Books: Polly of Pebbly Pit
L >>
Lillian Elizabeth Roy >> Polly of Pebbly Pit
Pages:
1 |
2 | 3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14
"Ah've hear'n tell how Sam Brewster kin buy er sell th' hull township,
ef he likes, Miss Brewster," ventured Sary, slyly.
But the mistress had heard of Sary's proneness to gossip and so
replied: "We don't consider wealth worth anything unless you know what
to do with it. We live as comfortably as we like, and try to use what
is left in helping others."
Sary made no reply to this statement, but watched Mrs. Brewster go to
the window and pull on the cord that was stretched at one side of the
window-frame. Instantly, the decorated window-shade pulleyed up to
allow more light to shine into the room.
"Now Ah see how that wu'ks!" cried Sary, delightedly.
Mrs. Brewster turned with a questioning look in her eyes.
Sary explained. "Cal Lorrimer tol' me like-es-how them winder shades
wu'ked but Ah jest coulden' see it."
Mrs. Brewster laughed and Sary ventured to pulley the shade herself.
She drew it up and down several times and then turned to express her
sentiments to her mistress.
"My, but yuh're ferchunit t' have all seeh new-fangled idees in the
house! It clean locoes me t' think Ah'm livin' wid sech fine
contraptions." And Sary pressed her large freckled, hands over her
sparse red hair to signify how "locoed" her brain really was.
Mrs. Brewster laughed merrily. "Why, Sary, since I left Denver, my
friends all have shades in the windows that run up and down on springs
without any other help. They go by themselves."
"Now, Miss Brewster! Do _you_ believe that fairy-tale?" quizzed Sary,
looking keenly at her mistress to see if she was trying to laugh at her
ignorance of city-life.
"It is a fact, Sary--not a fairy-tale. My friend has them all through
her house, and I expect to replace these pulleys with spring rollers,
some day."
Sary passed her hand over the lustra design on the shade and Mrs.
Brewster turned to leave the room. Before she closed the door, she
said: "I'm going to start dinner, Sary. When you are ready you can join
me in the kitchen."
The moment the mistress was gone, Sary ran to make sure the door was
securely closed. Then she turned to inspect the belongings of the room.
"Huh! the press ain't so much--plain deal painted brown."
The press was passed by the scornful occupant of the room, and the bed
next came under her appraising eye.
"Th' bed's soft wood, too, but it feels comfertible."
Sary sat on the bed and bounced up and down to test the springs and
mattress before she pulled back the covers to examine the quality of
filling in the ticking.
"Laws! It hain't corn-husks, a-tall! It's soft as down!"
Inborn curiosity compelled her to take a hairpin and rip open a bit of
the seam. To her amazement she pulled out a tangle of long whitish
hair.
"Of all things! And _this_ is what I hev to sleep on!" ejaculated the
insulted maid. "Wall, we'll see about that!"
The sheets and newly patched quilt were designated as "ornery" but the
printed spread, patterned to imitate blue torchon lace, drew a murmur
of admiration from the woman. Sary quickly changed her robe of mourning
to a calico house-dress and went out, determined to speak her mind
about that awful mattress! She never thought such a rich man's house
would have so common a thing as "combin's"--even if it was in the
"help's" tick!
But the wonderful odor of boiling cabbage made her forget her complaint
for the time being. She went to the stove and lifted a lid from the
large kettle. She sniffed audibly.
"Um! Ah loves cabbige soup, Miss Brewster!"
"Do you, Sary--so does Mr. Brewster. If you will watch the meat frying,
I will blow the horn to call the men to dinner."
Mrs. Brewster waited until Sary began thickening the gravy, then she
took the horn and stood upon the door-step, blowing it several times.
It was then hung back of the kitchen door again.
"Polly! Come now, dear, and wash up for dinner," called Mrs. Brewster,
standing in the doorway that led to the family living-room.
Presently, the family, augmented by Sary, sat down in the kitchen for
dinner. Jeb, the hired man, had followed in after his master, and had
been introduced to the new help; he now watched her capable hands and
arms as she swung the soup-kettle from the stove.
"Just a moment, Sary!" whispered Mrs. Brewster, warningly.
Sary looked around in surprise and saw the others with bowed heads,
waiting for her to get rid of the pot and fold her hands. It took her
but half a second to understand and follow the leading.
The ranchers of the Rocky Mountains and plains are most orthodox church
folk. They would as soon steal or murder as to miss "meetin'," or work
on a Sunday. And most of them have regular family prayers and long
services at home whenever opportunity offers.
Sam Brewster was not one of the latter kind but the longer the grace he
said, the better a man he thought he was. In every other way, so
liberal and kind, it was not consistent for him to act so narrow-minded
regarding religion.
Once the grace was said, the host unfolded his napkin and looked to
Sary for the soup. The soup-pot had been taken up the second time and
was about to be placed in the middle of the table where every one could
serve themselves as they wished, but Mrs. Brewster gave her a look and
sign that was incomprehensible. She was confused for once in her life.
"I'll serve the soup this noon, Sary, and you can pass the plates,"
remarked Mrs. Brewster, seeing her maid did not understand.
And now Sary beheld a new order of things! Soup that was dipped into
plates and passed until each member at table had a dish before him.
Large white napkins that were not tied about the neck but spread over
the lap! How funny it seemed that the small red-flowered squares Sary
had been accustomed to when company came were nowhere in evidence.
As the meal progressed, Sary's wonderment increased; she failed to hear
familiar sounds of eating, nor saw the usual form of plying knife and
fork together.
Immediately after dinner, Polly led her mother to John's room. "Maw,
I'm going to use those new shades I bought for your Christmas gift, and
put them at the windows of the girls' room."
"Oh, Polly, don't you think plain white ones will look nicer?" quickly
replied Mrs. Brewster, as she beheld the pea-green Holland decorated
with monster bronze roses and huge butterflies.
Polly felt disconcerted for the moment as she realized that her
mother's tone implied disapproval of the change. But she would not
admit that possibly the white would improve the bed-room.
"Why, Maw, you know how much I paid for those shades last Christmas.
The man in Oak Creek said they were the grandest ones in Denver!"
"Maybe _he_ thought so, Polly, but we must remember that his taste in
art has lacked cultivation. Now I prefer pure white shades, or
curtains, for a bed-room window," said wise Mrs. Brewster, leaving her
daughter to wonder whether she liked pure white for the living-room,
also.
But Polly had enough human will and stubbornness in her make-up to
resist the suggestion offered by her experienced mother. "Well, I'll
tell you what we'll do, Maw: I'll just put these lovely shades up till
after the girls see them, then we'll change to white. I think it will
be best to keep these new and clean for the front room, but I want the
city girls to _know_ we've got such expensive things in the house."
"Polly dear, that is foolish. I have always tried to teach you
otherwise. What matters it, whether you display gorgeous 'feathers' if
the thing be false? Simplicity and wisdom are the rarest adornments of
a home."
"There you go again, Maw, lecturing me with your wise old saws,"
laughed Polly, jumping upon the chair to fit the shades in place.
Mrs. Brewster smiled but said nothing. She knew how soon her child
would learn good from bad, once she came in contact with strangers. And
so well had the mother grounded her daughter that she had no qualms
about the result of any contacts.
Mrs. Brewster watched while Polly finished the placing of the dreadful
shades, then she looked about at the colored prints tacked upon every
available spot of rough plaster-walls. Her brow puckered at the
conglomeration of subjects and sizes of the chromos, but she knew how
carefully Polly had saved every one of them that had arrived with tea
or soap, so she passed no audible judgment.
"Oh, Maw! I have another great idea!" cried Polly, jumping from the
chair and clapping her hands.
"Yes?"
"Let's move Daddy's sofa into the bedroom and place it at the foot of
the bed, just like the pictures in the _Farm Journal_ show us! Then
we won't have to have the single bed brought in from the barn--Anne can
sleep on the bed-lounge."
"I really think Anne Stewart will prefer a bed, Polly, even if it is
small," gasped Mrs. Brewster hastily.
"Then we'll change later. It won't take a minute to move the sofa in
and it will look so citified to the girls who most likely have divans
or sofas in their bedrooms at home."
"I think they will like the difference--not having their country
bedroom look like the city one. A complete change always is better than
a similar environment, especially if the city rooms are more
artistically furnished than the result of _our_ efforts."
"Now, Maw, don't you want me to surprise them with the sofa John gave
Paw and you, long ago? I'm sure they won't hurt it," coaxed Polly.
"Oh, I'm not thinking of any damage. I was wondering how Anne would
like to sleep on a folding sofa instead of in a bed."
"She won't mind; and she'll be glad to see her friends impressed by the
bedroom furniture," quickly explained Polly.
"Well, then, call Sary to help you shove it in, while I go and find
those braided mats we made last winter," said Mrs. Brewster in a tone
of resignation.
Polly needed no second consent, but ran out to call Sary. The sofa was
soon wheeled from the chimney-nook into the bedroom which adjoined the
living-room at the back. Once it was placed at the foot of the heavy
walnut bed, Polly whipped off the cretonne covering that always hid the
hideous plush-carpet upholstery.
As the slip-cover came off and revealed the red and green and purple
design, Polly glanced at Sary to see the effect made.
"Oh, laws! Ah never see'd sech a sofy! Ain't it grand?" breathed Sary,
lost in admiration.
"Sary, it opens, too!" announced Polly, condescendingly pulling at the
strap that moved the spring to turn the half into a low bed.
"Well, suhs! What next? Yoh Paw must be a milyonaire, shore!"
"No, Sary; John saved his money for selling chickens and a calf, and
got this for Paw and Maw, when he went to high school in Denver. Oh, we
had an awful time carting it from Oak Creek to Pebbly Pit through all
the snow and weather!" explained Polly.
Mrs. Brewster laughed at the remembrance but told Polly that she hoped
she would keep the cover on the sofa.
"You don't mean me to cover up the velvet, do you?" asked Polly, aghast
at the suggestion.
"Perhaps Anne will sleep better if the flowers are out of sight,"
remarked Mrs. Brewster, softly, but with amused sarcasm.
"You-all mought better do that, Miss Pollee, cuz them colors will git
sun-streaked in this bright light," added Sary.
"I am not worrying about the fade, Sary, but over the fact that the
young teacher and her friends will think we _prefer_ such crude
articles of furniture, instead of tolerating them just because my dear
children denied themselves to give us pleasure. It is their motive and
delight that we all felt in the gifts, more than the objects which
showed immature judgment," explained Mrs. Brewster, slowly and
thoughtfully.
Polly was silenced and she suddenly realized how far she must climb
before she knew as much as her mother--even though she studied "Art
Notes" in the monthly magazines that reached the ranch.
"I wonder if the harsh color Maw speaks of is the real cause of that
cretonne cover always being over the sofa?" wondered the girl to
herself. But she said nothing and the sofa was left at the foot of the
great bed.
Mrs. Brewster knew she had said much, so she left the room and beckoned
Sary to follow her to the kitchen. Polly silently proceeded with the
finishing touches to the room.
She hung a painted-framed mirror over the wash-stand. The glass was
greenish in hue and wavy in lines, but it looked like a reflector and
so it remained in position. An enameled basin and earthen jug did duty
for toilet purposes. The plain deal chairs were decorated with
crocheted tidies--one tied to the back of each chair. And last, but not
least, came the treasure of the Brewster family. It had been preserved
in paper wrappings and lavender for many years, and now and then the
mistress of the ranch-house removed it and hung it out to keep the
folds from turning yellow.
"There now! When they see this knitted cotton spread with its raised
roses and lilies, those girls will know that we can have wonderful
things here as well as there."
So saying, Polly spread out the thick white quilt until the large
double-bed was smoothly covered. Then she stood back and sighed with
gratification at the result of her afternoon's work.
"There now! I'll just call Maw before I close up the room," murmured
Polly, skipping away to look for Mrs. Brewster.
Sary followed closely after the mistress, as Polly led the triumphal
march to the guest-chamber. The door was flung open and the ladies
asked to admire.
"Polly, something told me that you would get the spread out of the
chest," declared Mrs. Brewster, patting her daughter gently. "And your
god-mother would be so pleased if she were here to see how you honored
her work. Some day, these quaint old-fashioned spreads and patch-work
quilts will become quite the rage again, and then you will feel proud
to show yours. I think Anne will appreciate the endless task such a
spread represents."
And once more Polly felt that she had not expressed her interior
decorating ideals on the same high plane her mother seemed to have
reached, but she would not admit having made a mistake, so the
crocheted spread remained, even as the green shades and the gay sofa
remained, to welcome the city girls to Pebbly Pit.
CHAPTER V
UNPLEASANT SURPRISES
The time set for the meeting of the Maynard girls and Anne Stewart at
the Denver Terminal Station came and passed with no sign of the Chicago
travelers. Then Mrs. Stewart was seen hurrying down the platform waving
a yellow envelope to attract her daughter's attention.
Anne was patiently seated on the edge of a truck looking keenly at
every one in sight, so she soon saw her mother. The Oak Creek local,
that left Denver daily at noon, was getting up enough steam to enable
it to make a _regular_ start. Whether it would arrive was a question!
Anne hastily tore the telegram open and read it aloud. "Missed train.
Don't wait for us. Go on and send machine to meet us to-morrow, same
train, at Oak Creek. Explain to Brewsters. Bob."
Anne looked at her mother and laughed. "If that isn't Bob all over!
Guess her hair wasn't dressed."
"Do they think the Brewsters run a limousine, or do they mean a sewing-
machine?" asked Mrs. Stewart, guilelessly.
Anne laughed again at her mother's innocent expression, but Mrs.
Stewart added: "I told you no good would come of transplanting hot-
house flowers to an old-fashioned roundel."
"I can picture Bob Maynard hiking from Oak Creek Station to Pebbly
Pit--most likely she will wear French heeled shoes!" said Anne, and she
laughed so merrily that waiting passengers in the dingy cars glanced
from the tiny windows and felt better for the contagious laughter.
"Oh, my dear! You won't think of making those city girls start training
with such a hard lesson, will you?" cried Mrs. Stewart, who understood
the reason Mr. Maynard had for this outing.
"Bless your dear heart, no! I'll send the wagon for them, but I
wondered what would happen in case they _had_ to walk!"
"Well, I'm thankful I'm not in Mr. Maynard's shoes when those girls
find out what they will have to do _without_ all summer."
"Nolla will be in her glory--" began Anne, when the conductor hurried
over to the two women.
"Going by this train, ladies?"
"Good-by, mother. I'll write all about the reception," laughed Anne,
hurriedly kissing her mother and giving her a hug.
"All aboard!" shouted the brakeman, as the tardy passenger mounted the
steep steps and waved her hand at Mrs. Stewart.
It was a ride of about seventy miles and Anne thoroughly enjoyed
reviewing every landmark as she passed it by. Jeb stood waiting at the
little station of Oak Creek, his mouth and eyes wide open as he watched
the train pull in--always an exciting time for the farmhand.
The cumbersome ranch-wagon, with its high spring-seat, was drawn up
beside a telegraph pole to which the skittish young horses had been
securely tied. Anne went over to meet Jeb, and said, with a smile:
"Were you waiting for some ladies for the Brewsters? I am Anne Stewart,
the teacher who used to be at Bear Forks school."
"Ya-as'm! How-dee! Hain't you-all got unny more comin'?"
"Not to-day. They missed their train and expect to be here on to-
morrow's noon-train. What is your name, may I ask?"
"Jeb," laconically replied the man, looking about as if he still missed
a necessary item for the return trip.
"Oh! I guess you want my baggage. It's that small trunk over by the
box-car," explained Anne, and Jeb grinned with relief.
As he carried the trunk lightly as if it were a stick, Anne remarked:
"It's too bad to make you take this trip again to-morrow."
"Not so-es you-all kin notice it! To-morrer is pay-day fer the miners,
en Oak Crick is a lively town, them times," explained Jeb, winking an
eye to show what fun he expected to have next day.
"Then it's a lucky thing for you, Jeb, that my friends missed the train
to-day."
"Jes' so!" chuckled Jeb, as he gathered up the reins and snacked the
whip over his horses' heads.
Conversation lagged after the start, for the bumping and rumbling of
the heavy wagon as it went over rocks and ruts in the rough trail,
forced all the breath from the passenger's lungs.
The wagon drew up beside the porch of the ranch-house and Anne found
the family waiting to receive them. She jumped from her perch and
greeted Polly, then smiled at Mr. and Mrs. Brewster as the girl
introduced her. Even Sary felt flattered at the kindly greeting
accorded her by this pretty school-teacher.
"Wh-hy--you are all alone!" gasped Polly.
Then Anne explained about the telegram just as her train was about to
leave Denver. The looks of blank surprise changed to relief as the
family heard the cause of the other two girls' non-appearance. They all
entered the house together, delighted with each other. Mrs. Brewster
felt that she was going to like this girl.
Anne was delighted with the place and everything in connection with it.
Even the intense coloring of the sofa or the pea-green shades failed to
disturb her peace and repose that night.
After the supper dishes had been cleared away, Mrs. Brewster led the
way to the wide terrace that stretched from the porch to the descent of
the crater. Here the group watched the sunset, and became better
acquainted. By bedtime, Mrs. Brewster was of the opinion that any man
excepting John, who got Anne Stewart for a wife was very fortunate,
indeed! John was still a superior being.
The next morning, at breakfast, Mr. Brewster said to Jeb: "Ah have to
look after some business in Oak Creek, to-day, Jeb, so you need not
drive over for the girls. Ah will stop at the station and look them
up."
"Mebbe you-all'd better take me to hist the trunks, es Ah am young and
hearty," ventured Jeb, anxiously.
"You! Why, Jeb, Ah can turn you over with my small finger," laughed Mr.
Brewster, comparing his tall muscular frame with that of small slim
Jeb's.
So Jeb slouched away to look after his master's farm work as well as
his own, and as he worked he grumbled and thought of the fun and
frolics the "fellers" in Oak Creek were having on their pay-day.
At the Denver station, two girls dressed in the latest modes, walked
along the platform toward a line of railway coaches.
"What dirty-looking cars. Can these be right?" said Barbara Maynard.
And the younger girl, Eleanor, replied: "I suppose they burn soft
coal."
"Well, they shouldn't! Everything we have on will be covered with soot
before we reach the town."
"That will mean more business for the dry-cleaners at Oak Creek,"
laughed Eleanor. Had she known that the place could not boast of any
kind of a cleaning establishment, she would have laughed louder and
longer at the novelty.
"I suppose this Oak Creek is the shopping center for all the smaller
villages that are within motoring distance of it," surmised Barbara.
"I suppose so," agreed Eleanor, as she watched a man oil the wheels
under the engine.
The man finished the work and straightened up. His face and hands were
black from grease and oil and soot, but he smiled a friendly smile at
the young ladies who were obviously waiting to board his train.
"She's all made up, leddies, ef you-all wants to git in."
"Mercy! Does he have to grin as if he were an old friend when he
announces the fact?" complained Barbara, daintily picking her way
between boxes and bags of freight.
"He's a genuine western type," laughed Eleanor, following her sister
into the coach.
"Goodness gracious! Are we expected to sit on these old dusty plush
seats?" cried Barbara, whipping the upholstery with her tiny
handkerchief before she seated herself.
Again Eleanor laughed but she was not as merry as when she jumped from
the Pullman that morning.
Quite different were the sensations of the two city girls, to those of
Anne Stewart, as they passed over the same route and saw the same
country. Perhaps it was the difference in training more than the ideals
of the three girls.
"Nolla, can all the houses be as horrid as those we have passed by?"
asked Barbara, nodding at a group of log-houses.
"I don't know, but they certainly are smaller than the homes in
Chicago, aren't they?" rejoined Eleanor, gazing in open curiosity at
the scenery and buildings so different from that of the city.
"Smaller! Why, they are simply _poverty_-stricken in looks!" exclaimed
Barbara in disgust.
The nearer the train came to Oak Creek, the smaller and rougher the
houses seemed, until the guard called out:
"Oak Crick! Here's your station!"
The girls gazed at each other in consternation, for the place was
little more than a rough mining settlement, or ranch-town.
The brakeman caught up the leather bags and jumped from the slowing
train. He planked them down regardless of contents, and ran off to the
station. It was an old discarded box-car shoved on a siding to do duty
as ticket-office and freight station.
The girls hurried out to the car platform and Barbara asked: "Nolla,
why don't you call the porter?"
"They never had one on this line!" Then stepping down side-ways from
the high narrow steps of the train, Eleanor cried:
"Gracious! Do catch me if I fall!"
Barbara stared about as a frozen horror slowly crept into her soul and
was expressed in her eyes. "Was _this_ the lovely mountain resort for
which she had planned such conquests?"
Eleanor spied the precious bags too close to the tracks to insure their
safety, so she rushed over to save them from disaster--for who could
tell whether that shaky old train would hold together much longer!
But the Local looked worse than it really was. It was as reliable a set
of old cars as could be found, even if the paint and polish had
vanished with age. Just as the bags were recovered, the whistle tooted,
the wheels grated in turning, and the train that on its return trip to
Denver, might have carried these girls back to _their_ kind of
civilization, slowly pulled out of sight.
Eleanor struggled with the two well-filled bags of toilet accessories,
and deposited them before her sister. "Bet you everything is broken,
and our house-dresses ruined with perfume!"
As Barbara made no reply, Eleanor followed the direction of her stare.
A group of dreadful looking miners and a crowd of wild-looking cow-
punchers were using seven expensive wardrobe trunks for their pleasure.
Evidently the men had indulged in too many tests of Oak Creek whiskey,
called "Pizen" by the natives. The cow-boys were picturesque enough. in
their wide sombreros, woolly chaps, gay shirts, and a swagger that
matched their trick of shooting. The miners were swarthy, bearded
foreigners, who wore long boots, loose shirts, and belts from which
ugly-looking six-shooters protruded.
As Eleanor decided to go over to the circle surrounding the trunks, and
demand an explanation she heard a hardened miner shout: "It's my deal
next!"
Then the sisters saw that their largest trunk had been turned over on
its side to make a convenient card-table. The others accommodated the
players and loungers whose spurred heels beat a tattoo upon the
polished grain-leather covers.
"Humph! At least we can display original etchings on our trunks when we
get them back home," remarked Eleanor, with a gleam of amusement at the
affair.
Pages:
1 |
2 | 3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14