Gypsy Breynton Part 16

"Oh, mother, mother Breynton! There never was such a dear little woman in this world!"

"Why, my _dear_!" said Mr. Breynton, when he heard of it; "how can you let the child do such a thing? She will fall off the precipice, or walk right into a bear's den, the first thing."

"Oh, I'll trust her," answered her mother, smiling; "and then, Mrs. Fisher will be so near, and so ready to take care of her if it is cold or wet; it isn't as if she were going off into a wild place; of course, then, I shouldn't let her go without some grown woman with them."

"Well, my dear, I suppose you know best. I believe I agreed to let you do as you pleased with your girl, seeing she's the only one."

Mrs. Rowe was willing if Mrs. Breynton were willing; Mr. Guy Hallam had no objections. Sarah was delighted, Gypsy radiant, Tom patronizing, and Winnie envious, and so, amid a pleasant little bustle, the preparations began, and one sunny morning the party stowed themselves and their baggage comfortably away in Mr. Surly's double-seated wagon (much to the horror of his excellent wife, who looked out of the window, and wondered if Miss Rowe did expect that wild young un of hers to come home alive), and trotted briskly out of Yorkbury, along the steep, uneven road that led to the mountain.

Ripton was a long ride from Yorkbury, and the wagon was somewhat crowded, owing to the presence of Mr. Surly, who was by no means a thin man, and who acted as driver. He was to return with his "team," as the Vermont farmers invariably call their vehicles, and when the party were ready to come home Mr. Fisher was to be hired to bring them down. It would have been unsafe for any but an experienced driver to hold the reins on those mountain roads, as Gypsy was convinced, afresh, before the ride was over.

For the first few miles the way led along the beautiful valley of the Otter Creek, and then grew suddenly steep as they began to ascend the mountain. Such beautiful pictures unfolded before them, as they wound slowly up, that even Gypsy did not feel like talking, and it was a very silent party.

They pa.s.sed through pine forests, dense and still, where the wind was hoa.r.s.e, and startled squirrels flew over the fallen trunks and boughs of ruined trees. They rode close to the edge of sheer precipices four hundred feet down, with trout-brooks, like silver threads, winding through the gorges. Great walls of rock rose above and around them, and seemed to shut them in with a frown. Sharp turns in the road brought them suddenly to the edge of abysses from which, in dark nights, they might have easily ridden off. Gay flowers perfumed the fresh, high winds, and rank mosses grew and twined, and hung thickly upon old stones and logs and roadside banks, where the mountain sloped steeply. Far above were the tops of those tall, sentinel trees, called, by Vermonters, the Procession of Pines, the tower above their lesser comrades two by two, regular, solemn, and dark against the sky for miles of forest-track. Between these were patches and glimpses of a sky without a cloud. Gypsy had seen it all many times before; but it was always new and grand to her; it always made the blood leap in her veins and the stars twinkle in her eyes, and set her happy heart to dreaming a world of pleasant dreams.

She was leaning back against the wagon-seat, with her face upturned, to watch the leaves flutter in the distant forest-top, when Mr. Surly reined up suddenly, and the wagon stopped with a jerk.

"I declare!" said Mr. Guy Hallam.

"Waal, this is sum'at of a fix neow," said Mr. Surly, climbing out over the wheel.

"What's the matter?" asked Gypsy and Sarah, in one breath, jumping up to see.

"Matter enough," said Tom.

For, turning a sharp corner just ahead of them, was a huge wood-cart, drawn by two struggling horses. The road was just wide enough for one vehicle; where their wagon stood, it would have been simply impossible to place two abreast. At their right, the wooded slope rose like a wall. At their left, a gorge two hundred feet deep yawned horribly, and the trout-brook gurgled over its stones.

"You hold on there," shouted the driver of the wood-cart; "I'll turn in here anigh the mountain. You ken git by t'other side, can't you?"

"Reckon so," said Mr. Surly, measuring the distance with his eye. He climbed in again, and took the reins, and the driver of the wood-cart wheeled up into a semi-circular widening of the road where a sand-heap had been dug away. The s.p.a.ce left was just wide enough for a carriage to pa.s.s closely without grazing the wheels of the wood-cart, or the low log which formed the only fence on the edge of the ravine.

"Oh, we shall certainly tip over and be killed! Oh dear, let me get out!"

cried Sarah, as the wagon pa.s.sed slowly forward.

"Hush up!" said Gypsy, quickly. "Tom won't let us go, if you act so. Don't you suppose four grown men know better than we do whether it's safe? I'm not afraid a bit."

Nevertheless, Gypsy and Tom, and even Mr. Hallam, looked narrowly at the old frail log, and down into the gorge where the water was gurgling. Once the wheels grazed the log, and it tilted slightly. Sarah screamed aloud.

Mr. Surly knew what he was about, however, and knew how to do it. He pa.s.sed on safely into the wider road, and the wood-cart rattled composedly on.

"There a'r'd a ben a purty close shave in the night," he remarked, coolly, pointing with his whip down the precipice. "There was a team went down here five years ago,--jist off that maple-tree there,--horse, wagin, and all, an'clock two men, brothers they was, too; one man hung onto a branch or suthin'clock, and was ketched and saved; t'other one got crushed to jelly. It was a terrible dark night."

Even Gypsy gave a little shiver during this entertaining conversation, and was glad they had come up in the daytime.

Mr. Surly drove to a certain by-road in the woods, where he left them, and returned home; and the party proceeded on foot, with their baggage, to the place Mr. Hallam had chosen as a camp-ground.

It was a pleasant spot, far enough in the woods to be still and wild, near enough to the little settlement on top of the mountain to be free from bears, as Sarah had required to be informed ten separate times, on the way. There was a little, natural clearing among the trees, which Mr.

Hallam and Tom made larger by cutting down the shrubbery and saplings.

They had brought hatchets with them, as well as guns, knives, and fish-hooks. It seemed very warlike and real, Gypsy thought--quite as if they intended to spend the rest of their lives there. She almost wished a party of Indians would come and attack them, or a bear or a wolf.

Having selected a smooth, level spot for the tents, Mr. Hallam thought they had better put them up immediately. It chanced that he and Tom each owned one, which was a much better arrangement than the dividing of one into two apartments. The two were placed side by side, and the girls' tent was distinguished and honored by a bit of a flag on top, and an extra fold of rubber-cloth in front, to keep out the rain. There was also a ditch dug around it, to drain off the water in case of a severe storm.

"Besides, if it rains very hard, they can be sent to Mr. Fisher's," said Tom.

"Catch me!" said Gypsy. "Why, it would be all the fun to sleep out in the rain."

While Mr. Hallam and Tom were setting up the tents--and it took a long time--the two girls busied themselves unpacking the baggage.

They were really astonished to find how much they had brought, when it was all taken out of the baskets and boxes and bags, and each article provided with a place within or without the tents. To begin with, the little girls had each a bag of such things as were likely to be necessary for their mountain toilet, consisting princ.i.p.ally of dry stockings; for, as Gypsy said, they expected to wet their feet three or four times a day, and she should enjoy it for once. Then they had brought their long waterproof cloaks, in which they considered themselves safe from a deluge. There were plenty of fish-lines, and tin pans and kettles, and knives and steel forks, and matches, and scissors and twine and needles, and the endless variety of accoutrements necessary to a state of highly-civilized camp-life. There were plates and mugs and pewter teaspoons,--Mrs. Breynton would not consent to letting her silver ones go,--and Gypsy thought the others were better, because it seemed more like "being wild." Indeed, she would have dispensed with spoons altogether, but Sarah gave a little scream at the idea, and thought she couldn't possibly eat a meal without.

Then the provision basket was full of bread and b.u.t.ter and cake and pies, and summer apples and salt and pepper, and Indian meal and coffee, and eggs and raw meat, and fresh vegetables. They expected, however, to live chiefly on the trout which Mr. Hallam and Tom were to catch, and Mrs.

Fisher would supply them with fresh milk from her dairy.

The girls made their toilet arrangements in one corner of their tent. A rough box served as a dressing-table, and Sarah had brought a bit of a looking-gla.s.s, which she put on top of it. They collected piles of sweet, dry leaves for a bed, and a certain thoughtful mother had tucked into their bags a pair of sheets and a blanket; so they were nicely fitted out.

Gypsy had a secret apprehension that they were preparing for a very luxurious sort of camp-life. After a little consultation, they decided to make two rooms out of their tent, as they were sadly in need of a kitchen.

Accordingly they took their heavy blanket shawls, tied them together by the fringe, and hung them up as a curtain across the middle of the tent.

The front apartment served nicely as a kitchen, and the provisions and crockery were moved in there, in spite of Tom's ungallant remark that he and Mr. Hallam should never see any of the pies he knew.

By way of recompense, he took the guns, and all dangerous implements, under his own care.

The afternoon was nearly spent, when their preparations were at last completed, and they were ready to begin house-keeping.

"Let's have supper," said Gypsy. Gypsy was always ready to have supper, whenever dinner-time was pa.s.sed.

"We haven't a single trout," said Tom.

"It is rather late to fish," said Mr. Hallam. "The little girls are tired and hungry,--indeed we all are, for that matter,--and I guess we will have supper."

Gypsy installed herself as housekeeper-in-general, and she and Sarah lost no time in unpacking the cake and bread and b.u.t.ter. Tom collected some light, dry brushwood for a fire, and he and Mr. Hallam made the coffee. It seemed as if no supper had ever tasted as that supper did. The free mountain air was so fresh and strong, and the breath of the pines so sweet. It was so pleasant to sit on the moss around a fire, and eat with your fingers if you chose, without shocking anybody. Then the woods looked so wide and lonely and still, and it was so strange to watch the great red sunset dying like a fire through the thick green net-work, where the pine-boughs and the maple interlaced.

For about five minutes after supper was cleared away, when the great shadows began to darken among the trees, Sarah discoursed in a vague, scientific way, about the habits of bears, and Gypsy had a dim notion that she shouldn't so very much object to see her mother come walking up the mountain, seized with an uncontrollable desire to spend a night in a tent.

But Tom was so pleasant and merry, and Mr. Hallam told such funny stories, that they were laughing before they knew it, and the evening pa.s.sed happily away.

Gypsy could not sleep for some time that night, for delight at spending a night out doors in a real tent on a real mountain, that was known to have an occasional real bear on it. She did not feel afraid in the least, although Sarah had a very uncomfortable way of asking her, every ten minutes, if she were perfectly _sure_ it was safe.

"Oh, don't!" said Gypsy, at last. "I am having such a good time thinking that I'm really here. You go to sleep."

Sarah was so much accustomed to doing as Gypsy told her, that she turned over and went to sleep without another word. It was not a good thing for Gypsy to be so much with just such a girl as Sarah. She was physically the weaker of the two, as well as the more timid, and she had fallen into a habit of obeying, and Gypsy of commanding, by a sort of mutual tacit agreement. It was partly for this reason, as was natural enough, that Gypsy chose her so often for a companion, but princ.i.p.ally because Sarah never refused any romp or adventure; other timid girls liked to have their own way and choose their own quiet plays. Sarah's timidity yielded to Gypsy's stronger will. If Gypsy took a fancy to climb a ruined windmill, Sarah would scream all the way, but follow. If Gypsy wanted to run at full speed down a dangerous steep hill, where there were walls to be leaped, and loose, rolling stones to be dodged, Sarah scolded a little, but went.

A girl more selfish than Gypsy would have been ruined by this sort of companionship. Her frank, impulsive generosity saved her from becoming tyrannical or dictatorial. The worst of it was, that she was forced to form such a habit of always taking the lead.

She lay awake some time that night after Sarah had fallen asleep, listening to the strange whispers of the wind in the trees, and making plans for to-morrow, until at last her happy thoughts faded into happy dreams.

She did not know how long she had been asleep, when something suddenly woke her. She was a little startled at first by the unfamiliar sight of the tent-roof, and narrow, walled s.p.a.ce which shut her in. The wind was sighing drearily through the forest, the distant scream of an owl had an ugly sound; and--why no--but yes!--another sound, more ugly than the cry of a night-bird, was distinct at the door of the tent--the sound of a quick, panting breath!

Gypsy sat upright in bed, and listened.

It grew louder, and came nearer; quick, and hoa.r.s.e, and horrible--like the breathing of a hungry animal.

Sarah slept like a baby; there was not a movement from Tom and Mr. Hallam in the other tent; everything was still but that terrible sound. Gypsy had good nerves and was not easily frightened, but it must be confessed she thought of those traditionary bears which had been seen at Ripton. She had but a moment in which to decide what to do, for the creature was now sniffing at the tent-door, and once she was sure she saw a dark paw lift the sail-cloth. She might wake Sarah, but what was the use? She would only scream, and that would do no good, and might do much harm. If it were a bear, and they kept still, he might go away and leave them. Yet, if it were a bear, Tom must know it in some way.