Old Caravan Days Part 5

Grandma Padgett overawed him; but he evidently felt on a level with aunt Corinne and her nephew. In his foolish red face there struggled a recollection of having gone fishing, or played marbles, or hunted wild flowers with these children or children like them. He nodded and twinkled his eyes at them, and they laughed at whatever he did. His ankle was so relieved by a magic liniment, that he felt able to hobble around the house when Grandma Padgett explored it, repeating under his breath the burst he indulged in when she arrayed the supper on the box:

O, I went to a friend's house, The friend says, 'Come in, Have a hot cup of coffee; And how have you been?'

Grandma Padgett said she could not sleep until she knew what other creatures were hidden in the house.

They all ascended the enclosed staircase, and searched echoing dusty rooms where rats or mice whisked out of sight at their approach.

"This is a funny kind of an addition to a tavern," remarked the head of the party. "No beds: no anything. We'll build a fire in this upper fireplace, and bring the cushions and shawls up, and see if we can get a wink of sleep. It ain't a cold night, and we're dry now. You can sleep by the fireplace down-stairs," she said to the pedler, "and I'll settle with you for our breakfast and supper before we leave in the morning. It's been a providence that you were in the house."

Mr. Matthews smiled deferentially, and appeared to be pondering a new rhyme about Grandma Padgett. But the subject was so weighty it kept him shaking his head.

They came down-stairs for fuel and coals, and she requested the pedler to take possession of the lower room and make himself comfortable, but not to set the house on fire.

"What shall we give him to sleep on?" pondered the grandmother. "I can't spare things from the children; it won't do to let him sleep on the floor."

"I have a cart, it has been said, Which serves me both for cupboard and bed,"

chanted Mr. Matthews.

"Well, that's a good thing," said Grandma Padgett. "If you could pull a whole furnished house out of that cart 'twouldn't surprise me."

The pedler opened the door and dragged his cart in over the low sill. They then bolted the door with such rusty fastenings as remained to it.

As soon as he felt the familiar handle on his palms, J. D. Matthews forgot that his ankle had been twisted. He was again upon the road, as free as the small wild creatures that whisked along the fence.

Grandma Padgett's grown-up strength of mind failed to restrain him from acting the horse. He neighed, and rattled the cart wildly over the empty room. Now he ran away and pretended to kick everything to pieces; and now he put himself up at a manger, and ground his feed.

He broke out of his stable and careened wildly around a pasture, refusing to be hitched, and expressing his contempt for the cart by kicking up at it.

"I guess your sprain wasn't as bad as you let on," observed Grandma Padgett.

The observation, or a twinge, reminded Mr. Matthews to double himself down and groan again.

With painful limps, and Robert Day's a.s.sistance, he got the cart before the fireplace. It looked like a narrow, high green box on wheels. The pedler blocked the wheels behind, and propped the handle level. Then he crept with great contentment to the top, and stretched himself to sleep.

"He's a kind of a fowl of the air," said Grandma Padgett.

"Oh, but I hope he's going our road!" said Bobaday, as they re-ascended the stairs. "He's more fun than a drove of turkeys!"

"And I'm not a bit afraid of him," said aunt Corinne. "He ain't like the old man with a bag on his back."

But J. D. Matthews was going in the opposite direction.

Before Grandma Padgett had completed her brief toilet next morning, and while the daylight was yet uncertain, the Dutch landlord knocked at the outer door for his fee. He seemed not at all surprised at finding the pedler lodging there, but told him to stop at the tavern and trade with the vrow.

"And a safe time the poor simple soul will have," said Grandma Padgett, making her spectacles glitter at the landlord, "gettin'

through the creek that nigh drowned us. I suppose, _you_ have a ford that you don't keep for movers."

"Oh, yah!" said the landlord. "Te fort ist goot."

"How dared you send a woman and two children to such an empty, miserable sh.e.l.l as this?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: J. D. MATTHEWS RUNS AWAY.]

"I don't keep moofers to mine tafern," said the landlord, putting his abundant charge into his pocket. "Chay-Te, he always stops here.

He coes all ofer te countries, Chay-Te toes. His headt ist pat."

"But his heart is good," said the grandmother. "And that will count up more to his credit than if he was an extortioner, and ill-treated the stranger within his gate."

"Oh, Chay-Te ist a goot feller!" said the Dutch landlord comfortably, untouched by any reflections on his own conduct.

Grandma Padgett could not feel placid in her mind until the weeds and hill hid him from sight.

Mr. Matthews arose so sound from his night's slumber, that he was able after pumping a prodigious lot of water over himself, and blowing with enjoyment, to help her get the breakfast, and put the kettles in travelling order afterwards. He had a great many housewifely ways, and his tidiness was a satisfaction to Grandma Padgett. The breakfast was excellent, but Corinne and Bobaday on one side of the box, and J. D. Matthews on the other, exchanged glances of regret at parting. He helped Robert put the horses to the carriage, making blunders at every stage of the hitching up.

They all came out of the Susan House, and he pushed his cart into the road.

"I almost hate to leave it," said aunt Corinne, "because we did have a good time after we were scared so bad."

"Seems as if a body always hates to leave a place," remarked Bobaday. "The next people that come along will never know we lived here one night. But _we'll_ always remember it."

Grandma Padgett before entering the carriage, was trying to make the pedler take pay for the food her family ate. He smiled at her deferentially, but backed away with his cart.

"What a man this is!" she exclaimed impatiently. "We owe you for two meals' vittles."

"I have some half a dozen kittles," murmured Mr. Matthews.

"But won't you take the money? The landlord was keen enough for his."

The pedler had got his rhyme about Grandma Padgett completed. He left her, still stretching her hand out, and rattled his cart up to the children who were leaning from the carriage towards him.

"She is a lady of renown," chanted J. D. Matthews, indicating their grandmother.

She makes good b.u.t.ter by the pound, Her hand is kind, so is her tongue; But when she comes I want to run!

He accordingly ran, rattling the cart like a hailstorm before him, downhill; and out of their sight.

"Ah, there he goes!" sighed aunt Corinne, "and he hardly limps a bit. I hope we'll see him again some time."

"I might 'a forced the money into his pocket," reflected Grandma Padgett, as she took up the lines. "But I'd rather feel in debt to that kind, simple soul than to many another. Why didn't we ask him if he saw Zene's wagon up the road? These poor horses want oats. They'll be glad to sight the white cover once more."

"I would almost rather have him come along," decided Robert Day, "than to find the wagon. For he could make a camp anywhere, and speak his poetry all the time. What fun he must have if he wants to stay in the woods all night. I expect if he wanted to hide he could creep into that cart and stretch out, with his face where he could smell the honey and ginger cakes. I'd like to have a cart and travel like that. Are we going on to the 'pike again, Grandma?"

"Not till we find Zene," she replied, driving resolutely forward on the strange road.

CHAPTER VII. ZENE'S MAN AND WOMAN.