Various - Golden Days for Boys and Girls, Vol. XII, Jan. 3, 1891

V >> Various >> Golden Days for Boys and Girls, Vol. XII, Jan. 3, 1891

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Lilian felt ashamed, and tried to dry her tears. Yet she was unwilling
to quite give up her discontent.

"If only something would happen!" she said. Then, desperately, "I wish
there would be a cyclone or a blizzard, or a prairie fire! I wish the
Indians would make a raid!"

"We don't have cyclones and prairie fires in winter," her mother said,
calmly.

Just then Lilian heard a great stamping of feet and gay voices outside
on the kitchen threshold.

Her four brothers were coming in from doing their morning chores. As
they entered they let in a great rush of cold air. Jack spied Lilian
through the half-open sitting room door.

"Hello, Lil!" he called.

She did not answer.

"Lil in the dumps again?" he asked his mother.

"She is a little homesick this morning."

"Why doesn't she get out, as we do, and stir up her spirits?" said
Harry. "It's nothing but moping makes her homesick."

"This is a thousand times better than poky old Deerfield," asserted Ben.
"There was nothing to do there but slide down hill on a hand-sled, and
here we have the ponies, and the cattle, and--"

"But you are a boy, Ben," interposed Mrs. Wyman, "and can do a great
variety of things. Lilian isn't strong enough for hard riding, and,
besides, she misses her friends."

"Let her make new ones," piped up Jamie. "There's lots of nice people
all over these prairies."

"She will find them in time," said Mrs. Wyman. "But you must cheer her
all you can meanwhile."

Lilian overheard herself discussed, and began to sob afresh.

Jack went into the sitting-room and playfully pulled her ears, and tried
to laugh her out of her gloom.

"Come now, Lil. What is it you want--a gallop, a sleigh-ride?"

Lilian could confess anything to Jack.

She told him all that had been in her thoughts--how the Deerfield girls
were getting ready for callers, what pretty dresses they would have, and
what gay, good times.

"Do you want callers? Is that what you want, Lilian?"

"Oh, you stupid fellow! I want anything except this awful experience. I
told mother I even wished the Indians would drop down on us."

"Why, Lilian, if you saw even one Indian coming down the road, you'd run
and hide under the bed."

"No, indeed I wouldn't. I'd make my very best courtesy and wish him a
Happy New Year. I would spread the table with the rose-bud china, make
coffee for him, and--"

"Y-e-s--but before you'd half done, he would whip out his tomahawk,
grasp you by the hair--this way--and, w-h-o-o-p! off would come your
scalp. Then he'd tuck your braids into his belt, and away he'd go to the
reservation to hang them up on the ridge-pole of his wigwam!"

"All the same, I wish he'd come."

Jack laughed.

"Say, Ben," he called, "Sis wants visitors so badly, she even wishes a
Comanche would call."

"I do," persisted Lilian. "I wish a whole tribe would come!"

Harry stormed into the sitting-room, in search of his heavy leather
gloves.

"Where are you going, Harry?" asked Lilian, eagerly.

"Out on business," he answered. "Are you ready, Jack?"

"Are you all going off?" cried Lilian, in alarm, lest she should lose
even the doubtful pleasure of her brothers' company.

"We're going on the ponies, to look up some stray cattle for Uncle
Abner."

"But mamma said you would take me for a drive?"

"Can't this morning--too busy!"

"We're all to go this evening, you know," comforted Jamie.

"This evening! What am I to do alone all day?"

A flood of tears again threatened.

"Oh, entertain your callers!" said Harry, with scant sympathy.

Lilian watched the four boys on their ponies go down the poplar-lined
lane to the highway, and then, too desperate for reading or study, or
even helping her mother, she flung herself on a sofa and hid her face.

The day was a dazzling one. The rolling prairie on every side looked
like a white ocean, with great, sweeping billows of snow as far as eye
could see.

The widely separated farm-houses, with their wind-breaks of Lombardy
poplars and interspersing clusters of evergreens, looked like ships on
this endless, shining, cold sea.

One needed a happy heart and busy hands not to be affected by the
vastness and isolation.

Neither of these did Lilian have, and it took her nearly the entire
forenoon to get through her bitter struggle with self.

When she finally roused herself she found her mother had put the rooms
to rights, and besides her own work, had done all the little tasks
Lilian had been used to assume.

This made her remorseful. She got her books and began to study. But
somehow the brilliant sunshine kept drawing her to the window to look
out.

The sky was of an intense blue that was almost purple. The blue-jays
were flitting and calling. A few stray crows hovered over a distant
corn-stubble--these were all the signs of life she saw.

She stood tapping a tune on the window panes. Presently she noticed, on
the far crest of one of the snow billows, some moving black figures.

They were mere specks against the intense blue beyond, but they fixed
her attention. Almost as soon as she saw them, however, they disappeared
in an intervening valley.

"That is on the Hardin road," she said, trying to fix the direction. "It
can't be the boys, for Uncle Abner's road is to the south."

[Illustration:
THE CHIEF GAVE A WHOOP OF DELIGHT AT SIGHT OF THEM.
HE SPRANG TO HER SIDE AND OPENLY BEGAN PUTTING THEM IN HIS POCKET.]

Almost immediately her curiosity was stimulated again by the
re-appearance of the figures on the next rise. She could not distinguish
numbers, but she felt certain it was horsemen.

Again they vanished from the crest into the lower-lying space between
the land-billows. And so she watched them until they were near enough
for her to see it was indeed horsemen.

"Mother," she called, "come here! There's somebody coming along the
Hardin road."

Her mother came.

"Who can it be?"

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven," counted Lilian. "There are
seven of them! Perhaps they will turn at the Climbing Hill Corners. They
can't be coming here."

"Get the glass," said Mrs. Wyman. "See if we can make them out before
they strike the valley."

Lilian ran after the glass. She adjusted it and raised it to her eyes.
She had only one glimpse, however, before the descending riders were
again hidden by an intervening ridge.

"They ride so wildly, mother!" she said, in a kind of breathless wonder.

"They must be skirting that hill along the creek," said Mrs. Wyman.
"We'll see in a minute if they come up from the Corners."

It seemed a long time before they came again in sight. Lilian had just
said, "They've turned on the Climbing Hill road," when they burst into
full view on a not-distant summit and halted.

Lilian could distinctly see them pointing, as if discussing the way to
take. Then, of one accord, they put spurs to their ponies and came
wildly dashing down the slope.

Lilian turned deadly pale.

"Mother," she gasped, "they are Indians!"

Mrs. Wyman grew pale also. During her short life in the West she had
seen only one or two isolated Indians, and those always at railway
stations--dull, commonplace creatures enough, and with nothing
suggestive of the warrior about them.

"Where is your father?" she asked, with something of a tremor in her
voice.

"Probably over at the sheep-sheds," faltered Lilian. "He's always there
near noon. I wish--I wish the boys were here."

"They'll be coming directly. Look again now, Lilian. They are
approaching very fast."

Indeed the Indians were coming on fast. They were now in plain sight on
the long incline and were riding at a full gallop, gesticulating and
pressing forward with what looked to Lilian like savage fierceness.

"They will go by no doubt," said Mrs. Wyman, her native courage
reasserting itself. "They are probably out in search of lost ponies
or--"

"Look, mother! See! They are not going by. They have halted, and are
pointing to the house. See! They are turning in at the lane. Oh,
mother!"

"Never mind, dear. They want to inquire, perhaps--"

But while she was speaking, the Indians had wheeled into the gateway and
swept up with a headlong pace to the very door.

They swung themselves from their saddles, tethered their ponies to the
hitching rails and came quickly up on the porch.

Mrs. Wyman had thrown off her momentary fear. She stepped to the door
and opened it. Lilian trembled in every muscle. The leader of the party
was a huge fellow, much taller than his followers. He was more fantastic
in his dress, too, and had streaks of paint on his cheeks. The rest had
turkey feathers stuck into the bands of their slouch hats, and all had
blankets over their shoulders.

The chief uttered a surly "How!" and made a motion of his hand to his
mouth that he would like something to eat.

Mrs. Wyman smiled cordially, and said, "Come in."

He obeyed directly, the rest stalking after him in perfect silence. They
went at once through the sitting-room to the kitchen stove and held out
their hands to warm.

This done, they squatted on the floor, with various low guttural sounds
to each other, as if exchanging views. They apparently approved of the
comfort, for a stolid silence ensued.

Lilian was absolutely spellbound with terror and could not move. Mrs.
Wyman went to the pantry to prepare them food.

The chief was restless. He kept his eyes roving over everything. Finally
he began to move about.

He went into the sitting-room. He spied the china closet door and
opened it.

"Ugh!" he said, as if in delight at the pretty dishes. He waved his
hand at Lilian and pointed to the rosebud china, making an imperative
gesture, as if to say, "We want to eat off those."

Lilian, anxious to seem to want to please these terrible visitors,
nodded and smiled a ghastly smile. The very fact that she must do
something seemed to relieve the spell of cold horror that had settled
on her.

She took a fresh cloth from a drawer, and spread it deftly on the table.
As she straightened the corners daintily, to see if they were quite
even, the Indian grumbled his approval.

She took out the dishes and set seven places. She recalled, with a great
thump of her heart, what Jack had said about scalping, but as yet there
had been no warlike demonstrations.

She began to be more at ease. But what was that uneasy chief doing? He
was prying into everything. Lilian distinctly saw him put her scissors
into his pocket. But she dared not protest.

While thus distracted, she heard her mother in the kitchen burst into a
merry laugh. She ran hastily out to see what had come over her.

Mrs. Wyman was in the pantry, holding a corner of her apron over her
mouth, as if to smother her amusement.

There sat the six Indians on the floor, with hats drawn down surlily
over their faces, and with blankets shrugged about their shoulders.
"Mother, what is it?" was Lilian's whispered inquiry.

Mrs. Wyman pointed silently at the ludicrous row of savages, and covered
her lips again with her apron.

Lilian could not help laughing, too.

"New Year's callers, after all," she said, to herself.

Mrs. Wyman had made the circle of waiting braves move somewhat away from
the stove, so that she could cook ham and warm potatoes. Lilian returned
to her table-setting. She placed a spoon-holder on the cloth, full of
bright tea-spoons.

The inquisitive chief gave a genuine whoop of delight at sight of them.
He sprang to her side and openly began putting them in his pocket.

This was too much. Lilian flew at him and tried to snatch them away from
him. He scowled fiercely, and jabbered at her in excited gutturals.

At once she heard a great scuffling of feet in the kitchen. The other
Indians, attracted by the sound, were coming to his rescue.

In they filed in formidable line.

"He shan't have them!" cried Lilian, struggling to prevent the last
instalment going into his pocket. "He has my thimble and scissors
already. Here," to the others, "your chief is stealing. But he can't
have my spoons. You--" catching hold of the nearest one-- "Jack! Ben!
Harry!" (for as soon as she got one good look at the faces of her
callers she knew them), "Jack--Ben--Harry! hold him! He's just a common
thief!"

A roar of laughter followed.

"Good for you, Lilian!" cried Jack, flinging off his hat and blanket,
and leaping on the offender's shoulders to pinion his arms. "He shan't
have your spoons, Lilian. But allow me to present to you our cousin,
Harold Wyman, just arrived from Wyoming. We found him at Uncle Abner's,
come to spend New Year's with us."

Lilian, who had captured part of the spoons, blushed and dropped them on
the floor.

"It's real mean of you to scare me so," she stammered. "Mother, did you
know it was the boys?"

"Not until Jamie winked at me from the floor, and then it was all so
ridiculously clear I could not help laughing aloud. I saw you were well
over your first fright, so I thought I'd let the boys carry out their
fun."

"My, but I'm hot!" ejaculated Ben. "Sis has good grit, hasn't she
Harold?"

"Yes," cried Jack, "and she kept her promise about the rosebud china.
Let's have dinner. All we lack now is the coffee, Lilian."

When the new cousin, and Uncle Abner's boys and the four teasing
brothers were seated about the table, Lilian asked:

"Where did you get your toggery, Jack?"

"Oh, Uncle Abner's garret is full of all sorts of Indian traps. This
morning when you were crying for callers--especially Indians--the
thought struck us it would be lots of fun to give you your wish. We
found Cousin Harold at Uncle Abner's, and he helped us out. He's been on
a ranch for years. We knew you wouldn't recognize him. The rest of us
kept in the background."

"If you hadn't been so scared, Lilian, you'd have known the ponies,"
said Jamie.

When they had nearly finished dinner, Lilian said:

"I'll write it all to the Deerfield girls. I don't believe they've had
half as jolly a time as we have. Their calls will be just the poky,
polite ones. But mine are genuine wild West."

[_This Story began in No. 52._]

TRUDY AND KIT;

or,

What a Summer Brought Forth.

by EMMA A. OPPER,

Author of "Susanne," "Barbara and Dill,"
etc., etc., etc.

CHAPTER XVIII.

In the Depths of Woe.

Collin stood staring at Trudy. She had not loosened her clinching hold
for an instant, and, before he had realized it, the last warning had
been shouted, the plank had been withdrawn, and the Sandy Hook was
moving off. And he stood on the pier.

Many emotions were rife in his good-looking, boyish face, but anger was
chief among them.

"Trudy," he said, sharply, "what are you doing? What have you _done?_"

He looked after the moving boat.

Trudy tried to stop her shower of tears, and Collin could but look at
her. It was a rare thing to see Trudy cry, and it was on his account she
was crying.

"Well, what's the matter?" he demanded, gruffly enough. "You've got what
you wanted, haven't you? What are you going to do now? What are you
going to do with me? Tell me that!"

With a reckless laugh, Collin turned into the freight-office and threw
himself down on a box in an unnoticed corner. And Trudy followed her
prisoner.

"I saw you from up the beach, Collin," she said, "and I couldn't let you
run away! How could I? That would have been the _worst!_ How could you
have wanted to, Collin?"

"The worst! Worse than what?" snapped Collin. His head hung in his
hands, and his eyes were sullenly lowered. "The worst has happened.
You'd see things plain enough if you stood in my place, Trudy, and you'd
feel! Do you want me to tell you just how things stand?" Collin asked,
fiercely.

"You know only too well! I've lost my place because I was a fool, and
worse than a fool! That Grand View business is all over town. More than
one fellow has said 'Grand View' to me and snickered. It's got around
worse than the thing was, too! Gus Morey told me he heard we'd started
to steal the best horse and buggy in Conover's stables and got snapped
up at Buxton. I've lost my place, and do you think I can get another,
with a thing of _that_ sort hanging over my head? I guess not!

"I'll tell you the truth, Trudy," continued Collin. "I _have_ tried two
or three places--and it was for your sake I did it--before I made up my
mind to clear out. I'd have done anything. I tried to get something to
do at the Riggs House; and I went up to the sawmill and the canning
factory; and I got the same answer everywhere. They'd all heard the
story, and they said they didn't want a boy with a recommendation of
_that_ kind.

"Dolph Freeman's all right; it's all smooth enough for _him_," said
Collin, grinding his heel. "I was bad enough, but I didn't do anything
sneaking mean, the way he did. But _he_ isn't going to suffer for it;
not a bit. His father's got money, and Dolph can go on loafing around
town and getting other fellows into trouble. _He'll_ never get come up
with.

"Well, I know it was my own fault, anyhow. Nobody could have got me into
any trouble if I'd done the right way. But it's done, and look at me
now. The whole town is down on me. And _mother_," said Collin,
grimly--"mother's the worst! This thing has soured her till she hasn't a
kind word or thought for me. She said she ought to turn me out of the
house; that I was a torment and a disgrace to her, and she ought not to
put up with me. I believe she'd be glad to be rid of me."

"Collin!" exclaimed Trudy, who was far from believing that.

"What else can I think? I _do_ believe it! And if she thinks that way
now, what will she think when she reads the note I left for her? I
couldn't face her, and tell her I'd taken that money, but she knows it
by this time. And I'd like to know how I'm going to see her after that!
She won't believe I meant to put it back; she won't believe anything;
she's down on me, and I can't stand it!

"I can't stay here with everybody against me and no way to turn. The
best thing I can do, and the only thing, is to take myself off; and I'm
going to do it. I don't know what'll happen to me, nor what'll become of
me. But I'm going. You've stopped me this time, whatever you did it for.
I'm not worth your worrying, Trudy; I'll tell you that. But I'll go
yet."

Trudy stood looking at her captive in more hopelessness than she would
admit to herself. She knew that this, Collin's first serious trouble,
had overwhelmed him till he had despaired.

She could see plainly enough the weakness of his arguments, and she
foresaw the misery into which he was ready and anxious, in his
despondency, to plunge.

But how to make _him_ see it? That was another matter, and one which
staggered the faithful, anxious girl. To run away! What folly, and what
sure ruin! But, if Collin would not see that hard truth?

Trudy's heart sank. She had gained her point, for once; but beyond that,
which was little, would she prevail? Collin was young and headstrong and
in the depths of woe, and what would, in spite of her, be the outcome,
Trudy feared to think.

"Collin--Collin!" she was beginning, entreatingly, when hurrying steps
on the pier-planks made her look up.

Rosalie Scott was coming towards them at a quick trot, looking this way
and that, searchingly, till she saw Trudy.

"Well," she cried. "If I ever! What a girl you are! What _were_ you
after? If I ever saw such a runner! I knew you could row, and now I know
you can run. I thought you'd seen a ghost, or something worse. You'd
have run the other way, though. Anyhow," said Rosalie, dropping down on
a second box to get her breath, "I thought I'd see _what_ it was, and I
didn't think you'd mind, if I did."

She looked from Trudy to Collin, with undisguised wonder. Collin only
stared at her. Trudy smiled, but with quivering lips, and traces of her
tears were plain.

"Why-y," Rosalie stammered. "Something's the matter!"

She was the picture of amazement and curiosity, and Collin could not
help smiling. He was dazzled, too, by the gay apparition in the
yellow-ribboned dress, the big, daisy-trimmed hat and the patent-leather
shoes.

Neither he nor Trudy denied that something was the matter. Neither
spoke.

"Well," said Rosalie, with the good-nature which was a part of her,
though half-pouting, "I'm intruding, I suppose. I didn't think it was
anything private, or--solemn."

Her bright eyes turned from one to the other, a funny twinkle in them.

Trudy could not speak, but Collin roused himself.

"I don't know what we're staying here for," he said, shortly. "I'd got
started to take the boat, but Trudy stopped me. _That's_ what she was
running for. The boat's gone, and we'd better go. I don't know what
Trudy's going to do with me _now_. Maybe she knows."

He got up, his bundle sagging from a nerveless hand and his face dull,
and they turned up the pier.

"You are in trouble," said Rosalie, soberly. "I'm sorry I came. That's
the way I always do, you know. I do things before I think. And I'm sorry
for _you_."

Collin made a husky sound of acknowledgment. To Trudy, he muttered:

"_I_ don't know where I'm going. I won't go home--I daren't."

And Trudy answered:

"Go to the Browns with me, then, Collin?"

But he shook his head.

CHAPTER XIX.

Mrs. Scott's Idea.

Softly humming, Rosalie walked a little apart and pretended to find
great interest in the still water, the scattering row-boats and the few
belated bathers along the shore.

For want of other occupation she took off her hat and swung it till the
daisy-wreath was in peril. Trudy and Collin walked in silence.

But the active brain of Miss Rosalie Scott was by no means idle. She
hummed, but she smiled, too; she swung her hat, but she had a thoughtful
frown--not only that, a determined one.

Trudy was destined to see yet another remarkable instance of the
impulsiveness without which Rosalie Scott would not have been Rosalie
Scott, and which worked for good or ill as the case happened.

When they had covered the pier and had passed up the street as far as
the Bellevue Hotel, had reached its broad entrance, she suddenly turned.

"Come in for a minute," she said--"both of you. Oh, don't look so
scared--just for a minute! Trudy Carr has promised me a visit for a long
time, anyhow, and--well, you'll have to come. _Come!_"

Rosalie was in earnest. She took them each by the hand and pulled them
up the wide piazza steps, reiterating her commands. And Collin Spencer,
who had had no notion of complying, found himself, before he could get
his breath back, standing in one of the fine great parlors of the
Bellevue Hotel, gaping in confusion at a long mirror and blue plush
chairs.

"There, now, sit down," said Rosalie. She ran to a small knob in the
wall and pressed it, and to the brass-buttoned boy who appeared said,
"Please ask Mrs. Scott to come here."

She went to the door when he had gone, and stood with her back
against it.

"You shan't get away. Sit down, I say. It's only a notion of mine,
that's all. I know you won't care. Maybe it can't do any good, but it
won't do any harm. I know something is the matter, and I--I'd like to
have my mother hear about it. If you knew her! She's so good to
everybody, and always does just the right thing, too. I've known her to
help so many people and think nothing of it. That's the way she's made.
I don't know what's the matter, but I know you got _me_ out of an awful
fix, Trudy Carr, and that my mother knows it, too, and--"

The door was pushed open.

"Why, Rosalie," said the newcomer, "your father and Uncle Angus are
here. I thought you were to meet them at the boat?"

"I didn't, mamma," Rosalie answered. "This is Trudy Carr again, and--"

"Collin Spencer," added Trudy.

And Rosalie's mother, who had a face of sweet refinement, with clear
gray eyes, and wore a handsome dark gown with billowy-lace falling from
neck and sleeves, and had a pleasant voice and smile--Rosalie's mother
shook hands with Trudy Carr and Collin Spencer, and sat down near them.
And Rosalie brought a stool and perched herself between them.

"Now," she said, imploringly--"now _do!_"

Collin was getting every moment stiffer and redder. He felt like an
intruder, and, despite these softening influences, made up his mind not
to say a word. It was nobody's business but his. It was his own
miserable affair. He neither asked help nor wanted it.

How, then, did the story get itself told? Collin supposed that Trudy
must have started it, for he did not.

He sat bewildered by all this strange and unwelcome situation, while
slowly, drawn out by questions and gentle comments, his trouble was
told.

His first weak mistake, the disaster at Buxton, Trudy's attempt at
righting matters and her failure, and all the dreary facts of the
present condition of things. By degrees, the lady who sat with
thoughtfully-lowered eyes and knit brows heard it all.

"Don't think it was _my_ idea to tell you, ma'am," Collin ended, the
blood mounting in his sturdy face.

"Doesn't mamma know that?" Rosalie cried, impatiently.

She had got her way, and she was highly satisfied.

"And don't think I'm asking you to do anything for me," Collin proudly
persisted. "I don't know what you _could_ do; I don't expect anything--I
didn't want to come in."

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