Had the ground opened and disgorged the town, men, women and children could hardly have appeared upon the scene with more startling promptitude than they appeared within five minutes after Constance’s discovery of the smoke. How they got there only those who manage to get to every fire before the alarm ceases to sound can explain, and, as usual, there arrived with them the over-officious, and the over-zealous.
As Constance and Eleanor rushed into the house, the multitude rushed across the grounds and followed them hotfoot, while one, more level-headed than his fellows, hastened to the nearest fire-box to turn in an alarm.
Meanwhile Mammy had also smelt the smoke, and as the girls ran through the front hall she came through the back one crying:
“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake wha’ done happen? De house gwine burn down on top our haids?”
“Quick, Mammy. It’s Eleanor’s room,” cried Constance as she flew up the stairs.
Mammy needed no urging. In one second she had grasped the situation and was up in Mrs. Carruth’s room dragging forth such articles and treasures as she knew to be most valued and piling them into a blanket. There was little time to waste for the flames had made considerable headway when discovered and were roaring wildly through the upper floor when the fire apparatus arrived. Mrs. Carruth was out driving with a friend and Jean was off with her beloved Amy Fletcher.
Only those who have witnessed such a scene can form any adequate idea of the confusion which followed that outburst of smoke from Eleanor’s windows. Men ran hither and thither carrying from the burning house whatever articles they could lay their hands upon, to drop them from the windows to those waiting below to catch them. Firemen darted in and out, apparently impervious to either flames or smoke, directing their hose where the streams would prove most effectual and sending gallons of water upon the darting flames. The fact that the fire had started in the third-story saved many articles from destruction by the flames, although the deluge of water which flooded the house and poured down the stairways like miniature Niagaras speedily ruined what the flames spared.
Eleanor rushed toward her room but was quickly driven back by a burst of flames and smoke that nearly suffocated her, while Constance flew to Jean’s and her own room, meanwhile calling directions to Mammy. Five minutes, however, from the time they entered the house they were forced to beat a retreat, encountering as they ran Miss Jerusha Pike, a neighbor who never missed any form of excitement or interesting occurrence in her neighborhood.
“What can I do? Have you saved your ma’s clothes? Did you get out that mirror that belonged to your great-grandmother?” she cried, as she laid a detaining hand upon Constance’s arm.
“I don’t know, Miss Pike. Come out quick. It isn’t safe to stay here another second. We must let the men save what they can. Come.”
“No! No! I must save your grandmother’s mirror. I know just where it hangs. You get out quick. I won’t be a second. Go!”
“Never mind the mirror, there are other things more valuable than that,” cried Eleanor as she tugged at the determined old lady’s arm. But Miss Pike was not to be deterred and rushed away to the second story in spite of them.
“She’ll be burned to death! I know she will,” wailed Constance, as a man ran across the hall calling:
“Miss Carruth, Miss Constance, where are you? You must get out of here instantly!”
“Oh, Mr. Stuyvesant, Miss Pike has gone up to mother’s room and I must go after her.”
“You must do nothing of the sort. Come out at once both of you. I’ll see to her when I’ve got you to a place of safety,” and without more ado Hadyn Stuyvesant hurried them both from the house to the lawn, where a motley crowd was gathered, and their household goods and chattels were lying about in the utmost confusion, while other articles, escorted by various neighbors, were being borne along the street to places of safety. One extremely proper and precise maiden lady was struggling along under an armful of Mr. Carruth’s dress-shirts and pajamas brought forth from nobody knew where. A portly matron, with the tread of a general, followed her with a flatiron in one hand and a tiny doll in the other, while behind her a small boy of eight staggered beneath the weight of a wash boiler.
“Where is Mammy? O where is Mammy?” cried Eleanor, clasping her hands and looking toward the burning building.
“Here me! Here me!” answered Mammy’s voice as she hurried toward them with a great bundle of rescued articles. “I done drug dese yer t’ings f’om de burer in yo’ ma’s room an’ do you keep tight fas’ ’em ’twell I come back. Mind now what I’se telling’ yo’ kase dere’s t’ings in dar dat she breck her heart ter lose. I’se gwine back fer sumpin’ else.”
“O Mammy! Mammy, don’t go. You’ll be burned to death,” cried Constance, laying her hand upon Mammy’s arm to restrain her.
“You mustn’t Mammy! You mustn’t,” echoed Eleanor.
“Stay here with the girls, Mammy, and let me get whatever it is you are bent upon saving,” broke in Hadyn Stuyvesant.
“Aint no time for argufying,” cried Mammy, her temper rising at the opposition. “You chillun stan’ dar an’ tek kere ob dat bundle, lak I tell yo’ an’ yo’, Massa Stuyv’sant, come ’long back wid me,” was the ultimatum, and, laughing in spite of the gravity of the situation, Hadyn Stuyvesant followed Mammy whom he ever afterward called the General.
As they hurried back to the kitchen entrance the one farthest removed from the burning portion of the building, Mammy’s eyes were seemingly awake to every thing, and her tongue loosed of all bounds. As they neared the dining-room someone was dropping pieces of silver out of the window to someone else who stood just below it with skirts outspread to catch the articles.
“Ain’ dat de very las’ bit an’ grain o’ nonsense?” panted Mammy. “Dey’s a-heavin’ de silver plate outen de winder, an’ bangin’ it all ter smash stidder totin’ it froo’ de back do’, and fo’ Gawd’s sake look dar, Massa Stuyv’sant! Dar go de’ lasses!” cried Mammy, her hands raised above her head as her words ended in a howl of derision, for, overcome with excitement the person who was dropping the pieces of silver had deliberately turned the syrup-jug bottom-side up and deluged the person below with the contents. Had he felt sure that it would have been his last Hadyn Stuyvesant could not have helped breaking into peals of laughter, nor was the situation rendered less absurd by the sudden reappearance of Miss Pike clasping the treasured mirror to her breast and crying:
“Thank heaven! Thank heaven I’m alive and have saved it. Where, where are those dear girls that I may deliver this priceless treasure into their hands?”
“Out yonder near the hedge, Miss Pike. I’m thankful you escaped. They are much concerned about you. Better get along to them quick; I’m under Mammy’s orders,” answered Hadyn when he could speak.
Off hurried the zealous female while Hadyn Stuyvesant followed Mammy who was fairly snorting with indignation.
“Dat ’oman certain’y do mak’ me mad. Dat lookin’ glass! Huh! I reckons when Miss Jinny git back an’ find what happen she aint goin’ ter study ’bout no lookin’ glasses. No suh! She be studyin’ ’bout whar we all gwine put our haids dis yere night. An’ dat’s what I done plan fer,” concluded Mammy laying vigorous hold of a great roll of bedding which she had carried to a place of safety just outside the kitchen porch. “Please, suh, tek’ holt here an’ holp me get it out yander ter de stable, I’se done got a sight o’ stuff out dere a-reddy,” and sure enough Mammy, unaided, had carried enough furniture, bedding and such articles as were absolutely indispensable for living, out to the stable to enable the family to “camp out” for several days, and with these were piled the garments hastily snatched from the clothes-lines, Baltie mounting guard over all. Mrs. Carruth had not been so very far wrong when she told Mammy she believed she could move the house if necessity arose.
Meanwhile Miss Pike and her rescued mirror had reached the hedge, the girls breathing a sigh of relief when they saw her bearing triumphantly down upon them.
“There! There! If I never do another deed as long as I live I shall feel that I have not lived in vain! What would your poor mother have said had she returned to find this priceless heirloom destroyed,” she cried, as she rested the mirror against a tree trunk and clasped her hands in rapture at sight of it.
“Perhaps mother might ask first whether we had been rescued,” whispered Constance, but added quickly, “there is mother now. O I wonder who told her,” for just then a carriage was driven rapidly to the front gate and as the girls ran toward it Mrs. Carruth stepped quickly from it. She was very white and asked almost breathlessly, “Girls, girls, is anyone hurt? Are you all safe? Where’s Mammy?”
“We are all safe mother, Mammy is here. Don’t be frightened. We have done everything possible and the fire is practically out now,” said Constance, passing her arm about her mother who was trembling violently.
“Don’t be alarmed, mother. It isn’t really so dreadful as it might have been; it truly isn’t,” said Eleanor soothingly. “Loads of things have been saved.”
“Yes, Mammy has outgeneraled us all, Mrs. Carruth,” cried Hadyn Stuyvesant, who now came hurrying upon the scene. “I guess she has shown more sense than all the rest of us put together, for she’s kept her head.”
“And oh, my dear! My dear, if all else were lost there is one invaluable treasure spared to you! Come with me. I saved it for you with my own hands. Come!” cried Miss Pike, as she slipped her arm through Mrs. Carruth’s and hurried her willy-nilly across the lawn.
There was the little round mirror in its quaint old-fashioned frame leaning against the tree and reflecting all the weird scene in its shining surface, and there, too, directly in front of it, strutted a lordly game cock which belonged to the Carruths’ next door neighbor. How he happened to be there, in the midst of so much excitement and confusion no one paused to consider, but as Miss Pike hurried poor Mrs. Carruth toward the spot, Sir Chanticleer’s burnished ruff began to rise and the next instant there was a defiant squawk, a frantic dash of brilliantly iridescent feathers, and the cherished heirloom lay shattered beneath the triumphant game-cock’s feet as he voiced a long and very jubilant crow.
It was the stroke needed, for in spite of the calamity which had overtaken her this was too much for Mrs. Carruth’s sense of humor and she collapsed upon the piano stool which stood conveniently at hand, while Miss Pike bewailed Chanticleer’s deed until one might have believed it had been her own revered ancestor’s mirror which had been shattered by him.
Just then Mammy came hurrying upon the scene and was quick enough to grasp the situation at a glance.
“Bress de Lawd, Honey, ain’ I allers tol’ ye’ chickens got secon’ sight? Dat roos’er see double suah. He see himself in dat lookin’ glass an’ bus’ it wide open, an’ he see we-all need ter laf stidder cry, an’ so he set out ter mek us.”
At sight of her Mrs. Carruth stretched forth both hands like an unhappy child and was gathered into her faithful old arms as she cried:
“But oh, Mammy; Mammy, the insurance; the insurance. If I had only been able to pay it yesterday.”
“Huh! Don’t you fret ober de ’surance. Jis clap yo’ eyes on dat,” and Mammy thrust into her Miss Jinny’s hands a paper which she hastily drew from the bosom of her frock.
It was all over. The excitement had subsided and all that remained to tell the story of the previous afternoon’s commotion was a fire-scorched, water-soaked dwelling with a miscellaneous collection of articles decorating its lawn. When the early morning sunshine looked down upon the home which for eight years had sheltered the Carruths, it beheld desolation complete. Alas for Eleanor’s chemicals! Her experiments had cost the family dear.
The only living being in sight was a policeman mounting guard over the ruins. A staid and stolid son of the Vatterland who had spent the wee sma’ hours upon the premises and now stood upon the piazza upright and rigid as the inanimate objects all about him. Beside him was a small, toy horse “saddled and bridled and ready to ride,” and anything more absurd than the picture cut by this guardian of the law and his miniature charger it would be hard to imagine.
Meanwhile the family was housed among friends who had been quick to offer them shelter, Mr. Stuyvesant insisting that Mrs. Carruth and Constance accept his aunt’s hospitality through him, while the next door neighbor, Mr. Henry, harbored Eleanor, Jean and Mammy, who refused point blank to go beyond sight of the premises and her charge—Baltie.
Mammy was the heroine of the hour; for what the old woman had not thought of when everyone else’s wits were scattered was hardly worth thinking of. In the blanket which she had charged the girls to guard were all of Mrs. Carruth’s greatest treasures, among them a beautiful miniature of Mr. Carruth of which no one but Mammy had thought. Jewelry which had belonged to her mother was there, valuable papers hastily snatched from her desk, and many of the girl’s belongings which would never have been saved but for Mammy’s forethought. At seven o’clock, when all was over, the crowd dispersed and the family gathered together in Mr. Henry’s living-room to collect their wits and draw a long breath, Mrs. Carruth drew Mammy to one side to ask:
“Mammy, what is the meaning of this receipt? I cannot understand it. Who has paid this sum and where was it paid?”
“Baby, dere comes times when ’taint a mite er use ter tell what we gwine do. Dat ’surance hatter be squar’d up an’ dat settled it. So I squar’d it—.”
“Oh, Mammy! Mammy!” broke in Mrs. Carruth, almost in tears.
“Hush, chile! Pay ’tention ter me. What would a come of we-all if I hadn’t paid dat bill den an’ dar? Bress de Lawd I had de cash an’ don’ pester me wid questions. Ain’ I tole yo’ I’se rich? Well den, dat settles it. When yo is, yo’ kin settle wid me. Dat don’ need no argufyin’ do it? Now go long wid Miss Constance an’ Massa Stuyvesant lak dey say an’ git yo’ sef ca’med down. Yo’ all a shakin’ an’ a shiverin’ lak yo’ got de ager, an’ dat won’ never do in de roun’ worl’. Yo’ll be down sick on my han’s.”
And that was all the old woman would ever hear about it. When the thirty dollars were returned to her in the course of a few days she took it with a chuckle saying:
“Huh! Reckons I knows wha’ ter investigate my money. Done git my intrus so quick it like ter scar me.”
After the first excitement was over came the question of where the family was to live, and it was Hadyn Stuyvesant who settled it forthwith by offering the home which had been his mother’s; a pretty little dwelling in the heart of Riveredge which had been closed since his mother’s death and his own residence with his aunt. So in the course of the next week the Carruths were installed therein and began to adjust themselves to the new conditions The first question to be answered was the one concerning their home. Should it be rebuilt with the money to be paid by the insurance company, or should it be sold? It was hard to decide, for sentiment was strongly in favor of returning to the home they all loved, while sound sense dictated selling the land and thus lessening expenses. Sound sense carried the day, and the little house on Hillside street became home, and in the course of a few weeks the machinery ran along with its accustomed smoothness, although it was some time before the family recovered from the shock of realizing how close they had come to losing all they possessed, and also keenly alive to the fact that what had been saved must be carefully guarded. Fifteen thousand was not an alarming sum to fall back upon and the rent for the new home although modest, compared with what their own would have commanded, had to be considered.
Meanwhile the girls had returned to their school duties, the older ones working harder than ever, especially Eleanor, whose conscience troubled her not a little at thought of her carelessness which had caused all the trouble, for well she realized that her failure to care properly for the powerful acids with which she had been experimenting when Constance appeared upon the scene had started the fire.
Constance had immediately set to work to evolve from the apparel rescued a winter wardrobe for the family, and displayed such ingenuity in bringing about new gowns and headgear from the old ones that the family flourished like green bay trees. Still Constance was not satisfied, and one afternoon said to Eleanor, who now shared her room, but who had not laid in a new supply of chemicals:
“Nornie, put down that book and listen to me, for I’m simmering with words o’ wisdom and if I don’t find a vent I’ll boil over presently.”
Eleanor laid aside the book she was poring over, laughing as she asked:
“What is it—some new scheme for making a two-pound steak feed five hungry mouths, or a preparation to apply to the soles of shoes to keep them from wearing out?”
“It has more to do with the stomach than the feet, but I’m not joking. I want to take account of stock and find out just where we are at and just what we can do. Mother has her hands and head more than full just now, and I think I ought to give a pull at the wheel too.”
“And what shall I be about while you are doing the pulling? It seems to me a span can usually pull harder than a single horse. By-the-way, apropos of horses, what has Mammy done to poor old Baltie? Do you realize that she has not yet had him two months, but no one would ever recognize the old horse for the decrepit creature Jean led home that afternoon.”
“I know it! Isn’t she a marvel? I believe she is half witch. Why, blind and twenty-five years old as he is, old Baltie to-day would bring Jabe Raulsbury enough money to make the covetous old sinner smile, I believe; if anything on earth could make him smile. I thought I should have screamed when she started off with her steed the other day. That old phaeton and harness she found in the barn here were especially sent by Providence, I believe. I never expect to see a funnier sight if I live to be a hundred years old than Mammy driving off down the road with that great basket of apples by her side and Jean perched behind in the rumble. Mammy was simply superb and proud as the African princess she insists she is,” and Constance laughed heartily at the picture she made.
“What did she do with her apples? I wish I could have seen her,” cried Eleanor.
“She had them stored away in our cellar. She had gathered them herself from mother’s pet tree and packed them carefully in a couple of barrels. How on earth she finds time to do all the things she manages to I can’t understand. She took that basket out to Mrs. Fletcher. You remember Mrs. Fletcher once said there were no apples like ours and Mammy remembered it. Still, I am afraid Mrs. Fletcher would never have seen that basket of apples if her home had not adjoined the Raulsbury place. You know Jabe had to pay a large fine before he could get free. Such an hour of triumph rarely comes to two human beings as came to Mammy and Jean when they drove that old horse past Jabe’s gateway and kind fate drew him to that very spot at the moment. Mammy is still chuckling over it, and Jean isn’t to be lived with. But enough of Mammy and her charger, let’s get to stock-taking.”
“Yes, do,” said Eleanor.
“I’ve been putting things down in black and white and here it is,” said practical Constance, opening a little memorandum book and seating herself beside her sister. “You see mother has barely fifteen hundred dollars a year from father’s life insurance and even that is somewhat lessened by the slump in those old stocks. Now comes the fire insurance settlement and the interest on that won’t be over seven hundred at the outside, will it?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Eleanor with a doubtful shake of her head. “But suppose we are able to sell the old place?”
“Yes, ‘suppose.’ If we do, well and good, but supposes aren’t much account for immediate needs, and those are the things we’ve got to think about now.”
“Then let me think too,” broke in Eleanor.
“You may think all you’ve a mind to; that’s exactly what your brains are for, and some day you’ll astonish us all. Meanwhile I’ll work.”
“Now, Constance, what are you planning? You know perfectly well that if you leave school and take up something that I shall too. I won’t take all the advantages.”
“Who said I had any notion of leaving school? Not a bit of it. My plan won’t affect my school work. But of that later. Now to our capital. Mother will have at the outside nineteen hundred a year, and out of that she will have to pay five hundred rent for this house. That leaves fourteen hundred wherewith to feed and clothe five people, doesn’t it? Now, she can’t possibly feed, let alone clothe, us for less than twenty dollars a week, can she? And out of that must come fuel which is no small matter now-a-days. That leaves only three hundred and sixty dollars for all the other expenses of the year, and, Nornie, it isn’t enough. We could live on less in town I dare say, but town is no place for Jean while she’s so little. She’d give up the ghost without a place to romp in. Then, too, mother loves every stone in Riveredge, and she is going to stay here if I can manage it. So listen: You know what a fuss everybody at the fair made over my nut-fudge and pralines. Well, I’m going to make candy to sell——.”
“Oh, Constance, you can’t! You mustn’t!” interrupted Eleanor whose instincts shrank from any member of her family launching upon a business enterprise.
“I can and I must,” contradicted Constance positively. “And what is more, I shall. So don’t have a conniption fit right off, because I’ve thought it all out and I know just exactly what I can do.”
“Mother will never consent,” said Eleanor firmly, and added, “and I hope she won’t.”
“Now Nornie, see here,” cried Constance with decided emphasis. “What is the use of being so ridiculously high and mighty? We aren’t the first people, by a long chalk, that have met with financial reverses and been forced to do something to earn a livelihood. The woods are full of them and they are none the less respected either. For my part, I’d rather hustle round and earn my own duddies than settle down and wish for them, and wail because I can’t have them while mother strives and struggles to make both ends meet. I haven’t brains to do big things in the world, but I’ve got what Mammy calls ‘de bangenest han’s’ and we’ll see what they’ll bang out!” concluded Constance resolutely.
“Mammy will never let you,” cried Eleanor, playing what she felt to be her trump card.
“On the contrary, Mammy is going to help me,” announced Constance triumphantly.
“What, Mammy consent to a Blairsdale going into trade?” cried Eleanor, feeling very much as though the foundations of the house were sinking.
“Even so, Lady,” answered Constance, laughing at her sister’s look of dismay. “Old Baltie was not rescued for naught. His days of usefulness were not ended as you shall see. But don’t look so horrified, and, above all else, don’t say one word to mother. There is no use to worry her, and remember she is a Blairsdale and it won’t be so easy to bring her to my way of thinking as it has been to bring you; you’re only half one, like myself, and remember we’ve got Carruth blood to give us mercantile instincts.”
“As though the Carruths were not every bit as good as the Blairsdales,” brindled Eleanor indignantly.
“Cock-a-doodle! See its feathers ruffle. You are as spunky as the Henry’s game cock,” cried Constance laughing and gathering Eleanor’s head into her arms to maul it until her hair came down.
“Well,” retorted Eleanor, struggling to free herself from the tempestuous embrace, “so they are.”
“Yes, my beloved sister. I’ll admit all that, but bear in mind that their ancestors were born in Pennsylvania not in ’ole Caroliny, and that’s the difference ’twixt tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee. I don’t believe Mad Anthony stopped to consider whether he was a patrician or a plebeian when he was storming old Stony Point, or getting fodder for Valley Forge, so I don’t believe I will, when I set out to hustle for frocks and footgear for his descendants. So put your pride in your pocket, Nornie, and watch me grow rich and the family blossom out in luxuries undreamed of. I’m going to do it: you’ll see,” ended Constance in a tone so full of hope and courage that Eleanor then and there resolved not to argue the point further or discourage her.
“When are you going to begin this enterprise?” she asked.
“This very day. I’m only waiting for Mammy to come back from market with some things I need, and there she is now. Good-bye. Go look after the little Mumsie, or Jean; you’d find your hands full with the last undertaking, no doubt,” and with a merry laugh Constance ran down-stairs to greet Mammy who was just entering the back door.
“Did you get all the things, Mammy?” cried Constance, as she flew into the kitchen where Mammy stood puffing and panting like a grampus, for the new home was at the top of a rather steep ascent and the climb took the old woman’s breath.
“Co’se Ise got ’em,” panted Mammy, as she untied the strings of her bright purple worsted hood. “Dar dey is, all ob ’em, eve’y one, an yo’ kin git busy jes’ as fas’ as yo’s a mind ter. But, la, honey, don’ yo’ let yo’ ma know nothin’ ’tall ’bout it, ’cause she lak ’nough frail me out fer lettin’ yo’ do hit. But sumpin ’s gotter be done in dis yere fambly. What wid de rint fer dis place, an’ de taxes for de yether, an’ de prices dey’s teken’ ter chargin’, fer t’ings ter eat, I ’clar’ ter goodness dar ain’t gwine be nuffin ’tall lef’ fer we-all ter fall back on ef we done teken sick, er bleeged ter do sumpin’ extra,” ended Mammy as she bustled about putting away her things and untying the packages as Constance lifted them from the basket.
“Yes, you’ve got every single thing I need, Mammy, and now I’ll begin right off. Which kettles and pans can you spare for my very own? I don’t want to bother to ask every time and if I have my own set at the very beginning that saves bother in the end,” cried Constance, as she slipped her arms through the shoulder straps of a big gingham apron and after many contortions succeeded in buttoning it back of her shoulders.
“Dar you is!” said Mammy, taking from their hooks, above her range two immaculate porcelain saucepans, and standing them upon the well-scrubbed kitchen table with enough emphasis to give the transfer significance. “Dey’s yours fer keeps, but don’ yo’ let me ketch yo’ burnin’ de bottoms of ’em.”
Mammy could not resist this authoritative warning. Then bustling across to her pantry she took out three shining pans and placed them beside the saucepans, asking:
“Now is yo’ fixed wid all de impert’nances ob de bisness?”
“All but the fire, Mammy,” laughed Constance, rolling up her sleeves to disclose two strong, well-rounded arms.
“Well yo’ fire’s gwine ter be gas dis time, chile’. Yo’ kin do what yo’s a-mind ter wid dat little gas refrig’rator, what yo’ turns on an’ off wid de spiggots; I aint got er mite er use fer hit. It lak ter scare me mos’ ter deaf de fust mawnin’ I done try ter cook de breckfus on it,—sputterin’ an’ roarin’ lak it gwine blow de hull house up. No-siree, I ain’ gwine be pestered wid no sich doin’s ’s dat. Stoves an’ wood ’s good ’nough fer dis ’oman,” asserted Mammy with an empathic wag of her head, for she had never before seen a gas range, and was not in favor of innovations.
“Then I’m in luck,” cried Constance, as she struck a match to light up her “gas refrigerator,” Mammy meanwhile eying her with not a little misgiving, and standing as far as possible from the fearsome thing. “Tek keer, honey! Yo’ don’ know what dem new-fangled mak’-believe stoves lak ter do. Fust t’ing yo’ know it bus’ wide open mebbe.”
“Don’t be scared, Mammy. They are all right, and safe as can be if you know how to handle them, and lots less trouble than the stove.”
“Dat may be too,” was Mammy’s skeptical reply. “But I’ll tek de trouble stidder de chance of a busted haid.”
Before long the odor of boiling sugar filled the little kitchen, the confectioner growing warm and rosy as she wielded a huge wooden spoon in the boiling contents of her saucepans, and whistled like a song thrush. Constance Carruth’s whistle had always been a marvel to the members of her family, and the subject of much comment to the few outsiders who had been fortunate enough to hear it, occasionally, for it was well worth hearing. It had a wonderful flute-like quality, with the softest, tenderest, low notes. Moreover, she whistled without any apparent effort, or the ordinary distortion of the mouth which whistling generally involves. The position of her lips seemed scarcely altered while the soft sounds fell from them. But she was very shy about her “one accomplishment,” as she laughingly called it, and could rarely be induced to whistle for others, though she seldom worked without filling the house with that birdlike melody. As she grew more and more absorbed with her candy-making the clear, sweet notes rose higher and higher, their rapid crescendo and increasing tempo indicating her successful progress toward a desired end.
While apparently engaged in preparing a panful of apples, Mammy was covertly watching her, for, next to her baby, Jean, Constance was Mammy’s pet.
When the candy was done, Constance poured it into the pans.
“Now in just about two jiffies that will be ready to cut. Keep one eye on it, won’t you Mammy, while I run up-stairs for my paraffin paper,” she said, as she set the pans outside to cool and whisked from the kitchen, Mammy saying under her breath as she vanished:
“If folks could once hear dat chile whis’le dey’d hanker fef ter hear it agin, an’ dey’d keep on a hankerin’ twell dey’d done hit. She beat der bu’ds, an’ dat’s a fac’.”
“Now I guess I can cut it,” cried Constance, as she came hurrying back.
The sudden chill of the keen November air had made the candy the exact consistency for cutting into little squares, and in the course of the next half hour they were all cut, carefully wrapped in bits of paraffin paper and neatly tied in small white paper packages with baby-ribbon of different colors. Four dozen as inviting parcels of delicious home-made candy as any one could desire, and all made and done up within an hour and a half.
“There, Mammy! What do you think of that for my initial venture?” asked Constance, looking with not a little satisfaction upon the packages as they lay in the large flat box into which she had carefully packed them.
“Bate yo’ dey hits de markit spang on de haid,” chuckled Mammy. “An’ now I’se gwine tek holt. La, ain’ I gwine cut a dash, dough! Yo’ see me,” and hastily donning her hood and shawl, and catching up an apple from her panful, off Mammy hurried to the little stable which stood in one corner of the small grounds, where Baltie had lived, and certainly flourished since the family came to dwell in this new home.
Mammy never entered that stable without some tidbit for her pet, for she had grown to love the blind old horse as well as Jean did, and was secretly consumed with pride at his transformation. As she entered the stable, Baltie greeted her with his soft nicker.
“Yas, honey, Mammy’s comin’; comin’ wid yo’ lolly-pop, kase she want yo’ ter step out spry. Yo’s gwine enter a pa’tner-ship, yo’ know dat, Baltie-hawse? Yo’ sure is. Yo’s de silen’ pa’tner, yo’ is, an’ de bline one too. Jis as well ter hab one ob ’em bline mebbe,” and Mammy chuckled delightedly at her own joke. “Now come ’long out an’ be hitched up, kase we’s gwine inter business, yo’ an’ me’ an’ we gotter do some hustlin’. Come ’long,” and opening the door of the box-stall in which old Baltie now-a-days luxuriated, Mammy dragged him forth by his forelock and in less time than one could have believed it possible, had him harnessed to the old-fashioned basket phaeton which during Mrs. Stuyvesant’s early married life had been a most up-to-date equipage, but which now looked as odd and antiquated as the old horse harnessed to it. But in Mammy’s eyes they were tangible riches, for Hadyn Stuyvesant had presented her with both phaeton and harness.
Opening wide the stable doors, Mammy clambered into her chariot, and taking up the reins, guided her steed gently forward. Baltie ambled sedately up to the back door where Constance was waiting to hand Mammy the box.
“Mind de do’ an’ don’ let my apples bake all ter cinders,” warned Mammy.
“I will. I won’t. Good luck,” contradicted Constance, as she ran back into the house, and Mammy drove off toward South Riveredge; a section of the town as completely given over to commercial interests as Riveredge proper was to its homes. There a large carpet factory throve and flourished giving employment to many hands. There, also, stood a large building called the Central Arcade in which many business men had their offices. It was about a mile from the heart of Riveredge proper and as Mammy jogged along toward her destination, she had ample time to think, and chuckle to herself at her astuteness in carrying out her own ideas of the fitness of things while apparently fully concurring with Constance’s wishes. Mammy had no objections to Constance making all the candy she chose to make; that could be done within the privacy of her own home and shock no one’s sensibilities. But when the girl had announced her intention of going among her friends to secure customers, Mammy had descended upon her with all her powers of opposition. The outcome had been the present compromise. Very few people in South Riveredge knew the Carruths or Mammy, and this was exactly what the old woman wished.
Driving her “gallumping” steed to the very heart of the busy town she drew up at the curbstone in front of the Arcade just a few moments before the five o’clock whistles blew. Stepping from her vehicle she placed a campstool upon the sidewalk beside it, and lifting her box of candy from the seat established herself upon her stool with the open box upon her lap. Within two minutes of the blowing of the whistles the streets were alive with people who came hurrying from the buildings on every side. Mammy was a novelty and like most novelties took at once, so presently she was doing a thriving business, her tongue going as fast as her packages of candy. People are not unlike sheep; where one leads, all the others follow.
“Home-made candy, sah! Fresh f’om de home-kitchen; jis done mek hit. Ain’ hardly col’. Ten cents a package, sah. Yes sah, yo’ better is bleeve hit’s deleshus. Yo’ ain’ tas’ no pralines lak dem in all yo’ bo’n days,” ran on Mammy handing out her packages of candy and dropping her dimes into the little bag at her side.
“Here, Aunty, give me four of those packages of fudge,” cried a genial, gray-haired, portly old gentleman with a military bearing. “Porter, here, has just given me some of his and they’re simply great! Did you make ’em? They touch the spot.”
“La, suh, I ain’ got four left: I ain’, fer a fac’. Tek some of de pralines; deys mighty good, suh,” bustled Mammy, offering her dainties.
“Take all you’ve got. Did you make ’em?” persisted her customer.
“My pa’tner done mak ’em,” said Mammy with dignity, as she handed over her last package.
“Well you darkies can cook,” cried the gentleman as he took the candy.
For a moment it seemed as though Mammy were about to fly at him, and her customer was not a little astounded at the transformation which came over her old face. Then he concluded that the term “darkie” had been the rock on which they had split, and smiled as he said:
“Better set up business right here in the Arcade. Buy you and your partner out every day. Good-bye, Auntie.”
“Good-bye, suh! Good-bye,” responded Mammy, her equanimity quite restored, for her good sense told her that no reflections had been cast upon her “pa’tner” in Riveredge, or her identity suspected. Moreover, her late customer had put a new idea into her wise old head which she turned over again and again as she drove back home.
Constance was waiting with the lantern, and hurried out to the stable as Mammy turned in at the gate.
“Oh, Mammy, did you sell some?” she asked eagerly.
“Sell some! What I done druv dar fer? Co’se I sell some; I sell eve’y las’ bit an’ grain. Tek dat bag an’ go count yo’ riches, honey. Sell some! Yah! Yah!” laughed Mammy as she descended from her chariot and began to unharness her steed, while Constance hugged the bag and hurried into the house.
“What are you hiding under your cape?” demanded Jean as her sister ran through the hall, and up the stairs. Jean’s eyes did not often miss anything.
“My deed to future wealth and greatness,” answered Constance merrily, as she slipped into her room and locked the door, where she dumped the contents of the bag, dimes, nickels, and pennies, into the middle of the bed.
“Merciful sakes! Who would have believed it?” she gasped. “Four dollars and eighty cents for one afternoon’s work, and at least three-eighty of it clear profit, and Mammy has got to share some of it. Mumsie, dear, I think I can keep the family’s feet covered at all events,” she concluded in an ecstatic whisper.
Thanksgiving and Christmas had come and passed. Constance’s “candy business” as she called it, throve and flourished spasmodically. Could she have carried out her wishes concerning it, the venture might have been more profitable, but Mammy, the autocrat, insisted that it should be kept a secret, and the habit of obedience to the old woman’s dictates was deeply rooted in the Carruth family, even Mrs. Carruth yielding to it far more than she realized.
So Constance made her candy during her free hours after school and Mammy carried it into South Riveredge when opportunity offered. This was sometimes twice, but more often only once, a week, for the faithful old soul had manifold duties and was too conscientious to neglect one. Sometimes all the packages were sold off as quickly as they had been on that first red-letter day, but at other times a good many were left over. Could they again have been offered for sale upon the following day they might easily have been disposed of, but Mammy could not go to South Riveredge two days in succession and, consequently, the candy grew stale before another sale’s day arrived, was a loss to its anxious manufacturer, and caused her profits to shrink very seriously. Things had been going on in this rather unsatisfactory manner for about six weeks when one Saturday morning little Miss Paulina Pry, as Constance sometimes called Jean, owing to her propensity to get to the bottom of things in spite of all efforts to circumvent her, came into her sister’s room to ask in the most innocent manner imaginable:
“Connie, who does Mammy know in South Riveredge?”
“Nobody, that I know of,” answered Constance unsuspectingly.
“I thought she had a cousin living there,” was the next leader.
“A cousin, child! Why Mammy hasn’t a relative this side of Raleigh and I don’t believe she has two to her name down there. If she has, she hasn’t seen them since mother brought her north before we were born.”
“I knew it!” was the triumphant retort, “and now I’ll get even with her for telling me fibs.”
“Jean, what do you mean?” cried Constance now fully alive to the fact that she had fallen into a trap.
“I mean just this: I’ve been watching Mammy drive off to South Riveredge every solitary week since before Thanksgiving, and I’ve asked her ever so many times to take me with her; she lets me go everywhere else with her and Baltie. But she wouldn’t take me there and when I asked her why not, she always said because she was going to visit with her cousins in-the-Lord, and ’twan’t no fit place for white folks. I knew she was telling a fib, and now I’m going right down stairs to tell her so,” and Jean whirled about to run from the room. Constance made a wild dive and caught her by her sleeve.
“Jean, stop! Listen to me. You are not to bother Mammy with questions. She has a perfect right to do or go as she chooses,” said Constance with some warmth, and instantly realized that she had taken the wrong tack, for the little pepper-pot began to liven up. Jerking herself free she struck an attitude, saying:
“You are just as bad as Mammy! You know where she goes, and what she goes for, but you won’t tell me. Keep your old secrets if you want to, but I’ll find out, see if I don’t. And I’ll get even too. You and Mammy think I’m nothing but a baby, but you’ll see. I’m most eleven years old, and if I can’t be told the truth about things now, I’d like to know why,” and with a final vigorous wrench Jean freed herself from her sister’s grasp and fled down the stairs, Constance murmuring to herself as the little whirlwind disappeared: “I wonder if it wouldn’t be wiser to let her into the secret after all? In the first place it is all nonsense to keep it a secret, and just one of Mammy’s high-falutin ideas of what’s right and proper for a Blairsdale. Fiddlesticks for the Blairsdales say I, when certain things should be done. I’m going to tell that child anyway. She is ten times easier to deal with when she knows the truth, and she can keep a secret far better than some older people I might mention. Jean; Jean; come back; I want to tell you something.”
But Jean had gone beyond hearing. “Never mind; I’ll tell her by-and-by,” resolved Constance and soon forgot all about the matter while completing her English theme for Monday. Could she have followed her small sister her state of mind would have been less serene.
Jean’s first reconnoiter was the dining-room. All serene; nothing doing; mother up in her room. Eleanor gone out. Mammy in the kitchen stirring quietly about. Jean slipped into the butler’s pantry. There on a shelf stood a big white box marked “Lord & Taylor, Ladies’ Suit Dept.” Jean’s nose rose a degree higher in the air as she drew near it and carefully raised the lid. “Ah-hah! Didn’t I know it! I guess her cousins-in-the-Lord must like candy pretty well, for she has taken that box with her every single time she’s gone to South Riveredge,” whispered this astute young person.
Now it so happened that as Mammy had advanced in years, she had grown somewhat hard of hearing, and had also developed a habit quite common to her race; that of communing aloud with herself when alone.
Jean was quite alive to this and more than once had caused the old woman to regard her with considerable awe by casually mentioning facts of which Mammy believed her to be entirely in ignorance, and, indeed, preferred she should be, little guessing that her own monologues had given the child her cue.
Clambering softly upon the broad shelf which ran along one side of the pantry, Jean gently pushed back the sliding door made to pass the dishes to and from the kitchen, and watched Mammy’s movements. The kitchen was immaculate and Mammy was just preparing to set forth for her Saturday morning’s marketing, a task she would not permit any one else to undertake, declaring that “dese hyer Norf butcher-men stood ready fer ter beat folks outen dey eyesight ef dey git er chance.”
As usual Mammy was indulging in a soliloquy.
“Dar now. Dat’s all fix an’ right, an’ de minit I gits back I kin clap it inter de oven,” she murmured as she set her panfuls of bread over the range for their second rising. “I gotter git all dis hyer wo’k off my han’s befo’ free ’clock terday ef I gwine get ter Souf Riveredge in time fer ter sell all dat mes o’ candy.”
Behind the window a small body’s head gave a satisfied nod.
“’Taint lak week days. De sto’es tu’n out mighty early on Sattidays. Hopes I kin sell eve’y bit and grain dis time. I hates ter tote any home agin, an’ dat chile tryin’ so hard ter holp her ma.”
Over little Paulina Pry’s face fell a shadow, and for a moment the big eyes grew suspiciously bright. Then wounded pride caused them to flash as their owner whispered to herself, “She might have told me the truth.”
Then the kitchen door was shut, locked from the outside, and Mammy departed.
Jean got down from her perch and stood for a few moments in the middle of the pantry floor in deep meditation. Then raising her head with a determined little nod she said under her breath, “I’ll show ’em.”
To hurry out to the hall closet where her everyday hat, coat and gloves were kept, took but a moment. In another she had put them on, and was on her way to the stable. To harness Baltie was somewhat of an undertaking, but by the aid of a box which raised her to the necessary height this was done, the old horse nickering softly and rubbing his head against her as she proceeded.
“Yes Baltie, dear. You and I have a secret now and don’t you tell it. If they think they are so smart, we’ll show them that we can do something too.”
At length the harnessing was done, and slipping back to the house Jean went into the pantry, lifted up the box so plainly labeled “Ladies’ Suits” and sped away to the stable where she placed it carefully upon the bottom of the phaeton, tucking the carriage rug around and about it in such a manner that even the liveliest suspicion would have nothing to feed upon.
Then opening the double doors she led Baltie through them, and out of the driveway to the side street on which it opened, and which could not be seen from the front of the house where the young lady knew her mother and sister to be at this critical moment. Only a second more was needed to run back and close the stable doors and the gates, and all tracks were covered.
In that immediate vicinity the queer turnout was well-known by this time, so no curiosity was aroused by its appearance.
As usual, Jean had not paused to mature her plans. Their inception was enough for the time being; details could follow later.
Plod, plod, fell Baltie’s hoofs upon the macadamized street as Jean guided him slowly along. The day was cold, but clear and crisp, with just a hint of wind or snow from the mare’s tails overhead in the blue.
Jean had no very clear idea of what her next step would be, and was rather trusting to fate to show her. Perhaps Baltie had a better one than his driver, or perhaps it was sense of direction and force of habit which was heading him toward South Riveredge; Baltie’s intelligence did not appear to wane with his years. At all events, he was going his usual route when Jean spied Mammy far ahead and in a trice fate had stepped in to give things a twist. To pull Baltie around and guide him into a street which led to East instead of South Riveredge was the work of a second. Jean thought she could go back by another street which led diagonally into South Riveredge but when she reached it she found it closed for repairs. Turning around involved more or less danger and she had a thought for that which lay at her feet. So on she went, hoping to get into South Riveredge sooner or later.
Like many suburban towns, Riveredge had certain sections which were given over to the poorer element, and in such sections could always be found enough idle, mischievous youngsters to make things interesting for other people, particularly on Saturdays when they were released from the restraint of school.
Jean had proceeded well along upon her way when she was spied by two or three urchins upon whose hands time was hanging rather heavily, and to whom the novel sight of a handsome, neatly-clad child, perched in a phaeton which might have been designed for Noah, and driving a blind horse, was a vision of joy.
“Hi, Billy, get on ter de swell rig,” bawled one worthy son of McKim’s Hollow.
“Gee! Aint he a stunner! Say, where did yer git him?” yelled Billy, prompt to take up the ball, and give it a toss.
“Mebbe he’s de ghost av yer granfather’s trotter,” was the next salute.
“Hi, what’s his best time. Forty hours fer de mile?” asked a larger lad, hanging on to the back of the phaeton and winding his heels into the springs.
“Get down! Go away!” commanded Jean.
“Couldn’t,” politely replied her passenger.
“Say yer oughter have a white hawse wid all dat red hair,” yelled a new addition to the number already swarming after her.
“Git a move on,” was the next cry, as a youth armed with a long stick joined the crowd. Things were growing decidedly uncomfortable for Jean whose cheeks were blazing, and whose eyes were flashing ominously. Just then one urchin made a grab for the whip but she was too quick for him, and once having it in her hand was tempted to lay about vigorously. As though divining her thoughts, the smaller boys drew off but he of the stick scorned such an adversary, although discretion warned him not to lay it upon her. The old horse, however, was not so guarded by law and the stick descended upon his flanks with all the strength of the young rowdy’s arms. He would better have struck Jean!
Never since coming to live in his present home had Baltie felt a blow, but during all those four months had been petted, loved and cared for in a manner to make him forget former trials, and in spite of his age, renew his strength and spirits. True, he was never urged to do more than jog, jog, jog along, but under the spur of this indignity some of his old fire sprung up and with a wild snort of resentment he plunged forward. As he did so, down came the whip across his assailant’s head, for Jean had forgotten all else in her wrath; she began to lay about her with vigor, and the battle was on in earnest.
Perhaps John Gilpin cut a wilder dash yet it is doubtful.