A Forest Hearth: A Romance of Indiana in the Thirties Part 6

Rita came out as Dic rode up to the gate. He did not dismount, but handed her the ribbons across the fence, saying: "Billy Little sends you these for to-night. He said they were from the knot to the sweetbrier."

The girl's suppressed delight had been troubling her all day. Her first party, her first escort, and that escort Dic! What more could a girl desire? The ribbons were too much. And somebody was almost ready to weep for joy. She opened the little package and her eyes sparkled. When she felt that speech was entirely safe, she said:--

"The little package is as prim and neat as Billy Little himself. Dear, sweet, old Billy Little."

Dic, whose heart was painfully inflamed, was almost jealous of Billy, and said:--

"I suppose you would not have accepted them from me?"

"Why not?" she responded. "Of course I would." Her eyes grew wide when she looked up to him and continued, "Did you get them for me and tell me that Billy Little sent them?"

"No," answered Dic, regretfully, as he began to see possibilities, even on Blue. One possibility, at least, he saw clearly--one that he had lost.

"It was more than a possibility," he said to himself, as he rode homeward. "It was a ready-made opportunity, and I did not see it. The sooner I go to New York or some place else and get my eyes opened, the better it will be for me."

The church social opened with a long, sonorous prayer by the Baptist preacher, Mr. Wetmore. Then followed a psalm, which in turn was followed by a "few words." After the few words, Rev. Wetmore said in soft, conciliatory tones, "Now, brethren, if Deacon Moore will be so kind as to pa.s.s the hat, we will receive the offering."

Wetmore was not an ordained minister, nor was he recognized by the church to which he claimed to belong. He was one of the many itinerant vagabonds who foisted themselves upon isolated communities solely for the sake of the "offering."

Deacon Moore pa.s.sed his hat, and when he handed it to Wetmore that worthy soul counted out two large copper pennies. There were also in the hat two bra.s.s b.u.t.tons which Tom, much to Sukey's amus.e.m.e.nt, had torn from his clothing for the purpose of an offering. Sukey laughed so inordinately at Tom's extravagant philanthropy that she convinced De Triflin' he was a very funny fellow indeed; but she brought upon her pretty flaxen head a reprimand from Wetmore.

"Undue levity," said he, "ill becomes even frivolous youth at this moment. Later you will have ample opportunity to indulge your mirth; but for the present, the Lord's business--" at the word "business" he received the hat from Deacon Moore, and looked eagerly into it for the offering. Disappointment, quite naturally, spread itself over his sallow face, and he continued: "b.u.t.tons do not const.i.tute an acceptable offering to the Lord. He can have no use for them. I think that during the course of my life work in the vineyard I have received a million b.u.t.tons of which I--I mean the Lord--can have no possible use. If these b.u.t.tons had been dollars or shillings, or even pennies, think of the blessings they would have brought from above."

The reverend man spoke several times with excusable asperity of "b.u.t.tons," and after another psalm and a sounding benediction the religious exercises were finished, and the real business of the evening, the spelling-bee and the kissing games, began.

At these socials many of the old folks took part in the spelling-bee, after which they usually went home--an event eagerly awaited by the young people.

There was but one incident in the spelling-bee that touched our friends, and I shall pa.s.s briefly over that part of the entertainment preceding it. The cla.s.s, ranging in years from those who lisped in youth to those who lisped in age, stood in line against the wall, and Wetmore, spelling-book in hand, stood in front of them to "give out" the words.

It was not considered fair to give out a word not in the spelling-book until the spelling and "syllabling" of sentences was commenced. All words were syllabled, but to spell and syllable a sentence was not an easy task, and by the time sentences were reached the cla.s.s usually had dwindled down to three or four of the best spellers. Of course, one who missed a word left the cla.s.s. Our friends--Billy Little, Dic, Rita, and Sukey Yates--were in the contest.

The first word given out was metropolitan, and it fell to Douglas of the Hill. He began: "M-e-t--there's your met; r-o--there's your ro; there's your metro; p-o-l--there's your pol; there's your ro-pol; there's your met-ro-pol; i--there's your i; there's your pol-i; there's your ro-pol-i; there's your met-ro-pol-i; t-e-n--there's your--" "t-a-n,"

cried the girl next to him, who happened to be Sukey Yates, and Douglas stepped down and out.

A score or more of words were then spelled without an error, until Constantinople fell to the lot of an elderly man who stood by Rita. He began: "C-o-n--there's your Con; s-t-a-n--there's your stan; there's your Con-stan; t-i--there's your ti; there's your stan-ti; there's your Con-stan-ti; n-o--there's your no; there's your ti-no; there's your stan-ti-no; there's your Con-stan-ti-no; p-e-l--there's your pell; there's your no--"--"p-l-e--there's your pell" (so p.r.o.nounced); "there's your Con-stan-ti-no-ple," chimed Rita, and her elderly neighbor took a chair. Others of the cla.s.s dropped out, leaving only our four acquaintances,--Dic, Billy, Sukey, and Rita. Dic went out on "a" in place of "i" in collectible, Sukey turning him down. Rita had hoped he would win the contest and had determined, should it narrow down to herself and him, to miss intentionally, if need be. After Dic had taken a chair, judgment fell to and upon Sukey. She began "j-u-d-g-e--there's your judge;" whereupon Billy Little said, "Sink the e," and Sukey sank, leaving Billy Little and Rita standing against the wall, as if they were about to be married. Billy, of course, was only awaiting a good opportunity to fail in order that the laurels of victory might rest upon Rita's brow.

"We will now spell and syllable a few sentences," said Wetmore. "Mr.

Little, I give you the sentence, 'An abominable b.u.mblebee with his tail cut off.'"

It must be remembered that in spelling these words and sentences each syllable was p.r.o.nounced separately and roundly. B-o-m was a full grown, sonorous bom. B-u-m was a rolling b.u.m, and b-l-e was p.r.o.nounced bell with a strong, full, ringing, liquid sound. The following italics show the emphasis. Billy slowly repeated the sentence and began:--

"A-n--there's your an; a--there's your a; there's your an-a; b-o-m--there's your _bom_; there's your _a_-bom; there's your _an_-a-_bom_; i--there's your i; there's your _bom_-i; there's your _a_-bom-i; there's your _an_-a-bom-i; n-a--there's your na; there's your _i_-na; there's your _bom_-i-na; there's your _a_-bom-i-_na_; there's your _an_-a-_bom_-i-_na_; b-l-e--there's your bell; there's your _na_-bell; there's your _i_-na-bell; there's your _bom_-i-_na_-bell; there's your _a_-bom-i-_na_-bell; there's your _an_-a-_bom_-i-_na_-bell; b-u-m--there's your b.u.m; there's your _bell_-b.u.m; there's your _na_-bell-b.u.m; there's your _i_-na-_bell_-b.u.m; there's your _bom_-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_; there's your _a_-bom-i-_na_-_bell_-_b.u.m_; there's your _an_-a-_bom_-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_; b-l-e--there's your bell; there's your _b.u.m_-bell; there's your _bell_-b.u.m-_bell_; there's your _na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell; there's your _i_-na-bell-_b.u.m_-bell; there's your _bom_-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell; there's your _a_-bom-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell; there's your _an_-a-_bom_-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell; b-e-e--there's your bee; there's your _bell_-bee; there's your _b.u.m_-bell-bee; there's your _bell_-b.u.m-_bell_-bee; there's your _na_-bell-_b.u.m_-_bell_-bee; there's your _i_-na-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-bee; there's your _bom_-i-na-_bell_-_b.u.m_-bell-bee; there's your _a_-bom-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-bee; there's your_an_-a-bom-i-_na_ bell-_b.u.m_-_bell_-bee; w-i-t-h--h-i-s--there's your with-his; there's your _bee_-with-his; there's your _bell_-bee-with-his; there's your _b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his; there's your _bell_-b.u.m-_bell_-bee-with-his; there's your _na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his; there's your _i_-na-_bell_-_b.u.m_-bell-_bee_-with-his; there's your _bom_-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his; there's your _a_-_bom_-i-na-_bell_-_b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his; there's your _an_-a-_bom_-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his; t-a-l-e--there's your--" But Rita chimed in at once: "T-a-i-l--there's your tail; there's your _with_-his-tail; there's your _bee_-with-his-tail; there's your _bell_-bee-with-his-_tail_; there's your _b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his-tail; there's your _bell_-b.u.m-bell-bee-with-his-tail; there's your _na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his-tail; there's your _i_-na-_bell_-b.u.m-_bell_-bee-with-his-tail; there's your _bom_-i-na-_bell_-b.u.m-_bell_-bee-with-his-tail; there's your _a_-bom-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his-tail; there's your _an_-a-_bom_-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his-tail; c-u-t--there's your cut; there's your _tail_-cut; there's your _with_-his-tail-cut; there's your _bee_-with-his-tail-cut; there's your _bell_-bee-with-his-tail-cut; there's your _b.u.m_-_bell_-bee-with-his-tail-cut; there's your _bell_-b.u.m-_bell_-bee-with-his-tail-cut; there's your _na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his-tail-cut; there's your _i_-na-_bell_-_b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his-_tail_-cut; there's your _bom_-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-_bee_-with-his -_tail_-cut; there's your _a_-bom-i-_na_-_bell_-b.u.m -_bell_-bee-with-his-tail-_cut_; there's your _an_-a-_bom_ -i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_-_bell_-bee-with-his-tail-cut; o-f-f--there's your off; there's your _cut_-off; there's your _tail_-cut-off; there's your _with_-_his_-tail-cut-off; there's your _bee_-with -his-tail-cut-off; there's your _bell_-bee-with-his-tail-cut-off; there's your _b.u.m_-_bell_-bee-with-his-tail-cut-off; there's your _bell_-b.u.m-_bell_-bee-with-his-tail-cut-off; there's your _na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his-tail-cut-off; there's your _i_-na-_bell_-b.u.m-_bell_-bee-with-his-tail-cut-off; there's your _bom_-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his-tail-cut-off; there's your _a_-bom-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-bee-with-his-tail-cut-off; there's your _an_-a-_bom_-i-_na_-bell-_b.u.m_-bell-bee-with his-tail-cut-_off_," and Rita took her seat, filled with triumph, save for the one regret that Dic had not won.

Many of the old folks, including Billy Little, departed when the bee closed, and a general clamor went up for the kissing games to begin.

Rita declined to take part in the kissing games, and sat against the wall with several other young ladies who had no partners. To Dic she gave the candid reason that she did not want to play, and he was glad.

Doug Hill, who, in common with every other young man on the premises, ardently desired Rita's presence in the game, said:--

"Oh, come in, Rita. Don't be so stuck up. It won't hurt you to be kissed." Doug was a bold, devil-may-care youth, who spoke his mind freely upon all occasions. He was of enormous size, and gloried in the fact that he was the neighborhood bully and very, very "tough." Doug would have you know that Doug would drink; Doug would gamble; Doug would fight. He tried to create the impression that he was very bad indeed, and succeeded. He would go to town Sat.u.r.days, "fill up," as he called getting drunk, and would ride furiously miles out of his way going home that he might pa.s.s the houses of his many lady-loves, and show them by yells and oaths what a rollicking blade he was. The reputation thus acquired won him many a smile; for, deplore the fact as we may, there's a drop of savage blood still alive in the feminine heart that does not despise depravity in man as it really should.

"Come into the game," cried Doug, taking Rita by the arm, and dragging her toward the centre of the room.

"I don't want to play," cried the girl. "Please let loose of my arms; you hurt me," but Doug continued to drag her toward the ring of players that was forming, and she continued to resist. Doug persisted, and after a moment of struggling she called out, "Dic, Dic!" She had been accustomed since childhood to call upon that name in time of trouble, and had always found help. Dic would not have interfered had not Rita called, but when she did he responded at once.

"Let her alone, Hill," said Dic, as pleasantly as possible under the circ.u.mstances. "If she doesn't want to play, she doesn't have to."

"You go to--" cried Doug. "Maybe you think you can run over me, you stuck-up Mr. Proper."

"I don't want to do anything of the sort," answered Dic; "but if you don't let loose of Rita's arm, I'll--"

"What will you do?" asked Doug, laughing uproariously.

For a moment Dic allowed himself to grow angry, and said, "I'll knock that pumpkin off your shoulders," but at once regretted his words.

Doug thought Dic's remark very funny, and intimated as much. Then he bowed his head in front of our hero and said, "Here is the pumpkin; hit it if you dare."

Dic restrained an ardent desire, and Doug still with bowed head continued, "I'll give you a shillin' if you'll hit it, and if you don't, I'll break your stuck-up face."

Dic did not accept the shilling, which was not actually tendered in lawful coin, but stepped back from Doug that he might be prepared for the attack he expected. After waiting what he considered to be a reasonable time for Dic to accept his offer, Doug started toward our hero, looking very ugly and savage. Dic was strong and brave, but he seemed small beside his bulky antagonist, and Rita, frightened out of all sense of propriety, ran to her champion, and placing her back against his breast, faced Doug with fear and trembling. The girl was not tall enough by many inches to protect Dic's face from the breaking Doug had threatened; but what she lacked in height she made up in terror, and she looked so "skeert," as Doug afterwards said, that he turned upon his heel with the remark:--

"That's all right. I was only joking. We don't want no fight at a church social, do we, Dic?"

"I don't particularly want to fight any place," replied Dic, glad that the ugly situation had taken a pleasant turn.

"Reckon you don't," returned Doug, uproariously, and the game proceeded.

Partly from disinclination, and partly because he wanted to talk to Rita, Dic did not at first enter the game, but during an intermission Sukey whispered to him:--

"We are going to play Drop the Handkerchief, and if you'll come in I'll drop it behind you every time, and--" here the whispers became very low and soft, "I'll let you catch me, too. We'll make pumpkin-head sick."

The game of skill known as "Drop the Handkerchief" was played in this fashion: a circle of boys and girls was formed in the centre of the room, each person facing the centre. One of the number was chosen "It."

"It's" function was to walk or run around the circle and drop the handkerchief behind the chosen one. If "It" happened to be a young man, the chosen one, of course, was a young woman who immediately started in pursuit. If she caught the young man before he could run around the circle to the place she had vacated, he must deposit a forfeit, to be redeemed later in the evening. In any case she became the next "It." A young lady "It" of course dropped the handkerchief behind a young man, and equally, of course, started with a scream of frightened modesty around the circle of players, endeavoring to reach, if possible, the place of sanctuary left vacant by the young man. He started in pursuit, and if he caught her--there we draw the veil. If the young lady were anxious to escape, it was often possible for her to do so. But thanks to Providence, all hearts were not so obdurate as Rita's. I would say, however, in palliation of the infrequency of escapes, that it was looked upon as a serious affront for a young lady to run too rapidly. In case she were caught and refused to pay the forfeit, her act was one of deadly insult gratuitously offered in full view of friends and acquaintances.

Dic hesitated to accept Sukey's invitation, though, in truth, it would have been inviting to any man of spirit. Please do not understand me to say that Dic was a second Joseph, nor that he was one who would run away from a game of any sort because a pretty Miss Potiphar or two happened to be of the charmed and charming circle.

He had often been in the games, and no one had ever impugned his spirit of gallantry by accusing him of unseemly neglect of the beautiful Misses P. His absence from this particular game was largely due to the fact that the right Miss Potiphar was sitting against the wall.

A flush came to Rita's cheek, and she moved uneasily when she saw Sukey whispering to Dic; but he did not suspect that Rita cared a straw what Sukey said. Neither did it occur to him that Rita would wish him to remain out of the game. He could, if he entered the game, make Doug Hill "sick," as Sukey had suggested, and that was a consummation devoutly to be wished. He did not wish to subject himself to the charge of ungallantry; and Sukey was, as you already know, fair to look upon, and her offer was as generous as she could make under the circ.u.mstances. So he chose a young lady, left Rita by the wall, and entered the game.

Doug Hill happened to be "It" and dropped the handkerchief behind Sukey, whereupon that young lady walked leisurely around the circle, making no effort to capture the Redoubtable. Such apathy was not only an infringement of the etiquette of the game, but might, if the injured party were one of high spirits, be looked upon as an insult.

Sukey then became "It," and, dropping the handkerchief behind Dic, deliberately waited for him to catch her; when, of course, a catastrophe ensued. Meantime, the wall was growing uncomfortable to Rita. She had known in a dimly conscious way that certain things always happened at country frolics, but to _see_ them startled her, and she began to feel very miserable. Her tender heart fluttered piteously with a hundred longings, chief among which was the desire to prevent further catastrophes between Dic and Sukey.

Compared to Sukey, there was no girl in the circle at all ent.i.tled to be ranked in the Potiphar cla.s.s of beauty. So, when Dic succeeded Sukey as "It," he dropped the handkerchief behind her. Then she again chose Dic, and in turn became the central figure in a catastrophe that was painful to the girl by the wall. If Rita had been in ignorance of her real sentiments for Dic, that ignorance had, within the last few minutes, given place to a knowledge so luminous that it was almost blinding. The room seemed to become intensely warm. Meantime the play went on, and the process of making Doug "sick" continued with marked success. Sukey always favored Dic, and he returned in kind. This alternation, which was beyond all precedent, soon aroused a storm of protests.

"If you want to play by yourselves," cried Tom, "why don't you go off by yourselves?"