Aunt Hannah and Seth
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"I dare say you might, my child; there isn't much of a knack to it."
"Would you be willin' to let me try?"
"Of course you shall," and Aunt Hannah got up quickly from the stool. "Be gentle, and you'll have no trouble."
Seth failed at first; but after a few trials he was able to extract a thin stream of the foaming fluid, although White-Face did not appear well pleased with his experiments.
Then Aunt Hannah took the matter in hand, and when she had finished Seth carried the pail for her, arriving at the kitchen just as Gladys and Snip entered, both seemingly weary with their afternoon's frolic.
Bread, baked that forenoon, and warm milk, made up the evening meal, and again Aunt Hannah prayed for the stranger, much to his secret satisfaction.
While they were at the table the little woman said, in a low tone of authority, such as did not seem suited to her lips:
"You are to stay here until morning, Seth, and then we will have another talk. I'm an old-fashioned old maid, an' believe in early to bed an' early to rise, therefore we don't light lamp or candle in the summer-time, unless some of the neighbors loiter later than usual. You are to sleep in the room over the kitchen, my boy, and when we have finished supper I guess you'll be glad to lie down, for spading up a piece of grass land isn't easy work."
Understanding from these remarks that he was expected to retire without delay, Seth took Snip in his arms immediately the meal had come to a close, and said, as he stood waiting to be shown the way to his room:
"You've been mighty good to us, Miss – Aunt Hannah, an' I hope we'll have a chance to pay you back some day."
"You've done that this afternoon," Gladys cried laughingly. "Aunt Hannah has wanted that garden spot spaded ever since the snow went away, and the boys around here were too lazy to do it. All hands, including Snip, will have a share in the planting, and I wouldn't be surprised if we beat our neighbors, even though it is late for such work."
Seth would have liked to take leave of these two who had been so kind to him, for he was still determined to leave the house secretly as soon as was possible; but he did not dare say all that was in his mind lest his purpose be betrayed, and followed Aunt Hannah as she led the way to the room above the kitchen.
"You won't forget to say your prayers," she said, kissing him good-night, an act which brought the tears to his eyes; and Seth shook his head by way of promise, although never did he remember having done such a thing.
After undressing, and when Snip had been provided with a comfortable bed in the cushioned rocking-chair, Seth attempted to do as he had promised, and found it an exceedingly difficult task. There was in his heart both thanksgiving and sorrow, but he could not give words to either, and after several vain efforts he said reverentially:
"I hope Aunt Hannah will have just as snifty a time in this world as she deserves, for she's a dandy, if there ever was one!"
Then he crept between the lavender-scented sheets and gave himself up to the pleasure of gazing at his surroundings.
Never before had he seen such a room, so comfort-inviting and cleanly! There were two regular pillows on the bed, and each of them enclosed in a snowy white case which was most pleasing to the cheek, while the fragrant sheets seemed much too fine to be slept on.
Snip was quite as well satisfied with the surroundings as his master. The chair cushion was particularly soft, and he curled himself into a little ring with a sigh of content which told that if the question of leaving the Morse farm might be decided by him, he and his master would remain there all their lives.
Weary, as Seth was, he found it exceedingly difficult to prevent his eyes from closing in slumber; yet sleep was a luxury he could not indulge in at that time, lest he should not awaken at an hour when he might leave the dwelling without arousing the other inmates.
Perhaps it would have been wiser had he not undressed himself; but the temptation of getting into such a bed as Aunt Hannah had provided for his benefit was greater than he could withstand, therefore must he be exceedingly careful not to venture even upon the border of dreamland.
It is needless to make any attempt at trying to describe Seth's condition of mind, for it may readily be understood that his grief was great. More than once did he say to himself it would be better to tell Aunt Hannah all; but each time he understood, or believed he did, that by such a course he should not only be cutting himself off from all possibility of remaining longer at the farm, but would be forfeiting her friendship.
To his mind he would be forced to leave the farm if he told the story, and he could not remain without doing so; therefore it seemed wisest to run away, thus avoiding a most painful scene.
Then came the time when his eyelids rebelled against remaining open; and in order to save himself from falling asleep it seemed necessary to get out of bed.
Crouching by the window, after having dressed himself, he gazed out over the broad fields that were bathed by the moonlight, and pictured to himself the pleasure of viewing them night after night with the knowledge that they formed a portion of his home. And then, such a revery being almost painful, he nerved himself for what was to be done by taking Snip in his arms. The dog was sleeping soundly, and Seth whispered in a voice which was far from being steady:
"It's too bad, old man; but we can't help ourselves. You'll be sorry not to see Gladys when you wake; but you won't feel half so bad as I shall, 'cause I know what a slim chance there is of our ever strikin' another place like this."
Then he opened the door softly, still holding Snip in his arms.
Not a sound could be heard; he crept to the head of the stairs and listened intently.
It was as if he and Snip were the only occupants of the house. Seth had no very clear idea as to how long he had been in the chamber; but it seemed as if at least two hours had passed since Aunt Hannah bade him good-night, and there was no reason why he should not begin the flight at once.
With his hand on Snip's head as a means of preventing the dog from growling in case any unusual sound was heard, Seth began the descent of the stairs, creeping from one to the other with the utmost caution, while the boards creaked and groaned under his weight until it seemed certain both Aunt Hannah and Gladys must be aroused.
In trying to move yet more cautiously he staggered against the stair-rail, squeezing Snip until the little fellow yelped sharply; and Seth stood breathlessly awaiting some token that the mistress of the house had been alarmed.
He was surprised because of hearing nothing; it appeared strange that any one could sleep while he was making such a noise, and yet the silence was as profound as before he began to descend.
Never had he believed a flight of stairs could be so long, and when it seemed as if he should be at the bottom, he had hardly gotten more than half-way down.
The descent came to an end, however, as must all things in this world, and he groped his way toward the kitchen door, not so much as daring to breathe.
Once he fancied it was possible to distinguish a slight, rustling sound; but when he stopped all was silent as before, therefore the fugitive went on until his hand was on the kitchen door.
The key was turned noiselessly in the lock; he raised the latch, and the door swung open with never a creak.
The moonlight flooded that portion of the kitchen where he stood irresolute, as if even now believing it might be better to confess why he had been forced to come away from New York; and as he turned his head ever so slightly to listen, a sudden fear came upon him.
He saw, not more than half a dozen paces distant, a human form advancing. A cry of fear burst from his lips, and he would have leaped out of the open door but that a gentle pressure on his shoulder restrained him.
"Where are you going, my child?" a kindly voice asked; and he knew that what he had mistaken for an apparition was none other than Aunt Hannah.
Seth could not speak; his mouth had suddenly become parched, and his knees trembled beneath him. He had been discovered while seemingly prowling around the house like a thief, and on the instant he realized in what way his actions might be misconstrued.
"Where are you going, Seth dear?"
"I wasn't – I had to run away, Aunt Hannah, an' that's the truth of it!" he cried passionately, suddenly recovering the use of his tongue.
"Why didn't you tell me at supper-time?"
"I was afraid you and Gladys would try to stop me, an' perhaps I couldn't stick to what I'd agreed on."
"Do you really want to leave us, Seth?"
"Indeed I don't, Aunt Hannah! I'd give anything in this world if I could stay, for this is the very nicest place I ever was in. Oh, indeed, I don't want to go away!"
"Then why not stay?"
"I can't! I can't, 'cause I'd have to tell – "
Seth did not finish the sentence, but buried his face in Snip's silky hair.
"Is it because you can't tell me why you left the city?" And the little woman laid her hand on the boy's shoulder with a motion not unlike a caress.
Seth nodded, but did not trust himself to speak.
"Then go right back to bed. You shall stay here, my dear, until the time comes when you can confide in me, and meanwhile I will not believe you have been guilty of any wickedness."
CHAPTER V.
AN ACCIDENT
Filled with shame and confusion, Seth made no resistance when Aunt Hannah ordered him back to bed; but obeyed silently, moving stealthily as when he began the flight. He was trembling as with a sudden chill when he undressed and laid himself down, while Snip lost no time in curling his tiny body into a good imitation of a ball, wondering, perhaps, why he had thus been needlessly disturbed in his "beauty sleep."
Seth was no longer capable of speculating upon the problem in which he had been involved through a lead nickel and an advertisement in the newspapers. He could only realize that Aunt Hannah had good reason to believe him a thief, or worse, otherwise she would not have been waiting to discover if he attempted to prowl around the house while she was supposed to be asleep, and his cheeks burned with shame at the thought.
He wished that the night might never come to an end, and then he would not be forced to meet her face to face, as he must when the sun rose.
"Of course she'll tell Gladys where she found me, an' both of 'em will believe I'm the worst feller that ever lived!" he whispered to himself; and then tears, bitter and scalding, flowed down his cheeks, moistening the spotless linen, but bringing some slight degree of comfort, because sleep quickly followed in their train.
Seth was awakened next morning by Aunt Hannah's voice, as she called gently:
"It's time to get up, my dear. The sun is out looking for boys an' dogs, an' you mustn't disappoint him."
Snip ran eagerly down the stairs as if to greet some one for whom he had a great affection, and Seth heard the little woman say to him:
"I really believe Gladys was in the right when she said I would come to like you almost as much as if you were a cat. Do you want a saucer of milk?"
"She won't talk so pleasantly when I get there," Seth said to himself. "I'd rather take a sound flogging than have her look at me as if I was a thief!"
The lad soon came to know Aunt Hannah better than to accuse her of being cruel even in the slightest degree.
When he entered the kitchen she greeted him with a kindly smile, and said, much as if the events of the previous night were no more than a disagreeable dream:
"You see I'm beginning to depend on you already, Seth. Gladys isn't up yet, and I've left White-Face in the barn thinkin' you'd take her to the pasture. The grass is wet with dew, an' I'm gettin' so old that I don't dare take the chances of wetting my feet."
Seth did not wait to make his toilet, but ran swiftly to the barn, rejoicing because of the opportunity to perform some task.
When the cow had been cared for he loitered around outside, picking up a stick here and a stone there as if it was of the highest importance that the lawn in front of the house be freed from litter of every kind before breakfast.
His one desire was to avoid coming face to face with Aunt Hannah until it should be absolutely necessary, and while he was thus inventing work Gladys came out in search of Snip.
Seth understood at once that the girl was yet ignorant of his attempt to run away, and his heart swelled with gratitude toward the little woman who had thus far kept secret what he would have been ashamed to tell.
Just then Snip was of far more importance in the eyes of Aunt Hannah's niece than was his master, and after a hasty "good-morning" she ran away with the dog at her heels for the accustomed exercise before breakfast.
"Come in an' wash your face, my dear. Breakfast will be cooked by the time you are ready to eat it, and such work as you are doing may as well be left until a more convenient season."
Seth felt forced to obey this summons promptly; but he did not dare meet the little woman's glance. Had he observed her closely, however, it would have been seen that she studiously avoided looking toward him. Aunt Hannah was averse to causing pain, even to the brutes which came in her way, and at this particular time she understood very much of what was in the boy's mind.
Seth feared lest in the "prayer before breakfast" some reference might be made to what he had attempted to do during the night; but his fears were groundless. The little woman asked that her Father's blessing might fall upon the homeless; but the words were spoken in the same fervent, kindly tone as on the evening previous, and again the boy thanked her in his heart.
When the morning meal had come to an end Gladys was eager Seth should join her and Snip on an excursion through the grove where squirrels were said to be "thick as peas," and under almost any other circumstances the guest would have been delighted to accept the invitation; but now he insisted that there was very much work to be done before nightfall, which would force him to remain near the house.
"We've only to plant the garden," Aunt Hannah interrupted, "an' then there's no reason why you shouldn't enjoy a stroll among the trees."
Seth remained silent, but determined to do all in his power to atone for what seemed to him very nearly a crime, and Gladys decided that she must also take part in the sowing of the seeds.
Until noon the three, with Snip as a most interested spectator, worked industriously, and then, as Aunt Hannah said, "there was nothing to be done save wait patiently until the sun and the rain had performed their portion of the task."
Seth did not join Gladys and Snip in their afternoon romp, but continued at his self-imposed tasks until night had come, doing quite as much work with his mind as his hands. Twenty times over he resolved to tell the little woman exactly why he was forced to run away from New York, and as often decided he could not confess himself such a criminal as it seemed certain, because of the advertisement, he really was.
"I couldn't stand it to have her look at me after she knew everything," he repeated again and again.
There was no idea in his mind as to how the matter might end, save when now and then he had the faintest of faint hopes that perhaps she might forget, or learn the truth from some one other than himself.
During three days he struggled between what he knew to be duty and his own inclination, and in all that time the little woman never showed by word or look that there was any disagreeable secret between them.
Seth tried to ease his conscience by working most industriously during every moment of daylight, and then came the time when it was absolutely impossible to find anything more for his hands to do. He had swept the barn floor until it was as clean as a broom could make it; the wood in the shed had been piled methodically; a goodly supply of kindlings were prepared, and not so much as a pebble was to be seen on the velvety lawn.
Gladys had tried in vain to entice him away from what she declared was useless labor, and Snip did all within the power of a dog to coax his master into joining him in the jolly strolls among the trees or across the green fields, and yet Seth remained nearabout the little house in a feverish search for something with which to employ his hands.
"It's no use, Snippey dear," he said on the fourth night of his stay at the farm, after the family had retired, "I can't stay an' not tell Aunt Hannah, an' it's certain we won't be allowed to stop more'n a minute after she knows the truth. If I could talk to her in the dark, when I couldn't see her face, it wouldn't seem quite so bad; but we go to bed so early there's no chance for that. We must have it out mighty soon, for I can't hang 'round here many hours longer without tellin' all about ourselves."
He was not ready for bed, although an hour had passed since he bade Aunt Hannah and Gladys good-night.
The moon had gilded the rail fence, the shed, and the barn until they were transformed into fairy handiwork; the road gleamed like gold with an enamel of black marking the position of trees and bushes, and Seth had gazed upon the wondrous picture without really being aware of time's flight.
Having repeated to Snip that which was in his mind, the boy was on the point of making himself ready for a visit from the dream elves when he heard, apparently from the room below, what sounded like a fall, a smothered exclamation, and the splintering of glass.
Only for a single instant did he stand motionless, and then, realizing that some accident must have happened, he ran downstairs, Snip following close behind, barking shrilly.
Once in the kitchen an exclamation of terror burst from his lips.
The room was illumined by a line of fire, seemingly extending entirely across the floor, which was fringed by a dense smoke that rose nearly to the ceiling, and, beside the table, where she had evidently fallen, lay Aunt Hannah, struggling to smother with bare hands the yellow, dancing flames that had fastened upon her clothing.
It needed not the fragments of glass and brass to tell Seth that the little woman had accidentally fallen, breaking the lamp she carried, and that the fire was fed by oil.
Like a flash there came into his mind the memory of that night when Dud Wilson overturned a lamp on the floor of his news-stand, and he had heard it said then that the property might have been saved if the boys had smothered the flames with their coats, or any fabric of woollen, instead of trying to drown it out with water.
He pulled off his coat in a twinkling, threw it over the prostrate woman, and added to the covering rag rugs from the floor, pressing them down firmly as he said, in a trembling voice, much as though speaking to a child:
"Don't get scared! We can't put the fire out with water; but I'll soon smother it."
"You needn't bother about me, my child; but attend to the house! It would be dreadful if we should lose the dear old home!"
"I'll get the best of this business in a jiffy; but it won't do to give you a chance of bein' burned."
"There is no fire here now." And Aunt Hannah threw back the rugs, despite Seth's hold upon them, to show that the flames were really quenched. "For mercy's sake, save the house! It's the only home I ever knew, an' my heart would be wellnigh broken if I lost it!"
Before she had ceased speaking Seth was flinging rug after rug on the burning oil, for Aunt Hannah, like many another woman living in the country, had an ample supply of such floor coverings.
Not until he had entirely covered that line of flame, and had danced to and fro over the rugs to stamp out the last spark of fire, did he venture to open the outside door, and it was high time, for the pungent smoke filled the kitchen until it was exceedingly difficult to breathe.
The little woman remained upon the floor where Seth had first found her, and it was only after the night breeze was blowing through the room, carrying off the stifling vapor, that the boy had time to wonder why she made no effort to rise.
"Are you hurt?" he cried anxiously, running to her side.
"Never mind me until the fire is out."
"There is no more fire, an' I'm bound to mind you! Are you hurt?"
"It doesn't seem possible, my dear, an' yet I can't use either ankle or wrist. Of course the bones are not broken; but old people like me don't fall harmlessly as do children."
Seth was more alarmed now than when he saw the flames of the burning oil threatening the destruction of the building, and he dumbly wondered why Gladys did not make her appearance.
The first excitement was over, and now he had time in which to be frightened.
"What can I do? Oh, what can I do?" he cried, running to and fro, and then, hardly aware of his movements, he shouted loudly for Gladys.
"Don't waken her!" Aunt Hannah cried warningly. "If you can't help me there is nothing she can do."
"Ain't she in the house?" Seth asked nervously.
He feared Aunt Hannah might die, and even though she was in no real danger, to stand idly by not knowing how to aid her was terrible.
He failed to observe that Snip was no longer in the room; but just at that moment his shrill barking was heard in an adjoining apartment, and Seth knew the dog had gone to find his little playmate.
"You mustn't get frightened after the danger is all over, my dear," Aunt Hannah said soothingly. "But for you the house would have been destroyed, and now we have nothing to fear."
"But you can't get up!" Seth wailed.
"That wouldn't be a great misfortune compared with losing our home, even if I never got up again," the little woman said quietly. "But I'm not going to lie here. Surely you can help me on to the couch."
"Tell me how to do it," Seth cried eagerly, and at that moment Gladys appeared in the doorway.
"Lean over so that I may put my arms around your neck," Aunt Hannah said, giving no heed to the girl's cry of alarm.
"She fell an' hurt herself," Seth said hurriedly to Gladys, as he obeyed the little woman's injunction. And then, as the latter put her uninjured arm over his neck, he tried to aid the movement by clasping her waist.
"If you can help me just a little bit we'll soon have her on the couch," he cried to Gladys, who by this time was standing at his side.
Aunt Hannah was a tiny woman, and the children, small though they were, did not find it an exceedingly difficult task to raise her bodily from the floor.
Then Gladys lighted a lamp, and it was seen that, in addition to the injuries received by the fall, Aunt Hannah had been grievously burned.
"Yes, I'm in some pain," she said in reply to Seth's anxious questioning; "but now that the house has been saved I have no right to complain. Get some flour, Gladys, and while you are putting it on the worst of the burns, perhaps Seth will run over to Mrs. Dean an' ask if she can come here a few minutes."
"Where does Mis' Dean live?" the lad asked hurriedly, starting toward the door; and he was already outside when Gladys replied:
"It's the first house past the grove where Snip and I went this afternoon!"
Seth gave no heed to his lameness as he ran at full speed down the road; the thought that now was the time when he might in some slight degree repay Aunt Hannah for having given shelter to him and Snip, lending speed to his feet.
The Dean family had not yet retired when he arrived at the farmhouse, and, stopping only sufficiently long to tell in fewest possible words of what had happened, Seth ran back to help Gladys care for the invalid, for he was feverishly eager to have some part in the nursing.
Aunt Hannah was on the couch with her wounds partially bandaged when the boy returned, and although her suffering must have been severe, that placid face was as serene as when he bade her good-night.
"Mis' Dean is comin' right away. What can I do?"
"Nothing more, my dear," the little woman replied quietly. "You have been of such great service to me this night that I can never repay you."
"Please don't say that, Aunt Hannah," Seth cried, his face flushing with shame as he remembered the past. "If I could only do somethin' real big, then perhaps you wouldn't think I was so awful bad."