VIII
A LIVELY CORRESPONDENCE
It was a trial of patience to have to wait twenty-one days before the first of the "four hundred" could be expected to appear.
"You 'll have to be kind of careful 'bout steppin' round in the dark, Mis' Blossom, 'n' you, too, Ben," said Chi, "for you 'll find a settin'
hen most anywheres nowadays."
Mrs. Blossom laughed. "Oh, Chi, what dear children they are, even if they aren't quite perfect."
"Can't be beat," replied Chi, earnestly. "Look at them now, will you?"
Mrs. Blossom stepped out on the porch, and looked over to the south slope and the corn-patch. "What if her father were to see her now!"
She laughed again, both at her thoughts and the sight.
"'T would give him kind of a shock at first," Chi chuckled, "but he 'd get over it as soon as he 'd seen that face."
"It is wonderful how she has improved. I shouldn't be surprised if he came up here soon to see Hazel."
"Well, he 'll find somethin' worth lookin' at. See there, now!"
The girls had been making scarecrows to protect the young corn, stuffing old shirts and trousers with hay and straw, while March and Budd had been getting ready the cross-tree frames. In dropping and covering the corn that Saturday afternoon after the initiation, the girls had found their skirts and petticoats not only in the way as they bent over their work, but greatly soiled by contact with the soft, damp loam. So they had begged to wear overalls of blue denim like Chi's and the boys'. The request had been gladly granted. "It will save no end of washing," said Mrs. Blossom, and forthwith made up three pairs on the machine.
The girls found it great fun. They tucked in their petticoats and buttoned down their shoulder-straps with right good will. Then Mr.
Blossom presented them with broad, coarse straw hats, such as he and Chi used, and with these on their heads they rushed off to the corn-patch.
There now they were,--five good-looking boys with hands joined, dancing and capering around a scarecrow, that looked like a gentleman tramp gone entirely to seed, and singing at the top of their voices Budd's favorite, "I won't play in your back yard."
At that very hour, when the gentleman scarecrow of the corn-patch was looking amiably, although slightly squint-eyed, out from under his tattered straw hat (for March had drawn rude features on the white cloth bag stuffed with cotton-wool which served for a head, and on it Rose had sewed skeins of brown yarn to imitate hair) at the antics of the five pairs of blue overalls, Mr. Clyde, having finished his nine o'clock breakfast, asked for the mail.
"Yes, Marse John" (so Wilkins always called Mr. Clyde when they were alone), "'spect dere 's one from Miss Hazel by de feel an' de smell."
Mr. Clyde smiled. "How can you tell by the 'feel and the smell,'
Wilkins?"
"Case it's bunchy lake in de middle, an' de vi'lets can't hide dere bref."
"Well, we 'll see," said Mr. Clyde, willing to indulge his faithful servant's childish curiosity. Wilkins busied himself quietly about the breakfast-room.
As Mr. Clyde opened the envelope, the crushed blue and white violets fell out. Suddenly he burst into such a hearty laugh that Wilkins had hard work to suppress a sympathetic chuckle.
"I shall have to carry this letter over to the Doctor, Wilkins," he said, still laughing. "I shall be in time to find him a few minutes alone before office hours." He rose from the table.
Wilkins followed him out to give his coat a last touch with the brush; he was fearful Mr. Clyde might leave without revealing anything of the contents of the letter from his beloved Miss Hazel.
"'Sense me, Marse John," he said in desperation, as Mr. Clyde went towards the front door, "but Miss Hazel ain't no wusser case yo' goin'
to de Doctah's?"
"Oh, Wilkins, I forgot; you want to know how Miss Hazel is. She is doing finely; as happy as a bird, and sends her love to you in a postscript. I think I 'll run up and see her soon."
Wilkins ducked and beamed. "'Pears lake dis yere house ain't de same place wif de little missus gone."
"You 're right, Wilkins," said Mr. Clyde, earnestly. "I shall not open the Newport cottage this year; it would be too lonesome without her."
"Well, Dick," he said gayly, as he entered the Doctor's office, "I shall hold you responsible for some of the lives of the 'Four Hundred.' Here, read this letter."
MOUNT HUNGER, MILL SETTLEMENT, BARTON'S RIVER, VERMONT, May 19, 1896.
DEAREST PAPA,--Good-morning! I am answering your long letter a little sooner than I expected to, because I want you to do something for me in a business way; that's the way March says it must be.
I don't know how to begin to tell you, but I 've joined the N.B.B.O.O.
Society and one of the by-laws is that we must help others all we can and just as much as we can. I wish you'd been at the initiashun. (I don't know about that spelling, and I 'm in a hurry, or I 'd ask.) I had the hand of fellowship from a supposed corpse's hand first, and then I was branded on the arm. And afterwards they all took me in, and now we 're raising four hundred chickens to help others; I 'll tell you all about it when you come. Chi, that's the hired man, but he is really our friend, took me sitting-hen hunting day before yesterday, for I am to own some myself; and we drove all over the hills to the farmhouses and found and bought twelve, or rather Chi did, for I had to borrow the money of him, as I felt so bad when I kissed you good-bye that I forgot to tell you my quarterly allowance was all gone, and I know you won't like my borrowing of Chi, for you have said so many times never to owe anybody and I've always tried to pay for everything except when I had to borrow of Gabrielle, or Mrs. Scott, when I forgot my purse.
But truly the hens were in such an awful hurry to sit, that it did seem too bad to keep them waiting even three days till I could get some money from you; and then, too, we 've all of us, March and Rose and Budd and Cherry and me, bet on which hen would get the first chicken, and that chicken is going to be a prize chicken and especially fatted, and of course, if I waited for the money to come from you, I could n't stand a chance of coming out ahead in our four hundred chicken race, so I borrowed of Chi. The hens came to just $4 and eighty cents. I'll pay you back when I earn it, and don't you think it would have been a pity to lose the chance for the prize chicken just for that borrow?
Please send the money by return mail. I 've other letters to write, so please excuse my not paragraphing and so little punctuation, but I 've so much to do and this must go at once.
Your loving and devoted daughter, HAZEL CLYDE.
P.S. The hens are sitting around everywhere. Give my love to Wilkins.
H.C.
The Doctor shouted; then he stepped to the dining-room door and called, "Wifie, come here and bring that letter."
Mrs. Heath came in smiling, with a letter in her hand, which, after cordially greeting Mr. Clyde, she read to him,--an amazed and outwitted father.
MOUNT HUNGER, MILL SETTLEMENT, BARTON'S RIVER, VERMONT, May 19, 1896.
MY DEAR MRS. HEATH,--Please thank my dear Doctor Heath for the note he sent me two weeks ago. I ought to write to him instead of to you, for I don't owe you a letter (your last one was so sweet I answered it right off), but he never allows his patients strawberry preserve and jam, so it would be no use to ask his help just now, as this is pure business, March says.
We are trying to help others, and the strawberries--wild ones--are as thick as spatter--going to be--all over the pastures, and we 're going to pick quarts and quarts, and Rose is going to preserve them, and then we 're going to sell them.
Do you think of anybody who would like some of this preserve? If you do, will you kindly let me know by return mail?
I can't tell just the price, and March says that is a great drawback in real business, and this _is_ real--but it will not be more than $1 and twenty-five cents a quart. They will be fine for luncheon. _I_ never tasted any half so good at home.
My dear love to the Doctor and a large share for yourself from
Your loving friend, HAZEL CLYDE.
P.S. Rose says it is n't fair for people to order without knowing the quality, so we 've done up a little of Mrs. Blossom's in some Homeepatic (I don't know where that "h" ought to come in) pellet bottles, and will send you a half-dozen "for samples," March says, to send to any one to taste you think would like to order. H.C.
"The cure is working famously," said Doctor Heath, rubbing his hands in glee.