Tabitha at Ivy Hall Part 10

"You don't look like it now. How did you get over it?" The black eyes glistened with eagerness and the little face was full of wistfulness.

"My mother used to talk to me and--"

"I might be better if I had a mother. Aunt Maria doesn't know how to mother anything."

"I didn't have my mother always, dear, but long after she was gone, I remembered the things she used to tell me, and they helped me so much to control my temper."

"What did she say?" she asked curiously.

"Many, many things, Tabitha; too many to think of now. But she gave me a rule to help me from getting mad, which I have never forgotten. She told me to count ten when I was angry before I spoke a word to anyone; and by the time I had counted ten I had hold of my temper, so it couldn't get away. Sometimes, of course, I made mistakes and said things I regretted afterwards, and then my mother taught me to go to the people I had hurt and ask their forgiveness. It was often very hard to do, but I felt so much happier afterward, and I have never been sorry for begging a person's pardon."

"Even if they weren't nice to you?"

"Yes, dear, even if they were horrid. I knew I had done my part and could forget all about the trouble; but if I hadn't told them I was sorry, then I was unhappy all the time."

Tabitha looked thoughtfully out of the window far across the desert to the mountains beyond, and finally answered slowly, "Well, that's worth trying, though being a Catt seems to make everything different for me.

Maybe--" The noon whistle blew, and the child leaped to her feet with a startled exclamation. "I must be going now. Aunt Maria wasn't at home when we took the melon down, and no one knows where I've gone. Good-by!"

Away she rushed down the mountain path and up the main street of the town toward home. As she neared the schoolhouse, she saw through the open window the teacher correcting papers at her desk, her head bowed low over her work and one hand shading her eyes.

"I was real wicked to her," said Tabitha to herself. "I ought to tell her how sorry I am--for I am sorry now."

Impulsively she ran across the yard, threw open the door and burst into the room.

"Teacher--Miss Brooks, I was real ugly and wicked yesterday. He did make me awfully mad when he said such horrid things about my name, but I oughtn't to have thrown water in his face nor dumped him in that puddle.

He said I did--but I never saw that part of it. He says he's sorry and I'll believe him now. Will--will you be friends with me again? I forgot my manners when I sa.s.sed you. I didn't mean to. It was real hateful of me to tromp on your toes and bear down hard on your knee, and I'm ever so sorry. Can you--forgive me?"

Oh, but it was hard to say that, and the culprit stood s.h.i.+fting from one foot to the other in embarra.s.sment and shame with eyes down-cast and cheeks aflame. There was a quick step on the rough floor, a strong arm encircled her gently, and for a brief moment she was held in a close embrace while Miss Brooks whispered tenderly in her ear. Then they had a long talk--Tabitha had forgotten all about the dinner hour--and when they parted it was with a better understanding of each other.

"She kissed me," breathed the child in ecstasy as she hurried up the hill. "That's the first time a lady ever kissed me, except Mrs. Carson.

It is so nice to have friends! And Mrs. Vane is right, it does feel good when you've told folks you are sorry. I wonder--there's Dad--I sa.s.sed him and stole his watermelon. But he's hated me ever since I was born. I wonder if it would be worth while to tell him I'm sorry. I wonder if I would be lying if I said that to him. I wish he was like Carrie's father or Dr. Vane; I could tell them I was sorry and really feel sorry.

Perhaps if I told him I knew how wicked I was, the sorriness would come later. I'll try it this time, and if it doesn't work--well, I needn't do it again."

With fluttering heart and breathing quickly, she boldly entered the small kitchen where the rest of the family were just rising from dinner.

The father scowled disapprovingly at her tardiness, but before he could utter a word of reproof, Tabitha marched up to him and rapidly began,

"I was real mad at your saying I had been fighting when I hadn't hit Jerome but once and he had never hit me at all, and I was madder still when you said I couldn't have any watermelon; so I stole the whole thing out of the cooler and hid it up among the rocks, but it got smashed when I dragged it over the stones, so it wasn't fit to bring back when I began to think it was a licking this time sure.

"The doctor came along just then and told me maybe if I bought another melon it would be all right, so I did, borrowing eight cents of him, for which I must work until I get it paid back. I think this melon is better than the one you got anyhow, but if you still think it's got to be a licking, why, I'm ready."

She paused for breath, while he, speechless with astonishment at this lengthy confession, stared at her with uncomprehending eyes. Was this Tabitha? What could have happened to bring about this state of affairs?

"Teacher and Mrs. Vane say it is wicked to get mad and we always ought to beg folks'--" she could not say 'forgiveness' to him--"folks' pardon when we say or do things we ought not to. I ought not to have toted that melon off. What are you going to do about it?"

She was trembling from head to foot with excitement and nervous dread, and it seemed to her that he had never looked so formidable before; but though her heart quaked, she courageously stood her ground, and waited for him to name her sentence.

"You better eat your dinner and help your aunt clear away the dishes and do up the other work instead of gadding all over the neighborhood," he said gruffly to hide his feelings, and taking his hat, he pa.s.sed out of the door, leaving a surprised but much relieved little girl to enjoy a huge slice of watermelon which she found on her plate.

CHAPTER IX

A BRAVE LITTLE CATT

Miss Brooks was going away. This was her last week of school and next September when the children gathered again in the familiar old building, there would be a new teacher in her stead. The children were disconsolate, for in the three years that she had instructed them in the mysterious ways of knowledge, they had come to love her very dearly and to consider her one of their possessions. So it was a great shock to learn of her intentions, and particularly was this true with Tabitha whose grief at the impending loss was too deep for words. She could only stare and stare at the beloved face as the days slipped by lessening the teacher's stay with them, until Miss Brooks was so haunted by those pathetically appealing black eyes that she could scarcely sleep and began to wonder why it was that she should feel so much like a criminal every time she looked at the child.

At last a happy thought occurred to her. She interviewed Mr. Carson, Dr.

Vane and other prominent men of the town, with the result that the last Monday of the term she faced the scholars with a happy smile on her lips and hope in her heart, as she announced, "Children, I have some good news to tell you--"

"You're not going away after all!" breathed Tabitha ecstatically, but the next instant her face fell, for the teacher gently shook her head to signify that this guess was wrong.

"No, it isn't that, for I really cannot come back here next fall, children, or I would. But as long as I am going away, I thought we would celebrate it by having a farewell picnic. In the city where I live if any of our friends go away to live somewhere else, we always give them a little party as a sort of good-by to them, and we have a jolly time which they can remember always. Instead of having a party here, I thought it would be nice if we could go down to the river for a picnic, so I asked some of the gentlemen here in town about it and they told me that we can get wagons enough to take us all down there a week from tomorrow. It is such a long, long way we couldn't walk. It is a pretty place, too, and many of you haven't been there before. We will take our lunch and stay all day, coming home before it gets dark. Some of the parents are willing to accompany us, and we will have a fine time. How many of you would like to go?"

Up went every hand in the room and the faces of the children beamed in happy antic.i.p.ation, for picnics were almost unknown here on the barren desert, and any novelty was gladly welcomed. So the scholars began happy plans for this unusual gala day, and all that long week little else was thought of. This was just what Miss Brooks had hoped for, because in their looking forward to this extraordinary pleasure in their humdrum lives, they ceased to hara.s.s their teacher with mournful laments and direful prophecies, and even Tabitha's face lost some of its reproachful look.

The picnic day dawned at last, clear, cloudless and warm but not too hot, for the desert summer was not fairly upon them yet; and with lunch-baskets and buckets on their arms, and faces wreathed with expectant smiles, the thirty children gathered around the low schoolhouse impatiently waiting for the teams.

Both of Carrie's parents, Susie's mother, Dr. Vane and Herman's aunt were to help Miss Brooks take care of her restless charges and make the day a success; so no wonder everyone was happy in their antic.i.p.ation of a good time. Then, too, some of the miners who had heard the great event talked up, got together in the dead of night and decorated the several rigs with gay bunting, fastening two small flags to the front of each wagon and even tr.i.m.m.i.n.g up the horses' harnesses until the results were quite dazzling to childish eyes. What did it matter to them that some of the bunting had been watersoaked and that the flags were faded almost white? The effect was gay and festive and the whole town's population turned out to see the procession start up the mountain road l.u.s.tily singing _My Country_, while they waved their handkerchiefs and caps in the early morning suns.h.i.+ne in proud acknowledgment of the cheers which greeted them on every side. Oh, it was a happy day for Tabitha, and under cover of the music she confidingly whispered to Carrie that this was the first picnic she had ever been allowed to attend, which fact surprised that little miss exceedingly.

It was a long drive to the river, up hill and down, over rocky roads, through sandy soil, among the ugly Spanish bayonets and cacti resplendent with scarlet blossoms, and over the desert, now a ma.s.s of gorgeous colors, for the summer suns had not yet burned out the little life which the winter rains had coaxed into blooming. How beautiful the gold and crimson flowers looked dotted over the hills and the flat like a brilliant carpet with its sage-green background and occasional dash of deeper green where patches of "filaree" covered the sandy soil!

How glorious it was to watch the gayly plumed birds as they swung from bush to bush among the yuccas and greasewood, pouring out their very souls in their joyous morning lay, seemingly with no fear of the noisy, happy picnickers rumbling along the roadway! Cottontails and jackrabbits darted across the path and into hiding, an occasional harmless snake lifted its head to survey them and then glided away among the rocks, and twice a startled covey of quail rose from the underbrush and vanished in the blue mountain air. Oh, it was grand! How could she ever have thought the desert lonely and barren and hideous!

Then the river came into view and she held her breath in delight, for the purple haze of the mountains beyond hung low in the valley, and lent an indescribable charm to the whole surrounding country, as if it were not a reality, but some great, grand picture hung before them which they could gaze upon but never reach, for, as they approached the enchanted spot, the beautiful mountains as slowly receded, still clad in their purple veil and still mysteriously alluring.

Under a clump of low, glistening cottonwoods among the tall, rank swale-gra.s.s and rough-leaved yellow-weed, the picnic party came to a halt and the merry children swarmed down over the wagon wheels, eager to begin their day's frolic beside the sluggish river.

"Now, if someone will just take care of the baby," suggested Susie's mother as they unloaded the lunch baskets, "I'll help the other ladies get dinner ready and you can have lunch just that much sooner."

"Oh, let me, Mrs. McKittrick," cried Tabitha, who had wished all the morning that she had been in the rig with the McKittrick family so she might hold the little dimpled, laughing mite, who made friends with everyone and was wors.h.i.+pped by all the children, but remained unspoiled in spite of the attentions showered upon him by this admiring court.

"Well, all right, Tabitha. Watch him and see that he doesn't roll down the bank or put anything in his mouth. He's into everything."

"What's his name?"

"He hasn't any yet. We can't find one pretty enough for him."

"And he is 'most a year old!"

"Yes, he will be a year next month, but he is the first boy in a family of four girls, and we can't decide what to call him, so he has no name yet. You might think up some pretty ones to suggest. We've exhausted everyone else's lists."

She laughed as she spoke, but Tabitha thought she was thoroughly in earnest, and seizing the baby, she ran away to ponder over the vital question of pretty names, confident of finding one that would suit the over-particular parents.

"I'd like to call him Dionysius if he was mine," she confided to Carrie, who soon joined her in her self-appointed task of nursemaid, for the two girls were seldom apart; "but--after--that time--well, he might not like it when he grew up. I am afraid it might be unlucky."

"Frederick is a pretty name," ventured Carrie. "That's papa's."