CHAPTER VIII
"BOBBIN"
ALL her life Polly O'Neill had felt a curious shrinking from physicalcruelty, and growing older had not made the least change in her feeling.She had never talked about it, but had always been fearful that at heartshe was a coward. The Camp Fire girls used to laugh at her because, ofcourse, she had learned to do all of the things that their rulesrequired without feeling any possible nervousness. But then no one ofthem understood what physical cruelty might mean and possibly mightnever see an exhibition of it.
Yet nothing was farther from her own mind at the present moment thanthis fear. She had come in about fifteen minutes' walk to a clump ofcottonwood trees by a small stream of water, and there in their midststood a crude two-room shanty with a bare space of ground in front of itand a lean dog sitting in a patch of sunshine.
But the sight that froze Polly's blood and made her stand suddenly sostill that she might have been a wooden image was the figure of a manwith a long whip in his hand, such as one might have used in drivingcattle. And this whip was now whirling and stinging through the air andtwisting itself about the body of the little girl who had been the firstvision that Miss O'Neill's eyes had rested upon on waking that morning.
But the strangest thing of all was that the child was making no outcryand showing no effort to run away. Indeed, she stood perfectly still,hugging half a loaf of bread in her arms.
Polly made an inarticulate sound which she thought was a loud cry:"Stop!" But the man had not seen her approach and was too occupied withhis hateful task to hear her, and to her intense shame she felt all atonce desperately afraid of him. She was so far from any one she knew,she had so little physical strength and this man was so much more brutalthan any one she had ever seen before in her life. Perhaps he wouldcease hurting the child this instant.
Then, without in the least knowing when nor how she had accomplished it,Polly rushed forward and seizing the man's thick wrist in her ownslender fingers, clung to him desperately, while the thong of the whipcurled and fell in a limp fashion about her own shoulders.
Too surprised to speak, the man took a step or two backward. In thecourse of her stage career Polly had acted a number of tragedy queens;and notwithstanding her slightly rumpled appearance at this moment, shehad never looked the part better than now. Her thin figure was drawn upto its fullest height, her Irish blue eyes flashed Celtic lightnings.She even stamped her foot imperiously.
"You beast!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean by striking a little girlin that cruel fashion? I'll have you arrested! I don't care in the leastif you are her father or what she has done, you have no possible rightto be so brutal."
The man had dropped his whip to the ground and Polly now stooped andpicked it up. It was absurd of her ever to have dreamed she could havebeen frightened by mere brute strength. The man was a good deal moreafraid of her for the instant. The sudden apparition of a fashionablydressed young woman, appearing out of nowhere and springing upon him insuch a surprising fashion, had destroyed his nerve.
"I wasn't doin' nawthin I hadn't a right ter," he growled. "That young'un is allers stealin' somethin'. I caught her red-handed running offwith that there loaf of bread."
For the first time since her arrival on the scene Polly O'Neill turnedtoward the girl. She was still staring at her with almost the sameexpression she had worn earlier in the day. But somehow something in herlook touched Polly, brought her sudden inspiration.
"Why," she exclaimed with a break in her voice, "I believe she wasbringing the bread to me. I told her I was hungry just a little whileago."
There was no one in the world who could be sweeter or simpler than PollyO'Neill when her feelings were deeply touched. This had always beentrue, even as a young girl, and of course, as she had grown into afamous woman, her charm had deepened. Now she put her arms about hernew friend's shoulders. "You were going to give the bread to me, I'msure. Thank you." Oblivious of the fact that the little girl's dress wasexceedingly dirty and that her face was far from clean, Polly leanedover and kissed her.
Then she turned to the man. "If you will get a horse and drive me to myhotel I will pay you well for it," she explained.
In reply the man nodded and moved away, so that Polly was once more leftalone with the girl.
It suddenly occurred to her that the child had never spoken since theirmeeting. Could she possibly be deaf and dumb? That might explain herstrange expression.
"What is your name?" Polly asked gently.
Still the girl stared. Miss O'Neill repeated her question.
Then the girl, picking up a stick from the ground, slowly andlaboriously printed in big letters, such as a child of six might havemade, the word "Bobbin."
"Bobbin?" Polly repeated the name aloud as she read it. What anextraordinary title! One could scarcely call it a name.
"Is that the only name you have?" she inquired again, wondering at thesame time how it was possible for the little girl to understand what shesaid without being able to reply. But Bobbin bowed her head, showingthat she had understood. In some fashion she must have learned the liplanguage. Yet it was curious why if the girl had ever been sent toschool she had learned nothing else. She appeared the veriest littlesavage that ever lived so close to wealth and civilization.
Polly sought in her mind to find out what she could do or say to showher gratitude. She had a sudden feeling that she could not turn her backupon the girl and leave her to her wretched fate, and yet of course thechild had no claim upon her. It was something in the expression ofBobbin's eyes that seemed to haunt one.
With a slight, unnoticeable shrug of her shoulders, as though giving upthe problem as too much for her, Polly now slipped her hand into herpocket, drawing out her purse bag. Opening it she found a large silverdollar, such as one uses in the West.
"Won't you buy yourself something from me?" she asked, trying to speakas distinctly as possible. She had not observed that in taking out themoney she had carelessly dropped a handkerchief from her bag.
With a fleeting expression of pleasure the girl accepted the gift, butthe next instant, when Polly turned to watch the man who was nowapproaching her with a lean horse hitched to a cart, she swooped downtoward the ground and picking up the crumpled white object thrust itsecretively inside her dress.
Five minutes after, when Polly and the man had started for ColoradoSprings, Bobbin remained in the same position, watching them until theywere out of sight. Then she began eating the neglected bread.
Upon arriving safely at her hotel, Miss O'Neill discovered that the newsof her disappearance had been spread abroad by her frightened maid, andthat a thorough search was being made for her. For although Polly hadbeen trying to live as quietly as possible in a small, obscure hotel,the fact of her visit was well known to hundreds of people. You see, atthis time in her life not only was her name celebrated from one part ofthe country to the other, but her face was equally familiar.
Through her maid, Marie, Polly was told that a gentleman, whose name shehad not learned, had been particularly kind and interested in seeking tofind her. So as soon as she rested she had every intention of inquiringhis name and thanking him personally. But by late afternoon, when shefinally dressed, this was impossible. Evidently the man did not wish tobe annoyed by her thanks, for the message brought her was that onhearing of her safety he had suddenly left the village.
However, Polly was able to acquire some actual information about thegirl she had seen earlier in the day, for "Bobbin" was apparently awell-known character in the famous Western resort. She was a littlestray daughter of the place. Years before, the mother had come toColorado from some city in the South and had died. Afterwards no one hadever claimed the child.
So the town had taken care of her, sent her to school and tried toteach her to talk. She was perhaps not entirely deaf, although no oneexactly understood her case. But the girl was a hopeless little rebel.In no place would she stay unless kept there by iron bars. She seemed tohave an unconquerable desire to
be always out of doors, and in thebrilliant Colorado climate this was nearly always possible. Recently shehad been living with some gypsy people, who had established themselvesin a temporary shanty at some little distance from the roads usuallyfollowed by sightseers. So Miss O'Neill had certainly wandered from thebeaten track. Nevertheless she need not make herself unnecessarilyunhappy over "Bobbin," for the girl would again be brought back toschool as soon as she could be captured.
Yes, her name had been Roberta, an old-fashioned Southern name, and thenin some way it had been shortened to Bobbie and now Bobbin. The childhad a last name, of course, but the woman who told the story to MissO'Neill had either never heard the mother's name or else had completelyforgotten it.
Late that night in reflecting over her adventure Polly wished that sheand Betty Graham could have changed places for a week or so. For Bettywould certainly do something for the unfortunate Bobbin to make lifehappier for her, as she had a kind of genius for looking after people.Her Camp Fire training had taught her a beautiful sympathy andunderstanding. But Betty must have been made that way in the beginning,Polly concluded with a sigh and a smile. She had no such gift herself.The girl's story, fragmentary as it was, interested her, but there couldbe no possible point in undertaking to interfere with the child'sfuture.
Nevertheless, try as she might, all night it was impossible for thefamous actress to get the half tragic, half stupid figure of Bobbin outof her vision.