CHAPTER XIII
THE SAD AWAKENING
Such a long, lovely sleep, on that fluffy feather bed! Everything sosweet, so wholesome, even in her half-conscious state Dorothy knewthat things about her were right--that they were "homey."
Then the smooth-roughness of that woman's hands, the life of themseemed to cry out comfort, while the harsh flesh told another story.
Twice Dorothy had opened her eyes over a pan of chicken broth. She hadto take it, and she was glad of it.
Then, outside in the hall room, that was really nothing more nor lessthan a landing for the unrailed stairs, she thought she could hear theold-fashioned voice of a very old-fashioned man--he wanted to fetchher something, and he didn't seem to care just what.
"Couldn't I git her a hunk of thet sausage that we brung home?" hebegged.
"You loon," was his answer. "Are you set on murder? Do you want tokill her outright?"
This repressed his enthusiasm. "Never do I," he declared, "spite ofthe reward, Samanthy. Don't she look like what our little 'un ought tolook like if--she grew to look?"
"You loon! How could you tell what she ought to have looked like whenher own mother never saw her try? Oh, Josiah," and the lines ofhardship melted into possibilities, "wouldn't it have been lovely--ifshe did--live--to look!"
"'Tweren't your fault--nor mine, Samanthy. He knows, and mebby thet'swhy He sent this 'un. Ain't she purty? And I don't care a durn aboutthe sanitarition folks. Of course--if we've found her--and they wanther----"
It was a strange sight. Those two wrinkled old faces peering into theblossom that lay on that feather bed!
"Josiah Hobbs! You are an old loon! I can't see how you kin make outthat this is heaven-sent," and she brushed a fly from the whiteforehead.
"Oh--yes--you--kin, Samanthy. Else why did you shoo thet fly?"
"Shet up! Do you want to rouse her?" and she went over, and pulleddown the green curtain with the pink rose border.
"Are you sartin thet--she's the one?"
"Didn't I say I seen her? Are there so many cornsilk heads aroundhere? Now, the question is----"
"Jest what I was a-thinkin': The question is----"
"We kin lock this room--and put the bars ag'in the shutters. But Idon't want to scare her."
"It's the best, though. We hev got to make it s'cure. I don't 'magineshe'll care fer awhile, any way. And then we kin tote her back to thesanitation."
"Well, we'll see. Now, you sneak off and I'll tuck her in. Poor lamb!To think that she's looney!"
"Ain't it a shame! If our'n was alive we wouldn't care if she couldthink or not--we would think fer her--wouldn't we, Samanthy?"
"Mebby," she answered, giving the quilt a smoothing. "But there's notellin'. She might have run off----"
The remainder of the soliloquy was lost in the red and white quilt.
There Dorothy slept. The tin dipper of fresh water was on the woodenchair at her side. The green curtain was drawn down to the very sillof the window. The door was shut--and it was hooked on the outside.
How long she slept she could not by any means know, but certainly thesun had sailed around to the window, that wore no curtain, and throughwhich the glint of a fading day cut in like a faithful friend to poorDorothy Dale.
She groped her way over to the door. It was bolted, and the windowswere securely fastened.
The awful truth forced itself into her fagged brain. She was aprisoner! Why? What had she done? Wasn't that woman kind? And did notthe man go to the spring for water? She heard him say so, and he was afeeble old man. Why was she locked--barred in that smothering atticroom?
She picked up a heavy block that lay near, and with it rappedvigorously on the bare floor.
A shuffling of feet on the stairs told that she had been heard, andpresently the not unkindly face of Samanthy Hobbs made its way intothe room.
"Why am I locked in?" gasped Dorothy. "Why do you not let me go backto my friends?"
"Hush there, now, dearie," and she smoothed the hand that lay idly onthe red and white quilt, as Dorothy stood beside the bed. "You'll beall right. Don't you go and get bothered. We've sent fer the doctor,and when he comes, he'll fetch you right home to your maw. But youhave got to keep quiet, or else the fever will set in, and thenthere's no tellin'. I told Josiah that we would do fer you like as ifyou was our'n, but you must not talk, dearie. You must be mournfulstill."
"WHY AM I LOCKED IN?" GASPED DOROTHY. _Dorothy Dale'sCamping Days Page 116_]
Dorothy looked keenly into the face that leaned over her. What did itmean? Whom did they take her to be?
"Do you know who I am?" she ventured.
"Why of course we do, lovey. But don't you bother to talk. The doctorwill be here in the morning, and he'll take you back to your maw."
"I have no mother," sighed Dorothy. "I am a stranger around here, andI hope you will not keep me from my friends. They are probably lookingfor me now."
"Course they be. But now a little chicken soup? No? Then a sip of tea.It's revivin'. Josiah! Josiah! Come with that milk! How long does ittake to milk a brindle cow?"
The fresh milk was brought, and crowded upon the already well-filledwooden chair.
"Thank you very much," murmured Dorothy, "but I cannot eat or drink. Imust go to my friends!"
In spite of her will the tears came. At the sight of them the womanshuffled off. Evidently tears were too much for Samanthy Hobbs.
"I'll leave you a candle--no, I guess I had better jest raise thelattice, and if you wants anything I'll hear you if you knocks. Don'tyou worry, dearie. Samanthy Hobbs ain't no--well, she ain't, that'sall!"
Then Dorothy was alone--all alone in the stuffy room. Could sheescape; get out of a window--anything to be in the free open air, andto run--run back to dear old camp?
She tried every crack, every window, the old door, even the hole thatopened out on the slant roof.
Barred! Locked! Everything was locked against her!
"Oh, must I die here?" she murmured. Then she fell back on the bed, onthe red and white quilt. Sobbing, too weak to cry, too weak to think,but not too weak to know!