CHAPTER NINE THE "CHARITY BARREL"
It was noon of the day following the luncheon party, and as it was theone Sunday of the month on which the Reverend Jonathan Cressly held areligious meeting at Woodford's Inn, the little Martins had beenattending the Sunday school.
The text had been, "Little children, love ye one another," but thekindly old man departed in his rather ancient buggy, drawn by ashambling old white horse, with a feeling that his talk had not beenentirely successful, for he had heard one little girl, who was very muchdressed up, making fun of the Martin girls because they wore dressesthat buttoned down the front.
"Those Martin children are certainly a problem in the parish," Mr.Cressly had told the Home Missionary Society in Genoa, and the women hadcollected clothing that they thought might fit, and had sent a brimmingbarrel over to the log cabin in Woodford's Canyon. That was soon afterthe father died, but, to their unutterable amazement, the same driverhad brought it back on his cart, saying that Miss Dixie Martin wishedhim to thank the ladies, as she knew they meant it kindly, and thatalthough she and her sister and brothers weren't needing charity, shewas sure there were many families in the mountains that did--the WashoeIndians in the creek-bottom, if no one else.
"Whew-gee!" Lin Crandel, the expressman, had ejaculated. "Thatred-headed gal stood up like she was the president's darter, she suredid, but it was the purty curly-headed one that spieled the most abouthow blue-blooded they were. Didn't folks know as they wereHaddington-Allens of Kentucky? Whew-gee! I kin tell you I felt likeapologizin' for offerin' 'em that barrel."
Of course, after that the ladies of the Home Missionary Society did turntheir energies in other directions.
The four little Martins were at home again, and Dixie was setting out acold dinner, for, true to the teaching of his orthodox mother, Pine TreeMartin had insisted upon one thing, which was that Sunday should be keptholy, and that no work that was not absolutely necessary should be doneon that day. Since his wife had never worked very much on any day, thishad been no hardship for her.
After the simple meal, Ken said that he was going to walk over to theValley Ranch, and that they all might come along if they wished.Jimmy-Boy was delighted, for if there was one little pig in their homesty, there were a hundred at the Valley Ranch. Carol liked to go, forSusie Piggins, aged fifteen years, went to a boarding-school in Reno,but came home for the week-ends. Dixie usually enjoyed hearing Sue tellof her experiences, but to-day she said that if the others didn't mindshe would like to just stay at home and rest.
Ken's understanding brown eyes gave one quick glance at hiscomrade-sister, and noting that she was pale and that she leaned back inthe big grandfather's chair as though she were unusually weary, hedecided that it would be doing her a kindness to take the other twochildren away for the afternoon. Little did he dream that the palenesscame from long hours awake in the night.
The three had been gone for some time when Dixie was awakened from alight slumber by some one calling: "Whoa, there! Here we are, Dobbin."
Leaping to her feet, though still feeling a little dazed from having sosuddenly awakened, Dixie opened the door, to see on the path the kindlybanker from Genoa. At once there was panic in the heart of the girl. Whywas he coming in the middle of the month, or indeed why was he coming atall? For the past year he had sent the money the first of every month byIra Jenkins, who did his banking over at Genoa, and was glad, in hisgruff way, to do a good turn for his little neighbors, the Martins.
Samuel Clayburn climbed out of the buggy and smiled at the girl. Sheinvited him to enter the cabin with a dignified little manner that shehad inherited from Pine Tree Martin, who had stood as straight and erectas one of the trees that he so admired.
"Won't you be seated, Mr. Clayburn?" Dixie asked, wondering why herknees were shaking so that she could hardly stand.
"I can't stop but two jiffs, little girl, but I thought I'd rather tellyou myself than write; seemed like a more humane thing to do, as I am afather myself."
"Oh, Mr. Clayburn," the child leaned forward eagerly. "Has somethinghappened to the money? Is it all gone?"
Dixie was sitting on the very edge of a straight-backed chair, and herfolded hands were tightly clenched. Mr. Clayburn was plainly at a lossto know how to begin. He had not supposed it would be so hard to tell asmall girl that--
"Little Miss Dixie," he suddenly exclaimed, after having tried in vainto think of some way to lead gradually up to the matter of business uponwhich he had come, "please don't take what I am going to say too much toheart." Then his kind, florid face brightened as an inspiration came tohim. "I have a fine plan," he assured her, "a very fine plan which willmake it all right in the end. I am sure of that."
"In the end, Mr. Clayburn? The end of what?" Poor little Dixieremembered, just then, that that was what had been said when GrandmotherPiggins was dying--"It's near the end now."
She gave a little dry sob, and the good man took out his big redhandkerchief and mopped his brow. Then, coughing to clear his throat, hebegan on a new tack. "Dixie, my wife has taken a great liking to littleCarol. She saw her last month over at the county fair, and she said thenthat she'd like to adopt her to grow up twins with our little Sylvia.It's bad for a child to be brought up alone, you know,--makes themselfish,--and we're afraid our little daughter is beginning to bespoiled, and so we've had it in mind for some time to adopt anotherlittle girl if we could find a real nice one who needed adopting."
For a moment the listener sat as one dazed. She could hardly comprehendwhat the kind man was saying, but, when he paused to mop his brow again,Dixie exclaimed: "Oh, but Mr. Clayburn, I couldn't give up my littlesister, Carol. She surely wouldn't want to leave Ken and Jimmy-Boy andme"; but even as she spoke, Dixie feared that she was wrong. Carol wouldbe eager to go, probably, and what right had Dixie to keep her prettyyounger sister in a log cabin when she might be living in that fine bigwhite-pillared house in Genoa that was surrounded with a wide lawn andbeautiful gardens?
Then it was that Dixie thought of something, and a little of herfather's keenness appeared in the thin, freckled face as she said, "Mr.Clayburn, you didn't come all the way from Genoa on a Sunday just to saythat, did you?"
The banker confessed that that had not been his original purpose formaking the journey. "You are right, little Dixie," he said; "I came totell you that there has been a depreciation; that is, the securities inwhich your father's small principal is invested, are not as valuable asthey were, and hereafter your monthly income will only be nine dollarsinstead of twelve, but, don't you see, dear child," the kind man leanedforward and took her hand, "if Carol comes to live with us, the ninedollars will go even farther than the twelve did with four of you?"
Dixie nodded miserably. Each member of the little brood was infinitelydear to her, and she was so proud of Carol, who looked just like theirbeautiful mother.
Looking up with tear-brimmed eyes, she said tremulously, "I oughtn't tostand in her way if she wants to go, and more than likely she will. Shelikes pretty dresses and things that I can't get for her, 'speciallynow, that there'll only be nine dollars a month."
The heart of Mr. Clayburn was deeply touched and he hastened to say,"Little Miss Dixie, don't you want me to write just once more to youraunt down South?" He arose as he spoke.
There was a flash of pride in the eyes of the small girl. "No," shesaid. "Never again. We're not going to push ourselves in where we're notwanted."
"You're right in one way, Dixie," the banker agreed, "but it's myopinion that your aunt doesn't know that you exist. She has never openedeven one of the letters. They have been returned just as they weresent."
"Then she won't have the trouble of returning another." The little girlalso had risen, and, as the banker started toward the door, sheimpulsively held out her hand as she said, "Mr. Clayburn, thank you forbeing so kind,--I mean about Carol,--and if she wants to go to you,shall I send you word by Mr. Jenkins?"
"Yes,
yes," the portly gentleman said. Then, as he placed a fatherlyhand on the red-brown head of the girl, who somehow seemed smaller thanhe had remembered her, he added cheerfully: "It isn't as though youwon't be able to see your little sister often. You and Ken and the babycan come and have nice visits at our house, and Carol can come here."
But even to himself this did not ring true. Mrs. Clayburn, who was knownas a social climber, had said that if she took Carol, she wished itdistinctly understood that Sylvia need have nothing to do with theothers, who were so like that impossible man whom the mountain peoplehad called Pine Tree Martin.
Poor Mr. Clayburn held the trembling hand in a firm clasp as he saidwarmly: "There now, little girl, don't be worrying any more than you canhelp. You'll be surprised how fine things are going to turn out.Good-by. I'll come after Carol when you say the word."
As soon as the banker had driven out of the dooryard, Dixie threwherself down in the big grandfather's chair and sobbed as though herheart would break, but at last she rose, washed her face, tidied herhair, and began setting the table for supper. The other three would soonbe returning, and the little mother of them all would have to be the oneto be brave, outwardly at least. But oh, how the heart of her yearnedfor the father whose strong arms had always been her haven of refuge!But now she, Dixie, must be haven for the other three.
"Here they come," she told herself. "Now we'll talk it over, and Carolmay make her choice."