Dorothy at Skyrie

"Now, Betty! But I might have known you would come – you're always on hand for any 'doin's.' Though don't you dare to give your own generosity free rein. This is strictly a case 'of the people, by the people, for the people.' Blue-blooded aristocracy and full purses aren't 'in it,'" warned the smith, in an alarm that was more real than feigned, knowing that his impulsive old friend could spoil the pleasure of many by exceeding them in giving.

"Oh! I shall take care. I've only sent one team, a couple of men – one the gardener, the other a carpenter who was working on the place, and – Do you know, Seth Winters, you barrier-destroying old 'Socialist!' – that the man positively refused to take pay for his day's labor, even though he can ill afford to lose his time? 'No, ma'am,' said this aristocrat of the saw and plane, 'I claim the right to do a decent turn to a neighbor, same as another.' Rich or poor it doesn't appear to make a bit of difference – give them a chance at this sort of thing and they all lose their heads."

Seth laughed. Such "Socialistic" principles as these were the ones he advocated, not only by word but by his whole noble life. For him wealth had but one purpose – the bettering of these other folk to whom wealth had not been given. Then he asked:

"What of Jim Barlow? Is he one of the 'men' you furnished for the day?"

"Will you believe me – he is not? When that young Herbert Montaigne rode around this morn-thing, before breakfast, to say that his father was sending two men with a mowing machine and that he, Herbert, was going to ride on the horse-rake himself, Jim was talking to me. He was full of enthusiasm and earnest to explain that nothing in our own home garden should suffer because of his taking this day off. He would work overtime to make up – as if I would let him! But as soon as Herbert came, just as enthusiastic himself, down goes my James's countenance to the very bottom of despair. What I love about that boy is his naturalness!" exclaimed this lively old lady, irrelevantly.

"Keep to the subject in hand, please, Cousin Betty. The reason of Jim's gloom perplexes me. I should have thought he would have been – "

"Oh! he was; he did; he must have been, he should have been, he would have been – all the tenses in the grammar you choose. If it hadn't been for my precious little Dorothy. That small maid – "

She paused so long and seemed so amused that again he spoke:

"For her sake alone I should think he would be pleased to find others ready to befriend her."

"In a way, of course, he is, though man-like, or boy-like, he'd very much rather do the befriending than have such a handsome young fellow as Herbert take it out of hand. That lad was just fetching! He'd dressed the part to perfection. Had on a loose white flannel blouse knotted with a blue tie – his color: his denim knickers might have been the finest riding trousers; and his long boots – I fancy there was more money went to the cost of them than you'd spend on yourself in a year. And all to make himself fair in the eyes of a little maid like Dorothy. But blood will tell. My Dolly – "

"Remember, she isn't your Dolly, Elizabeth Somerset Cecil Calvert, however you may now love and covet her. She's a charming small woman, as many another lad than poor Jim or gay Herbert will find some day. But I didn't dream that jealousy began so early in life, or that such a matter-of-fact person as young James Barlow could be jealous."

"He is. He is intensely so, though probably he doesn't know it himself. I fancy it is about the first time he has been brought into contact with other lads of his own age, and he is keen enough to see his own disadvantage. Herbert's nod to Jim was wholly friendly, I thought, but Jim resented it as patronizing. Silly fellow! And so he promptly changed his mind about affairs and decided that not for any consideration could he leave his garden and his 'duty' till the day's work was done. Then, if he had any time, my lord of the potato-crop may condescend to appear at Skyrie. Also by that time, he doubtless thinks, a white-handed aristocrat like Herbert will have tired of the affair and betaken himself back to the Towers where he belongs. Oh! I do love young folks! They are so transparent and honest in showing their feelings that they're wonderfully interesting. As for my Dolly C. – Seth Winters, I believe that I will really have to ask those Chesters to let me have her for 'keeps,' as the children say."

"No, no, dear friend. Don't. You must not. It were most unwise. Leave the girl to grow up in the station to which God has assigned her, no matter by whose human hands the deed was done. At present she is fair, affectionate, simple, and womanly. To be suddenly transplanted into a wealthy home would spoil her. For once, put your generous impulses aside and leave Dorothy Chester alone, to be a comfort to those who have devoted their lives to her. And now, that sermon's ended! Also, I believe that all have come who promised, which is a remarkable thing in itself. You're walking, I suppose? So am I; and we'll start on together, while I signal the rest to follow."

So they set forth, a worthy pair of white-haired "children," who could not grow old because they lived so very near that Heaven whence they had come to earth: and behind them fell into line all the motley assortment of carts and wagons, with the clattering mowing machine from the Towers bringing up the rear.

Mother Martha was in what purported to be a garden, trying to persuade Pa Babcock to plant things that would yet have time to mature that season, and was at her wits' end to find arguments to stem his eloquent reasons why he should do otherwise. Quoth he:

"Now, of all the satisfactory vegetables grown, asparagus, or sparrowgrass, as the unenlightened around here call it – asparagus contains more nourishment and the properties – "

"But, Mr. Babcock, please don't dig any longer in that trench. It will have to be four or five feet deep and so much labor. My husband was reading all about it in one of his catalogues that he's just sent for, and it would take at least three years for asparagus to grow strong enough to begin cutting. Besides the roots are too expensive. And that terrible trench, so big, filled with stones – "

"Excuse me, ma'am, there's plenty of stone at Skyrie to fill the asparagus beds of the nation: or if not quite that – "

"But I must insist, since you've refused to listen to John about it, that you stop fooling with this trench and plant some late potatoes. We bought some seed ones from Mrs. Smith and my little girl is cutting them into pieces already. We were shown that by leaving one or two 'eyes' the pieces would grow just as well as whole tubers. Everybody needs potatoes and they can do without asparagus!" and too exasperated for further speech poor mother Martha folded her arms and brought her sternest glances to bear upon her hired man.

He had kept his word and appeared upon the morning following his engagement, and for a time he had been left to his own devices: his inexperienced employers judging that any man who had been brought up in the country must be wiser in farming matters than they. Besides, the storm that had threatened on the night of his first visit had proved a most disastrous one. The roof had "leaked like a sieve," as pessimistic Jim Barlow had declared it would, "give it storm enough to try it": rusty-hinged shutters had broken loose, stopped-up drains had overflowed, the cellar had become a pool of water, and the cherished furniture brought from the little home in Baltimore had, in several rooms, been ruined by the moisture. Moreover, father John had taken a severe cold and been kept in bed in his own more sheltered apartment; where he consoled himself with the gardening catalogues he had written for and whence he endeavored to direct their hired man.

"Did Pa Babcock bring his dinner, Martha?" he had asked on that first morning, when she was running distractedly about, trying to dry the damaged furniture and undo the storm's havoc.

"No, dear. He said – just this once it didn't happen to be convenient. His wife hadn't any cold meat on hand."

"Neither have you, I believe! Well, I will not board him. I will not! The farm may go to rack and ruin first!" cried Mr. Chester, indignantly. "The idea! Here are Dorothy and I trying to put our appetites into our pockets, just to save you labor, and this great, squeaking lout of a man – "

"John, John! Why, John, I never knew you to be so unjust! If I, with my quick temper, can have patience, you certainly should."

"But, mother, he's just been doing nothing at all, all this morning!" cried Dorothy, seconding her beloved father's opinion. "Just 'sort of nudgin' 'round,' Jim used to call it when I worked that way to the truck-farm, and I only a little girl. Why, I know I could have pulled more weeds myself in this time if I hadn't had to help you indoors, even if I did take that long walk to Heartsease farm. The ground is soaking wet, weeds would pull just beautifully, I know, 'cause we used to love to work after a rain, in our little garden at home! Oh! dear! this is very pretty, but – I wish we hadn't come!"

Alas! This regret was in all their hearts, in that early time at Skyrie. Views were beautiful but they didn't support life, and though they had secured a modest sum of ready money to tide them over these beginnings it had been at the cost of "debt," a burden which the Chesters hated to bear. But, fortunately, they had scant time for repining, and there is nothing like active occupation to banish useless brooding.

Hannah herself could well keep one person busy and, of course, her youth and fleetness ordained that this person should be Dorothy. Bill Barry's statement that the écru-colored bovine was "lively" and could outrun his sorrel mare was, at least founded upon fact. Among cattlemen she was what is known as a "jumper"; and though her behavior upon her first day of residence at Skyrie was most exemplary her sedateness forsook her on the next and forever after.

With the best intentions, after having tried her own hand at milking and succeeding better than she had expected, Mrs. Cheater kindly turned Hannah "out to grass" – with most unlooked-for results.

"All cattle graze, you know, John; and she really nibbled that bit of ground clean where she was tied yesterday. Dorothy and I – we won't hinder our 'man' for a trifle like that – Dolly and I will prop up that sagging gate, so Hannah won't be tempted to stray away, and give her the run of this first lot. She might almost mow it for us in time."

"Thus cutting short her winter supply of fodder. Let her have one day at the 'mowing,' if you choose, then she'd better be put into that old pasture and left there. I know a good farmer wouldn't let even a well-trained Quaker cow into his best meadow; even I know that! As for the pig, since we can't possibly drink all that milk and, as yet, have no pans in which to store it, he may as well consume it sweet as wait for it to sour. That will keep him quiet, anyway, and a squealing pig – I shouldn't like one."

Martha was delighted to find even thus much farm knowledge on her husband's part, and exclaimed:

"However you guessed that much about things, that meadows are meant for hay and pigs are raised on sour milk, I don't see! Only, of course, it's as you often say to Dolly: 'Anybody can use his head for anything he chooses.' I suppose you've chosen to study farming and so I know we shall succeed. By the way, Mrs. Smith has sent word over by her little boy that she is going up to Newburgh this afternoon to do what she calls 'trading.' She sells poultry, and eggs, and butter, and such things, that she raises on her farm, and takes in exchange all sorts of staple goods. She said she'd be pleased to have me go along and learn how to 'trade,' 'cause if I was going to be a farmer I'd have to know. I shall have to take some of that money, too, and buy a churn, some milk pans, and – Well, so many things it doesn't seem as if we really had a single necessary article to start with! But it's all the same, of course, in the end. When we get the loan from Friend Oliver Sands it will be all right. You and Dorothy will be comfortable while I'm gone, I think, for our man is right on hand in the garden to – "

"Then, if you love me, keep him there!" pleaded father John, in his whimsical way. "If he forsakes the garden for the house – Well, I shall be asleep! As for poor Dolly, if he catches her and tries to convert her to his ideas, the child has nimble feet and can run. I shall advise her so to do. But I'm glad you're to have that nice long ride, though I can't imagine you as ever becoming a good 'trader.'"

It was during this brief absence that the écru-colored Hannah first returned to her natural ways, and that Dorothy had to prove herself "nimble," indeed. Despite the fact that she stood in the midst of the most luxurious vegetation the dissatisfied cow knew that there was better in the field beyond. Regardless of the appealing cries of Daisy-Jewel, this careless mother gave one airy flick to her heels and leaped the intervening wall; and though her child essayed to follow it could not, but set up such a bawling that Mr. Chester hobbled out to see what was amiss.

"Remarkable!" cried Pa Babcock, improving this opportunity to rest from his not too arduous weeding. "Remarkable how the qualities of a race horse will sometimes inhabit the bosom of a creature – "

"Dorothy! Dorothy! I guess you'll have to put Dickens down and go get Hannah back out of that lot. She's made a – a little mistake! Your mother wants her to graze on the home-piece and mother's our farmer, you know. Do run drive her back, but look out for her hoofs. She'd take a hurdle better than any horse I ever saw," called Mr. Chester, laughing; yet regretting to disturb Dorothy, who had worked industriously beside her mother to get things into good condition after the drenching of the rain. She had taken tacks from carpets, carried wet cushions and blankets out into the sunshine to dry and carried them back again when fit, and she wanted to rest and read.

"Oh, dear! I don't see anything to laugh at in this! Why couldn't Hannah stay where she belonged! And just hear that poor little calf! I – I wish it hadn't been given to me!" fretted the tired girl, yet obediently set off in pursuit.

Now the former master of Skyrie had divided it into many fields. He had called these "building lots," and had confidently expected to sell them at high prices to the rich people who had begun to settle on the mountain. These dividing walls were stone, like all the others, but sufficiently narrow to admit of Hannah's leaping them easily. She did leap them, running from one to another in a manner confusing to herself and doubly so to Dorothy, pursuing. Fortunately, the wide walls bordering the square outline of the farm were impassable even to her: and gradually, pursued and pursuer made their way back to that home-field whence the race had started.

After all it was the voice of nature conquered, not Dorothy's fleetness. Daisy-Jewel's bleating and bawling accomplished the return of the runaway; though not till that too active creature had blundered into the wrong fields so many times that Dorothy was in despair.

Thereafter, Hannah was always most securely tethered or kept shut up in her stall within the barn; her mistress finding it easier to cut the grass and feed her there than to allow her to do it for herself. But these performances did not endear the creature to anybody: nor was it comforting to have Pa Babcock – who took no part in any of these "chasings" – inform them that:

"Of course, that was the reason my friend Oliver sold her to you so cheap. At ordinary rating that fine blooded cow would have brought at least a hundred dollars. Of course, too, there had to be some consideration to offset the price;" and again when, on the morning of that gathering at Seth Winters's smithy, Hannah had gnawed her fastening rope in two and started on a tour of the farm, he began to explain: "There is a way to prevent such – " But had paused abruptly, his attention attracted to the road below, and finished his possible advice by the pointing of his grimy finger and the exclamation: "Tiberius Cæsar! Look a-there!"

Mrs. Chester did look and instinctively sought the society of John and Dorothy, as a protection against the invasion that threatened them.

"Oh! what can it mean? They are all looking this way as if they were bound for Skyrie! Wagons, people, such a crowd – tell me, John Chester, have you advertised again? Is it another 'sale'?"

But he shook his head, as much surprised and alarmed as she: till Seth Winters, the foremost of this invading army, came up to them, and courteously doffing his hat, explained, with a gay:

"Good-morning, neighbors! Don't be frightened! We are nothing but a well-meaning bee!"

CHAPTER XIII

A BENEFICENT BEE

If to be busy is a synonym for "bee" this one was well named. As the blacksmith further explained, while Dorothy hastened to fetch a chair for Mrs. Calvert, who stood beside him, merrily smiling:

"It's a way country folks have of giving a neighbor a lift. We get up 'bees' to raise a barn, help in somebody's belated haying or harvesting, and we've arranged one now to get Skyrie into a little better shape. Too much of a job for one man to undertake alone, and with your permission, we'll begin. Each man knows his part and your near neighbor, John Smith, is boss of the whole. His farm is next to this, he knows most about Skyrie. 'One year's seeding makes seven years' weeding,' you know, and poor Skyrie has been running to weed-seeds far too long. May we begin?"

Mother Martha could not speak, and Dorothy seemed all eyes and mouth, so widely they stared and gaped in her surprise; but father John found voice to falter: