Back Aa

Dorothy Dale At Glenwood School

Close

<h3> CHAPTER III </h3> <h4> A QUEER SPRING SUIT </h4> "Don't stop to talk unless you want to get the chills from that spring," urged the little country woman in the big sunbonnet, "but just chase across that field as fast as you can. If we are not on the road when you get there, keep right on running. It's the only thing. Then I'll see what I can do for you in the line of clothes. Sam hasn't got much, but they're clean." Nat stood shivering. The mud had relieved him of both shoes. "Run along," ordered the woman, "I tell you I know all about the kind of chills that come from that spring water. Why, we don't even eat the watercress out of it this summer, so many folks that did eat it were taken down. My son Sam had a spell. The doctor stuck to it it was swimmin' but I knowed better; it was eatin' that poison watercress." By this time Nat had followed directions and was going across the fields as fast as his uncomfortable legs would carry him. Tavia was running also; she felt it was her duty to stick by Nat, and get to the road with him, in case he should need any help. Dorothy could not hide her dismay. Nat might get cold, he certainly had spoiled some good clothes, and the automobile ride would not be as pleasant now. How could it be with such a soaked boy at the wheel? And he was sure to stick to his post. "Isn't it awful!" Dorothy remarked to Ned, as they hurried along after Nat and Tavia, while the country woman jogged on ahead of them. "Nothing of the sort," he contradicted her. "It will add to his general knowledge, and what an experience it will be when it is handed out to the fellows! Nat frequently has a way of making narrow escapes. Chances are, some subterranean monster held him down in that spring. Oh, that accident will just be pie for Nat," and his brother laughed at the possible story Nat would concoct about his spring bath. Breaking through the clump of bushes that divided the field from the road Nat and Tavia could be seen racing up and down like a pair in "training." "That's right," called the woman, "just cut across there to that house. I'll be there almost as soon as you." And in truth the farm woman was "no slouch," as Ned expressed it, for she tramped along at such an even pace that Dorothy found it difficult to keep up with her on the rough roads. The farm house was of the typical old-fashioned kind; long and narrow, like a train of cars side-tracked, Ned thought. Vines that had become tired creeping clung tenaciously to window sills and broken porch rails, while clumsy old apple trees leaned lazily toward the stone house, although they were expected to keep their place, and outline a walk to the garden. "Come right in the kitchen," invited the little woman. "I'll go upstairs and get the clothes, and then the young man can wash up a bit. Sam always keeps plenty of clean water in his room in summer time—ain't so pertic'lar about it in winter." Nat hesitated on the door sill. Although the place presented that crowded and almost untidy scene, so common to back doors in the country, the room within was clean and orderly, and Nat had no idea of carrying his mud through the apartment. Tavia, seeing his predicament, promptly found the broom and began such a vigorous scraping of the muddy clothes that Nat backed down to a bench and fell over it. "There," exclaimed Tavia, "no more will come off, I'm sure." "So am I," gasped Nat. "I wonder—well, never mind, you brushed me all right. If ever you want work just let me know." The woman, who had introduced herself as Mrs. Hardy, was at the door now, and ordered Nat to come in at once. "For clothes," she began, "I left out Sam's brand new pair of overalls. They hain't never been on him, and I thought they'd be better than anything else for summer. Then there's a clean soft shirt, and you won't need no coat, as it's a sight too warm to-day for coats. Them sneak shoes Sam only bought Saturday night. He likes to wear them to picnics, and there's to be one to-morrow evenin'." Nat seemed unable to thank the woman. He really felt so miserable, physically, and so confused mentally, that his usual ready wit forsook him. But Dorothy could have hugged that dear little woman who was so kind and thoughtful. Ned was out in the motor car, so Dorothy was the one in "authority." "You are so kind," she faltered to Mrs. Hardy, as Nat's muddy heels lost themselves from view up the box stairs. "I'm sure we cannot thank you enough." "Tut, tut," interrupted the woman, busying herself at once about the little cook stove. "If the same thing happened to my Sam I know you'd do as much for him. He'll be in to dinner. Maybe you'll see him. I am proud of Sam. He's all I've got, of course, that makes some difference." Ned now brought the machine up to the front of the house. He blew the horn to attract attention and Tavia ran out. "Of all the luck," he stammered, trying to talk and laugh at the same time, "every scrap of our lunch is gone. Dogs, chickens, and maybe a boy or two took it. At any rate, they did not leave as much as the basket." "Oh," gasped Tavia. "Isn't that mean!" "Rather," answered the boy. "But perhaps we can get some crackers and milk here. I feel that the pangs of hunger will do something desperate presently. Nat, I suppose, will get a warm drink, and no doubt something to make him strong—homemade bread is the usual, I think. But I may starve," and he looked truly mournful—dinner hour was "flush" as he expressed it, meaning that the time had come to eat, as both hour and minute hand were hugging twelve, whistles blowing and a distant bell sounding, all of which indicated meal time was "flush." "What's the matter?" asked Dorothy, coming around the house. "The commissary department has been looted," said Ned. "In other words, our grub is gone." "Gone!" echoed Dorothy, incredulously. "The very gonest gone you ever saw. Not so much as a toothpick left." "What shall we do," sighed the girl, who had put up such a tempting lunch, and had even partly spread it out on the paper-cloth in that "safe" place under the tree. "Victuals gone?" asked Mrs. Hardy, from the side window. "I might have told you as much, only for hurryin' to get them wet clothes off that boy. Why, our hounds would steal the eggs from the nests, worst thieves I ever saw. Well, never mind. When I get Sam back to the hayfield I'll do what I can for you. But he has to be quick, for it's all cut and there's no telling when a thunder storm 'll come up." "Oh, we wouldn't think of troubling you so much," demurred Dorothy. "Is there any store around?" asked Ned, significantly. "One a mile off that has not a morsel fit to eat in it. I'd as soon swallow poison as eat anything out of that place. Here, young girl (to Tavia), you run down to the dairy there, the door is unlocked, and bring up a pail of milk that's on the bench under the window. I'll give you a couple of glasses and you can help yourselves until Sam gets done." Tavia hurried off, willing enough to fetch the milk, and before she reached the door on her return trip—there was Nat! Nobody dared to laugh. What might Mrs. Hardy think? But Nat in overalls! And a dark blue shirt! And the yellow sneaks! "Splendid," declared Dorothy, feeling the absolute necessity of saying something grateful. "I feel like a new man," said Nat. "Bet you do now," spoke Mrs. Hardy, looking him over approvingly. "Nothing like clean clothes, and them is becoming." Nat went near her so he could carry on conversation without delaying the dinner preparations. "That spring suit," he said laughing, "I'll just throw down on the rubbish heap. The clothes are so covered with mud, I am sure they never could be cleaned, and if Sam will have time to get in town before the picnic perhaps he can sell me these things. Or, if not, I'll buy whatever he wants and send them out." "Well, he won't need the overalls till next week," answered the mother. "Then I can buy them?" asked Nat. "And the shoes—" "I'll have a pair sent out directly I reach town. I'll see that they come special so there will be no mistake." "And the shirt—you are welcome to that." "Now then," said Nat, "here's five dollars, whatever will be over the price of the clothes I am sure I owe you—" "Five dollars!" exclaimed the woman with genuine surprise. "Why, bless you boy, that would buy my Sam a full, whole winter suit." "Get him one, then," insisted Nat. "I would be glad to help him, as he certainly has helped me greatly. Just surprise him with a new suit for the picnic. We'll be off as soon as I get my share of that milk, if they have left me any, then he will know nothing of the accident. You can give him a complete surprise," seeing the look of delight on the poor woman's face. "But you dasen't drink none of that cold milk," she protested. "Step right over here to a cup of tea, it's just fresh. But I don't feel I should take all that money." "Oh, just to give Sam a little surprise," argued Nat, "and indeed, I owe it to you, for I might have taken an awful cold," and he drank down his "piping" hot tea. "Well, Sam will be happy," admitted the mother fondly, "and if you can afford it—" "Of course I can. There, they have actually stopped drinking. We are so much obliged for the invitation to take dinner, Mrs. Hardy, but we couldn't really stay," finished Nat. "No," said Dorothy, coming in at that moment, "it is very kind of you to ask us, Mrs. Hardy, but my cousin says we must go on. Here is something for the milk—" "No more money!" declared the woman. "I've taken more now than the Bible would say was due me." "Oh, just this change," urged Dorothy. "Not a penny! Not one cent!" Mrs. Hardy insisted, but as Dorothy stepped out to join the others, who by this time were getting into the car, she managed to find a place to hide the coins—where Mrs. Hardy would find them later on. "I'm to the bat," said Ned, as Nat took up his place in front. "Not much," shouted Nat. "I haven't been put out yet, and, in overalls and blue shirt, Nat, the good-looking and always well-dressed boy, let loose the Fire-Bird for another fly through the country." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2