CHICKEN LITTLE PAYS A VISIT
Mrs. Morton was sitting at her desk writing a letter. Jane hovered about inquisitively. She was almost sure it was to Mrs. Halford. And if so, she must surely be inviting Katie and Gertie. If she could only be sure. She tried in vain to get a glimpse of the heading, but her mother’s hand rested on the paper in such a way as to effectually conceal it. Mrs. Morton did not believe in encouraging curious young daughters. But opportunity was kind; some one called her mother away. She left the letter lying there partly finished. Chicken Little started joyfully across the room, but before she had reached the desk, something held her back. She had been most carefully trained as to what was honorable; sneaking was not tolerated in the Morton family.
44“No,” she said to herself regretfully, “I mustn’t peep behind her back! I couldn’t look anybody in the face if I did.”
She slowly turned away. When her mother returned, she glanced sharply at Chicken Little quietly reading on the opposite side of the room. The girl did not realize that her face proved her innocence. It was so sober that her mother felt sure she had not meddled with the letter. Jane had not learned to conceal her emotions.
Dr. and Mrs. Morton were both going to town that day. Mrs. Morton drove away without satisfying Chicken Little’s curiosity, which was probably largely responsible for what happened. Jane felt injured. She thought her mother might tell her whether she could have the girls or not. Ten days was enough time for anybody to make up her mind.
Frank and Ernest were out in the fields harrowing; Marian, busy sewing. Chicken Little soon finished the few tasks her mother had left for her and time began to hang heavy on her hands. She couldn’t seem to fix her thought on a book because she kept wondering every minute if that letter was to Mrs. Halford. She wandered out into the June sunshine and wished she could have gone to town, too. Presently she began to feel aggrieved because her parents hadn’t taken her with them.
Across the fields she could see the men at work 45and could occasionally hear them calling to the horses. She wished she had a horse to ride. The pony that was called hers by courtesy was the mainstay for the herding and she could seldom use him at this season. Finally, after digging her heels into some loose earth beside the path, she had an inspiration. She debated it a moment with herself, then slipped back into the house, combed her hair over carefully, tied it with her best ribbon, and arrayed herself in her new blue lawn which her mother had distinctly told her was to be her second best for the summer.
She smoothed it down complacently–pale blue was becoming to her clear, rosy skin–but her conscience pricked. She succeeded in lulling this annoying mentor by reasoning that her mother wouldn’t want her to go visiting in an old dress. She tried to ignore the fact that her mother hadn’t given her permission to go visiting at all.
Slipping out the back way to avoid disturbing Marian, in case she should be looking out her window or Jilly should be on the watch, Chicken Little whistled softly to Huz and Buz. The puppies were three weeks older and stronger than when Huz so nearly caused disaster, and trotted after Jane on all her tramps. She was seldom lonesome when she had them rolling and tumbling along beside her.
Making a wide detour around the white cottage, 46she struck into a faint track skirting the upper fields. There was a nearer way through the lower fields along the slough, but Frank had killed several big bull snakes there the preceding week. To be sure, these were usually harmless, but they were frightful enough to be unpleasant company. Besides, Frank or Ernest might see her and ask her where she was going.
But the fates speeded her undertaking. No one saw her save a few quail and nesting plover that whirred up at her approach and tried to lure her and the dogs away from their nests by pretending to be hurt and running a few paces ahead on the ground. Chicken Little had seen this bird ruse too often to be fooled by it, but Huz and Buz pursued each bird hopefully only to come sneaking back, when the mother bird suddenly soared off as soon as they had left the nest safely behind.
“You sillies,” Jane admonished them each time. “Won’t you ever learn not to be fooled?”
She found it delightful to loiter herself. The whole day was before her. The wild blackberry bushes along the fence still hid bunches of bloom among the half-formed berries. Clumps of white elderberry blossoms spilled their fragrance, and the wind rustling through the long stems of the weeds and prairie grass droned monotonous tunes. She found tufts of crisp sour sheep sorrel which she 47liked to nibble, while she made ladies out of the flowers, and the pups snapped at the grasshoppers and butterflies. Chicken Little was taking her time for this expedition. She knew her parents would not return before evening, and if Marian hunted her up, she would think she had gone down to eat her lunch with Frank and Ernest.
It was almost noon before she entered the belt of timber along the creek at the southern boundary of their ranch. Across the stream, she knew, lay the Clarke ranch, and she had heard the house and stables were close to the timber. Jane had resolved to call on the Captain, and going on foot, had selected the shortest route. It was over two miles between houses by the road. Further, Chicken Little, preferred that her visit should seem accidental–at least to the Captain. She hardly expected to convince her family that she had wandered over there without intending to. But she felt sure the Captain would receive her more kindly if he thought she were taking a walk and got lost. She would be very hot and tired when she arrived, and ask for a drink so politely that not even a woman-hater would have the heart to let her go on without asking her in and offering her some refreshment.
She had never been in this part of the woods before. It was very different from the timber and 48groves near the ford where they often picnicked in summer or went nutting in the fall. There, the cattle and hogs had been allowed to range, at certain seasons of the year, until most of the thick undergrowth was nicely cleared away. But the wood, here, was dark and shadowy. Dead branches and tree trunks lay where they had fallen or been torn down by storms. Weeds and flowers had grown up among these, and the wild cucumber vines and clematis festooned the rotting logs with feathery green. It was a wood full of creepy noises–noises that made one keep still and listen. The coarse grass and herbage were so rank you could scarcely see the ground. It looked decidedly snaky, Chicken Little reflected dubiously. And water moccasins were abundant along the creek, and poisonous, as her father had often warned her. Chicken Little was usually plucky when she actually saw a snake, but the snakes she feared she might see always made her panicky.
Still she hated to give up anything she had undertaken. She stood staring into the thickets for some minutes. Huz sat on his haunches beside her and stared too, whining occasionally as if he didn’t quite like the prospect either. Buz had found a gopher hole and was having a merry time trying to dig it out. She could hear the creek singing over the stones a few rods away.
49“It can’t be so awfully far,” she said aloud, “and I guess the dogs would scare away the snakes.”
Something stirred among the weeds near her. Chicken Little gave a little scream. But it was only a squirrel, as Huz immediately discovered. He barked loudly and started in pursuit, which sent Mr. Squirrel flying up a tree. Jane set her lips together firmly and started forward.
“There’s no sense in being so scary!” she admonished Huz. “Snakes most always run away as fast as ever they can, anyway.”
Nevertheless, she picked her way daintily and gave a cry of delight when after pushing a short distance into the thicket, she found an old rail fence apparently leading off in the direction she wished to go. She climbed it promptly and worked slowly along its zig zag course–a means of locomotion that was comfortingly safe, if somewhat slow. The pups complained over this desertion for they had to worm through the tangle of weeds and brambles below.
They soon reached the creek only to be confronted by a new problem. There were neither stepping stones nor a fallen log to cross upon. Chicken Little had to hunt for a shallow place, strip off her shoes and stockings, and wade. She wore good old-fashioned high laced shoes and lacing up was a tedious process. The woods were a little 50more open beyond. She had no further need of the fence–it had indolently stopped at the creek anyhow. But, alas, she had gone but a short way farther when she came to the creek again.
Chicken Little sputtered volubly to the dogs but the stream flowed placidly on. There was nothing for it, but to take off her shoes and stockings a second time, and wade. By the time she had laced them, she remembered having heard Frank say that the creek was very winding here and kept doubling back on its tracks. She was in for it, now, she decided, and might as well go ahead. It was long past noon. She was getting hungry. She did hope the woman-hater would offer her something to eat. She felt a little doubtful about her looks. Sitting down on the damp earth had left sundry grass stains and one long black streak on the dainty blue lawn, and her hair was wind blown, and mussed where some twigs had caught and pulled it.
Once more Jane unlaced those exasperating shoes, drying her feet on a woefully limp and dirty handkerchief. This time she lazily wound the lacings around her ankles until she could be sure the creek was safely behind her. Presently she heard the cackling of hens and the grunting of pigs that assured her she was nearing somebody’s farmyard.
“Gee, but I’m glad!” she muttered thankfully. She sat down and laced her boots neatly, then 51smoothing her hair and ironing out her rumpled dress with nimble fingers, she struck off joyfully in the direction of the sounds. She was approaching the house from the rear and the barn and out-buildings were soon visible through the trees. She hurried forward joyfully only to be confronted by that horrible creek flowing once more between her and her goal.
Chicken Little didn’t often lose her temper completely, but this was the last straw. “Darn,” she exclaimed spitefully, “darn you, you old creek, I’d like to beat you. I won’t take my shoes off again! I just won’t!”
She scanned the bank carefully to see if she could find any rock or log to help her out. Nothing available could be seen, but help appeared from a most unlooked for quarter. A tall, severe-looking man rose from a rustic seat behind a tree which had hidden him.
“Can I be of any service, Miss?” he asked courteously.
With an awful sinking of the heart she realized this must be Captain Clarke himself. Oh! and he must have heard her swear. Chicken Little turned the color of a very ripe strawberry and stared at him in horror.
A faint flicker of amusement lighted the man’s face.
52“Just wait an instant and I will put a board over for you, if you wish to cross.”
Jane distinctly did not wish to cross this particular moment. She wished to run home.
“Oh, I–I–please don’t go to any trouble, I oughtn’t to be here, and please I didn’t mean to swear but–but–Mother would be dreadfully ashamed of me if she knew.”
She was telling the whole truth most unexpectedly to herself. Captain Clarke surveyed her sharply but his voice seemed kind.
“You must be Dr. Morton’s daughter. Did you get lost?”
This was an embarrassing question. Jane looked at him doubtfully before replying. If she said “yes” she would be telling a lie, and if she said “no,” he would know she came on purpose. She compromised.
“I wanted to see your house awfully,” she faltered. “Ernest said it was most like a ship and I’ve never seen a ship,” a sudden remorseful thought crept into her mind. “But you mustn’t blame Mother; she didn’t know I was coming.”
The Captain’s eyes lost their severe look–the suspicion of a twinkle lurked in their blue depths.
“I see, you didn’t wish to embarrass Mother, so you came without leave. I am honored by your visit, Miss—”
53“Jane, but people don’t call me Miss, except Dick Harding, and he does it for a joke. I’m only thirteen.”
The Captain was sliding a stout plank across a narrow part of the stream. This accomplished, he came half way across and held out his hand. “Come, I’ll help you over.”
Chicken Little didn’t in the least need assistance. She was as sure-footed as a young goat, but she was too much overcome by this delicate attention to refuse. Placing her hand gingerly in his, she let him lead her across, then followed meekly up to the low white house. It was a one-story structure, divided in the middle by a roofed gallery. The entire building was surrounded by a broad veranda, open to the sky, and enclosed by a rope railing run through stout oak posts. The Captain gravely assisted her up the steps.
“I call this my quarter-deck,” he explained, seeing the question in her eyes. “I have been accustomed to pacing a deck for so many years that I didn’t feel at home without a stretch of planking to walk on.”
“Oh, isn’t it nice? I’ve seen pictures of people on ships. My mother came from England on a sailing vessel. I’m sure I’d just love the ocean!”
Captain Clarke smiled at her encouragingly but made no reply.
54Chicken Little rambled on nervously. She was decidedly in awe of her host but having begun to talk, it seemed easier to keep on than to stop.
“I guess it must be wonderful out at sea when the sun is coming up. Sometimes I get up early and go out on the prairie to watch it. It just keeps on getting lighter and lighter till finally the sun bobs up like a great smiling face. I always feel as if it were saying ‘Good morning, Jane.’ I suppose it’s a lot grander at sea where you can’t see a single thing but miles and miles of waves. Why, I should think you’d feel as if there wasn’t anybody in the world but you and God. I always feel a lot more religious outdoors than I do in church. But Mother says that’s just a notion. But, you know, the people are always so funny and solemn in church and the ministers most all talk through their noses or say ‘Hm-n’ to fill in when they don’t know what to say next. But, oh dear, I guess you’ll think I’m dreadful! And please don’t think I swear that way often. I haven’t for ever so long before.”
The Captain’s face twitched, but he replied gravely:
“Don’t worry about the ‘Darn,’ child, I’ve heard worse oaths, though I believe young girls are not supposed to use strong language. I feel as you do about church and the outdoors. I find it irksome 55to be cooped up anywhere. But come in, and I will have Wing Fan give you some pigeon pot-pie. We had a famous one for dinner and you surely must be hungry. Afterwards, I’ll show you through The Prairie Maid as I sometimes call this craft.”
Chicken Little began to feel at home. “And to think Ernest said he didn’t like women and girls! Pooh, I knew he was just fooling.”
Wing Fan found other things beside the pot-pie, and Chicken Little was soon feasting luxuriously with the Chinaman waiting on her most deferentially. Her host watched her with a keener interest, had she but known it, than he had shown in any human being for many months.
He was a man of fifty odd. Naturally reticent, his long voyages in command of merchant vessels had fostered an aloofness and love of solitude, which had later been intensified by a great grief. His stern bearing had repelled his country neighbors in the year he had lived on Big John. He was satisfied that it should be so, yet he was intensely lonely.
But Chicken Little knew nothing of all this. The thick sprinkling of white in his black hair and the deep lines in his face, made her entirely comfortable–they were just like Father’s. She was too curious to verify Ernest’s tales of the queer house, 56to give much attention to her host at first. She stared around her with wide eyes. Yes, there were the funny little built-in cupboards and window seats, and the plate racks, and the shelves that let down with gilt chains. Every single thing was painted white. “My, how lovely and clean it all looked!” And the blue Chinese panels; she had never seen anything like them. And there were five pictures of ships.
Even the dishes were a marvel to her. Jane had seen plenty of fine china but never any so curious as this old Blue Canton with its landscapes and quaint figures. The Captain was pleased with her ingenuous admiration.
When she had finished her dinner, he took her across the gallery to his library, a room seldom shown to the residents of the creek. Even Ernest and Frank hadn’t seen it, Jane learned later. This apartment was quite as marvellous as the dining-room. A long, low room it was, with many lacquered and carved cabinets and tables. The wall space above these was pictureless, but two great ivory tusks were crossed over a doorway. Above the fireplace rows of weapons were ranged–queer swords and daggers with gold and mother-of-pearl on their hilts, a ship’s cutlass, several scimitars, and the strangest guns and pistols. Chicken Little was fascinated with the frightful array. A huge bearskin 57lay on the floor among strange, beautifully colored rugs, which reminded her of her mother’s India shawl. Rugs where queer stiff little men and animals that looked as if a child had drawn them, wandered about among curlicues and odd geometrical patterns. A tiger-skin, head and dangling claws distressingly lifelike, hung in the middle of one wall. She was spell-bound for a few minutes with the strangeness of it all.
Her host seemed to enjoy her wonder. He explained most patiently a great compass set on a tripod in one corner. After she had roamed and gazed to her heart’s content, he opened the locked cabinets, and let her take miniature ebony elephants from Siam into her hands. He had her look through a reading glass at intricate ivory carvings, so tiny, it did not seem that human fingers could ever have wrought them. There were boxes of sandalwood and ugly heathen idols with leering faces. The drawers were crowded with prints and embroideries. The Captain pulled one out that had girl’s things in it. She caught a glimpse of a spangled scarf, and fans and laces, even gay-colored beads. But he shut this drawer hastily. She did not have time to wonder much about this incident just then, but she thought about it a good deal afterwards. The things looked quite new as if they had never been used.
58Chicken Little had natural taste and had read more than most girls of her age. She handled the Captain’s curios reverently, drinking in eagerly his explanations and the strange tales of where he had found these wonders.
So absorbed were they both, that the shadows were lengthening before Captain Clarke realized the afternoon was slipping away, and that home folk might be disturbed if he kept his young guest too long. Chicken Little was distressed too.
“Oh, I’m afraid Father and Mother will get home before I do. They’ll be awfully worried!”
“You mustn’t try to go back through the woods. They are too dense to be a very safe route for a child, and it would be dark before you could reach home. I’ll have one of the men hitch up, and I’ll drive you over.”
Chicken Little commenced to fidget. It would not make her coming scolding any lighter, if her parents learned that the Captain had felt in duty bound to bring her home. But she did not wish to be rude and it was a long walk by the road.
Captain Clarke saw she was disturbed and began to laugh. Her naïvete charmed him.
“If my program doesn’t suit you, won’t you tell me what is wrong? I haven’t enjoyed anything so much in years as your visit, my dear. I should like to pay my debt by doing whatever you would like.”
59Jane was radiant by the time he had finished.
“Didn’t you truly mind my coming? You aren’t just being polite?”
“Mind? Child, if you ever come to be as lonesome and as old as I am, you will know what a comfort it has been to have anyone as young and sweet and fresh as you are, around. Just a moment, I want to show you one thing more.”
He went into his bedroom and returned with an old photograph. It was a likeness of a two-year-old child.
She took a good look at it, then turned to her host.
“It is the picture of the little boy I–I–lost. He was my only one. He–he would be seventeen now.”
“Why that’s just Ernest’s age!”
“Your brother? The one who was here the other evening?”
“Yes, he was seventeen his last birthday. I’m so sorry you lost your little boy.” Chicken Little slipped her hand into his to express her sympathy.
The Captain did not reply except with an answering pressure. She laid the picture down gently.
“He was a beautiful baby–it almost seems to me I’ve seen someone who looks like him–especially the eyes. And that merry little twist to his mouth. 60I can’t seem to think who it is.” Jane puckered her forehead and the Captain observed her closely.
“Was it some boy?” He seemed interested in this resemblance.
“Yes, how silly of me not to remember. It’s Sherman Dart, one of Ernest’s old friends back in Centerville.”
“Centerville? That is in Illinois, is it not?”
“Yes, where we used to live. And the eyes are exactly like Sherm’s and Sherm always twisted his mouth crooked like that when he smiled.”
“This boy, he wasn’t an orphan, was he?”
“Oh no, Mr. and Mrs. Dart are both living though Mr. Dart’s been sick a long time.”
The Captain seemed to have lost interest.
“Well, my dear, am I to have the pleasure of driving you home–I’m afraid your parents will be distressed about you.”
Jane had a bright idea.
“Captain Clarke,” she spoke rather hesitatingly.
“Yes?”
“Would you mind–of course it sounds awful of me to ask you–but–it’d be so much easier for me with Mother if you’d just tell her, oh, what you said about my being a comfort and not bothering.”
Chicken Little was both ashamed and eager.
The Captain threw back his head and laughed until the tears came into his eyes.
61“My dear, I’ll make this call all right with your mother, never fear, for I want you to come again. I am going to ask her if you and Ernest can’t both honor me by coming to dinner next Sunday.”
He was as good as his word but when Chicken Little went to bed her mother said sorrowfully: “Chicken Little, I shan’t scold you because I promised Captain Clarke I would let you off this time–but I didn’t think you would do such a thing–behind my back, too.”
And her mother had asked Katy and Gertie! She had told her after she came home that evening.
A CHERRY PENANCE
Chicken Little awoke the next morning with a bad taste in her mouth. She was ashamed to have grieved her mother by her escapade the day before, especially when Mother was undertaking all this extra trouble for her happiness. But she just couldn’t be sorry she had gone to the Captain’s! It would be something to remember all her life. She gave a skip of delight every time she thought of all the lovely things–and the Captain’s stories. No, she simply couldn’t be sorry, but she knew Mother expected her to be sorry. Of course, she might have got acquainted with him some other way, but her father wouldn’t promise ever to take her. “Little girls have too much curiosity for their own good, Humbug,” was all she had been able to get from him.
63She could see at breakfast that Mother expected an apology right away. She could feel disapproval in her good morning and in the way she kissed her. Mother seemed to have the power to make her feel mean and guilty all over. But she wasn’t sorry.
While they were doing the dishes she told her mother all about the wonderful things she had seen. Mrs. Morton listened in silence. She was waiting. Chicken Little heaved a deep sigh and did her best.
“I know it was wrong for me to go without permission, Mother, and I won’t ever do it again, and I think you’re just beautiful to ask Katy and Gertie. I’ll help every single bit I can; you see if I don’t.”
“I am glad you realize you did very wrong, little daughter, is that all you have to say to me?”
Chicken Little looked at her Mother and fidgeted. Her Mother returned her look gravely. Still she couldn’t–it would be fibbing if she did. The silence became oppressive.
“You may go and pick a couple of quarts of cherries, Jane.” Mrs. Morton handed her the tin lard pail, searching her face once more.
It was a glorious June morning and Jane enjoyed picking cherries. Marian saw her and came too, establishing Jilly comfortably at the foot of the tree with a rubber doll and the two pups as companions. Jilly was usually a placid baby and she settled down contentedly to trimming up her doll 64with dandelions. Buz, the indolent, curled himself at her feet and was asleep inside of five minutes, but Huz looked up longingly into the tree at Jane. He seemed to be racking his doggish brain as to the best method of reaching her. He kept making little futile leaps, whining impatiently. Finally, he stood up on his hind legs, planted his fore paws against the tree trunk, and barked dolefully. Jane bent down and mischievously dropped a cherry into his open mouth. Huz choked, sputtered, and after a first rapturous crunch, hastily deposited the acid fruit upon the ground. He looked reproachfully at Chicken Little.
“There now,” said Marian, “he’ll never trust you again.” Marian raced Chicken Little with the cherry picking and the pails were filled far too soon.
“Jane,” said Marian as she started reluctantly back to the house, “if Mother Morton can spare you this morning to help me pick them, I believe I’ll get some cherries to put up–there are loads ripe this morning.”
“I’d love to, Marian, I’ll take these in and find out if she’ll let me.”
She came flying back in a jiffy with two big milk pails. “All right, Mother says I may help you till noon.”
They had a merry morning. The cherry trees lined the lane which was also a public road, and several 65neighbors going by, stopped to exchange a few words. Mr. Benton had his joke, for he discovered Jane swinging up in the topmost boughs and reaching still higher for certain unusually luscious ones that eluded her covetous fingers.
“Well, Mrs. Morton,” he said, addressing Marian and ignoring Chicken Little, “that’s the largest variety of robin I’ve ever seen in these parts. I ’low you must have brought the seed from the east with you. You wouldn’t mind if I took a shot at it, I ’spose. ’Pears like birds of that size must be mighty destructive to cherries.”
“Why Mr. Benton, we shouldn’t like to have you kill our birds; we’re attached to them. But you are mistaken, that isn’t a robin, it’s a Jane bird–they’re rare around here.”
Mr. Benton laughed and Chicken Little got even by hurling a big cluster of cherries at him. She aimed them at his lap, but they struck him full in the face to her great glee.
“Well now, them Jane birds ain’t so bad.” Mr. Benton remarked eating the fruit with a relish.
The morning sped by briskly. Jilly created a diversion by getting her small self into trouble. Marian noticed that she was picking something off the tree trunk and putting it into the pocket of her little ruffled apron.
66“What’s Jilly getting there? Can you see, Chicken Little?”
Chicken Little twisted and peered until she could take a good look.
“Why–Marian, I do believe it’s ants! The silly baby–they’ll bite her!”
Marian hurried down the tree to rescue her offspring, but not before Jilly set up a wail of anguish.
“Naughty sings bite Jilly!” she moaned, as her Mother picked the small tormentors off her arms and bare legs. But Jilly was a sunny child, and as soon as the pain eased, found a smile and remarked complacently: “Ants bite Jilly, too bad, too bad!”
Jane braced herself firmly in a crotch where the red fruit was thickest and picked mechanically while she unburdened her mind of the previous day’s doings. She chattered about her adventures till Marian could have repeated every word of her conversation with the Captain off by heart, and might have given a pretty accurate inventory of his possessions, or at least the portion of them that Jane had seen.
Marian was genuinely interested and liked to hear Chicken Little tell it all, but she wondered what Mrs. Morton had thought about the junketing.
“But what did your Mother say, dear?” she asked finally.
“She didn’t like it.”
67“You didn’t suppose she would, did you?”
“N-o-o, but—”
“Yes?”
“I’d never have got to go if I’d waited for permission. And, Marian,” Chicken Little thought it was time to change the subject, “how do you make yourself be sorry, when you ought to be and aren’t?”
Marian wanted to laugh but she saw her young sister had not intended to be funny. She half guessed the situation.
“Why Jane, I hardly know, the old monks used to set themselves penances to atone for their sins.”
“Did it make them really sorry? Do you think?”
“Well, yes, I should think it must have or they would never have had the courage to persist in them. Some of their penances were terribly severe such as beating themselves with knotted ropes, but I shouldn’t advise anything of that kind for you. You might try to make up for your fault in some way. Perhaps you might give up something you like very much.”
Jane didn’t say anything more, and it was a day or two later before Marian learned the effect of her words.
The cherry trees seemed full as ever after they had gathered all Marian wanted, and in the evening 68Mrs. Morton sent Chicken Little out to gather more for her. Marian offered to help her, and they were once more aloft in the trees when Mr. Benton returned from town.
Marian began to chuckle.
“He’ll think we have been here all day, Jane. Let’s pretend we have.”
“Dear me, Mr. Benton, back so soon. How fast the day has gone by. Jane, you must be awfully hungry, I hadn’t realized it was so late!”
“Well now, time does beat everything for speed, but I ’lowed it was only our ancestors as lived in trees all the time, Mrs. Morton. But then I’ve heard they’re gettin’ a lot of new-fangled ways down east. You’re not calculatin’ to take up your residence permanent like in them cherry trees, are you? In case you don’t want the cottage any more, we might move it over to our place just by way of being neighborly.”
“Thank you, Mr. Benton, I’ll remember your kind offer if it ever gets in our way.”
It was not many days before the mail brought a grateful letter from Mrs. Halford, and ecstatic ones from the girls, in reply to Mrs. Morton’s invitation. They would arrive with Alice and Dick and Sherm–for Sherm was coming, too–on the twentieth.
“Not quite two weeks. That means we must begin 69getting ready at once, and you mustn’t think because we have a servant coming, that you won’t need to help, Jane. One girl can’t do all the work for so many.”
Chicken Little had not yet said she was sorry and her Mother was inclined to be severe with her in consequence. Mrs. Morton was rather worried, too, because she had seemed pale and listless for two or three days past. But when she asked if she were not feeling well, Chicken Little had replied carelessly:
“Why, I’m all right, Mother.”
They were hurrying to get the cherry crop cared for before the guests arrived. There would be enough to do after they came to keep them all busy without preserving, Mrs. Morton declared. One day when they were seeding cherries, Marian noticed that Jane was eating only half ripe ones.
“What on earth are you eating those green things for, child?”
“Oh, just for fun.”
“Well, it won’t be funny if you eat many of them. I don’t know anything that’ll make you sick quicker than green cherries. They’re acid enough when they’re ripe.”
In the hurry of preparing for the guests, Marian thought nothing further about it. Three nights later, Dr. Morton wakened them at midnight to 70know if they had any calomel. “The Chicken’s mighty sick,” he said. “And I gave the last I had to Mrs. Benton for Mary.”
“I haven’t any calomel, Father, but I’ve got some castor oil,” Marian announced after some rummaging.
“That will go hard with Jane, she loathes it. But she’ll have to take it down I guess. I can’t imagine what ails her, she’s vomiting and has a high fever.”
A sudden recollection struck Marian.
“Maybe she has been eating too many cherries.”
“Ripe cherries oughtn’t to hurt her and they have been plentiful so long, I shouldn’t think she would overeat.”
“But I have seen her eating them when they weren’t ripe. I believe that’s what is the matter.”
“I hope so, I have been a little afraid of scarlet fever from her symptoms.” Dr. Morton seemed relieved.
When he had gone, Marian turned to Frank. She had been recalling several things and putting them together.
“Frank Morton, I verily believe that sister of yours has been eating half-ripe cherries for a penance.”
“Penance? Penance for what?”
71“I don’t exactly know, but it has something to do with her running off to the Captain’s.”
“Well, if she’s as big a fool as all that, she deserves to have a stomach ache. Come, stop worrying.”
“But Frank, I’m afraid I’m the guilty one who suggested the idea to her. Goodness knows, I hadn’t the slightest intention of doing so.” Marian related the whole story.
“Well, Sis certainly gets queer notions into her head, but it may not be that at all. Anyhow, you can’t do anything to-night.”
A very pallid forlorn girl sat propped up in bed about noon the following day. The family, having discovered that it was nothing serious, and that she had probably brought it on by her own folly, were not sympathetic.
“What in the dickens did you want to go and eat green cherries for, when there were pounds and pounds of ripe ones going to waste on the trees?” Ernest’s look of utter disgust was hard to bear.
Frank came over with a handful of minute green walnuts interspersed with a choice assortment of gooseberries and green plums. He handed them to her with a mocking bow.
“In case you get hungry, Jane dear, I thought you might like to have a supply of your favorite food on hand.”
72Chicken Little thanked him spunkily, but when the door closed behind him, she buried her face in the pillow and mourned over her woes.
“I’ll never try to be good again, so there, and I think they’re all just as mean as can be.”
Her pillow was getting wetter and wetter and her spirits closer and closer to zero, when the door gently opened and her father came in.
“Why Chicken Little, crying? This won’t do. Come, tell Father what’s the matter. You aren’t feeling worse, are you?”
Chicken Little swallowed hard and did her best to choke back the tears, but the tears having been distinctly encouraged for the past ten minutes had too good a start to be easily checked. Dr. Morton gathered her into his arms and patted and soothed her till she was able to summon a moist smile.
“Hurry up and tell me now–a trouble shared is a trouble half cured, you know.”
But Jane was beginning to be ashamed of herself.
“’Tisn’t anything really, Father, only I feel so miserable and the boys have been making fun of me.”
“Making fun, what about?”
“Oh, just because.”
“Because what, out with it!”
“Because I ate green cherries, I suppose.”
73“How long have you been eating green cherries, Jane?”
Jane considered. “Most a week.”
“And don’t you think you deserve to be laughed at, for doing anything so foolish?”
“They didn’t laugh at the monks–and they were grown-up men.”
“Monks? What do you mean?”
“Well, I just guess they did things that made them sicker than eating green cherries, and I didn’t intend to eat enough to make me sick, but I didn’t seem to feel any sorrier and—”
Chicken Little was stopped suddenly by the expression of her Father’s face. He tried to control himself but the laugh would come.
When they had finally got the atmosphere cleared a bit, he inquired, still smiling: “Well, are you sorry now you went to the Captain’s?”
Chicken Little smiled back. “No, I’m just sorry I grieved Mother.”
“Then suppose we vote this penance idea a failure and don’t try it again.”
The next few days were so full of the bustle of preparation that Jane soon forgot she had ever been sick. Further, there was a mystery on foot. She and Ernest had not been permitted to accept the Captain’s invitation to dinner for reasons that Mrs. Morton explained with great care to that gentleman. 74But he had been invited over to dine with them. He was so reserved and silent on this occasion that both Mrs. Morton and Marian wondered at Jane’s devotion. After dinner he had a long conversation with Dr. Morton and Ernest, and no teasing on Jane’s part could extract the faintest hint from either as to what it had been about.
“It was about your going to Annapolis, I bet.”
“Nope, you’re a long way off. We didn’t say anything more than what you and Mother heard. Father’s written to the Senator. Captain Clarke got him all enthused; the Captain promised to write, too. But you’ll never guess the other, and it has something to do with you.”
She had been obliged to give it up. Ernest had at length reached an age where he could keep a secret. The exasperating part of it was that Ernest was going over to Captain Clarke’s every evening and she wasn’t asked once. Her pride was so hurt that she came near being sorry she had gone to see the Captain.
The evening before the fateful twentieth, Mrs. Morton and Jane were putting the last touches on the guest room and on Chicken Little’s own chamber, which Katy and Gertie were to share with her. The fresh fluted muslin curtains were looped back primly. The guest room had been freshly papered with a dainty floral design, in which corn flowers 75and wheat ears clustered with faint hued impossible blossoms, known only to designers. Both rooms looked fresh and cool and summery, and the windows opening out upon the garden and orchard revealed also wide stretches of the prairie beyond.
Chicken Little had re-arranged the furniture in her room at least six times in a resolute endeavor to get the best possible effect. Marian had given her a picture of some long stemmed pink roses that exactly matched the buds in her paper, and she had begged an old Japanese fan from her Mother. This was decorated with a remarkably healthy pink sunset on a gray green ground, and she tacked it up as a finishing touch above the bed lounge, which was destined to be a bone of contention among the three little girls for the remainder of the summer. At first, not one of the three was willing to be cast upon this desert island of a bed, while the other two were whispering secrets in the big walnut four-poster. But as the weather grew hotter, the advantages of sleeping alone became more obvious, and they had to settle the matter by taking turns. Chicken Little did her very best to make her room look like the Captain’s, but except for her Mother’s concession of fresh white paint, a few books on a shelf, and the foreign fan, it was hard to detect any very marked resemblance. Nevertheless, both 76Jane and her Mother gazed upon their handiwork with deep satisfaction.
“If Annie will only stay through the summer,” sighed Mrs. Morton, “she is doing so beautifully I’m afraid she is too good to last. But I mustn’t borrow trouble. If she deserts me, our guests will simply have to turn in and help, much as I should dislike to have them.”
Ernest came in to supper so excited he could scarcely eat. And Dr. Morton seemed almost as interested as Ernest. They were both provokingly mysterious during the entire meal, talking over Jane’s head in a way that was maddening.
“Does Mother know?” she demanded finally.
“Yes, Mother knows. I tell Mother when I go over to the Captain’s.”
“Come now, Ernest, that’s been harped on enough,” said Dr. Morton, then turning to Jane, “If you will hurry and get into your riding habit, you shall know the secret inside of an hour.”
It is needless to say that Chicken Little hurried. The black brilliantine skirt fairly flew over her head, the border of shot in its hem rapping her rudely as it slid to the floor with a thud.
“Oh dear, I don’t see why girls have to wear such long, silly skirts and ride sidewise. It’s so much easier to ride man fashion.”
77Chicken Little had been permitted to ride man fashion since she had been on the ranch, for safety. But this year her Mother had decided she was too big to be playing the boy any longer, and had made her a woman’s habit, in spite of the Doctor’s protests. Jane was proud of the smart basque with its long tails and glittering rows of steel buttons, but she loathed the skirt.
Hastily fastening the black velvet band with its dangling jet fringe below her stiff linen collar, she cast a parting glance at the oval mirror and skurried down the stairs, not stopping for such small matters as gloves or cap or even her beloved riding whip. Ordinarily, she would not have budged without the whip. It had been a Christmas present from Ernest and was her special pride. Her haste was in vain. After one look, her Mother sent her back for cap and gloves. “I do not wish my daughter riding around bareheaded like some half wild thing. I don’t mind on the ranch, but when you go abroad I wish you to look like a lady.”
Jane reluctantly obeyed and did not forget the whip this time. She had a fresh rebuff when she reached the road. Instead of the saddle horses she expected to see, Dr. Morton and Ernest were awaiting her in the spring wagon.
“Why, Father, I thought you said to put on my riding habit.”
78“Maybe I did. But never mind, jump in just as you are–it’s getting a little late.”
Chicken Little tried to hide her disappointment. She maintained a dignified silence until they had crossed the ford and Ernest turned the horses toward Captain Clarke’s.
“Oh, it’s at the Captain’s.”
Her Father nodded and began talking carelessly to Ernest about putting the orchard in clover another year. She saw there was no information to be had, until he was good and ready. Ernest took pity on her, however, just as they turned in the Captain’s gate.
“In exactly six minutes you will see the surprise, even if you don’t recognize it.”
Chicken Little strained her eyes half expecting to see Katy or Gertie appear miraculously from nowhere. But they drove into the door yard without seeing anything or anybody that could possibly interest her.
The Captain was evidently watching for them. He helped her down from the high wagon in his most courtly manner.
“I am consumed with curiosity to know whether you have pried the secret from that brother of yours. I infer you have from your habit.”
“Habit?” Jane glanced swiftly from her host’s 79quizzical face to her father and Ernest. They were both smiling broadly.
“Oh, it has something to do with horses–but—”
She never finished the sentence for at that moment one of the Captain’s hands appeared leading two Indian ponies, one a red and white piebald with a red blanket and side saddle; the other a black, with a blue blanket and a Mexican cowboy’s equipment.
She stared at the horses and she stared at the Captain, not daring to even hope what had come into her mind. Captain Clarke took the bridle off the piebald and held down his hand for her foot.
“Up with you, I have persuaded your Father to share his children with me to the extent of letting me add something to your pleasure and that of your guests this summer. Ernest, however, has left me his debtor in advance, for he has not only finished breaking these in to the saddle but he has tamed the worst-tempered colt on the place as well.”
Chicken Little was surprised to see Ernest flush up and stammer.
“Why I–I don’t want any pay–I was glad to help out a neighbor.”
“That’s exactly what I am going to ask you to do, my boy, to help me out by letting me feel that I can still give somebody pleasure. The ponies are part of a large herd I bought in Texas and cost 80me very little. I have argued this all out with your Father and he understands my feeling. Won’t you be as generous?”
Before Ernest could answer, Chicken Little reached up both arms and gave the speaker a hug and a kiss that were warm enough to satisfy the loneliest heart. Before she had released him, Ernest had hold of his hand and was trying to make up by the vigor of his hand shake for the embarrassing dumbness which had seized him.
Dr. Morton relieved the situation by remarking mischievously:
“Ask Ernest who’s surprised now, Chicken Little?”