Chapter 9
A RELUCTANT KNIGHT ERRANT
Rebecca had not unpacked her modest wardrobe, so she donned her mourning bonnet, the only headgear available, and since she was to pay a ceremonial visit to Aunt Pearly Gates it seemed quite appropriate that she should wear this bonnet. A weird little figure she made, as she trudged happily down the lane. She had seen the ladies of the family drive off in the phaeton to the mysterious court house. Spottswood had disappeared in the direction of the barn. She had watched him light his pipe on the front porch, and then, with a whistle to Doctor, his dog, he had walked off with long swinging steps. He had looked so kindly on his dog that the child thought how splendid it would be if she had been born a nice black and white doggy with glossy fur that wasn't long enough to get tangled and great patient eyes and no desire to talk and a heart that was satisfied with an occasional pat from his master, with a kind word thrown in now and then.
"I don't care, my Grandfather will talk to me, and what is better, he will listen," she mused as she followed the path in the lane. "I don't mind the aunts not liking me so much as Uncle Spot, but I do wish he'd loosen up a bit. But they needn't think I'm going to do all the polite trying. If they don't like me they can just lump me. I'm not going to be any more miserable than I can help."
Having decided to get as much enjoyment out of life as possible, Rebecca tried to put all thought of her reluctant relations out of mind. Certainly there were enough delights in the country to keep her fairly contented even though the haughty aunts did make themselves disagreeable and the handsome uncle refused to speak to or even to look at her.
A rabbit ran across her path, his little white tuft of a tail shining in the sun. She found a patch of belated wild strawberries which she picked and devoured greedily. With difficulty she tore herself away from a tree of black heart cherries that hung its luscious fruit invitingly over the fence. She heard a bobwhite call from a thicket beyond, and farther down the lane there was a great whirr as a covey of speckled birds rose in the air.
"Something happenin' every minute, just like the movies!" she cried delightedly. "Listen! here's the ram a-ramming. It doesn't make so much noise in the day-time as it does at night. I must see it, too. Grandfather said I must. Funny, old Aunt Testy telling me it was dangerous."
The gap in the barbed wire fence was found as Aunt Testy had directed. Rebecca crawled through the wrapped place and followed the pink path across the meadow. The noise of the ram increased as she approached the bubbling, tumbling little stream that cut through the green pasture.
"Heavens, what a darling little brook!" she cried as the path curved around the hill and suddenly descended to the stream, where it dived under, as Rebecca expressed it, only to come up on the other side as dry and pink as ever. Willows bordered the brook. Under a shelving bank was the home of the hydraulic ram, a low, box-like house about four feet high with a sloping roof of rough boards designed merely to protect the machinery from the grazing cattle. From its interior came the steady thud, thud of the ram.
"It sounds like a spirit in prison," thought Rebecca as she approached the little house. "I wonder if you want to get out," she whispered through a knot hole in the side. It seemed to her as though the noise of the machinery grew louder and the water splashed more vigorously.
"You haven't any windows and you haven't any doors—but I see you have a roof with hinges! Maybe I can open it." With a mighty effort she raised the roof, slamming it wide open, and peeped down into the dank interior.
"Well, you are very small to make so much noise and do so much work. I like your house, with its sides all covered with moss, but I must say you need a good airing. I guess I'll leave your roof open for some sun to get in on you while I go call on Aunt Pearly Gates. Make the most of it, Mr. Ram, because I shall have to shut you up again on my way home. I believe I'll call you Faithful Heart. I do think poor Aunt Testy is real foolish to be afraid of you; ungrateful, too, because if it were not for you she might have to come 'way down to the spring and carry up buckets of water on her head as I have read the darkeys in the South used to do. I love you, my Faithful Heart; but good-bye for awhile. I'll come back soon and shut your skylight down."
Rebecca tripped along the clay path. Her heart was light. She hummed a little tune, trying to fit some lines of poetry to it.
"Oh, what is so rare, rare, rare, as a day in June, June, June?" she trilled. "I wonder if I am going to be a singer or a poet or if I am going to be a farmer's wife and raise turkeys. I might be all three—that is, if I keep on living in the country. Look at the precious lamb coming down the path to meet me!"
At the top of the hill was a flock of sheep. They were spread out as though on dress parade and peered over the brow of the hill at the girl as she advanced up the path. Their leader had separated himself from the flock and slowly and sedately came to meet Rebecca.
"Lamby, lamby!" she called when about a hundred yards off. "You are mighty sweet and woolly. Do you lie down in these beautiful green pastures, and are you led beside these still waters? Surely one could fear no evil in such a spot. I think it is sweet of you to come to meet me."
The little girl held out her hand and hurried along the path. As she came closer to the advancing animal she was astonished to see how much larger it was than it had at first seemed.
"You are no spring lamb, that's certain," said Rebecca, "but you are mighty handsome, anyhow. I don't think you have a very pretty face," she decided as the creature drew nearer and its curled horns and evil eyes revealed themselves to the gaze of the city-bred child.
"Baa! Baa!" The answer came with a harsh note, not at all lamb-like, and then with a sudden rush the animal plunged down the hill, with head lowered.
Rebecca jumped aside. What must she do? She could not run up hill, because at the top there awaited her a whole flock of "lambs," who might be even more ferocious than the creature with the curling horns that had attempted to butt her down. The ram, angered by his failure, stopped in his downward lunge and turned about, looking at Rebecca with such an evil expression that she wondered that she had ever called him "Lamby." She was rooted to the ground. Her assailant began sidling up the hill. He knew enough about butting to realize he could indulge in his favorite pastime better if he had the advantage of being above his victim.
Rebecca's heart was beating so rapidly she was almost suffocated. She instinctively pressed her hand to her side. Suddenly she remembered Faithful Heart at the bottom of the hill. There was her refuge! She began to run. Aunt Testy had spoken truly when she had said her legs were long and light; they might have been wings, so quickly did they carry the frightened child down the hill. The ram was taken by surprise. For a moment he stood still and then started after her.
In Rebecca's hasty flight the mourning bonnet slid from her head. It proved a sop to Cerberus. For several seconds the ram gave up the chase and satisfied himself by pawing the bonnet to pulp. It gave Rebecca time to tumble over the wall into the house occupied by the hydraulic ram, where she crouched trembling, thankful she had left the top open. She couldn't decide which heart—hers or Faithful Heart's—beat the louder. The ram was enraged now, and besides, he must show his flock, which had started to run down the hill, what a truly great person he was. He had never liked the noise that came from that closed box and now that the little creature whom he had marked for destruction had taken refuge there, the thud, thud that came forth was more distasteful than ever to his majesty. He gathered himself together for a mighty rush.
"Blim!" he came against the side of Rebecca's refuge. The stout oak boards gave him as good as he sent and he rolled over into the water.
Rebecca thought she heard someone laughing. Through the knot hole she had viewed the overthrow of her enemy, and had almost laughed herself, but she was sure she had not given way to audible mirth. She had a feeling she had better not laugh too soon. The ram had scrambled to his feet and was backing off with the intention of returning once more to the fray.
Click! Rebecca was sure now she could hear something besides the steady beating of Faithful Heart and the rushing of the water. Again the ram charged bravely, but the little house was built on a rock foundation and the boards were of oak and once more the animal met with such stout resistance that he rolled over into the stream.
Click! "Ha! Ha!"
Rebecca was sure, now, that she heard a laugh. What the click was she could not divine, but, taking advantage of the prostration of her pursuer, she stood up and peeped over the top of the shed.
"Hallo! Who are you, anyhow? So you're what the old critter was after! Just hold still a minute, will you?"
She found herself confronted by a boy of about her own age. He was a bonny fellow, but his manner was rough and Rebecca instinctively drew back from him.
"You needn't be scared of me. I'm just gonter take your picture. I already got the ol' ram laying in the water and I cotched him on the fly, too, and now I'd like to have you lookin' like the devil was after you, the way you did when you first peeped over the wall."
So, the click was a camera!
"Ain't it a beaut? My brother brought it to me from New York. I'm a gonter learn how to develop the fillums myself and print 'em an' mount 'em an' all."
"Ye-es, but mind out! Here comes the sheep after you!" screamed Rebecca. The ram had picked himself up and was directing his attentions towards the new comer.
"Yes he is!" was the boy's scornful rejoinder. "I'll bus' open his fool head with a rock. Here, hold my camera!"
The ram stood with lowering head, his evil eye taking in the situation. He saw the boy stoop and select from the bed of the stream several stones. Had Goliath of Gath shown as much discretion as this pugnacious ram he might have lived to fight again. The animal uttered a meek little "Baa," turned tail and made a dignified exit up the pink path to where his admiring females stood midway up the hill.
Rebecca laughed and looked at the boy with more admiration than she had felt at first.
"Aren't you afraid of him?"
"That ol' ram! Naw! He can't hurt a flea! All you have to do is shake a stick at him."
"He would have killed me if I hadn't jumped into the house of Faithful Heart."
"Is that what you call that there en-jine?"
"Yes. But won't you tell me your name so I can thank you for saving my life?"
Rebecca had begun to feel like the heroine of a romance and now that the hateful ram had taken himself off she was enjoying the experience hugely. "I am Rebecca Taylor."
"My name's Jo Bolling."
"Not really! Why, then you must be the brother of my first friend, Mr. Philip Boiling! But you couldn't be."
"I'd like to know why I couldn't be. I just am. What makes you say I couldn't be? I reckon girls are funny things, anyhow."
"Perhaps we are, but I'd be much obliged if you would help me out of this house."
"I won't help you out until you tell me why you think I can't be no brother to Philip."
"You have given two good reasons in what you have just said," teased Rebecca.
"Pooh! You ain't got no reason."
"Another good reason!"
"Aw, quit yer kiddin'! If you don't tell me I'll shut you in the box," he threatened, taking hold of the door and raising it slightly.
"Please don't, because I'm on the way to making a call and I could never get out if you shut me up here with Faithful Heart, and the old sheep might come back and butt me over," pleaded Rebecca.
"Well, then tell me," insisted Jo.
"If you must know, you must. In the first place, Mr. Philip Bolling's brother would have taken off his hat when he addressed a lady."
"Where is the lady at?" asked Joe scornfully.
"He would never have said: 'Where is the lady at? but: 'Where is the lady at?' Mr. Philip Bolling's brother would not threaten a lady, even if the lady happened to be only a little girl. He wanted to give up his lower berth to me on the train just exactly as though I had been an old, old person."
"Yes, he did—not!"
"Mr. Philip Boiling's brother wouldn't say: 'That there en-jine,' but just 'That engine.' He wouldn't say '’Aint got no' under any circumstances."
"Aw, I reckon you're right sissified."
"I don't know whether I am or not, but I know I want to get out of this place and can't do it."
"How did you git in? What you can git into you can git out of."
"I could never have got in if I had not been so frightened. I got in by myself to keep the old sheep from butting me in. You promised to help me out if I told you why you couldn't be Mr. Philip Bolling's brother."
"You ain't—I mean you haven't—given a single good reason."
"Well, Mr. Philip Bolling's brother wouldn't say 'git' for 'get.' In fact, Mr. Philip Bolling is an elegant gentleman."
"Humph!" The hoy caught hold of the side of the house and shook it viciously.
"And Mr. Philip Bolling's finger nails are clean and well kept and his manners are kind and gentle, and—"
"Well, ain't—aren't you gonter git—get—out of this to-day? Here I am waiting to help you," the boy retorted sullenly. He held out his hands.
"Put your toe in a crack and kinder climb a little and I can pull you out," he suggested.
Rebecca got out with surprising ease.
"I am very much obliged to you, Jo. I believe now you might be Mr. Philip Bolling's brother, after all. I am trying to go call on Aunt Pearly Gates. Could you come a little way with me and shoo off the old sheep if she comes near me?"
"Sheep! That's a ram. All you gotter do is to take a stick along. That ol' coward wouldn't do nothing—anything—to you if you show him a stick or a rock. But I reckon I'll go along with you. I ain't—haven't—got nothing—anything—to do, and I was on my way to Aunt Pearly Gates's myself, anyhow. So come along!"
"I'm afraid the sheep—ram—has done for my bonnet," sighed Rebecca as she ruefully picked up the shapeless bit of millinery. "I'm almost glad, because now even Mrs. O'Shea couldn't think it was showing respect to Daddy for me to wear it."
"Let me make you a hat out of sycamore leaves; the sun will fair bake your brains," said Jo. He jumped up and caught the low-hanging branch of a plane tree that grew near the stream, plucked a few of the broad leaves and deftly fashioned a hat for the girl, fastening the parts with twigs.
"How lovely!" crooned Rebecca. "Now I'll trim it with daisies and be as grand as one could wish." She put it on and looked at Jo demurely.
"’Taint so bad—I mean it isn't so bad. But your dress is mighty black."
"Isn't it? You see I'm in mourning for my dear, latest and best stepfather. But I don't think it would be disrespectful for me to decorate all over with buttercups. It would be kind of like putting flowers on Daddy's grave."
Rebecca fashioned chains of daisies, which she hung around her neck and waist. Buttercups she put in buttonholes and belt.
"Now! Ho, for Aunt Pearly Gates!" she cried. "Isn't it funny how depressing mourning is? Now I am furbished up a bit with some color I feel like dancing."
She pirouetted in front of Jo until he was dizzy. "If you'd a done that to the old ram he'd a scooted for sure," laughed the boy.
They found Aunt Pearly Gates expecting them.
"I 'lowed you'd be a comin' along sometime ter-day ter tell me all 'bout Mr. Philip's a comin' home an' what he brung you from up yonder," she said to Jo, "an' I wa' mos' confident that lil' Miss Beck baby'd be findin' her way down ter old Pearly Gates as soon as she could git rested up. New Testament come down here las' night a tellin' me all about you arrivin' up ter Mill House. I say: Praise the Lawd! It's one great day fer the fambly that 'brings a chil' er Marse Tom's ter light."
The old woman was propped up on snowy pillows in a great four-posted bed. Her cabin was as clean as clean could be, it being the pride and pleasure of her children and grandchildren to keep everything in perfect order for the bedridden Aunt Pearly Gates. She lived alone with her faithful Si, but was visited daily by members of her family who attended to her few wants. There she lay, year in and year out, knitting and tatting and receiving her visitors with kindliness and cheer, listening to the tales of happiness and sorrow poured into her sympathetic ears by old and young, colored and white.
She looked keenly but kindly at Rebecca, smiling at her garlands of daisies.
"So you air Marse Tom's lil' gal. You don't favor him none in looks 'cept'n he wa' a great hand to play act, but 'pearances ain't eve'ything. If you air got his kind ways and laughin' heart that'll mean mo'n jes' his outsides. 'Member, chil', when you wants a frien', ol' Pearly Gates am always here in the baid ready ter sarve you."
Then she must listen to Jo's account of his brother's return and look at the new camera.
"Philip's coming to see you soon, he says, but he's got a lot to do. Gee, I wouldn't work like him, not for nothing. I say let Ol' Abe and Young Abe and Little Abe do the work the way they been a doing it. Philip's going to try and buck up aginst Mam' Peachy's gang and he might just as well give up 'fore he starts. Mam' Peachy ain't gonter let nobody—anybody"—looking up quickly at Rebecca and correcting himself with a flush—"anybody get ahead of her and her crowd."
A shadow passed over Aunt Pearly Gates' good old face.
"I hope he won't git in no trouble," she said solemnly. "Tell him I says ter go moughty keerful. Ol' Mam' Peachy air a tricky pusson."