The Mountain Girl Part 39

"He's such an odd little chap," she said.

"What be that--odd? Does. .h.i.t mean this 'er lump on my back?" He pulled David down and whispered the question in his ear.

"No, no. She only means that you're a dear, queer little chap."

"What be I quare fer?"

"What are all these drawings? Tell us what they mean."

"This'n, hit's the ocean, an' that thar, hit's a steams.h.i.+p sailin' on th' ocean, like you done tol' me about. An' this'n, hit's our house an'

here's whar ol' Pete bides at; an' this'n's ol' Pete kickin' out like he hated somethin' like he does when we give Frale's colt his corn first."

The other small boys from their beds laughed out merrily and strained their necks to see. "These're theirn. I made this'n fer him an' this'n fer him."

He tossed the pictures feebly toward them, and they fluttered to the floor. David gathered them up and gave them to their respective owners.

The old doctor stood beside the cot and looked down on the little artist. His lips twitched and his eyes twinkled.

"Which one is y--yours?" he asked.

"I keep this'n with the sea--an'--here, I made this'n fer you." He paused, and selected carefully among the pile of papers under his hand.

"You reckon you kin tell what 'tis?"

The doctor took the paper and regarded it gravely a moment, then lifted his eyebrows and made grimaces of wonderment until the three patients in the three little beds were in gales of laughter. At last he said:--

"It's a pile of s--sausages."

"Hit hain't no sausages. Hit's jest a straight, cl'ar pi'cher of a house, an' hit's your house, too, whar brothah David lives at. See?

Thar's the winder, an' the other winder hit's on t'othah side whar you can't see hit."

The doctor turned the paper over and regarded it a moment. "Show me the window. I--I see no window on the other side."

Again the three little invalids laughed uproariously at their visitor.

David smilingly looked on. How often had he seen the delightful old man amuse himself thus with the children! He would contort his mobile face into all the varying expressions of wonder and dismay, of terror or stupefaction, and his entrance to the children's ward was always greeted with outcries of delight, when the little ones were well enough to allow of such freedom.

"Haven't you one to send to your sister?" asked David, stooping low to the child and speaking quietly. The boy's face lighted with a radiant smile that caused the old man to stand regarding him more intently.

"We'll sen' her this'n of the sea. You reckon hit looks like the ocean whar the s.h.i.+ps go a-sailin' to t'othah side o' the world?" He held it in his slender fingers and eyed it critically.

"How did you come to try to make a picture of the sea when you never saw it?"

"Do' know. I feel like I done seed th' ocean when I'm settin' thar on the rock an' them white, big clouds go a-sailin' far--far, like they're goin' to anothah world an' hain't quite touchin' this'n."

"I wondered why you had your s.h.i.+p so high above the sea."

"I don't guess. .h.i.t's a very good'n," said the child, ruefully, clinging to the sc.r.a.p of paper with reluctant grasp. "You reckon she'd keer fer this'n?"

"I reckon she'd care for anything you made. Give it to me, and I'll send it to her."

"She tol' me the sea, hit war blue, an' I can't make hit right blue an'

soft like she said. That thar blue pencil, hit's too slick. I can't make hit stay on the papah."

"What are these mounds here on either side of the sea?"

"Them's mountains."

"But why did you put mountains in the sea?" The boy looked with wide eyes dreamily past the two men so attentively regarding him.

"I--I reckon I jes' put 'em thar fer to look like the sea hit war on the world. I don't guess the'd be no ocean nor no world 'thout the' war mountains fer to hold everything whar hit belongs at."

"I shall bring you a box of paints to-morrow if the nurse will allow you to have them. I'll provide an oilcloth to spread around so he won't throw paint over your nice clean bed," he said to the pleasant-faced young woman.

"That's all right, Doctor," she said.

"Then you can make the blue stay on, and you can make the ocean with real water, and real blue for the sky and the sea."

The child's eyes glowed. He pulled David down and held him with his arm about his neck, and whispered in his ear, and what he said was:--

"When they're a-pullin' on me to git my hade straight an' my back right, I jes' think 'bout the far--far-away sea, with the s.h.i.+ps a-sailin' an'

how hit look, an' hit don't hurt so much. I kin b'ar hit a heap bettah.

When you comin' back, brothah David?"

"Does it hurt you very much, Hoyle?"

"I reckon hit have to hurt," said the child, with fatalistic resignation. "I don't guess he'd hurt me 'thout he had to." He released David slowly, then pulled him down again. "Don't tell him I 'lowed hit hurted me. I reckon he'd ruthah hurt hisself if he could do me right that-a-way. You guess I--I'm goin' to git shet o' the misery some day?"

"That's what we're trying for, my brave little brother," and the two physicians bade the small patients good-by and walked out upon the street.

CHAPTER XXIV

IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG HAS NEWS FROM ENGLAND

As they pa.s.sed down the street, David s.h.i.+vered and b.u.t.toned his light overcoat closer about him.

"Cold?" said the older man.

"Your air is a bit keen here already. I hope it will be the needed tonic for that little chap."

"What were his s--secrets?" David told him.

"He's imaginative--yes--yes. I really would rather hurt myself. He may come on--he may. I've known--I've known--curious, but--Why--h.e.l.lo--h.e.l.lo! Why--where--" and Doctor Hoyle suddenly darted forward and shook hands with another old gentleman, who was alertly stepping toward them, also thin and wiry, but with a face as impa.s.sive as the doctor's was mobile and expressive. "Mr. Stretton, why--why!

David--Mr. Stretton, David Thryng--"

"Ah, Mr. Thryng. I am most happy to find you here."

"Doctor Thryng--over here on this side, you know."