Dorothy on a House Boat

“It surely was all right. Why, what would any of us have done if she hadn’t been here? Mamma was scared worse than I was, even. You know she saw a person killed by lightning once and has never got over it. You’ll find, if you watch out, that Mrs. Calvert will help us have a good time, rather than spoil it; if – if – we don’t go back. I guess Mamma wishes we’d have to do that.”

Aurora did not answer, for just then the others were eagerly discussing the situation. They were to “up anchor,” run up the sails to catch the stiff breeze that was rising with the sun, and proceed down the coast as far as they could while the engineer remained, as he had agreed to do for a few hours longer, because of Mrs. Calvert’s earnest request.

“Get us safe into some snug harbor, please Mr. Stinson, and I will see that you lose nothing by the delay.”

“That is all right, Madam. I only wish I could join your cruise for all its length. I’m sure you’re bound to have a grand trip, despite the bad beginning – which should bring the proverbial good ending.”

“I wish you could. Oh! I do wish you could,” said Aunt Betty. She was somewhat surprised to find the engineer a man of culture, but was delighted by the fact. She felt that the presence of such a man would keep her three boys straight, for she was a little afraid of “pranks” should they indulge in any.

She had hoped, too, to make the most of their trip up and down the Severn, with which lovely river her earliest memories lingered. However, they were not to reach it yet. The friendly wind forsook them and both Cap’n Jack and Mr. Stinson felt that it would be wise to enter a little bay further north; and making their slow way between some islands come to anchor on the shores of the Magothy.

“The Maggotty! That’s where the best cantaloupes come from!” cried Mabel. “Who’ll buy my fine wattymillyouns, growed on de Maggotty, down in An’erunnel! Wattymillyouns! Cant-e-lopes! Oh! I want one this minute!”

“What a dreadful name for a river! Who’d eat melons full of maggots!” demanded Aurora, with a little shiver. Evidently, though she must often have heard them, she had paid scant attention to the cries of the negro hucksters through her own city’s streets.

“It isn’t ‘Maggotty’ but ‘Magothy’,” explained Dorothy. “I used to think just as you do until I learned better. I’m bad as Mabel. I just can’t wait. I must have a ‘cantaloupe’ for supper, I must! Scooped out and filled with ice – sweet and juicy – ”

“Hold on! Hold on! Wait till I fetch it!” returned Gerald, with a smack of his own lips. Then leaving the others to follow as they chose he ran to the stern of the tender which the men had brought close to a grassy bank, and leaped ashore.

“Wheah’s he gwine at?” demanded Ephraim, who had been in the way and unceremoniously pushed aside.

“Wattymillyouns!” yelled Jim, following the other boy’s lead.

“Wattymillyouns? Wat-ty-mill-youns? My hea’t o’ grace! I’se done gwine get some fo’ my Miss Betty!”

“For yo’se’f you-all means, yo’ po’ triflin’ ornery ole niggah! Ain’t it de trufe?” laughed Chloe, coming to the old man’s side, and laying a restraining hand upon his shoulder, while all her white teeth showed in a wide grin.

Safely anchored, the engineer gone, the old Captain bustling about on the roof of the boat, making all snug and shipshape for the coming night, every heart was light. None more so than those of the colored folks, always in the habit of leaving care to “their white” friends and like children in their readiness to forget the past.

Ephraim didn’t leap the plank, his “roomaticals” prevented; but he displayed a marvelous agility in getting ashore and speed in following the vanishing lads.

“What’s up?” demanded Melvin, running to where Chloe stood, holding her sides and shaking with laughter, “where have they gone?”

“Maggotty millyouns! Spyed a millyoun patch ovah yondah an’ – Lan’ ob Goshen! If he ain’ done gwine, too! Well, my sake! Mebbe Chloe doan’ lub millyouns same’s anuddah, mebbe!”

As Melvin disappeared over the side, his own mouth watering for the southern delicacies so rare to his own northern home, mistress Chloe gathered up her petticoats and sprang ashore.

Little Methuselah called after her but she did not pause. She meant to get her own share from that distant melon-patch, and her maternal ears were deaf to his outcries.

Sharing the common feeling of repose and safety which had fallen upon all the company when the Water Lily had been tied up for the night, Metty had felt it a fine time to don his livery and show off his finery before the white folks. Clad in its loose misfit, but proud as ever, he clung to the stern-rail of the Pad and gazed after his departing parent.

What had happened? Why were all those people running away so fast? Was another frightful tempest coming?

“Mammy! Mam-my! Lemme! Lemme come! Mammy, Mammy, wait – I’se com – ”

A point on the water side of the Pad commanded a better view of the fleeing figures, climbing the gentle rise of ground beyond. Thither the little fellow rushed; gave one glance downward into the water and another upon his gorgeous attire; then upward and onward where a fold of scarlet calico fluttered like a signal; shut his great eyes, and leaped.

Alas! The fat little legs couldn’t compass that space! and Methuselah Bonaparte Washington Brown sank beneath the waves his own impact had created.

CHAPTER VI.

A MULE AND MELON TRANSACTION

The five melon-hungry deserters from the Water Lily came breathlessly to the “snake” rail-fence which bordered the “patch” and paused with what Gerald called “neatness and dispatch.”

Suddenly there rose from behind the fence a curious figure to confront them. Two figures, in fact, a man’s and a mule’s. Both were of a dusty brown color, both were solemn in expression, and so like one another in length of countenance that Melvin giggled and nudged Jim, declaring under his breath:

“Look like brothers, don’t you know?”

Ephraim was the first to recover composure as, removing his hat, he explained:

“We-all’s trabellers an’ jes’ natchally stopped to enquiah has yo’ wattymillyouns fo’ sale.”

Chloe sniggered at the old man’s deft turn of the matter, for she knew perfectly well that the idea of buying the melons hadn’t entered his mind until that moment. He was an honest creature in general, but no southern negro considers it a crime to steal a water-melon – until he is caught at it!

The air with which Ephy bowed and scraped sent the boys into roars of laughter but didn’t in the least lessen the gloom of the farmer’s face. At last he opened his lips, closed them, reopened them and answered:

“Ye-es. I have. But – I cayn’t sell ’em. They ain’t never no sale for my truck. Is they, Billy?”

The mournfulness of his voice was absurd. As absurd as to call the solemn-visaged mule by the frivolous name of “Billy.” Evidently the animal understood human speech, for in response to his owner’s appeal the creature opened his own great jaws in a prodigious bray. Whereupon the farmer nodded, gravely, as if to say:

“You see. Billy knows.”

“How much yo’ tax ’em at?” asked Chloe, gazing over the fence with longing eyes and mentally selecting the ripest and juiciest of the fruit.

“I ain’t taxin’ ’em. I leave it to you.”

Then he immediately sat down upon the rock beside the fence where he had been “resting” for most of that afternoon, or “evenin’” as he called it. Billy doubled himself up and sprawled on the ground near his master, to the injury of the vines and one especially big melon.

“O, suh! Doan’ let him squush it!” begged Chloe; while Ephraim turned upon her with a reproving:

“You-all min’ yo’ place! Ah ’m ’tendin’ to dis yeah business.”

“Va’y well. Jes’ gimme mah millyoun ter tote home to Miss Betty. Ah mus’ ha’ left mah pocket-book behin’ me!” she jeered. Then, before they knew what she was about, she had sprung over the fence and picked up the melon she had all along selected as her own.

Nobody interfered, not even the somber owner of the patch; and with amazing lightness Chloe scrambled back again, the great melon held in the skirt of her red gown, and was off down the slope at the top of her speed.

Ephraim put on his “specs” and gravely stared after her; then shook his head, saying:

“Dat yeah gell’s de flightiest evah! Ain’t it de trufe?”

But now a new idea had come to Jim, and laying a hand on the collars of the other lads, he brought their heads into whispering nearness of his own:

“Say, fellows, let’s buy Billy! A mule that understands English is the mule to draw the Water Lily!”

A pause, while the notion was considered, then Melvin exclaimed:

“Good enough! If he doesn’t ask too much. Try him!”

“Yes, ask him. I’ll contribute a fiver, myself,” added Gerald.

Ephraim had now struggled over the fence and was pottering about among the melons, with the eye of a connoisseur selecting and laying aside a dozen of the choicest. Those which were not already black of stem he passed by as worthless, as he did those which did not yield a peculiar softness to the pressure of his thumb. His face fairly glittered and his “roomaticals” were wholly forgotten; till his attention was suddenly arrested by the word “money,” spoken by one of the boys beyond the fence. At that he stood up, put his hands on his hips, and groaned; then keenly listened to what was being said.

“Ye-es. I might want to sell Billy, but I cayn’t. I cayn’t never sell anything.”

“Well, we’re looking for a mule, a likely mule. One strong enough to haul a house-boat. Billy’s pretty big; looks as if he could.”

“Billy can do anything he’s asked to. Cayn’t you, Billy?”

It was funny to see the clever beast rise slowly to his feet, shake the dust from his great frame, turn his sorrowful gaze upon his master’s face, and utter his assenting bray.

Melvin flung himself on the grass and laughed till his sides ached; then sprang up again wild with eagerness to possess such a comical creature:

“Oh! Buy him – buy him – no matter the price! He’d be the life of the whole trip! I’ll give something, too, as much as I can spare!”

Jim tried to keep his face straight as he inquired:

“What is the price of Billy, sir?”

The farmer sighed, so long and deeply, that the mule lay down again as if pondering the matter.

“Young man, that there Billy-mule is beyond price. There ain’t another like him, neither along the Magothy nor on the Eastern Sho’. I cayn’t sell Billy.”

During his life upon the mountains James Barlow had seen something of “horse-traders” and he surmised that he had such an one to deal with now. He expected that the man would name a price, after a time, much higher than he really would accept, and the boy was ready for a “dicker.” He meant to show the other lads how clever and astute he could be. So he now returned:

“Oh, yes. I think you can if you get your price. Everything has its price, I’ve read somewhere – even mules!”

“Young man, life ain’t no merry jest. I’ve found that out and so’ll you. I cayn’t sell Billy.”

“Ten dollars?”

No reply, but the man sat down again beside his priceless mule and reopened the old book he had been reading when interrupted by these visitors.

“Fifteen?”

“Twenty?” volunteered Gerald.

“Twenty-five?” asked Melvin. Then in an aside to the other boys: “I wonder if Dorothy will help pay for him!”

“Sure. This is her racket, isn’t it? It was Mrs. Calvert, or somebody, said we could be towed along shore, as if the Lily were a canal-boat. Sure! We’ll be doing her a kindness if we buy it for her and save her all the trouble of looking for one;” argued Gerald, who had but a small stock of money and wasn’t eager to spend it.

Jim cast one look of scorn upon him, then returned to his “dickering.” He had so little cash of his own that he couldn’t assume payment, but he reasoned that, after he had written an account of their predicament to Mr. Winters, the generous donor of the Lily would see that she was equipped with the necessary “power,” even if that power lay in the muscles of a gigantic mule.

“Oh! sir, please think it over. Hark, I’ll tell you the whole story, then I’m sure you’ll want to help a lady – several ladies – out of a scrape,” argued Jim, with such a persuasive manner that Melvin was astonished. This didn’t seem at all like the rather close-tongued student he had known before.

But the truth was that Jim had become infatuated with the idea of owning at least a share in Billy. He was used to mules. He had handled and lived among them during his days upon Mrs. Stott’s truck-farm. He was sure that the animal could be made useful in many ways and – in short, he wanted, he must have Billy!

In a very few moments he had told the whole tale of the house-boat and its misfortunes, laying great stress upon the “quality” of its owners, and thus shrewdly appealing to the chivalry of this southern gentleman who was playing at farming.

For a time his only apparent listener was old Ephraim, who had picked up a hoe somewhere and now leaned upon it, resting from his selection of the melons. But, though he didn’t interfere with the glib narrative, he confirmed it by nods of his gray head, and an occasional “Dat’s so, Cunnel.”

Evidently, the farmer was impressed. He stopped pretending to read and folding his arms, leaned back against the rails, his eyes closed, an expression of patient, sad endurance upon his long face. His manner said as plainly as words:

“If this young gabbler will talk I suppose I must listen.”

But gradually this manner changed. His eyes opened. The book slid to the ground. In spite of his own unwillingness he was interested. A house-boat! He’d never heard of such a thing; but, if the tale were true, it would be something new to see. Besides, ladies in distress? That was an appeal no gentleman could deny, even though that gentleman were as poor as himself. He might well have added “as shiftless;” for another man in his position would have been stirring himself to get that fine crop of melons into market.

Jim finished his recital with the eager inquiry:

“Now, sir, don’t you think you can sell Billy and put a reasonable price on him?”

The lad rose to his feet as he asked this and the man slowly followed his example. Then laying his hand on heart he bowed, saying:

“I cayn’t sell Billy. I give you my word. But, a southern planter is never beyond the power, sir, to bestow a gift. Kindly convey said Billy to Miss Calvert with the compliments of Colonel Judah Dillingham of T. Yonder are the bars. They are down. They are always down. So are my fortunes. Billy, old friend, farewell.”

This strange gentleman then solemnly reseated himself and again picked up his book. A deeper gloom than ever had settled upon him and a sigh that was almost a sob shook him from head to foot.

Billy, also, slowly and stiffly rose, regarded the reader with what seemed like grieved amazement and dismally brayed. There was an old harness upon him, half-leather, half-rope, with a few wisps of corn-husk, and without delay Jim laid his hand on the bit-ring and started away.

“Of course, sir, we will pay for the mule. My folks wouldn’t, I mean couldn’t, accept such a gift from a stranger. Our house-boat is tied up at the little wharf down yonder and we’ll likely be there for awhile. I’ll come back soon and tell what they say.”

Colonel Dillingham made no motion as if he heard and James was too afraid he would repent of the bargain to tarry. But Billy wasn’t easy to lead. He followed peaceably enough as far as the designated bars, even stepped over the fallen rails into the grassy fields beyond. But there he firmly planted his fore-feet and refused to go further.

Left behind and scarcely believing his own eyes, Ephraim now respectfully inquired, with pride at having guessed the man’s title:

“How much dese yeah millyouns wuth, Cunnel?”

The question was ignored although the gentleman seemed listening to something. It was the dispute now waging in the field beyond, where Jim was trying to induce Billy to move and the other lads were offering suggestions in the case. At last something akin to a smile stole over the farmer’s grim features and he roughly ordered:

“Shut up, you nigger! Huh! Just as I thought. I couldn’t sell Billy and Billy won’t be given. Eh? what? Price of melons? You black idiot, do you reckon a gentleman who can afford to give away a mule’s goin’ to take money for a few trumpery water-melons? Go on away. Go to the packin’-house yonder and find a sack. Fill it. Take the whole field full. Eat enough to kill yourself. I wish you would!”

Far from being offended by this outbreak, Ephraim murmured:

“Yes, suh, t’ank yo’, suh,” and hobbled over the uneven ground toward the whitewashed building in the middle of the patch. Some more thrifty predecessor had built this for the storing and packing of produce, but under the present owner’s management it was fast tumbling to ruin. But neither did this fact surprise Ephy, nor hinder him from choosing the largest sack from a pile on the floor. With this in hand he hurried back to the goodly heap of melons he had made ready and hastily loaded them into the sack.

Not till then did he consider how he was to get that heavy load to the Water Lily. Standing up, he took off his hat, scratched his wool, hefted the melons, and finally chuckled in delight.

“‘Mo’ ways ’an one to skin a cat’! Down-hill’s easier ’an up!”

With that he began to drag the sack toward the fence and, having reached it, took out its contents and tossed them over the fence. When the bag was empty he rolled and tucked it into the back of his coat, then climbed back to the field outside. The controversy with Billy was still going lustily on, but Ephy had more serious work on hand than that. Such a heap of luscious melons meant many a day’s feast, if they could be stored in some safe, cool place.

“Hello! Look at old Eph!” suddenly cried Gerald, happening to turn about.

“Huh! Now ain’t that clever? Wonder I never thought o’ that myself!” cried the Colonel, with some animation. “Clever enough for a white man. Billy, you’d ought have conjured that yourself. But that’s always the way. I cayn’t think a thought but somebody else has thought it before me. I cayn’t never get ahead of the tail end of things. Oh! hum!”

The Colonel might be sighing but the three lads were laughing heartily enough to drown the sighs, for there was the old negro starting one after another of the great melons a-roll down the gentle slope, to bring up on the grassy bank at the very side of the Water Lily. If a few fell over into the water they could easily be fished out, reasoned Ephraim, proud of his own ingenuity.

But the group beside the bars didn’t watch to see the outcome of that matter, nor Ephraim’s reception. They were too busy expostulating with Billy, and lavishing endearments upon him.

“‘Stubborn as a mule’,” quoted Melvin, losing patience.

“Or fate,” responded the Colonel, drearily.

“Please, sir, won’t you try to make him go?” pleaded Gerald. “I think if you just started him on the right way he’d keep at it.”

“Billy is – Billy!” said the farmer. He was really greatly interested. Nothing so agreeable as this had happened in his monotonous life since he could remember. Here were three lads, as full of life as he had been once, jolly, hearty, with a will to do and conquer everything; and – here was Billy. A great, awkward, inert mass of bone and muscle, merely, calmly holding these clever youngsters at bay.

“Can he be ridden?” demanded Jim, at length.

“He might. Try;” said the man, in heart-broken accents.

Jim tried. Melvin tried. Gerald tried. With every attempt to cross his back the animal threw up his heels and calmly shook the intruder off.

The Colonel folded his arms and sorrowfully regarded these various attempts and failures; then dolefully remarked:

“It seems I cayn’t even give Billy away. Ah! hum.”

Jim lost his temper.

“Well, sir, we’ll call it off and bid you good night. Somebody will come back to pay you for the melons.”

As he turned away in a huff his mates started to follow him; but Melvin was surprised by a touch on his shoulder and looked up to see the Colonel beside him.

“Young man, you look as if you came of gentle stock. Billy was brought up by a gentlewoman, my daughter. She forsook him and me for another man. I mean she got married. That’s why Billy and I live alone now, except for the niggers. They’s a right and a wrong way to everything. This– is the right way with Billy. Billy, lie down.”

For an instant the animal hesitated as if suspecting some treachery in this familiar command; then he doubled himself together like a jack-knife, or till he was but a mound of mule-flesh upon the grass.

“She taught him. She rode this way. Billy, get up.”

This strange man had seated himself sidewise upon the mule’s back, leisurely freeing his feet from the loose-hanging harness and balancing himself easily as the animal got up. Then still sitting sidewise he ordered:

“Billy, proceed.”

At once Billy “proceeded” at an even and decorous pace, while the lads walked alongside, vastly entertained by this unusual rider and his mount. He seemed to think a further explanation necessary, for as they neared the bottom of the slope he remarked:

“Learned that in Egypt. Camel riding. She came home and taught him.”

Then they came to the edge of the bank and paused in surprise. Instead of the gay welcome they had expected, there was Chloe walking frantically up and down, hugging a still dripping little figure to her breast and refusing to yield it to the outstretched arms of poor old Ephraim, who stood in the midst of his melons, a woe-begone, miserable creature, wholly unlike his jubilant self of a brief while before.

“What’s – happened?” asked Jim, running to Chloe’s side.

“’Tis a jedgmen’! A jedgmen’! Oh! de misery – de misery!” she wailed, breaking away from him and wildly running to and fro again, in the fierce excitement of her race.

Yet there upon the roof of the cabin, cheerily looking out from his “bridge” was Cap’n Jack. He was waving his crutches in jovial welcome and trying to cover Chloe’s wailing by his exultant:

“I fished him out with a boat-hook! With – a – boat-hook, d’ye hear?”

CHAPTER VII.

VISITORS

Attracted by the wild flowers growing in the fields around the cove where the Water Lily was moored, the four girls had left the boat a little while before the melon seekers had done so.

Mabel and Aurora cared little for flowers in themselves but Dorothy’s eagerness was infectious, and Elsa’s pale face had lighted with pleasure. But even then her timidity moved her to say:

“Suppose something happens? Suppose we should get lost? It’s a strange, new place – I guess – I’m afraid – I’ll stay with Mrs. Calvert, please.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind, my dear,” said that lady, smiling. “You’ve done altogether too much ‘staying’ in your short life. Time now to get outdoor air and girlish fun. Go with Dorothy and get some color into your cheeks. You want to go back to that father of yours looking a very different Elsa from the one he trusted to us. Run along! Don’t bother about a hat and jacket. Exercise will keep you from taking cold. Dolly, dear, see that the child has a good time.”

Elsa’s mother had died of consumption and her father had feared that his child might inherit that disease. In his excessive love and care for her he had kept her closely housed in the poor apartment of a crowded tenement, the only home he could afford. The result had been to render her more frail than she would otherwise have been. Her shyness, her lameness, and her love of books with only her father for teacher, made her contented enough in such a life, but was far from good for her. The best thing that had ever happened to her was this temporary breaking up of this unwholesome routine and her having companions of her own age.

So that even now she had looked wistfully upon the small bookshelf in the cabin, with the few volumes placed there; but Mrs. Calvert shook her head and Elsa had to obey.

“But, Dorothy, aren’t you afraid? There might be snakes. It might rain. It looks wet and swampy – I daren’t get my feet wet – father’s so particular – ”