee wore. "I like that," she said, nodding her head toward it.
"Then you shall have one just like it," said Polly, heartily. "I will go right to work and knit it myself. Wouldn't you like a pair of shoes for winter? and can you read?"
"Maw kin. I kain't. I'd like the shoes when it snows, but I hates to put 'em on befo' that."
"Then you shall have a pair all ready for the first snow," Polly told her.
"I wish you would come to my home some day. Will you, if we come for you?" asked Mary Lee, with a missionary spirit of enlarging the girl's ideas.
"I'd be skeered," said Daniella.
"Oh, no, you wouldn't. I have three sisters and we don't live right in the town; it's like country. We have chickens and things."
"I've got some chickens," returned Daniella, "an' I've got a pig, too. Maw wouldn't let me go to town, I reckon, 'cause I ain't got clothes like you-uns. She ain't no time to make 'em. She too busy nussin' grandad. He right foolish-lak now, jest lak a baby."
"Well, we'll come some day to see if your mother will let you come to town," said Mary Lee.
"And I will bring you a red jacket like this." Polly put her hand on Mary Lee's arm. "Good-bye, Daniella. We shall not forget you."
Daniella smiled, but made no reply. She wondered if she would really ever have such a beautiful thing as that red jacket. About going to town she was not so keen, for she had never been there in all her short life, and, though she half longed to see its wonders, she feared to step beyond the confines of her own forest.
She watched the party ride off, but turned to run as Phil, who declared he must thank her personally, went toward her. Like a deer the girl fled, not stopping till she was safe in her own cabin-home. Her courage had stood all that one afternoon would allow.
CHAPTER XIV DANIELLA
Mary Lee came home full of her afternoon's experience and could talk of nothing but Daniella. Accordingly, when Nan discovered that not only Mary Lee, but her Cousin Polly, and even the boys, showed an interest in the little mountain maid, she felt that she was rather out of it and begged Polly to take her up to the cabin when she should go with the red jacket. Jack and Jean, too, were greatly interested. Said Jean: "My Sunday-school teacher said I must try to make something for the church basket and that it would be sold for the home missions, but I am going to make it for Daniella instead, for I am sure she is a home mission, and I would thrice as soon she would have it. It is dreadful for any one to go barefoot in winter. I've begun to crochet some lace and I will sell that and buy something for Daniella." So, thereafter, wherever Jean went, she carried her spool of thread and her crochet needle. Her length of rather soiled, somewhat uneven lace grew apace and she set her hopes upon selling it.
Jack took no such industrious means of showing her concern, unless one may consider her method an industrious one, for she called on various of the school children to come to a peep-show, one penny admission. Ten girls came, and with the proceeds Jack bought corn to pop. Nan helped her to turn it into delectable pop-corn balls which were so toothsome that Ran and Ashby bought most of them, and their boy friends were customers for the remainder, so with little labor Jack was fifty cents to the better and serenely watched her less quick-witted sister Jean patiently working her lace.
Nan and Mary Lee took a hint from Jack and conceived the plan of having a bazaar for the benefit of the little mountain girl. The boys fell in with the plan; some of the schoolgirls joined them and Cousin Polly Lewis herself offered to mother the scheme.
"It is very exciting," said Nan to Mary Lee when they had taken the first decided move. "I keep thinking of all sorts of things to do and of people to ask for contributions. Do you suppose, Mary Lee, it would do to ask grandmother? I shouldn't in the least mind asking Aunt Helen."
"I wouldn't ask them for the world," replied Mary Lee.
"But it isn't for ourselves."
"I don't care; it's asking just the same isn't it?"
"Yes, that's so, and I made up my mind never to ask them for the least thing."
"It's all very well to be friends with them, I suppose," said her sister. "I mean to be polite to them if I ever meet them, but I don't think we ought to place ourselves under obligations to them in the smallest way." Mary Lee evidently voiced her Aunt Sarah's opinions.
"Oh, well," sighed Nan, "then I won't, but I am going to tell them about Daniella. I was just thinking, Mary Lee, suppose Daniella won't take anything after we have had the bazaar for her benefit. What shall we do then?"
"Give the money for something else: home missions or traveling libraries or something. We shall have had the fun anyhow," a view of the matter which Nan regarded as very sensible. Mary Lee generally did have sensible advice to give.
"I'll make a lot of panuchee," Nan went on, "and I'll put black walnuts in some; nearly every one likes that kind best. I know the Academy boys will buy it, and that it will go off like hot cakes. Cousin Mag is going to send a fine cake and Miss Bouldin has promised one. Do you think it would be best to have a fancy table or just things to eat?"
Mary Lee considered the question. "It will be alittle more trouble to have the fancy table, but if we find people want to give things of that kind we can have it. We'll ask Cousin Polly."
"Andwhereshall we have it?" said Nan. This was the most frequently discussed question and they had not, as yet, come to any satisfactory answer to it.
Mary Lee looked out of the window thoughtfully. "I am sure I don't know," she replied. "No one wants to give up a room big enough."
"If mother were only here," sighed Nan, "she'd think of some place that would do; she always has ideas." Then suddenly the girl gave a little squeal and clutched Mary Lee's arm. "I know," she cried. "Why didn't we think of it before? We'll have nothing to pay for it and it will not put any one to inconvenience, and it will be as if we really had it ourselves as we wanted to do in the first place. We can use the old wing."
"Of course we can," said Mary Lee. "It will be just the place. There is plenty of room up-stairs or down. We can have the eatables in the library and the fancy things up-stairs in the room over it. Nan, that's splendid. Let's go straight to tell Polly."
They dashed out of the house and down the street to the Lewis's where Polly met them at the door.
"We have an idea," said Nan, breathlessly.
"I thought you must have something the way you came tearing," said Polly. "I'm glad it isn't anything breakable."
Nan was too anxious to give her suggestion to notice the playful irony. "We're going to have the bazaar in the old wing of our house," she said. "It's empty and handy and——"
"Dirty," laughed Polly.
"It can be cleaned easily enough. Now, Cousin Polly, why will you laugh at it? Isn't it a fine idea?" Nan was aggrieved.
"It certainly is, Nan," returned her cousin. "I won't make fun, I really won't. What does Aunt Sarah say about it?"
"Oh, she won't care. We spoke of using our living-room first, you know, but she put her foot down, and when Aunt Sarah does put her foot down, she puts it down hard. You know there are four rooms in the wing beside the attic; we can use the two largest rooms for the tables and keep the supplies in the others."
Polly nodded. "We really could serve supper, or have a loan exhibit," she said reflectively, "and we might then be able to make quite a sum, but I reckon we'd better not attempt too much. Maybe some other time we can do that. Yes, Nan, thewing will be just the place. Now, let me see. You and Betty Selden can have the eatables and I will have Mary Lee with me at the fancy table. Jack and Jean can be flower girls and Ran can take the money at the door."
"Where can we get flowers at this time of year?" asked Mary Lee. "We don't want to buy them, do we?"
"Oh, everybody has a few house plants," returned Polly, "and there are still chrysanthemums in bloom out of doors. We can make up some very small bouquets and sell them for five cents apiece."
"What I want to know is exactly what we are going to do with the money," said Nan. "People ask me and I can't tell them."
"Why, it's for Daniella," said her cousin.
"Yes, I know; but she wouldn't take any when you offered it to her."
"Then we'll spend it for her in whatever way seems best. Where are you off to now?"
"We must tell Aunt Sarah what we have decided to do, and we have lots to do to get ready in time. I think I'll begin to clean the rooms at once," said Nan, eager for the fray.
"You'll do nothing of the kind," said Polly. "I'll come over to-morrow with old Achsah and get themin order. I'll have to see about tables. I suppose some long boards supported on boxes would do."
"There's the joggle-board," said Nan, "we could use that." The joggle-board was a useful possession; it had been put up for the children's amusement in the first place, and was a very long, very tough, very limber board, the two ends of which securely rested on uprights. It gave in the middle to the weight of the body and as younger children, the Corners delighted to joggle on it; even now Jack and Jean sometimes entertained themselves by its springing motion, though it was more often used as a repository for anything that came handy. The milk pans sunned there, pies were set upon it to cool, tomatoes were placed there for ripening, seeds were spread out for drying.
Polly thought rather favorably of the joggle-board. "We'll try it," she said, "if it isn't too long to go in those rooms. I'll ask father where we can get some other boards. We can cover them with table-cloths and they will do very well."
"There are no other boards at our house," remarked Mary Lee. "Unc' Landy uses up every bit and end to fix up the fences and roofs."
"We'll get some somewhere," said Polly.
The two girls ran home, eager to view the possibilities of the wing. They flung open the windowsof the deserted rooms, discussed their size, advantages and disadvantages.
"It will be as cold as charity," declared Mary Lee.
"Then we'll have to have fires, open fires will be cheerful, and we'll make the place as pretty as possible."
"My, how dusty the windows are; it's going to be a sight of work," said Mary Lee.
However, this matter was taken off their hands by Polly who pressed her friends into service and by the last day of the month all was ready. Pine branches and autumn leaves decorated the mantel; curtains were hung at the windows; the long tables up-stairs presented articles pretty, useful and dainty, while down-stairs was shown such an array of goodies that every schoolboy dived into his pocket the moment he entered the door. Packages of panuchee tied up in Japanese napkins were in great demand; caramels were scarcely less favored, and cakes disappeared bodily in no time. Jack and Jean disposed of every bunch of flowers, and up-stairs, though the fancy articles went less slowly, they met a steady sale and very few were left by the end of the evening. These were sold by auction. Colonel Lewis undertook the office of auctioneer, serving so successfully that while every buyer thought he orshe had a bargain, the articles really brought a fair price.
When all was over, and the last visitor had departed, the money was counted, the three boys, Ran, Phil and Ashby willingly undertaking to do this. "Twenty-seven dollars and forty-five cents," they announced.
"My, haven't we done well!" exclaimed the girls.
"I thought if we made twenty or twenty-five it would be a lot," said Nan. "I almost wish I were a mountain girl myself to have a bazaar held for me."
Jean looked quite shocked at this remark, but Jack agreed with Nan that it would not be a bad thing for one.
Polly was appointed guardian of the fund and it was agreed that an expedition to the mountain cabin should be made that they might learn what Daniella required and to what use it were best to put the money.
During this time the little maid of the mountain never dreamed of what was going on in the valley below, where the town whose spires she could see, seemed a far, unknown and mysterious place. If she had imagined that she was the constant thought of a little group of girls, or if she had known thattheir keen sympathies and tender desires went out toward her, she would have been less desolate than she was, sitting in the cabin alone with her feeble old grandfather whose mind was like that of a little child.
For two days these two had been there alone, Daniella watching, waiting by the tiny window, watching and waiting for the return of her mother who had gone to town to get a few things that she felt they could no longer do without.
A long time old Daniel Boggs and his son's wife had lived on the mountain. Here little Daniella had been born a month after her father's death. Here the child had thriven like an early spring flower not afraid of chill winds and lack of sunshine. Old Daniel had his little patch of corn, his wood lot, a few rows of potatoes, and a couple of pigs. If his revenues were increased by any other means, his family did not know it. They had enough and were content till in course of time Daniel became more of a child than his little granddaughter, and of late had lapsed into almost a helpless state. He had to be constantly watched lest he do some mischief, and he had become unable to do any work so now though the corn had been gathered and the potatoes unearthed by Daniella and her mother, the wood-pile was low and the winter was comingwhich would find them wanting many things. To get these Daniella's mother had gone to town taking with her a dozen rabbits which they had trapped, and which she hoped to sell.
For two days, Daniella had kept up the fire, had fed her grandfather, had looked after her chickens and the pigs and now was anxiously wondering why her mother did not come. Did it take so long to sell a dozen rabbits? In the small square window her anxious little face was framed as a party of young people came up the road. Daniella recognized them at once. There was the young lady who had promised her the red jacket and with her were two younger girls one of whom she had seen before. Daniella stood watching them. They came straight to the cabin and knocked on the door. Daniella opened to them.
"May we come in?" said Polly. "I have brought your red jacket."
Daniella's dark eyes sparkled, and she stepped aside that her visitors might enter. "Maw done gone to town," she said. "Tain't nobody hyah 'scusin' me an' grandad sence day 'fo' yessaday mawnin'." She had been so long with only the doddering old man in the corner that she was ready to talk.
"When do you expect your mother?" asked Polly.
"I dunno. She say when she done sell her rabbits she come back. Hit take a pow'ful time to sell rabbits, don't it?"
"It ought not to," answered Polly a little uneasily. She was wondering if the woman had deserted her daughter or if any ill could have befallen her. "Aren't you afraid to stay here alone?" she asked.
"No'm. Grandad jest lak a baby an' I kin cook the wittles, but I wisht maw'd git back."
The old man in the chimney corner stirred and looked vacantly toward the visitors. "Fine day," he said, wagging his head, then he added in a confidential whisper, "but they won't find it."
"Now, grandad," chided Daniella, "jest you quit talkin'."
The old man turned again to the fire and mumbled something about no one's ever finding out anything from him. Meanwhile the girls looked around the room. It was fairly clean, though dingy. A four post bedstead over which was a patchwork quilt, stood in one corner; in another was a sort of bunk over which was thrown a hairy robe of skins sewed together; two hickory chairs, a rude stool, a bench, a table made up the rest of the furniture. On a shelf was a pile of dishes and against the wall hung a few cooking utensils. It was by far the simplest establishment the girls had ever been in.
Polly produced the red jacket, known in common parlance by the unpleasant name of "sweater," and Daniella gave an exclamation of pleasure. "Try it on," said Polly, holding it out, and Daniella thrust her arms into the sleeves. She gave no thanks, but her evident delight was sufficient.
"Ef I had a pair of shoes I'd go hunt up maw," she said. "Leastways, I'd go if I could leave the old man."
"The shoes are here, too," said Polly, as she drew from her bag both shoes and stockings.
Daniella straightway plumped down on the floor to try them on. "Shoes never feels good," she said, "but these is the nicest feelin' I ever had. Oh, I wisht maw would come. Do you reckon she could take all this time to sell rabbits? She had twelve of 'em. We trapped 'em, her an' me. She was goin' to take 'em to the sto' and git things fo' 'em, an' then she was comin' back."
"She ought to be here then," said Polly.
"I wisht I could go hunt her up," said Daniella, anxiously. "You don't reckon nothin' could have ketched her, do you?"
"No, I don't see why anything should," Polly tried to reassure her. She gave a glance at the others, a glance which Daniella read with alarm.
"Yuh-alls thinks somethin's went wrong withmy maw," she cried. Daniella looked helplessly at the old man. "I dassent leave him, I dassent, an' I wants to fin' my maw."
Without a word to the others, Nan stepped forward. "I'll stay with your grandfather," she said. "You go to town with my cousin and my sister and hunt up your mother. I'll stay till you can come back."
"Oh, Nan!" Mary Lee gave a low ejaculation.
"Oh, Nan!" repeated Polly, "ought you?"
Nan nodded. "Yes, I think I ought."
"I won't forget you," said Daniella in a low tense voice. "You're good, you are, an' I'll work fo' you. I'll trap rabbits fo' you, I'll get nuts fo' you, I will. Grandad ain't no trouble, but you has to watch him lessen he sets hisse'f on fiah, an' he has to hev his supper airly. I'll come right back soon as I finds maw," she promised eagerly.
"I will stay till you come," said Nan, steadily.
"Thar's a pone o' braid on the shelf, un'er thet dish," said Daniella, "an' thar's rashers hangin' up thar, an' thar's long sweetenin' in thet jug. Thar am' no other kin'."
Nan was mystified but she said nothing.
"All grandad has to hev is a bowl of coffee an' some braid," Daniella went on. "I'm goin' away fur a little while, grandad," she said, turning to theold man. "Now you behave yo'se'f an' don't give no trouble."
"Nobody'll git anythin' outen me," said the old man with a chuckle. "I'll be as dumb as an oyster."
"He don't know what I'm talkin' about," Daniella explained. "You needn't min' him, jest keep up the fiah an' see that he doesn't fool with hit."
"If we're going, we must start at once," said Polly, "so you can get back to-night, Nan," to which remark Nan heartily agreed.
The glory of the red jacket and new shoes did not fill Daniella's thoughts, for now that her fears were aroused, she was more and more anxious about her mother, and she climbed up into the carriage with no just appreciation of the situation.
At the last moment, Polly came back. "It seems perfectly dreadful to leave you here with that silly old man, Nan," she said. "I shall not have an easy moment till I know you are safe at home."
"Oh, don't bother about me," Nan replied. "I shall do very well, but I do hope Daniella will get back before night."
So they drove off and the last thing that Nan saw of them was the gleam of the red jacket as the carriage disappeared behind the trees down the longer and less steep road by which it had come. She wondered what she would do with herself duringthe hours which must intervene before she could be released. But here her habit of dreaming came in well, and she was presently building air-castles while the old man dozed, or muttered to himself in the corner.
CHAPTER XV SACRIFICES
It was many an hour before Nan was relieved of her self-imposed task of keeping house for old Daniel Boggs, and in the meantime Daniella was going through such experiences as her wildest dreams had never suggested to her.
Polly drove directly home to consult her parents about the best way to set to work to look for Mrs. Boggs, but she found neither her father nor mother at the house, though her brother Tom happened to be in, and volunteered to go down-town to make inquiries.
"If anything has happened to her in town, they will know at the police station or the hospital," he said. "I'll go to the station first, for it is right on my way. If I hear anything there, I'll follow it up."
Polly led Daniella, conscious of new shoes and jacket, into the house where she sat stiffly on the edge of a chair, refusing to move or to speak, lost in wonderment. Never before had she been in such a room as that into which Polly took her, although it was but the plainly furnished sitting-room of an ordinaryhouse. Never before had Daniella seen pictures in gilt frames, books in colored bindings, carpeted floors or curtained windows. She sat as if in a dream, staring around in amazement. She was too proud to ask questions, too shy to leave her chair, too embarrassed to speak.
Within half an hour, Tom Lewis returned. He called to Polly, but Daniella heard him, and with a swift direct movement darted toward the entry where he was. She stood rigidly erect waiting for his first words. "Come out here, Polly," he said. "I want to speak to you." And he led his sister to the porch. "I couldn't tell you while that child's great eyes were upon me," he said. "I have found her mother. She is at the hospital badly hurt. She has been unconscious, or at least delirious, and they could not discover her name till this morning. Now, what's to be done?"
"Nan mustn't stay up there, and the old man is to be considered," said Polly thoughtfully. "Perhaps, Tom, I'd better go over and speak to Aunt Sarah. Mary Lee and Phil went over and have given her some idea of the state of things. Meanwhile, you hunt up father and see if he can advise anything to be done about that old man. We can't, for humanity's sake, allow Daniella to stay there in that lonely cabin while her mother is getting well."
"And we must get Nan home," said Tom. "I'll find father, Polly, and he'll know what's best. The woman is not likely to be out for some weeks, they told me."
"Dear, dear," exclaimed Polly.
"What woman? Where is she?" cried an excited voice at her side. Polly turned to put her arm around Daniella who was looking at her with big frightened eyes. "Your mother has been hurt, Daniella, dear. She was run over by a wagon on the street, but she is in good hands and——-"
"Where is she? Where?" interrupted Daniella, wrenching herself away. "I wants to see her. Take me to her."
"I cannot this minute, but you shall see her as soon as we can make arrangements. Be a good girl, Daniella, and don't make a fuss. We are going to do all we can for both you and your mother."
Daniella choked back a great sob, but sat down on a chair in the hall, her eyes like those of some patient, suffering animal.
Polly took a seat beside her. "We are not going to let you stay up on the mountain alone, so far from your mother," she went on gently. "My brother has gone to find out what can be done about your grandfather. Now, will you stay here, or will you come with me to Nan's home? Nan, youknow, is the one who is staying with your grandfather."
Daniella nodded. "I know her name; I ain't goin' to fergit it neither. I'll go thar with you."
Polly took her to where Aunt Sarah was listening to Mary Lee's account of the afternoon's adventure. "What's this?" said Miss Dent, as Polly entered. "Why did you let Nan stay up there, Polly?"
"She wanted to stay," said Polly with a warning look. "This is Daniella Boggs, Aunt Sarah. We have just heard that her mother has met with an accident and is in the hospital. The nurses assured Tom that she was doing well, but we must make arrangements for Daniella." She followed Aunt Sarah into the next room where they talked in low tones together while Mary Lee, Phil and the twins put their heads together to make a plan of their own.
Daniella sat on the edge of the sofa, her hands clenched and her tears rolling down upon the red jacket. She could no longer keep them back. Presently the children left her there and she could hear them all talking in the adjoining room.
"Please, Aunt Sarah," begged Jack.
"Oh, do, auntie," pleaded Jean.
"I'll go without butter," put in Mary Lee.
"And I'll empty my savings bank," added Phil.
"Go 'long, go 'long, all of you," said Aunt Sarah. "Wait till your elders have talked this thing over and then we will see."
"One more couldn't make so very, very much difference," Mary Lee began again.
"And we could sleep three in a bed," Jean's voice came in.
"Or we could do something. There's a lot of room if we only had the furniture," Jack's argument followed.
"I'll bet mother has a bedstead to spare," Phil chimed in eagerly, "and we could rig up one of those dressing-table things out of boxes."
"Hush, hush," Aunt Sarah commanded. "You drive me wild. Not another word, Phil Lewis, till I see your father."
Then all of them trooped back into the room where Daniella was sitting. "Now, Daniella," said Polly, "you are to stay here with these little girls till we get everything arranged, and when I come back, I will take you to see your mother, if I can." And she went off with Miss Sarah, leaving Daniella feeling desolate and scared.
The children, however, could not avoid the subject which was so near to their hearts. All their young sympathies were aroused. They would havegiven Daniella any of their possessions, and were ready to make any sacrifices. "Did they not know what it meant to have a mother ill and away from them?"
"Our mother is ill, too," said Mary Lee, "and she is way off, too far for us ever to go and see her. She had to go there so as to get well."
Daniella felt the sympathy which this state of affairs must bring about, and she wiped her eyes upon the back of her hand, and tried to force back her tears.
"Wouldn't you like to stay with us till your mother gets well?" ventured Jack, eyeing the disconsolate Daniella.
Daniella blinked away her tears but made no reply.
"Hush, Jack," said Mary Lee in a half whisper. "You mustn't say that yet."
"I just wanted to know," said Jack, still gazing at Daniella.
"It isn't polite for you to stare so," whispered Mary Lee, and Jack turned away her eyes.
"What do you suppose they will do now with the money we made at the bazaar?" whispered Jean to Phil. But he shook his head reprovingly at her.
They found that they could not draw Daniella into conversation, but they did not think it polite toleave her. Jack brought her a picture-book to look at. She stared at the pictures uncomprehendingly.
Mary Lee produced a piece of needlework she was doing; it had no better effect.
Jean ran out and brought back Rubaiyat, whom she placed in Daniella's lap. Then the forlorn little stranger smiled and smoothed the soft fur.
Encouraged by this, and not to be outdone by her twin, Jack rushed to the kitchen and came back with a cake and an apple which she offered to the interesting visitor.
Daniella eyed the apple for a moment and then shook her head. She was not going to seem to need food in the presence of these more favored children. But she seemed to take comfort in cuddling Ruby and they felt that they had done all that they could.
In the course of an hour Colonel Lewis came in with his daughter and Miss Sarah. "Tom and I have arranged it," he told Phil in answer to the eager questions he put as he ran out to meet them. "We've found a place to take the grandfather. He must go to the County Asylum, as his mind is impaired. We must get Nan home right away, so Tom or I will drive up for her and bring the old man back. They'll keep him at the hospital to-nightand to-morrow he can go to the place I spoke of. He will be well cared for."
"And what about Daniella?" asked Phil.
"That's not settled yet. She will stay here till we can determine what is best to be done. The main thing now is to get Nan home. I feel very loth to leave her there alone a moment longer than necessary. Mrs. Boggs is in good hands and is improving."
As Polly entered the room, she said, "Now, Daniella, you may go to see your mother." Down went Ruby, awakened rudely from the nap she was taking in Daniella's lap, and the little girl, without waiting for further invitation, darted out the door. She ran down to the gate so fast that Polly could not overtake her. "Wait, Daniella, wait," she called. "You don't know which way to go." Then Daniella paused and those watching saw them go swiftly down the street.
During the time that all this was going on, Nan was patiently keeping watch in the cabin. The short winter day was drawing to a close when she stirred the fire and tried to set a kettle of water to boil. Little as she was used to cooking, she was less used to an open fire, and found some difficulty in making the coffee. But she accomplished it at last, emptied some into a bowl and poured into it aliberal supply of "long sweetening" which she discovered to be molasses, then putting some of the corn bread upon a plate, she set it before the old man. He was able to feed himself which he did noisily, but with evident enjoyment. Nan could touch none of the food herself, though she was hungry after a picnic lunch taken on the drive up the mountain. The hours began to drag wearily. Once in a while, the old man would make some meaningless remark, supposing Nan to be his granddaughter. Two or three times he attempted to meddle with the fire, but Nan was able to stop him. He was simple and harmless, but, like a child, in danger of doing himself an injury by some sudden piece of mischief.
Nan wondered how Daniella could stand living in the little cooped up, bare cabin, how she could endure the privations and the lack of companionship. As the shadows deepened, she began to fear it might be possible that she would have to stay there all night, and was relieved to hear the sound of wheels, and then her Cousin Tom Lewis's voice.
"Heigho, Nan!" he cried, "Ran and I have come for you."
"Is Daniella with you?" asked Nan, peering out the door.
"No," answered Tom as he came up to the cabin.
"Oh, then I can't leave. I'll have to stay with the old man," returned Nan with a great feeling of disappointment. "I promised, you know."
Tom came forward. "No, you won't stay," he said. "We are going to take the old man, too. Where is he?"
"In there by the fire. Oh, Cousin Tom, who says he is to go, and where are you going to take him? What's become of Daniella, and has anything happened to her mother?"
"One question at a time, please. It is all right about the old gentleman, so don't you bother. The first thing to do is to get him ready, and then there'll be time to answer your questions on the way home. I've brought an old army overcoat to wrap him up in, for I didn't suppose we should find much here, from what Polly said."
The bewildered old man was soon bundled into the carriage. He whimpered like a child at being taken from the cabin, and kept saying over and over, "I'm innercent, I'm innercent. I never took no hand in the business."
"He probably imagines we are sheriffs after him for a moonshiner," said Tom. "Poor old chap!" He tried to reassure the old man but found it was no use, and after a while he lapsed into silence, seemingto find comfort alone in the supposed fact that his granddaughter was with him.
On the way down the mountain, Nan learned of all that had happened since morning, and kept up such a running fire of questions and comments as made Tom declare she must have been all day thinking them up.
She felt that she had been away for weeks when at last they stopped before her own door. Was it only that morning that they had started out to take the red jacket to Daniella?
Mary Lee and the twins rushed out to meet her, full of the day's happenings. "Daniella's here," cried Mary Lee.
"Yes, and she's been to see her mother at the hospital," said Jack.
"And her mother is crite ill," put in Jean. "Cousin Polly says she can't take any food except licrids because she has such a fever. She was hurt awfully, but she told Cousin Polly they couldn't have done more for her if she had been a creen."
"We want to keep Daniella here," Mary Lee went on, "and Aunt Sarah is thinking about it."
"Where is Daniella now?" asked Nan.
"She's at the hospital. Cousin Tom is going to bring her back when he takes her grandfather there. Isn't it a good thing that Cousin Philip is one of thedirectors? He had everything hurried up and settled so much sooner. Was it very awful staying up there all day, Nan? Were you scared?"
"It was lonesome, but I wasn't frightened. There wasn't anything to do but give the old man his supper and keep him from fooling with the fire. I couldn't eat their messes myself."
"Then you must be half starved," said Mary Lee. "You poor child. We waited supper for you all. Mitty is putting it on the table now."
Nan thought that never before in her life had batter bread and cold ham tasted so good. Never had biscuits and baked apples such a flavor.
After supper, Miss Sarah called the four girls to her. "Now, children," she said, "the little girl will be here presently, and before she gets here we must understand whether she is to stay or not. They will take her in at the Children's Home or the St. Mary's Orphan Asylum, while her mother is ill, so we need not feel that she will not be looked after."
"Oh, but it would be dreadful to shut up that little wild thing in a strict place like the Home or the Asylum," said Nan, with keen appreciation of what Daniella would suffer.
"But you know, my dear, that every penny counts with us, and that all that can be spared mustgo for your mother's expenses. If we keep the child here, even for a couple of months, she will have to have clothing, her board will cost something, and it will mean sacrifices on the part of all of us. Now, the question is: What are you willing to give up?"
"I think I can get along without anything more in the way of clothes this winter," said Nan, visions of a new frock fading away.
"And I am sure I can if Nan can," said Mary Lee, readily.
"I'll wear hand-me-downs and not say a word," said Jack, "and I'll give Daniella all my rice pudding."
"Because you don't like it," Jean spoke with scorn.
"Well, never mind, if she likes it, what's the difference?" said Jack, argumentatively. "If I gave up something she didn't like and that I did, it wouldn't do her any good. You haven't said yet that you'd give up anything."
"Of course I'll give up something," declared Jean, offended. "I'll give up whatever Aunt Sarah says I ought."
"Good little girl," said Aunt Sarah, approvingly. "I hope you will not have to give up much. You younger ones can always take the clothes of theolder ones, and as for food we shall not be able to set a very much plainer table on account of our boarders. I think there will be rice pudding enough for every one, but we'll have gingerbread instead of rich cake, and eat more oatmeal instead of so many hot griddle-cakes."
"I suppose they do take a crauntity of butter," sighed Jean, who liked griddle-cakes above all things.
"We'll eat 'long sweetening' on them," said Nan, with a smile at the recollection of the Boggs's molasses jug. "By the way, I never thought of Daniella's chickens and her little pig. They killed the big pig, and there is quite a lot of meat up there. Some one will have to go up there after those things."
"They can be sold," said Aunt Sarah, "and that will help out their expenses."
"Oh, can't we keep the chickens and the little pig? Then Daniella won't cost us anything for eggs."
"But the chickens will cost us something for food," argued Miss Sarah.
"Oh, dear, I forgot that they must be fed. I always think of chickens just picking and scratching around for a living," said Nan. "Well, Aunt Sarah, is it settled? Do we keep Daniella here or don't we?"
"If you all are willing to make the sacrifices, we will keep her, but you must not murmur. I want you to realize what it means. Now, in the flush of your generous spirit, it seems easy, but after a while, when your coat looks shabby, Nan, and your best frock is too short, and when Mary Lee must wear her old hat and Jack must be satisfied with made-over clothing, and rice-pudding oftener, when Jean can't have griddle-cakes swimming in butter, and must have her shoes mended and remended, it may not seem so easy. My own inclination is always to fling wide a hospitable door, but we must think of what is due to your mother before anything else."
The four children were silent. They realized the truth of all this. At last Jack spoke up. "I don't care; I'd just as soon have the made-overs; you don't have to be near so careful of them."
"There is some comfort in that," agreed Nan. "Yes, Aunt Sarah, we'll do it, won't we, Mary Lee?"
"I will, if you will."
"Then it's settled," Nan declared. "Daniella is to be ours till further notice. Will she go to school, Aunt Sarah? She doesn't know even how to read."
"We can see about that later," Aunt Sarah told her.
Later, this question did come up, for when the chickens and pig were domiciled at the Corners' and Daniella had become used to her surroundings, she realized that if she would be like the rest she must know much more than she did. At first she was like some little wild animal, and could not be kept in the house, saying she could not breathe there. She was shy of every one but Nan and Mary Lee, and fled at the approach of strangers. She did not know how to wear the clothing provided for her, nor had she ever been inside a church. Shops were a marvel and a school was something that had to be elaborately explained, but in time she came to understand that she was unlike the rest of the world and that if she would be in it she must be of it. Then she told Nan she wanted to know what was inside books, and she would go to school. One day of the routine was enough for her. She escaped before the morning was half over to Nan's mortification.
"You ought at least to have stayed till noon," she said, chidingly.
"I couldn't, I couldn't," replied Daniella vehemently. "I felt like a wild creetur in a trap, and them gals starin' and snickerin' made me feel like a fool thing. I ain't goin' to set alongside o' babies, an' I ain't no right with gals my own size. I don'twant to hev nothin' to do with none of 'em, 'scusin' you an' Mary Lee. If I never l'arns nothin', I ain't goin' to be cooped up lak a po' trapped rabbit or a bird in a cage. I don't keer if I don't know nothin'. Maw'll love me jest the same."
Nan was quite distressed. She had felt a real missionary spirit in rescuing Daniella from the depths of her ignorance. She dreamed of the day when she should be proud of her, when pretty little Daniella would appear as well as any girl, but now her hopes were blasted. She thought long upon the subject. She discussed it with her sisters, with her Aunt Sarah, with Cousin Polly and Cousin Mag but no one could seem to offer a solution to the problem. It was cruel, every one thought, to send a girl to school who felt so keenly about it. Why make her miserable for the short time she was living in a civilized community? After a while she would have to return to her wild life, then where would be the good of having made her unhappy?
But Nan felt differently about it. She had a scheme of teaching Daniella herself, but the mountain girl spurned it, and said she wasn't goin' to hav no gal her own size l'arnin' her, though if the truth were known, she really did not want to give Nan the task. So at last Nan took her difficulty to her Aunt Helen, and here she found a friend in need,for Miss Helen declared that nothing would interest her more than to teach Daniella for an hour or two a day.
"She is like a blank, unwritten page," she said. "And I'd like the experience of putting my mark upon her. I should like to try some of my own theories. You say she is bright, Nan?"
"Real bright. Not like schooly brightness, but in a queer way, that shows she thinks a lot more than you suppose."
"So much the better. I can try to bring out what is in her, by my own methods."
Then Nan, by coaxing and arguing induced Daniella to try the experiment of going to Uplands for an hour each day, and after her very first trial it seemed that Miss Helen had solved the problem, and that Daniella's education had fairly begun.