Aunt Hannah and Seth Part 4

The little woman hovered helplessly around much like a sparrow whose fledglings are in danger. She feared lest the dog should do the child a mischief, and yet dared not come so near as to rescue her from the imaginary danger.

There was just a tinge of jealousy in Seth's heart as he gazed at Snip's demonstrations of affection for this stranger. It seemed as if he had suddenly lost his only friend, and, at that moment, it was the greatest misfortune that could befall him.

Gladys was so occupied with the dog as to be unconscious of Aunt Hannah's anxiety. She admired Snip's silky hair; declared that he needed a bath, and insisted on knowing how "such a treasure" had come into Seth's possession.

The boy was not disposed to admit that he had no real claim upon the dog, save such as might result from having found him homeless and friendless in the street; but willing that the girl should admire his pet yet more.

"Put him on the floor an' see how much he knows," Seth said, without replying to her question.

Then Snip was called upon to show his varied accomplishments. He sat bolt upright holding a wisp of straw in his mouth; walked on his hind feet with Seth holding him by one paw; whirled around and around on being told to dance; leaped over the handle of the hay-fork, barking and yelping with excitement; and otherwise gave token of being very intelligent.

Gladys was in an ecstasy of delight, and even the little woman so far overcame her fear of animals as to venture to touch Snip's outstretched paw when he gravely offered to "shake hands."

Not until at least a quarter of an hour had pa.s.sed was any particular attention paid to Seth, and by this time Aunt Hannah was willing to admit that while dogs in general frightened her, however peaceable they appeared to be, she thought a little fellow like Snip might be almost as companionable as a cat.

"Of course you won't continue your journey until after breakfast," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, "and Gladys will take you into the kitchen where you can wash your face and hands, while I am milking."

Then it was that Seth observed a bright tin pail and a three-legged stool lying on the ground just outside the big door, as if they had fallen from the little woman's hands when she was alarmed by hearing Snip's note of defiance and warning.

Gladys had the dog in her arms, and nodding to Seth as if to say he should follow, she led the way to the house, while Aunt Hannah disappeared through a doorway opening from the main portion of the barn.

"There's the towel, the soap and water," she said, pointing toward a wooden sink in one corner of what was to Seth the most wonderful kitchen he had ever seen. "Don't you think Snippey would like some milk?"

"I'm certain he would," Seth replied promptly. "He hasn't had anything except dry ginger cake since yesterday mornin'."

A moment later Master Snip had before him a saucer filled with such milk as it is safe to say he had not seen since Seth took him in charge, and the eager way in which he lapped it showed that it was appreciated fully.

The fugitive did not make his toilet immediately, because of the irresistible temptation to gaze about him.

The walls of the kitchen were low; but in the newcomer's eyes this was an added attraction, because it gave to the room such an hospitable appearance. The floor was more cleanly than any table he had ever seen; the bricks of the fireplace, at one side of which stood a small cook-stove, were as red as if newly painted; while on the dresser and the mantel across the broad chimney were tin dishes that shone like newly polished silver.

A large rocking-chair, a couch covered with chintz, and half a dozen straight-backed, spider-legged chairs were ranged methodically along the sides of the room, while in the centre of the floor, so placed that the fresh morning breeze which entered by the door would blow straight across it to the window shaded by lilac bushes, was a table covered with a snowy cloth.

"Well, if this is a farmer's house I wouldn't wonder if a good bit of Pip Smith's yarn was true," Seth muttered to himself, as he turned toward the sink, over which hung a towel so white that he could hardly believe he would be allowed to dry his face and hands with it.

He was alone in the kitchen. Snip, having had a most satisfactory breakfast of what he must have believed was real cream, had run out of doors to chase a leaf blown by the wind, and Gladys was close behind, alternately urging him in the pursuit, and showering praises upon "the sweetest dog that ever lived."

"Folks that live like this must be mighty rich," Seth thought, as he plunged his face into a basin of clear water. "It ain't likely Snip an' me will strike it so soft again, an' I expect he'll be terrible sorry to leave. I reckon it'll be all right to hang 'round an hour or so, an' then we must get out lively. I wonder if that little bit of a woman expects I'll pay for breakfast?"

CHAPTER III.

AUNT HANNAH.

WITH a broken comb, which he used upon Snip's hair as well as his own, Seth concluded his toilet, and, neither the little woman nor the girl having returned to the house, stood in the doorway gazing out upon as peaceful a scene as a boy pursued by the officers of the law could well desire to see.

On either hand ran the dusty road, not unlike a yellow ribbon upon a cloth of green, and bordering it here and there were clumps of bushes or groves of pine or of oak, as if planted for the especial purpose of affording to the weary traveller a screen from the blinding sun.

The little farmhouse stood upon the height of a slight elevation from which could be had a view of the country round about on either hand; and although so near to the great city, there were no settlements, villages, or towns to be seen.

Surely, the lad said to himself, he had at last arrived at "the country," and if all houses were as hospitable-looking, as cleanly, and as inviting in appearance as was this one, then Pip Smith's story had in it considerably more than a grain of truth.

"It must be mighty nice to have money enough to live in a place like this," Seth said to himself. "It would please Snip way down to the ground; but I mustn't think of it, 'cause there's no chance for a feller like me to earn a livin' here, an' we can't always count on folks givin' us what we need to eat."

Then Aunt Hannah came out from the barn, carrying in one hand a glistening tin pail filled with foaming milk, and in the other the three-legged stool.

Seth ran toward her and held out his hand as if believing she would readily yield at least a portion of her burden; but she shook her head smiling.

"Bless your heart, my child, I ought to be able to carry one pail of milk, seeing that I've done as much or more every day since I was Gladys's age."

"But that's no reason why I shouldn't help along a little to make up for your not bein' mad 'cause Snip an' me slept in the barn. Besides, I'd like to say to the fellers that I'd carried as much milk as a whole pail full once in my life--that is, if I ever see 'em again," he added with a sigh.

"Then you came from the city?"

"Yes, an' I never got so far out in the country before. Say, it's mighty fine, ain't it?" And as Aunt Hannah relinquished her hold on the pail, Seth started toward the house without waiting for a reply to his question.

After placing the stool bottom up by the side of the broad stone which served as doorstep, the little woman called to Gladys:

"It's time White-Face was taken to pasture, child."

"Do you mean the cow?" Seth asked.

"Yes, dear."

"Why can't I take her to the pasture; that is, if you'll tell me where to find it?"

"Unfasten her chain, and she will show you the way. It's only across the road over yonder."

Seth ran quickly to the barn, and having arrived at the doorway through which Aunt Hannah disappeared when she went about the task of milking, he halted in surprise and fear, looking at what seemed to him an enormous beast with long, threatening horns, which she shook now and then in what appeared to be a most vicious fashion.

Only once before had Seth ever seen an animal of this species, and then it was when he and Pip Smith had travelled over to the Erie Yards to see a drove of oxen taken from the cars to the abattoir.

It surely seemed very dangerous to turn loose such a huge beast; but Seth was determined to perform whatsoever labor lay in his power, with the idea that he might not be called upon to pay quite as much for breakfast, and, summing up all his courage, he advanced toward the cow.

She shook her head restively, impatient for the breakfast of sweet gra.s.s, and he leaped back suddenly, frightened as badly of her as Aunt Hannah had been of Snip.

Once more he made an attempt, and once more leaped back in alarm, this time to be greeted with a peal of merry laughter, and a volley of shrill barks from Snip, who probably fancied Seth stood in need of his protection.

"Why did you jump so?" Gladys asked merrily.

Seth's face reddened, and he stammered not a little in reply:

"I reckon that cow would make it kind'er lively for strangers, wouldn't he?"

"And you are really afraid of poor old White-Face? Why, she's as gentle as Snippey, though of course you couldn't pet her so much."