CHAPTER XV.
CONCERNING VARIOUS THINGS
"WHERE are you going, Margaret?" asked Willy.
"Up to the farm. Bell lost one of her knitting-needles, and thought shemight have dropped it there; she is up there now, hunting for it, andhere it was in my tent all the time. Would you like to come with me,Willy?"
Willy twinkled with pleasure, and fell into step beside her, and the twowalked along the pleasant grassy road through the fields, talkingbusily. They had become great friends, and Willy was never tired ofhearing about Basil, who, he declared, "must certainly be a corker."
"I suppose he is, Willy," said Margaret, with resignation. "There seemsnothing else for any nice person to be. Did I tell you how brave he waswhen a great savage dog attacked our poor puppies? Oh, you must hearthat."
The recital of Basil's heroism lasted till they reached the farmhouse,both in a state of high enthusiasm, and Willy filled with ardentlongings for attacks by savage dogs, that he might show qualities equalto those of the youthful hero. (N. B. Basil, honest, freckled, andpractical, would have been much surprised to hear himself held up as ayouthful embodiment of Bayard and the Cid in one.)
"I'll wait for you out here, Margaret," he said, when they came to thedoor. "No, I don't want to come in; they will tell me how I've grown,and I do get so tired of it. I'll sit on the fence and think; I like tothink."
Margaret nodded sympathetically and went in. The door opened directlyinto a wide, sunny kitchen, as bright as sunshine and cleanliness couldmake it. An elderly woman was standing before a great wheel, spinningwool; beside her, Bell, Gertrude, and Peggy stood watching with absorbedattention. All looked up at Margaret's entrance, and the woman, who hada kind, strong face and sweet brown eyes, laid down her shuttle with asmile of welcome.
"I want to know if this is you," she said. "You're quite a stranger,ain't you? I kind o' looked for you when the gals come in."
"I meant to come, Mrs. Meadows, I truly did; but I was tidying up thetent, and I am so slow about it."
"Mrs. Meadows," said Peggy, laughing, "she wipes every nail-head threetimes a day, and goes over the whole with a microscope when she hasfinished, to see if she can find a speck of dust."
"Doos she so?" inquired Mrs. Meadows. "I don't hardly dare to ask her toset down in this room, then. What with the wool flyin' and all, it's asight, most times."
"Now, Mrs. Meadows!" exclaimed Gertrude. "When you know you are almostas particular as she is! But, Margaret, do you see what we are doing? Weare having a spinning lesson. It is _so_ exciting! Come and watch."
"I came to bring your knitting-needle," said Margaret. "Look! it was inmy tent, just the end of it sticking out of a crack in the floor. If Ihad not tidied up, in the way you reprobate, Bell, you might never havegot it again."
"Oh! yes, somebody would have stepped on it," laughed Bell. "But Iconfess I am very grateful for this special attack of tidying. Now, Mrs.Meadows, I shall be all ready for that new yarn as soon as you have itspun."
"My land! don't you want I should color it? I was callatin' to color allthis lot."
"No, I like this gray mixture so much; it is just the color for theboys' stockings. By the way, have you seen the boys, Mrs. Meadows? I waslooking for them everywhere before I came up."
"Let me see, where did I see them boys?" Mrs. Meadows pondered, drawingthe yarn slowly through her fingers. "Gerild and Phillup, you mean? Theypassed through the yard right after dinner, I should say it was, ontheir velocipedies; going at a great rate, they was. Here's Jacob, mebbehe'll know."
Jacob, massive and comely, in his customary blue overalls, entered,beaming shyly. "Good mornin', ladies!" he said. "Mother treatin' youwell?"
"Very well, Jacob!" said Bell. "We are having a spinning lesson, andfind it very interesting."
"I want to know. Well, I allers got on without that branch of edicationmyself," said Jacob. He was standing near the door, and the girlsnoticed that he kept his hands behind him.
"Mother, ain't you give the girls no apples?" he said.
"There!" cried Mrs. Meadows, apologetically. "I never thought on't."
"Now, ain't that a sight!" said Jacob, reprovingly. "I thought I couldtrust you not to let 'em starve, mother, but yet someways I felt I oughtto bring the apples myself. I dono's they're fit to eat, though."
Still beaming shy benevolence, he brought from behind him a basket ofbeautiful rosy apples, every one of which had evidently been polishedwith care--and the sleeve of his coat.
"Oh, what perfect beauties!" cried the girls. "Oh, thank you, Jacob!"
"What kind are they?" asked Peggy. "They _are_ good!" Peggy never lost amoment in sampling an apple, and her teeth now met in the firm, crispflesh with every sign of approval.
"Benoni! about the best fall apple there is, round these parts; that is,for any one as likes 'em crips. Some prefer a sweet apple, but I like afruit that's got some sperit in it, same as I do folks. Well, I wish youall good appetite; I must be goin' back to my hoein' lesson, I guess."
"Oh! Jacob, have you seen Jerry and Phil, lately?" asked Gertrude.
"No, I ain't. Yes I hev, too. They went rocketin' past me this noon, andgive me some sarse as they went, and I give it 'em back. I ain't seen'em sence. They're up to mischief, wherever they be, you can count onthat."
Jacob diffused his smile again, and withdrew. The girls, still eatingtheir apples, turned eagerly to Mrs. Meadows. "Now, Mrs. Meadows," theysaid, "we must go on with our lesson. Margaret, sit down and learn withus; you know you want to learn."
"Indeed, I do!" said Margaret. "But I don't think I'd better now, girls.Willy came up with me, and he is waiting for me outside; I promised tolook at a nest he has found, and I don't like to disappoint him. May Icome some other day, please, Mrs. Meadows?"
"Well, I guess you may!" said Mrs. Meadows. "Sorry to have ye go now,but glad to see ye next time, and so you'll find it nine days in theweek, Miss Montfort. Good day to ye, if ye must go."
Margaret shook the good woman's hand, nodded gaily to the girls, andwent out, to find Willy sitting patiently on the fence.
"Was I a very long time, Willy?" she asked. "I thought you might havegot out of patience and gone home."
"No!" said Willy, soberly. "You were a good while, but then, girlsalways are. When a fellow has sisters, you know, he gets used towaiting."
"Oh! indeed!" said Margaret, much amused.
"Yes," said Willy. "I don't think girls have much idea of time, do you?"
"Why, Willy, I don't know that I have ever considered the question. Yousee, I have always been a girl myself, so perhaps I am not qualified tojudge. But--do you think boys have so very much more idea? It seems tome I know some one who has been late for tea several times this week."
Willy looked conscious. "Well," he said, "I know; but that is different.When you are late for tea,--I mean when a boy is,--he is generally doingsomething that he wants very much indeed to get through with, fishing,or splicing a bat, or something that really has to be done. Besides, heknows they won't wait tea for him, so it doesn't make any difference."
"I see!" said Margaret. "And girls are never doing anything important.Aren't you rather severe on us, Willy?"
Willy was about to reassure her kindly, for he was extremely fond ofher; but at this moment a cheery "Hallo!" was heard, and the twins rodeup on their bicycles, bright-eyed and flushed after a fine spurt.
"Neck and neck!" said Gerald. "Margaret, I hope you don't object tobeing a winning-post. That was a great run."
"Where have you been?" asked Margaret, as the two dismounted and walkedalong on either side of her.
"Over to the Corners, to send a telegram for the Pater. And therebyhangs a tale."
"May we hear it? We love a tale, don't we, Willy?"
Willy did not look particularly enthusiastic, but he murmured something,which Gerald did not wait to hear.
"Well, the Pater desired to send a telegram, even winged words, to thatman who has been trying to send us shel
lac for the last three weeks, andwho has, we fear, broken down from the strain. A neat despatch it was:'Send to-morrow, or not at all.--M. Merryweather.' Well, we had justsent it, when we heard some one behind us say, '_Oh_, gosh!' in a toneof such despair that we turned round to see if it was the shellac man inperson. It was little Bean, the pitcher of the Corners team, all dressedup in his baseball togs, scarlet breeches and blue shirt, quite the birdof paradise, and reading a yellow telegram, and his face black asthunder. He was an impressionist study, wasn't he, Fergy? We asked whatwas up, or rather down, for elevation had no part in him. It appearedthat a match was on for this afternoon, between the Baked Beans and theSweet Peas, the Corners and the Spruce Point team. The Beans were allhere except the pitcher and first-baseman, brothers, who were to comeover by themselves, as they lived at some distance from the rest of theteam; and this telegram conveyed the cheering information, that, insteadof coming over, they had come down with mumps, and were, in point offact, in their little beds."
"Oh, what a shame!" said Margaret. "Poor lads! and mumps are such adistressing thing."
"I rejoice to see that you also get your singular and plural mixed inregard to mumps," said Gerald. "You are human, after all. But to tellthe truth, I don't know that sympathy with the mumpers was theprevailing sentiment at the Corners."
"Gee! I should think not," said Phil. "This was the match of the season,you see, Margaret. The farmers had come from far and near, and broughttheir wives and babies; and the Corner fellows had got this gorgeousuniform made, and bought out all the red flannel in the county; and herewere these two wretched chumps down with mumps."
"Oh! but Phil," cried Margaret, "they didn't do it on purpose, poorthings; and think how they were suffering! You are heartless, I think."
"They would have suffered more if the Baked Beans had got hold of them,"said Phil, with a grin; "or the other fellows either, for that matter.But as it turned out, it was the best thing that could have happened forthe Beans. He wasn't much of a pitcher."
"What do you mean?" asked Willy, beginning to be interested. "Did theyget another pitcher?"
"Did they? Well, I should remark! I let on in a casual way that theformer pitcher of a certain college team was not more than a hundredmiles from the spot at that moment. You should have seen that fellow'sface, Margaret. It really was a study. Perfect bewilderment for aminute, and then--well, I believe he would have gone down on all foursand carried Jerry to the field if he would not have gone in any otherway."
"Oh! please, Phil. I am bewildered, too. Is Gerald a--a pitcher?"
"Is he? My child, he is the great original North American jug."
"Oh, pooh!" said Gerald. "Don't be an ass, Ferguson! You are as good afirst-baseman as I am pitcher, any day. Of course we were glad to helpthem out, though I drew the line at scarlet breeches. My mother's angryshade hovered above me and forbade.
"'Go fight in fortune's deepest ditches, But oh, avoid the scarlet breeches!'
I could hear her say it. So I told him that my hair and my temper werethe only red I ever wore, and he submitted, though sadly. So we played;and it was a great game. And we smote them hip and thigh, even to thegoing down of the sun; or would have, if the day had been shorter. Philmade three runs, Will."
"Jerry made three more Will," said Phil; "and pitched like one o'clock,I tell you. I never saw you play better, Obadiah. Those last balls wereperfect peaches. I wish you had seen the game, Margaret."
"So do I," said Margaret. "I have never seen a game of baseball."
"Oh! I say!" cried Phil and Willy. "What a shame!"
"Where do you live?" asked Willy, in such open wonder and commiserationthat the others all laughed.
"She lives in an enchanted castle, Willy," said Gerald; "with a magicianwho keeps her in chains--of roses and pearls. He has two attendantspirits who help to keep her in durance that is not precisely vile. Howis Mrs. Cook, Margaret? Do you know, you have hardly told me anythingabout Fernley all this time? I want to know ever so many things. Whatbecame of the pretty lady whose house was burned? Do you remember that?I never shall forget it as long as I live."
"Indeed, I do!" said Margaret, blushing. "She is still abroad, Gerald. Idoubt if she ever returns, or at least not for a long time. She is well,and really happy, I think. Isn't it wonderful?"
"You didn't see Miss Wolfe come down the ladder!" said Gerald. "That wasthe most wonderful thing I ever saw. Just as she stepped out on thewindow-sill, the fire caught the hem of her skirt. I thought she wasgone that time. I was just going to drop you and run, when she stoopedand squeezed the skirts together--woollen skirts, fortunately--and putit out; and then came swinging down that rope to the ladder, and downthe ladder to the ground, as if she had been born in a circus. I tellyou, that was something to see. Pity you missed it."
"Why did she miss it?" asked Willy. "And what do you mean by droppingher, Jerry?"
Gerald, whose eyes were shining with the excitement of recollection,turned and looked down at his small brother as if suddenly recalling hisexistence.
"Margaret was--busy!" he said, briefly. "And, I say, Father William,don't you want to take my biky down and give him a feed of oats? he ishungry. See him paw the ground!" and he gave the bicycle a twirl.
"I must go," said Phil, remounting his own. "Come along, Willy, and I'llrace you to Camp."
But for once Willy held back. "I was going to take Margaret to see aredwing's nest," he said. "I promised her I would."
"Oh! Margaret will excuse you," said Phil. "Won't you, Margaret?Redwings' nests always look better in the morning, besides. Come on,boy, and I'll tell you all about the game."
Willy still hesitated, looking at Margaret; and she in her turnhesitated, blushing rosy red. "Don't let me keep you, Willy dear," shesaid. "If you would like to hear about the game--"
"_Go on_, young un!" said Gerald, in a tone of decision so unlike hisusual bantering way, that Willy stared, then yielded; and slowlymounting the bicycle, started off with Phil along the road.
They rode for some time in silence, Phil being apparently lost inthought.
"Well!" said Willy at last, in an injured tone.
"Well, what is it, Belted Will?"
"I thought you were going to tell me about the game," said Willy,moodily. "I say, Phil! I think it was awfully rude of you and Jerry toyank me off that way, when I had promised Margaret to take hersomewhere, and we were going straight there when you came along andbroke in. I don't think that's any kind of way to do, and I am sure Mawould say so, too. What do you suppose Margaret thinks of me now?"
"Ri tum ti tum ti tido!" carolled Phil. "What do I suppose she thinks ofyou, Belted One? Why, she thinks you are one of the nicest boys she eversaw; and so you are, when not in doleful dumps. See here, old chap!you'll be older before you are younger, and some day you will know ahawk from a handsaw, _or_ hernshaw, according to which reading of'Hamlet' you prefer. And now as to this game!"
He plunged into a detailed account of the great match, and soon Willy'seyes were sparkling, and his cheeks glowing, and he had forgotten allabout Margaret and the redwing's nest.
But as they crested the hill, which on the other side dipped down to thecamp, Phil glanced back along the road. Margaret and Gerald werewalking slowly, deep in talk, and did not see the wave of his hand."Heigh, ho!" said Phil; but he smiled even while he sighed.