"I would like him--lots, if he didn't--if he wasn't such a _killer_. I like his knowing so much about birds and animals--he says he can whistle a squirrel out of a tree, any time, and that's more than even Jim can do. At least I never heard him say he could. And Jim Barlow will not kill anything. He simply will not. Even old Mrs. Stott had to kill her own poultry for the market though she'd strap him well for refusing. All the reason he'd tell her was that he could not make anything live, so he didn't think he'd any right to make it die. Mrs. Calvert, have--have you forgiven poor Jim for letting the dogs get away? and me too? Because I know he feels terrible. I do, and it makes me sort of ashamed to have you so kind to me when it was part my carelessness----"

"There, there, child! Have done with that affair. It was more amusing than annoying, for a time, and after I found my Danes were safe; but I hate old stories repeated, and that story is finished--for the present.

There'll be more to come, naturally. One can't make a single new acquaintance without many unexpected things following. For instance: John Chester riding so familiarly in Archibald Montaigne's carriage and talking--Well, talking almost as his little daughter has been doing with her new friend. I overheard Mrs. Montaigne mention something about having once been a patient at a hospital in our city and that was the 'open sesame' to 'Johnnie's' confidence. Oh! it's a dear old world, isn't it? Where enemies can change into friends, all in one morning: and where people whom we didn't know at breakfast time have become our intimates by the dinner hour. This is a glorious day! See. We are almost at the turn of the road that leads to Skyrie. Slowly as we have come it hasn't taken us long. I'm glad I walked. It has done me good and--given my neighbors yonder a chance to know one another."

"I'm glad, too. I haven't enjoyed myself so much since we moved here, only, of course, when Dolly got home," responded Mrs. Chester. "Yet what an angry, disgusted woman I was when I went over this road before, lawsuit-wards, so to speak."

They were almost at the corner when Dorothy cast a last glance backward and exclaimed:

"I don't see Jim anywhere. Why do you suppose he didn't come? Where do you suppose he is?"

"Well, little girl, my supposing is that he felt himself not one with any of our party. 'Neither hay nor gra.s.s' he would likely express it.

That's for his not coming. As for where he is now I suppose, to a degree that is certainty, that he is--doing his duty! From my brief acquaintance with the lad I judge that to be his princ.i.p.al idea. His duty, this morning, would have been the transplanting of the celery seedlings, which yesterday's events delayed. If we could look through the trees between us and my vegetable garden I believe we should see him bending over the rows of little green plants, oblivious to all that's going on around him, so intent is he on making up for lost time and not cheating his employer by wasting it. Jim Barlow is all right. I was angry enough with him yesterday, for a while, but I can do him justice, to-day."

Her guess at his whereabouts was correct. The lad had hurried away from Seth Winters's office and was already well along with his work while they were thus discussing him. But both his new mistress and Dorothy promptly forgot him when they came to that turn of the road they had been approaching and the view beyond lay open to them.

For an instant everybody stopped, even the coachman checked his horses in amazement, though he as swiftly resumed his ordinary impa.s.sive expression and drove forward again at the risk of disaster.

"What in the world! It looks like a--a funeral! Or the county fair!

Whatever does that mean?" cried Mrs. Cecil, who was the first to voice her astonishment. Yet she wondered if she heard aright when, clasping her hands in dismay, Mrs. Chester almost shouted to her husband in front--riding backwards and thus unable to see at what they all so earnestly gazed:

"John, John! That dreadful advertis.e.m.e.nt!"

CHAPTER IX

A LIVE STOCK SALE

John Chester had prophesied that, in answer to his ill-advised jest of an advertis.e.m.e.nt, it would "rain horses."

Apparently, it had. Not only horses but cows; and, trampled upon by the first, hooked by the latter, an a.s.sorted lot of pigs mingled with the other quadrupeds, squealing, twisting, doubling-and-turning upon their leading ropes with the perversity native to swine.

These unlovely creatures frightened the high-bred team drawing the carriage, setting them to rearing and plunging till an accident was imminent. Their driver had made to pa.s.s directly through the a.s.sembly before Skyrie gate, leaving it for meaner turnouts to make way for him: with the result that the unmanageable pigs had set other horses into a tumult.

Fortunately, the coachman was both cool and skillful, and with a dexterity that seemed wonderful he brought the Montaigne equipage around and began a retreat, over the way he had just come. This saved the situation, so far as an upset was concerned, and he did not again draw rein till well away from the scene. Then, all danger being past, Helena promptly fainted, and saved her equally frightened mother from doing so by rousing her maternal anxiety.

John Chester never knew just how he managed to get out of that carriage.

Certainly, with far less difficulty than he had found in entering it, for he was suddenly upon the ground, his crutches under his arms, and himself hobbling forward with tremendous swings into the very midst of things.

"Come here, come here!" commanded Mrs. Calvert to Dorothy, withdrawing to the high bank bordering the road and that was topped by one of those great stone walls which Simon Waterman had built. Amus.e.m.e.nt, surprise, and anxiety chased one another across her mobile old features, and with a sudden movement she turned upon Mrs. Chester, crying excitedly: "Well, my friend, you can't deny that plenty of things happen in the country, as well as in the city you bewail. Match me this in Baltimore, if you please! And explain it--if you can!"

For it was mother Martha and not her daughter who had obeyed Mrs.

Cecil's imperative: "Come here!" and who could only gasp, through her astonishment: "It's that advertis.e.m.e.nt. A 'joke' of John's that he didn't mean to pa.s.s beyond our own doors. We need a horse, a cow, and pig to----"

"Add hens! to scratch up your neighbors' flower beds and give completeness to your lives!" laughed Mrs. Betty, who felt and declared that: "I haven't had so much fun in a single morning since--I can't tell when. I wouldn't have missed this!"

"Seems as if everybody in the whole town must have read and answered that foolish thing. I--_what shall we do_? How possibly get rid of all these people!" cried the mistress of Skyrie in real distress.

As yet neither she nor Mrs. Cecil had observed Helena's faintness, for the back of the carriage was toward them now and some distance down the road. But they had observed Mr. Chester's swift departure houseward, and had seen Dorothy leap like a flash over the intervening wall, toward the kitchen door and the well which was near it.

"Makes me think of the 'Light Brigade,' with horses for 'cannon.' That's shameful for me! though, there _are_ cows to the right of them, pigs underneath them, and horses--did anybody ever see such a collection?"

asked Mrs. Calvert, clutching Mrs. Chester's arm to keep herself from slipping downward from the bank into the briars below. Then suddenly again exclaiming: "Look at that child! She's carrying water in a pitcher. She's making her way through those men out into the road again.

Something has happened. Somebody is in trouble. Oh! it must be that frail-looking daughter of the Montaignes! See. Dorothy is running now straight toward the carriage."

This was sufficient to banish all amus.e.m.e.nt from Mrs. Cecil's manner and she was instantly upon Dorothy's trail, moving with an ease and swiftness that amazed Mrs. Chester, active though she herself was.

Indeed, the girl had to slacken her speed in order not to spill all the water from the pitcher, and so the pair reached the side of the carriage together; the old gentlewoman nodding approval for the presence of mind which Dorothy had shown.

However, Helena was rapidly recovering from her brief swoon, and her mother looked askance at the cracked pitcher in which the water had been brought and the rusty tin cup in which it was offered; Dorothy having seized the utensils always left lying beside the well, for the convenience of pa.s.sers-by, without waiting to secure more presentable articles.

Still, it was Mrs. Calvert whose hand proffered the refreshing draught, and it was Mrs. Calvert's voice which was saying, in its most aristocratic yet kindest accents:

"I did not at once see that your daughter was ill. Your husband left us at the very first crossroad toward your place and I was absorbed with my new-old neighbors' affairs. Deerhurst is nearer than the Towers. Why not drive there first and let Miss Helena rest awhile before going further?"

Now the invitation was given in all sincerity, though the mistress of Deerhurst was inwardly smiling at the pictured face of Seth Winters, had he been there to hear her thus cordially soliciting for guests the people she had once declared she would never willingly know. Only the slightest reluctance accompanied her words. She had intended calling upon the Chesters in their home and upon having a plain business talk with "Johnnie." However, from all appearances at the cottage beyond, this was not an opportune time for such an interview and one that could easily be postponed. At present, the Skyrie family had their hands sufficiently full of more pressing affairs.

Helena Montaigne shared her father's social ambition, so it was with a wan, sweet smile that she accepted from the mistress of Deerhurst the battered tin cup that she would have rejected had Dorothy held it upwards. Also, after graciously sipping a few drops of the refreshing water, she accepted for herself and mother--it was always Helena who settled such matters--that most gratifying invitation to the mansion.

More than that she rose from her place on the wide back seat of the carriage and offered it to Mrs. Cecil, rather than that lady should be forced to ride backwards. But this sacrifice was declined:

"No, indeed, thank you. I will finish my trip as I begin it, by walking.

It will take you as long to drive around by the entrance as for me to go across lots, through the woods. I will meet you at the door. Good-by, Dorothy. I trust you'll all come well out of your present predicament and I shall be anxious to hear results."

Mrs. Cecil was not p.r.o.ne to outward expressions of affection and the little girl was surprised to receive a kiss, as the pitcher was handed back to her, and this surprise was fully shared by the occupants of the carriage. But, having bestowed this light caress, the nimble old lady gathered up her skirts and struck into a footpath running beneath the trees, where every woodland creature was gay with the gladness of June.

Yet as she pa.s.sed among them, none seemed more glad than she; nor, maybe, in the sight of the Creator of them all was she alien to them.

Let alone, Dorothy sped backward to her home, and to the side of her parents, who stood together before the kitchen door, vainly endeavoring to hear what a half-dozen different men were saying at once. Her keen eyes scanned the odd collection of beasts with an ever increasing amus.e.m.e.nt, though she lifted her feet with a little shriek of fear as a mighty hog, which had long outgrown its "pig" days, broke from its owner's grasp and waddled up the path.

"I saw it in the _Local_, and if a man's goin' to start in farmin'----"

began one.

"Pooh; neighbor! this feller's hoss ain't no kind o' use to a lame man like you! That hoss? Why, that hoss has run away and smashed things more times 'an it's years old--and that's sayin' consid'able!" interrupted a second trader, as the first one edged into the dooryard leading a gaunt black steed, himself dragging through the gateway a sorrel mare which had also reached the years of discretion.

At which number one retorted with fine scorn:

"Why, if that ain't Bill Barry! Huh! Lemme tell you, neighbor, a man that trades hosses, or buys one outright, off _Bill_ gets left every time. That there sorrel? Why, she's twenty-odd if she's a day!"

Amid the laugh that followed this sally a third man called over the wall from the road beyond:

"h.e.l.lo, mister? Advertised for a cow, didn't you? Well, just step a-here and take a peek at this fine Alderney o' mine. New milker with a calf still beside her--purty as a picture, the pair of 'em, and dirt cheap.

Reason I sell, I've got more stawk 'an my land 'll keep. Come this way, won't you, Mr.--Mr.--'Skyrie,' is it?"

Poor father John scratched his perplexed head, shifted his weight upon his crutches, and would fain have answered each and all at once as each demanded; but the affair was too much for him, who was always so ready to see the funny side of things. He cast one bewildered glance into Dorothy's laughing, sympathetic face and, also, began to laugh aloud.

The trader nearest, he of the gaunt black steed, caught the infection of merriment and augmented it by a hoa.r.s.e guffaw. Already, while waiting for the prospective purchasers, the many who had come to sell had seen the absurdity of the situation, and each new arrival of pig, cow, or horse, had caused an outburst of momentary mirth. Yet, hitherto, under this pa.s.sing amus.e.m.e.nt, had lain a half-angry resentment. Each had climbed the mountain, or traveled across it, for the sole purpose of "making a good trade," and none was pleased to find his chances forestalled.

Now, however, personal feelings gave way before this good-natured acceptance of an annoying state of things; and, before another moment pa.s.sed, the laughter which the master of Skyrie had started was echoed from man to man till Dorothy clapped her hands to her ears and mother Martha ran into the house, to escape the uproar.

The fun conquered, for a time at least, all ill feeling, but it had not settled more important matters. The buying and selling had yet to come, and John Chester fairly groaned as he whispered to Dorothy: