Dorothy on a House Boat Part 25

"No, Gerry, you don't think that. You don't want anybody to be unhappy now that we're all so glad you're well and back. I hope Jim will find the little Saint right soon and be back, too; but don't you think they'll be frightened about you? It just came to me--what can they think, when they come back and find you gone, except that you were out of your mind and wandered off? You that had been in bed till then!"

asked Dorothy.

"Oh! they won't bother about me. Jim's been as good as gold and I've been pretty hateful, sometimes, I know. It'll be a relief to him and Mrs. Stillwell that I'm off their hands. Why, folks, do you know? That slender slip of a woman does almost all their farm work, herself? Her husband--I fancied from what I had sense enough to understand--hates work, that kind, anyway, and she adores him. I know Jim took a hand, soon's I was well enough, or good-natured enough, to let him off sticking inside with me. I never saw a fellow work so, I could see through the window by my bed. They hadn't any horse and he ploughed with a cow! Fact. He dug potatoes, hoed corn, cleared up brush-wood--did that with his jack-knife--carried water--Couldn't tell what he didn't do! Oh! Mrs. Stillwell will be glad enough to be rid of me but she'll hate to miss Jim. h.e.l.lo, Elsa! What in the world!"

Mabel laughed and clapped her hands.

"Isn't it the queerest thing? and isn't it just jolly?

"She fell in love with them that morning when they came. Elsa, timid Elsa, is the only one of us not afraid of the monkeys! She's captivated them, some way, and is actually training them to do whatever she wants. She's taught them to walk, arm in arm, and to bow 'Thank you' for bits of Chloe's cake. She punishes them when they catch the birds and--lots of things. Are you taking them for their 'const.i.tutional' now, Elsa dear?"

The shy girl, whose poverty and ungraceful manners had made Aurora and Mabel look down upon her at the beginning of the trip, had now become the very "heart of things," as Dolly said. Elsa was always ready to mend a rent, to hunt up lost articles, to sit quietly in the cabin when anybody had a headache and soothe the pain and loneliness, and to do the many little things needed and which none of the others noticed.

It had come to be "Elsa, here!" or "Elsa, there!" almost continually; and the best of it was that the more she was called upon for service the happier and rosier she grew.

"Indeed, Papa Carruthers will see a fine change in his little girl, when he gets her home again!" Aunt Betty had said, that very morning, drawing the slender little figure to her side. "We have all learned to love you dearly, Elsa. You are a daily blessing to us."

"_That's_ because you love me--and let me love you. Love is the most beautiful thing in all the world, isn't it? It's your love has made me grow strong and oh! so happy!"

Indeed, it was love, even for such humble creatures as the monkeys, that had given her power over them. She had been the first, save Dorothy, to pity them for being caged; and she hadn't been afraid, as Dorothy was, to let them out to freedom. They had been very wild at first, springing into the trees and leaping about so far and fast that all except Elsa believed they were lost.

Then she would beg everyone to go away and putting the opened cage upon the ground would sit quietly beside it, with their favorite food near, for a long, long time. The first time her patience was rewarded by their return to the cage, she still sat quiet and let them settle themselves to rest. After that the training was easier, and by common consent the little animals were left to her charge till they were soon called "Elsa's monks!" Hardest part of their training was the punishment they daily needed.

"Elsa, your monks have torn Mabel's hat to ribbons!" "Elsa, the monkeys have ripped all the b.u.t.tons off my uniform." "Elsa, Metty's heart is broken! They've chewed his 'libery' to bits!"

"They didn't mean it for _badness_. I'll fix the hat, Mrs. Bruce. I'll hunt up the b.u.t.tons and sew them on, Cap'n Jack. I'll mend Metty's finery;" and the pleasure she seemed to get from doing all these things amazed the others.

Now, since all the others were engaged with Gerald and the Colonel, she slipped away into the woods which she had learned to visit alone and without fear. Melvin had found some small bra.s.s chains in a locker of the tender and the Captain had made some collars for the animals, so that she was able to lead them with her wherever she wished. Jocko, the larger of the pair, had developed a limp so like Elsa's own that it was ludicrous and Dorothy declared that he had done so "on purpose." He now hobbled after her while Joan, his mate ran ahead, pulled backward at her chain, and cut up so many "monkey s.h.i.+nes" in general as kept her young mistress laughing so that she scarcely saw where she walked nor how far.

But, at length, she looked up, surprised that she had taken a new direction from that she commonly followed. Here the trees were larger, and the undergrowth closer. Ferns which reached to her shoulder hid the ground from her sight and she stumbled over fallen limbs and unseen vines, but constantly urged onward by the discovery of some rare flower or shrub, which she might take home to Dorothy.

These two flower-lovers had daily studied the simple botany which Aunt Betty had brought on the trip, and the science opened to bookish Elsa a wonder-world of delight.

"Ah! there's a creeping fern! I mean a walking one. We read how rare they are and Dorothy will just be wild to come and see it for herself.

Let me see. It was yesterday we studied about ferns. Be still, Joan.

No, Jocko, I'll go no further, on account of your poor, lame foot.

You may jump to my shoulder if you like. I think it was this way.

Listen, dears! 'Order, Filices, Genera, Asplenium. Asplenium Rhizophyllum--Walking Fern!' There I said it, but the little common name suits me best. Heigho, beasties! What you jabbering about now?

and what are you peering at with your bright eyes? Come on. There's nothing to be afraid of in the woods, though I was once so scared of them myself. Come on, do. I must get--My heart! What--_what_--_is this_?"

CHAPTER XIV.

THE REDEMPTION OF A PROMISE.

Maybe the Colonel was more pleased to meet his Water Lily friends again than they were to see him. But Aunt Betty hid her disappointment under her usual courteous demeanor and was glad that the angry mood in which he had left them had not remained. Upon her, she knew would fall the task of entertaining him; and after breakfast was over and Billy been led to the deepest pasture available, she invited him to sit with her on the little deck that ran around the cabin, or saloon, and opened conversation with the remark:

"We've been very happy here in the Copse. Except, of course, we were worried about our sick guest, Gerald, till Dr. Jabb informed us he was out of danger. He seems a fine man, the doctor, and I'm thankful to have a physician so near. Why--what--are you ill, Colonel?"

At the mention of the pract.i.tioner her visitor had risen, his eyes ablaze with anger, his gaunt frame trembling with excitement.

"Madam! MADAM! Do you mention that hated name to me? Don't you know--Ah! hum. I suppose you don't but, if he--HE--poisons this atmosphere--I will bid you good morning."

He was turning away in a far more furious mood than had seemed possible to so easy-going a man, and his hostess hastily laid a detaining hand upon his arm.

"My dear sir, what have I said? Do you know this doctor and dislike him? I'm sorry. Forget him, then, please and just enjoy this wonderful air which n.o.body could possibly 'poison.' It's perfect to-day, with just enough crispness in it to remind us it is really autumn and our picnicking days are numbered. The young folks have felt it dull, sometimes, lingering so long in the Copse, but it's been a restful, happy time to me. One has to get away from home worries once in a while to keep things in their right proportion. And, after all, what does it matter where we live or what we have so long as there is peace and good will in one's heart? Not much, do you think?"

Aunt Betty was herself in happy mood and had talked on more to prevent the guest's departure than to "preach," as she called such little dissertations. She had gained her point. The Colonel settled back again in the familiar chair he had appropriated on his first visit and gradually the lines of anger left his face. An expression of intense sadness took their place, and after a moment he sighed:

"Ah! hum. I hadn't a right to get huffy. I reckon you don't know--some facts. You couldn't. n.o.body could, without explainin' an' I cayn't explain. This much I'll say. I haven't set foot in this yeah region sence--in a right smart while. I never meant to again. But--I lost my wallet an' I came to seek it. I've cause to think, Madam, 't one your folks has it. If so, they must deliver real soon. To me it's vallyble.

Also, it might concern Miss Dorothy. She an' me--an' you, of course, Mrs. Calvert, bein' a Calvert--Well, it's an old story an' I'll wait till after dinner, thank ye, ma'am. And if you don't mind, I'll just lean back an' take my 'forty winks.' I hain't rested none too well, lately. I've been _thinkin'_. Ah! hum. A man's no right to think. He cayn't an' be real comf'table. Beg pahdon."

Aunt Betty watched him, smiling. He was a bore who, at times, was amusing. She knew that he had been well educated and had still a fondness for books, as was proved by his habitual use of "Marcus Aurelius;" but like many other cultured southern people he lapsed into the speech of the colored folks, with whom his life had been pa.s.sed.

His "yeah," and "cayn't," "right smart," and "soon" for early, were musical as he uttered them; and under all his laziness and carelessness he had the instincts of a gentleman.

"Poor old fellow! I wish I could do something for him, before we finally part company. I'm glad he didn't go away again in anger, though he doesn't 'stay mad,' as Dolly says. And I wonder what that scrip of paper in that old wallet does mean! My young folks are greatly excited over it, and Dolly told me some ridiculous story about her great-great-grandfather and his great-great-grandmother that seems to be the beginning of things. Anyway, though they found it, or Metty did, the Colonel claims it and I must see that it is returned."

So reflected Mrs. Calvert, watching her guest's peaceful slumber; then, resuming her own book, forgot him and his affairs, at least for the time being.

"Where did Elsa take those monks? It's all well enough for her to train 'em, but they aren't hers and she needn't think so. I'd like to take a hand in that business, myself. Wouldn't you, Melvin? They belong to you and me, you know. And I say isn't this the beastliest slow-poke of a hole you ever saw? How on earth do you put in your time? All these days what have you done?" demanded Gerald, moving restlessly from tender to sh.o.r.e, and already heartily sick of the quiet Copse.

"Well, we fish, the Captain and I. We search the woods for berries and grapes. We go to the farmhouses nearest for supplies; and right here, Gerald Blank, let me warn you. Don't you go expecting fine living on the Lily. You see there wasn't much capital to start on, not for so many folks; and the other day what was left was lost."

"Lost? Lost! How could a fellow lose anything in this hole, even if he tried? What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I say. Mrs. Bruce has held the purse of the company and the other day she and Dorothy were counting up their money and--that's the last anybody has seen of it. They kept it in a little empty tin box, that marsh-mallows came in; and Chloe called Mrs. Bruce over to the galley to see about some cooking, and Mrs. Calvert called Dorothy for something else, don't you know? Well, sir, when they came back to finish their counting there wasn't a thing left but the tin box--empty as your hat."

"Somebody stole it, course. Who do they suspect?"

"Look here, Gerry, that's a question comes pretty near home, I know that Mrs. Calvert and Dorothy suspect n.o.body. I can't say as much for Mrs. Bruce and the rest. The money was there--the money is gone. We're all in the same boat--literally, you know. There wasn't a peddler here that day, n.o.body around but just ourselves. You and Jim are out of it, course, because you were away; but--it might be me, it might be Mabel, it might be Metty--Ephraim--Chloe--no not her, for she wasn't out of Mrs. Bruce's sight--and it might be your own sister Aurora."

"What's that? How dare you?" angrily demanded Gerald.

But Melvin smiled, a little sadly, indeed, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Not so fast, Gerry. I'm not accusing her, n.o.body is accusing anybody.

But the money's gone, and maybe it's just as well so much of it went for you."

"For me? What do you mean by that?"

"Cap'n Jack reckoned you'd cost the exchequer about fifty dollars.

Dorothy had the very choicest things, poultry, cream, fruit and things, besides the doctor's bills. And the farmers down here aren't so low in their charges as nearer Jimpson's. Mrs. Bruce got furious against them, they took advantage so. But the doctor said you were a very sick boy, for only measles, and must be built up, so good-hearted little Dolly dipped into the marsh-mallow box for you. You----"

"Hus.h.!.+ Don't say another word! I'm so mad I can't breathe. I wish I'd never come on this cruise. Cruise? It's nothing better 'n being buried alive. Thought we might get some fun out of it, hunting for that 'buried treasure' and now, up pops that old stick-in-the-mud and claims the whole business. Pshaw! I'll go home if I have to walk there."

"How? You couldn't. But I'll tell you what you could do. Hunt up Elsa and the monks. I want to see if this harness I've made out of a fur-rug they destroyed will fit either. Dolly proposes to make them some clothes and get up a little 'show.' Thinks she and Elsa could exhibit them for pennies, when the people come to sell stuff, and that would help pay for it."

Gerald considered. Many troubled thoughts pa.s.sed through his mind, but the strongest feeling was anger. He had been so self-sufficient until this "beastly trip." Now he was learning the sometimes bitter lesson that n.o.body in the world can be actually independent. He had begun by lording it over his mates, and even his hostesses, and now here he was dependent upon them for the very food he ate and the medicine he had taken. He ceased to feel himself an invited guest but rather a burden and a debtor.