________________________________________________
_ Next day Ben ran off to his work with
Quackenbos's "Elementary History of the
United States" in his pocket, and the
Squire's cows had ample time to breakfast on way-
side grass before they were put into their pasture.
Even then the pleasant lesson was not ended, for
Ben had an errand to town; and all the way he read
busily, tumbling over the hard words, and leaving
bits which he did not understand to be explained at
night by Bab.
At "The First Settlements" he had to stop, for the
schoolhouse was reached, and the book must be returned.
The maple-tree closet was easily found, and
a little surprise hidden under the flat stone; for Ben
paid two sticks of red and white candy for the privilege
of taking books from the new library.
When recess came, great was the rejoicing of the
children over their unexpected treat, for Mrs. Moss
had few pennies to spare for sweets, and, somehow,
this candy tasted particularly nice, bought out of
grateful Ben's solitary dime. The little giris shared
their goodies with their favorite mates, but said
nothing about the new arrangement, fearing it would
be spoilt if generally known. They told their mother,
however, and she gave them leave to lend their books
and encourage Ben to love learning all they could.
She also proposed that they should drop patch-work,
and help her make some blue shirts for Ben. Mrs.
Barton had given her the materials, and she thought
it would be an excellent lesson in needle-work as well
as a useful gift to Ben, -- who, boy-like, never troubled
himself as to what he should wear when his one suit
of clothes gave out.
Wednesday afternoon was the sewing time; so the
two little B's worked busily at a pair of shirt-sleeves,
sitting on their bench in the doorway, while the rusty
needles creaked in and out, and the childish voices
sang school-songs, with frequent stoppages for lively
chatter.
For a week, Ben worked away bravely, and never
shirked nor complained, although Pat put many a
hard or disagreeable job upon him, and chores grew
more and more distasteful. His only comfort was
the knowledge that Mrs. Moss and the Squire were
satisfied with him; his only pleasure the lessons he
learned while driving the cows, and recited in the evening
when the three children met under the lilacs
to " play school."
He had no thought of studying when he began,
and hardly knew that he was doing it as he pored
over the different books he took from the library.
But the little girls tried him with all they Possessed,
and he was mortified to find how ignorant he was.
He never owned it in words, but gladly accepted
all the bits of knowledge they offered from their small store;
getting Betty to hear him spell "just for
fun;" agreeing to draw Bab all the bears and tigers
she wanted if she would show him how to do sums
on the flags, and often beguiled his lonely labors by
trying to chant the multiplication table as they did.
When Tuesday night came round, the Squire paid
him a dollar, said he was "a likely boy," and might
stay another week if he chose. Ben thanked him and
thought he would; but the next morning, after he
had put up the bars, he remained sitting on the top
rail to consider his prospects, for he felt uncommonly
reluctant to go back to the society of rough Pat.
Like most boys, he hated work, unless it was of a
sort which just suited him; then he could toil like a
beaver and never tire. His wandering life had given
him no habits of steady industry; and, while he was
an unusually capable lad of his age, he dearly loved
to "loaf" about and have a good deal of variety and
excitement in his life.
Now he saw nothing before him but days of patient
and very uninteresting labor. He was heartily sick
of weeding; even riding Duke before the cultivator
had lost its charms, and a great pile of wood lay in
the Squire's yard which he knew he would be set
to piling up in the shed. Strawberry-picking would
soon follow the asparagus cultivation; then haying;
and and so on all the long bright summer, without any
fun, unless his father came for him.
On the other hand, he was not obliged to stay a
minute longer unless he liked. With a comfortable
suit of clothes, a dollar in his pocket, and a row of
dinner-baskets hanging in the school-house entry to
supply him with provisions if he didn't mind stealing
them, what was easier than to run away again?
Tramping has its charms in fair weather, and Ben
had lived like a gypsy under canvas for years; so he
feared nothing, and began to look down the leafy road
with a restless, wistful expression, as the temptation
grew stronger and stronger every minute.
Sancho seemed to share the longing, for he kept
running off a little way and stopping to frisk and
bark; then rushed back to sit watching his master
with those intelligent eyes of his, which seemed to
say, "Come on, Ben, let us scamper down this pleasant
road and never stop till we are tired." Swallows
darted by, white clouds fled before the balmy west
wind, a squirrel ran along the wall, and all things
seemed to echo the boy's desire to leave toil behind
and roam away as care-free as they. One thing restrained
him, the thought of his seeming ingratitude
to good Mrs. Moss, and the disappointment of the
little girls at the loss of their two new play-fellows.
While he paused to think of this, something happened
which kept him from doing what he would have been
sure to regret afterward.
Horses had always been his best friends, and one
came trotting up to help him now; though he did
not know how much he owed it till long after. Just
in the act of swinging himself over the bars to take a
shortcut across the fields, the sound of approaching
hoofs, unaccompanied by the roll of wheels, caught
his ear; and, pausing, he watched eagerly to see who
was coming at such a pace.
At the turn of road, however, the quick trot
stopped, and in a moment a lady on a bay mare came
pacing slowly into sight, -- a young and pretty lady,
all in dark blue, with a bunch of dandelions like
yellow stars in her button-hole, and a silver-handled
whip hanging from the pommel of her saddle, evidently
more for ornament than use. The handsome
mare limped a little, and shook her head as if something
plagued her; while her mistress leaned down
to see what was the matter, saying, as if she expected
an answer of some sort,--
"Now, Chevalita, if you have got a stone in your
foot, I shall have to get off and take it out. Why
don't you look where you step, and save me all this
trouble?"
"I'll look for you, ma'am; I'd like to!" said an
eager voice so unexpectedly, that both horse and rider
started as a boy came down the bank with a jump.
"I wish you would. You need not be afraid; Lita
is as gentle as a lamb," answered the young lady,
smilint, as if amused by the boy's earnestness.
"She's a beauty, any way," muttered Ben, lifting
one foot after another till he found the stone, and
with some trouble got it out.
"That was nicely done, and I'm much obliged.
Can you tell me if that cross-road leads to the
Elms?" asked the lady, as she went slowly on with
Ben beside her.
"No, ma'am; I'm new in these parts, and I only
know where Squire Morris and Mrs. Moss live."
"I want to see both of them, so suppose you show
me the way. I was here long ago, and thought I
should remember how to find the old house with the
elm avenue and the big gate, but I don't."
"I know it; they call that place the Laylocks now,
'cause there's a hedge of 'em all down the path and
front wall. It's a real pretty place; Bab and Betty
play there, and so do I."
Ben could not restrain a chuckle at the recollection
of his first appearance there, and, as if his merriment
or his words interested her, the lady said pleasantly,
"Tell me all about it. Are Bab and Betty your sisters?"
Quite forgetting his intended tramp, Ben plunged
into a copious history of himself and new-made
friends, led on by a kind look, an inquiring word,
and sympathetic smile, till he had told every thing.
At the school-house corner he stopped and said,
spreading his arms like a sign-post, --
"That's the way to the Laylocks, and this is the
way to the Squire's."
"As I'm in a hurry to see the old house, I'll go
this way first, if you will be kind enough to give my
love to Mrs. Morris, and tell the Squire Miss Celia is
coming to dine with him. I won't say good-by,
because I shall see you again."
With a nod and a smile, the young lady cantered
away, and Ben hurried up the hill to deliver his
message, feeling as if something pleasant was going
to happen; so it would be wise to defer running away,
for the present at least.
At one o'clock Miss Celia arrived, and Ben had the
delight of helping Pat stable pretty Chevalita; then,
his own dinner hastily eaten, he fell to work at the
detested wood-pile with sudden energy; for as he
worked he could steal peeps into the dining-room,
and see the curly brown head between the two gay
ones, as the three sat round the table. He could not
help hearing a word now and then, as the windows
were open, and these bits of conversation filled him
with curiosity for the names "Thorny," Celia,"
and "George" were often repeated, and an occasional
merry laugh from the young lady sounded like music
in that usually quiet place.
When dinner was over, Ben's industrious fit left
him, and he leisurely trundled his barrow to and fro
till the guest departed. There was no chance for
him to help now, since Pat, anxious to get whatever
trifle might be offered for his services, was quite
devoted in his attentions to the mare and her mistress,
till she was mounted and off. But Miss Celia
did not forget her little guide, and, spying a wistful
face behind the wood-pile, paused at the gate and
beckoned with that winning smile of hers. If ten
Pats had stood scowling in the way, Ben would have
defied them all; and, vaulting over the fence, he ran
up with a shining face, hoping she wanted some last
favor of him. Leaning down, Miss Celia slipped a
new quarter into his hand, saying,
"Lita wants me to give you this for taking the
stone out of her foot."
"Thank y', ma'am; I liked to do it, for I hate to
see 'em limp, 'specially such a pretty one as she is,"
answered Ben, stroking the glossy neck with a loving
touch.
"The Squire says you know a good deal about
horses, so I suppose you understand the Houyhnhnm
language? I'm learning it, and it is very nice,"
laughed Miss Celia, as Chevalita gave a little whinny
and snuffled her nose into Ben's pocket.
"No, miss, I never went to school."
"That is not taught there. I'll bring you a book
all about it when I come back. Mr. Gulliver went to
the horse-country and heard the dear things speak
their own tongue."
"My father has been on the prairies, where there's
lots of wild ones, but he didn't hear 'em speak. I
know what they want without talkin'," answered Ben,
suspecting a joke, but not exactly seeing what it was.
"I don't doubt it, but I won't forget the book.
Good-by, my lad, we shall soon meet again," and
away went Miss Celia as if she were in a hurry to
get back.
"If she only had a red habit and a streamin' white
feather, she'd look as fine as 'Melia used to. She is
'most as kind and rides 'most as well. Wonder
where she's goin' to. Hope she will come soon,"
thought Ben, watching till the last flutter of the blue
habit vanished round the corner; and then he went
back to his work with his head full of the promised
book, pausing now and then to chink the two silver
halves and the new quarter together in his pocket,
wondering what be should buy with this vast sum.
Bab and Betty meantime had had a most exciting
day; for when they went home at noon they found
the pretty lady there, and she had talked to them
like an old friend, given them a ride on the little
horse, and kissed them both good-by when they went
back to school. In the afternoon the lady was gone,
the old house all open, and their mother sweeping,
airing, in great spirits. So they had a splendid
frolic tumbling on feather-beds, beating bits
of carpet, opening closets, and racing from garret to
cellar like a pair of distracted kittens.
Here Ben found them, and was at once overwhelmed
with a burst of news which excited him as
much as it did them. Miss Celia owned the house,
was coming to liver there, and things were to be made
ready as soon as possible. All thought the prospect
a charming one: Mrs. Moss, because life had been
dull for her during the year she had taken charge of
the old house; the little girls had heard rumors of
various pets who were coming; and Ben, learning
that a boy and a donkey were among them, resolved
that nothing but the arrival of his father should tear
him from this now deeply interesting spot.
"I'm in such a hurry to see the peacocks and hear
them scream. She said they did, and that we'd laugh
when old Jack brayed," cried Bab, hopping about on
one foot to work off her impatience.
"Is a faytun a kind of a bird? I heard her say
she could keep it in the coach-house," asked Betty,
inquiringly.
"It's a little carriage," and Ben rolled in the grass,
much tickled at poor Betty's ignorance.
"Of course it is. I looked it out in the dic., and
you mustn't call it a payton, though it is spelt with
a p," added Bab, who liked to lay down the law on
all occasions, and did not mention that she had looked
vainly among the Vs till a school-mate set her right.
"You can't tell me much about carriages. But what
I want to know is where Lita will stay?" said Ben.
"Oh, she's to be up at the Squire's till things are
fixed, and you are to bring her down. Squire came
and told Ma all about it, and said you were a boy to
be trusted, for he had tried you."
Ben made no answer, but secretly thanked his stars
that he had not proved himself untrustworthy by running
away, and so missing all this fun.
"Won't it be fine to have the house open all the
time? We can run over and see the pictures and
books whenever we like. I know we can, Miss Celia is
so kind," began Betty, who cared for these things more
than for screaming peacocks and comical donkeys.
"Not unless you are invited," answered their
mother, locking the front door behind her. "You'd
better begin to pick up your duds right away, for she
won't want them cluttering round her front yard. If
you are not too tired, Ben, you might rake round a
little while I shut the blinds. I want things to look
nice and tidy."
Two little groans went up from two afflicted little
girls as they looked about them at the shady bower,
the dear porch, and the winding walks where they
loved to run "till their hair whistled in the wind," as
the fairy-books say.
"Whatever shall we do! Our attic is so hot and
the shed so small, and the yard always full of hens
or clothes. We shall have to pack all our things
away, and never play any more," said Bab, tragically.
"May be Ben could build us a little house in the
orchard," proposed Betty, who firmly believed that
Ben could do any thing.
"He won't have any time. Boys don't care for
baby-houses," returned Bab, collecting her homeless
goods and chattels with a dismal face.
"We sha'n't want these much when all the new
things come; see if we do," said cheerful little Betty,
who always found out a silver lining to every cloud. _
Read next: CHAPTER VIII. MISS CELIA'S MAN
Read previous: CHAPTER VI. A CIRCULATING LIBRARY
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