CHAPTER IV
NEALE O'NEIL GETS ESTABLISHED
Perhaps Billy Bumps was as much amazed as anybody when he heard whatseemed to be the pig expressing his dissatisfaction in a broad Irishbrogue on the other side of the fence.
The old goat's expression was indeed comical. He backed away from thehole through which he had just shot the raider head-first, shook his ownhead, stamped, and seemed to listen intently to the hostile language.
"Be th' powers! 'Tis a dirthy, mane thrick, so ut is! An' th' poor pigkem t'roo th' hole like it was shot out of a gun."
"It's Mr. Murphy!" whispered Ruth, almost as much overcome with laughteras Agnes herself.
Neale O'Neil was frankly amazed; but in a moment he, like the girls,jumped to the right conclusion. The cobbler had run to the rescue of hispet. He had seized it by the ears as it was trying to crowd under thefence, and tugged, too. When old Billy Bumps had released his pigship,the latter had bowled the cobbler over.
Mr. Con Murphy possessed a vocabulary of most forceful and picturesquewords, well colored with the brogue he had brought on his tongue from"the ould dart." Mr. Murphy's "Irish was up" and when he got his breath,which the pig had well nigh knocked out of him, the little old cobblergave his unrestrained opinion of the power that had shot the pig underthe fence.
Ruth could not allow the occurrence to end without an explanation. Sheran to the fence and peered over.
"Oh, Mr. Murphy!" she cried. "You're not really hurt?"
"For the love av mercy!" ejaculated the cobbler. "Niver tell me that_youse_ was the one that pushed the pig through the fince that har-rdthat he kem near flyin' down me t'roat? Ye niver could have done it,Miss Kenway--don't be tillin' me. Is it wan o' thim big Jarmyn gunsyouse have got in there, that the pa-apers do be tillin' erbout?"
He was a comical looking old fellow at best, and out here at this earlyhour, with only his trousers slipped on over his calico nightshirt, andheelless slippers on his feet, he cut a curious figure indeed.
Mr. Con Murphy was a red-faced man, with a fringe of sandy whiskers allaround his countenance like a frame, having his lips, chin and cheekssmoothly shaven. He had no family, lived alone in the cottage, andworked very hard at his cobbler's bench.
"Why, Mr. Murphy!" cried Ruth. "Of course _I_ didn't push your pigthrough the fence."
"It was Billy Bumps," giggled Agnes.
"Who is that, thin?" demanded Mr. Murphy, glaring at Neale O'Neil. "Thatyoung felley standin' there, I dunno?"
"No. I only cracked your pig over the nose with this fence paling," saidthe boy. "I wonder you don't keep the pig at home."
"Oh, ye do, do ye?" cried the little Irishman. "Would ye have me lockhim into me spare bedroom?"
"I would if he were mine--before I'd let him be a nuisance to theneighbors," declared Neale O'Neil.
"Oh, Neale!" interposed Ruth. "You mustn't speak so. Of course the pigis annoying----"
"He's a nuisance. Anybody can see that," said the boy, frankly.
"'Tis a smart lad ye ar-re," sneered Mr. Murphy. "Show me how ter kapethe baste at home. The fince is not mine, whativer ye say. If it isn'tstrong enough to kape me pig out----"
"I'll fix it for you in half a day--if you'll pay me for it,"interrupted Neale O'Neil.
"How will ye do ut? and how much will ye tax me?" queried the cautiouscobbler.
"I'd string a strand of barbed wire all along the bottom of the fence.That will stop the pig from rooting, I'll be bound."
The old Irishman rubbed his chin reflectively. "'Twill cost a prettypenny," he said.
"Then," said Neale O'Neil, winking at the girls, "let's turn Billy Bumpsloose, and the next time the pig comes in I hope he'll butt his headoff!"
"Hi!" shouted Mr. Murphy. "Who's this Billy Bumps ye air talkin' so fastabout?"
"That's our goat," explained Agnes, giggling.
Mr. Murphy's roving eyes caught sight of the billy, just thenreflectively nibbling an old shoe that had been flung into the pen.
"Is that the baste that shot me pig under the fince?" he yelped.
Billy Bumps raised his head, shook his venerable beard, and blatted atthe cobbler.
"He admits the accusation," chuckled Agnes.
"Shure," said Mr. Murphy, wagging his head, "if that thunderin' ouldpi-_rat_ of a goat ever gits a _good_ whack at me pig, he'd dr-rive himthrough a knothole! Kem over and see me by and by, la-a-ad," he added,to Neale, his eyes twinkling, "and we'll bargain about that barbed wirejob."
"I'll be over to see you, sir," promised the white-haired boy.
For Ruth had nudged his elbow and whispered: "You must stay to breakfastwith us, Neale."
The boy did so; but he successfully kept up that wall between the girls'curiosity and his own private history. He frankly admitted that he hadgone hungry of late to save the little sum he had hoarded for theopening of the Milton schools.
"For I'll have to buy some books--the superintendent told me so. And Iwon't have so much time then to earn money for my keep," he said. "But Iam going to school whether I eat regularly, or not. I never had a chancebefore."
"To eat?" asked Agnes, slily.
"Not like this!" declared Neale, laughing, as he looked about theabundant table.
But without asking him point-blank just what his life had been, and whyhe had never been to school, Ruth did not see how she was to learn morethan the white-haired boy wished to tell them.
The girls all liked him. Of course, Aunt Sarah, who was very odd, whenshe came to table did not speak to the boy, and she glared at himwhenever he helped himself to one of Mrs. MacCall's light biscuit. Butthe housekeeper appreciated the compliment he gave her cooking.
"I guess I don't make such bad biscuit after all," she said. "Sometimesyou girls eat so little at breakfast that I've thought my days for hotbread making were over."
Neale blushed and stopped eating almost at once. Although frank to admithis poverty, he did not like to make a display of his appetite.
Ruth had been thinking seriously of the proposition, and after breakfastshe told Neale that he might remain at the old Corner House--andwelcome--until he found just the place he desired.
"But I must pay you," said the boy, earnestly.
"We don't really need to be paid, Neale," said Ruth, warmly. "There areso many empty rooms here, you know--and there is always enough for onemore at our table."
"I couldn't stop if I didn't do something to pay you," Neale said,bluntly. "I'm no beggar."
"I tell you!" Ruth cried, having a happy thought. "You can help us cleanhouse. We must get it all done before school begins, so as to help Mrs.MacCall. Uncle Rufus can't beat rugs, and lift and carry, like a youngerperson."
"I'll do anything," promised Neale O'Neil. "But first I'll fix thatIrishman's fence so his pig can't root into your yard any more."
He was over at the cobbler's most of the day, but he showed up for thenoon dinner. Ruth had made him promise to come when he was called.
Mrs. MacCall insisted upon heaping his plate with the hearty food."Don't tell _me_," she said. "A boy's always hollow clean down to hisheels--and you're pretty tall for your age. It'll take some time to fillyou up properly."
"If I just let myself go, I really _can_ eat," admitted Neale O'Neil."And this is so much better cooking than I have been used to."
There it was again! Ruth and Agnes wanted--oh! _so_ much--to ask himwhere he had lived, and with whom, that he had never before had properfood given him. But although Neale was jolly, and free to speak abouteverything else, the moment anything was suggested that might lead tohis explaining his previous existence, he shied just like an unbrokencolt.
"Just as if he didn't _have_ any existence at all," complained Agnes,"before he ran through our side gate this morning, yelling to me to'hold on.'"
"Never mind. We will win his confidence in time," Ruth said, in herold-fashioned way.
"Even if he had done something----"
"Hush!" commanded Ruth. "Suppose somebody should h
ear? The children forinstance."
"Well! of course we don't really know anything about him."
"And I am sure he has not done anything very bad. He may be ashamed ofhis former life, but I am sure it is not because of his own fault. He isjust very proud and, I think, very ambitious."
Of the last there could be no doubt. Neale O'Neil was not content toremain idle at all. As soon as he had finished at Mr. Murphy's, hereturned to the old Corner House and beat rugs until it was time forsupper.
There was little wonder that his appetite seemed to increase rather thandiminish--he worked so hard!
"I don't believe you ever _did_ have enough to eat," giggled Agnes.
"I don't know that I ever did," admitted Neale.
"Suppose you should wake up in the night?" she suggested. "If you werereal hungry it would be dreadful. I think you'd better take somecrackers and cheese upstairs with, you when you go to bed."
Neale took this all in good temper, but Mrs. MacCall exclaimed,suddenly:
"There! I knew there was something I forgot from the store to-day. Tess,do you and Dot want to run over to Mr. Stetson's after supper and bringme some crackers?"
"Of course we will, Mrs. MacCall," replied Tess.
"And I'll take my Alice-doll. She needs an airing," declared Dot. "Herhealth isn't all that we might wish since that Lillie Treble buried heralive."
"Buried her alive?" cried Neale. "Playing savages?"
"No," said Tess, gravely. "And she buried dried apples with her, too. Itwas an awful thing, and we don't talk about it--much," she added, in awhisper, with a nod toward Dot's serious face.
Out of this trip to the grocery arose a misunderstanding that was veryfunny in the end. Ruth had chosen the very room, at the back of thehouse, in which the lady from Ipsilanti and her little daughter hadslept, for the use of Neale O'Neil. After supper she had gone up thereto make the bed afresh, and she was there when Tess and Dorothy returnedhome from the store, filled to the lips, and bursting, with a wonderfulpiece of news.
"Oh, dear me, Ruthie!" cried Dot, being the leader, although her legswere not the longest. "Did you know we all have to be _'scalloped_before we can go to school here in Milton?"
"Be _what_?" gasped the oldest Kenway girl, smoothing up the coverlet ofthe bed and preparing to plump the pillows.
"No," panted Tess, putting her bundle on the stand by the head of thebed. "'Tisn't 'scalloped, Tess. It's vac--vacilation, I believe. Anyway,it's some operation, and we all have to have it."
"Goodness me!" exclaimed Ruth, laughing. "We've all been vaccinated,kiddies--and it wasn't such a dreadful operation, after all. All we'llhave to do is to show our arms to the doctor and he'll see we werevaccinated recently."
"Well!" said Dot. "I knew it had something to do with that 'scallop markon my arm," and she tried to roll up the sleeve of her frock to see thesmall but perfect scar that was the result of her vaccination.
They all left the room, laughing. Two hours later the house quieteddown, for the family had retired to their several rooms.
To Neale O'Neil, the waif, the big house was a very wonderful place. Thefine old furniture, the silver plate of which Uncle Rufus took suchloving care, the happy, merry girls, benevolent Mrs. MacCall and her oddsayings, even Aunt Sarah with her grim manner, seemed creatures andthings of another world. For the white-haired boy had lived, since hecould remember, an existence as far removed from this quiet home-life atthe old Corner House, as could be imagined!
He told Agnes laughingly that he would be afraid to leave his roomduring the night, for fear of getting lost in the winding passages, andup and down the unexpected flights of stairs at the back of the house.
He heard the girls go away laughing when they had showed him to hisroom. There was a gas-jet burning and he turned it up the better to seethe big apartment.
"Hullo! what's this?" Neale demanded, as he spied a paper bag upon thestand.
He crossed to the head of the bed, and put his hand on the package.There was no mistaking the contents of the bag at first touch.
Crackers!
"That's the fat girl!" exclaimed Neale, and for a moment he was really alittle angry with Agnes.
It was true, he _had_ gorged himself on Mrs. MacCall's good things. Shehad urged him so, and he had really been on "short commons" for severaldays. Agnes had suggested his taking crackers and cheese to bed withhim--and here was a whole bag of crackers!
He sat down a moment and glowered at the package. For one thing, he wastempted to put on his cap and jacket and leave the Corner House at once.
But that would be childish. And Ruth had been so kind to him. He wassure the oldest Kenway girl would never perpetrate such a joke.
"Of course, Aggie didn't mean to be unkind," he thought, at last, hisgood judgment coming to his rescue. "I--I'd like to pay her back. I--Iwill!"
He jumped up and went to the door, carrying the bag of crackers withhim. He opened the door and listened. Somewhere, far away, was the soundof muffled laughter.
"I bet that's that Aggie girl!" he muttered, "and she's laughing at me."