PARTINGS AND MEETINGS.
Gaspar’s courage returned, and he led her to a sheltered place under the stockade, where he made her sit beside him for the brief time that was his.
“Not all because I do not like it; but because I am almost a man and I have found the chance of my life. There is one here, a voyageur, with his boat. The finest vessel I ever saw, though they’ve not been so many. He is going north into the great woods; will sail this morning. He is a great trader and hunter and he has asked me to apprentice myself to him. He promises he will make my fortune. He has taken as great a liking to me, I reckon, as I have to him. We shall get on famously together. In that broad, free life I shall grow a full man, and soon. I can earn money, and make a home for you and Wahneenah, and many another lonely, helpless soul. Yes, I must go. I can’t let the chance pass. And you must be brave, and the Sun Maid still, and forever. I shall want to think of you as always bright and full of laughter. Like yourself. But you are not like yourself now, Girl-Child. Why don’t you speak? Why don’t you say something?”
“I guess there isn’t any ‘say’ left in me, Gaspar,” answered the girl, in a tone so hopelessly sad that it almost made the lad waver in his determination. Only that wavering had no portion in the character of the ambitious youth, and he looked far forward toward a great good beyond the present pain.
When the day was well advanced, the schooner sailed away, from the dock at the foot of the path from fort to lake, with Gaspar upon her deck, trying to look more brave and manly than he really felt. But a forlorn little maid watched with eyes that shed no tears, and a pitiful attempt at a smile upon her quivering lips till the vessel became a mere speck, then disappeared.
After a long while, she was aroused by something again moving over the water.
“He’s coming back! My Gaspar’s coming back!” she cried, and tossed back the hair which the wind blew about her face that she might see the clearer. A moment later her disappointment found words: “It’s nothing but a common Indian canoe!”
However, she remembered her foster-brother had set her a task to do. She must begin it right away. She was to be as helpful to everybody she ever should meet as it was possible. Here might be one coming who hadn’t heard about that dreadful fifty-dollar prize money. She must call out and warn him. So she did, and never had human voice sounded pleasanter to any wayfarer. But her own intentness discovered something familiar in the appearance of the young brave, paddling so cautiously toward her and keeping so well to the shore. She began to question herself where she had seen him, and in a flash she remembered. Then, indeed, did she shout, and joyfully:
“Osceolo! Osceolo! Don’t you know me? Kitty? The Sun Maid? The daughter of your own tribe? Osceolo!”
“By the moccasins of my grandfather! You here? How? When? No matter. The brother of the Sun Maid rejoices. Never a friend so convenient. Run around to the edge of the wharf. There must be talk between us, and at once.”
He pushed his little boat close under the shadow of the pier that had long since been deserted of those who had come down to watch, as Kitty had done, the sailing of the northern-bound schooner. There was none to hear them, yet Osceolo chose to muffle his tones and to make himself mysterious. In truth, he was fleeing from justice, having been mixed up in a raid upon a settler’s homestead a few miles back; in which, fortunately, there had been no bloodshed, though a deal of thieving and other dirty work which would make it uncomfortable for the young warrior should he be caught just then. The story he was prepared to tell was true as far as it went; and the Sun Maid was too innocent to suspect guile in others. She thought he was referring to the prize money when he spoke of quite other matters; and after the briefest inquiry and answer as to what had befallen either since their parting at doomed Muck-otey-pokee, he concluded:
“Now, Sister-Of-My-Heart, Blood-Daughter-Of-My-Chief, you must help me. You must give me, or lend me, a horse; and you must bring me food. Then I will ride to fetch you back Wahneenah.”
“Oh! You know where she is? Can you do it and not be taken?”
“Is not the Brother of the Sun Maid now become a mighty warrior?”
“You—you don’t look so very mighty,” returned the girl, truthfully.
Osceolo frowned. “That is as one sees. Fetch me the horse and the meat, if you would have your Other Mother restored.”
“I will. I will!” she cried, and ran back to the Fort. She went first to the kitchen, and begged a meal “for a stranger that’s just come,” and the food was given her without question. Strangers were always coming to be fed; herself, also, no longer ago than the last evening.
From the kitchen to the stables, where a bright thought came to her. She would lead the Tempest to Osceolo, and herself ride the Snowbird. Together they would go to find Wahneenah.
“The black gelding?” asked the soldier of whom she sought assistance. “The hostler can maybe tell you. But I think the Black Partridge rode away on him before daybreak.”
“The Black Partridge! Oh! I had forgotten him in my trouble about Gaspar. Did any harm come to him, sir?”
“No. What harm should? If every red-skin in Illinois was like him there’d be little need of us fellows out here in this mud-hole. But you look disappointed. If you want to take a ride, there’s the white mare you came on. But you’d better not go far away. It isn’t safe for a child like you.”
“I’m not afraid, but—Well, if Tempest’s gone, I can’t. That’s all.”
So the Snowbird was brought out, and she led the pretty creature away behind the shelter of the few trees which hid the spot where Osceolo had bade her meet him.
“I tried to get Tempest for you, but the Chief has ridden him away. I meant to go with you. But you’ll have to go alone. Tell my darling Other Mother that I am here, and waiting. Tell her about Gaspar, and that he said he had found out she would be quite safe here. Why, so, I suppose, would you. I didn’t think.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” returned the young Indian hastily. Then, noting her surprise, explained:
“I’m a warrior, you see. That makes a difference.”
“It will be all right, though, I think. And if you cannot come back with Wahneenah, do hurry and send her by herself. Will you?”
“Oh, I’ll hurry!” answered the youth, evasively, and leaped to the Snowbird’s back. The food he had stuffed within his shirt till a more convenient season, and with a cry that even to Kitty’s trusting ears sounded in some way derisive, he was off out of sight along the lakeside.
As the Snowbird disappeared, Kitty felt that the last link between herself and her friends had been severed, and for a moment the tears had sway. Then, ashamed of her own weakness and remembering her promise to Gaspar that she would be “just the sunniest kind of a girl, and true to her name,” she brushed them away and entered the busy Fort, to proffer her services to the women in charge.
These had already learned her story and had reprimanded her for running away from her protectors, the Smiths; but it was nobody’s business to return her and, meanwhile, she was safe at the Fort until they should choose to call for her.
“Well, there is always plenty of work in the world for the hands that will do it,” said an officer’s wife, with a kindly smile. “You seem too small to be of much practical use; but, however, if you want a task, there are some little fellows yonder who need amusing and comforting. Their mother has died of a fever, and their father is more of a student and preacher than a nurse. I guess his wife was the ruling spirit in the household, and now that she has left him, he is sadly unsettled. He doesn’t know whether to go on and take up the claim he expected or not. He and you, and the oddly-named little sons, may all yet have to become wards of the Government.”
“I’m very sorry for him.”
“You well may be. Yet he’s a gentle, blessed old man. No more fit to marry and bring that flock of youngsters out here into the wilderness than I am to command an army. She was much younger than he, and felt the necessity of doing something toward providing for their children and educating them. But the more I talk, the more I puzzle you. Run along and lend them a hand. The very smallest Littlejohn of the lot has filled his mouth with dirt, and is trying to squall it out. See if a drink of water won’t mend matters.”
Kitty hastened to the child, and begged;
“My dear, don’t cry like that. You are disturbing the people.”
“Don’t care. I ain’t my dear; I’m Four.”
“You’re what?”
“Just Four. Four Littlejohns. What pretty hair you’ve got. May I pull it?”
“I’d rather not. Unless it will make you forget the dirt you ate.”
But the permission given, the child became indifferent to it. He pointed to three other lads crouching against the door-step, and explained:
“They’re One, Two, and Three. My father, he says it saves trouble. Some folks laugh at us. They say it’s funny to be named that way. I was eating the dirt because I was—I was mad.”
“Indeed! At whom?”
“At everybody. I’m just mis’able. I don’t care to live no longer.”
The round, dimpled face was so exceedingly wholesome and happy, despite its transient dolefulness, that Kitty laughed and her merriment brought an answering smile to the four dusty countenances before her.
“Wull—wull—I is. My father, he’s mis’able, too. So, course, we have to be. He’s a minister man. He can’t tell stories. He just tells true ones out the Bible. Can you tell Bible stories?”
“No. I—I’m afraid I don’t know much about that book. Mercy had one, but she kept it in the drawer. She took it out on Sundays, though. She didn’t let Gaspar nor me touch it. She said we might spoil the cover. That was red. It was a reward of merit when she was a girl. It had clasps, and was very beautiful. It had pictures in it, too, about saints and dead folks; but I never read it. I couldn’t read it if I tried, you know, because I’ve never been taught.”
This was amazing to the four book-crammed small Littlejohns. One exclaimed, with superior disgust:
“Such a great big girl, and can’t read your Bible! You must be a heathen, and bow down to wood and stone.”
“Maybe I am. I don’t remember bowing down to anything, except when I say my prayers.”
“Your prayers! Then you can’t be a real heathen. Heathens don’t say prayers, not our kind. Hmm. What lovely eyes you’ve got and how pretty you are! All the women never saw such wonderful hair as yours, nor the men either. I heard them say so. If I had a sister, I’d like her to look just like you. But it’s wicked to be vain.”
“What do you mean, you funny boy?”
“I’m not funny. I’m serious. My mother—my mother said—my mother—Oh! I want her! I want her!”
Religion, superiority, priggishness, all flew to the winds as his real and fresh grief overcame him; and it was a heart-broken lad that hurled himself against the shoulder of this sympathetic-looking girl who, though so much taller, was not so very much older than he.
The Sun Maid’s own heart echoed the cry with a keen pain, and she received the orphan’s outburst with exceeding tenderness. Now, whatever One, the eldest, did the other young numerals all imitated, so that each was soon weeping copiously. Yet, from very excess of energy, their grief soon exhausted itself and they regarded each other with some curiosity. Then Three began to smile, in a shamefaced sort of way, not knowing how far his recovery of composure would be approved by sterner One.
After a habit familiar to him the latter opened his lips to reprove but, fortunately, refrained, as he discovered a tall, stoop-shouldered man crossing the parade-ground.
This gentleman seemed oddly out of place amid that company of immigrants and soldiers. Student and bookworm was written all over his fine, intellectual countenance, and his eyes had that absent expression that had made the commandant’s wife call him a “dreamer.”
His bearing impressed the Sun Maid with reverent awe; a feeling apparently not shared by his sons. For Three ran to him and shook him violently, to secure attention, as he eagerly exclaimed:
“Oh, father! We’ve found one of ’em already! A heathen. Or, any way, a heatheny sort of a girl, but not Indian. She doesn’t know how to read, and she hasn’t any Bible. Come and give her one and teach her quick!”
“Eh? What? A heathen? My child, where?”
“Right there with my brothers. That yellow-headed girl. She’s nice. Are all the heathen as pretty as she is?”
“My son, that young person? Surely, you are mistaken. She must be the daughter of some resident at the Fort, or of some traveller like ourselves.”
“I don’t believe she is. She’s been taking care of herself all day. I haven’t heard anybody tell her ‘Don’t’ once. If she belonged to folk they’d do it wouldn’t they?”
“Very likely. Parents have to discipline their young. Don’t drag me so. I’m walking fast enough.”
“That’s what I say, father. ‘Don’t’ shows I belong to you. But I do wish you’d come. She might get away before you could catch her.”
“Catch her, Three? I don’t understand.”
“I know it. My mother used to say you never did understand plain every-day things. That’s why she had to take care of you the same as us. Oh! I wish we’d never come to this horrid place.”
The reference to his wife and the child’s grief roused the clergyman more completely than even an appeal for the heathen. Laying his thin hand tenderly upon the small rumpled head, he stroked it as he answered:
“In my flesh I echo that wish, laddie; but in my spirit I am resigned to whatever the Lord sends. If there is a heathen here, there is His work to do, and in that I can forget my own distress. I will walk faster if you wish.”
The other small Littlejohns, with Kitty, now joined their father and Three, the girl regarding him with some curiosity, for he was of a stamp quite different from any person she had ever seen. But he won her instant love as, holding out his hands in welcome, he exclaimed:
“Why, my daughter! Surely the lads were jesting. You look neither ignorant nor heathen, and in personal gifts the Lord has been most kind to you.”
“Has He? But I am rather lonely now.”
“And so am I. Therefore, we will be the better friends. Why, sons, this is just what we need to make our group complete. Maybe, lassie, your parents will spare you to us, now and then.”
“I have no parents. I am a ward of Government, though I don’t understand it. I wish—are you too busy to hear my story, and will you advise me? Gaspar told me some things, but he’s not old and wise like you, dear sir.”
“Old I am, indeed, but far from wise. Though, so well as I know I will most gladly counsel you. Let us go yonder, to that shady place beside the great wall, where there are benches to rest on and quiet to listen in.”
Now small Four Littlejohns had heard a deal about heathen. They had been the dearest theme of all the stories told him, and he caught his father’s hand with a detaining grasp:
“She might eat you all up, father!”
“Boy, what are you saying?”
“She isn’t like the picture in my story-book of the heathen that lived in India, and all the people worshipped, that was named a god, One told me when I asked him; but I guess heathens can change like fairies; and, please don’t go, father, don’t!”
“Nonsense, Four. What trash are you talking? It is you who are the heathen now.”
“I, father? I!”
In horror of a possible change in his person, the child began to feel of his plump face and pinch his fat body. He even imagined he was stiffening all over. Suddenly, he drew his wide mouth into a grotesque imitation of the engraving as he remembered it, planting his feet firmly and setting up a tragic wail.
“I’m not like him. I won’t be. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!”
Kitty understood nothing but the evident distress, which she attempted to soothe and merely aggravated.
“Get away! Don’t you touch me! You go away home and sit on a table with your legs all crooked up—so; and stop playing you’re a regular girl. Leave go my father’s hand, I say!”
Then One came to the rescue. As soon as he could stop laughing, he explained the situation to the others, and though the incident seemed a trivial one to the younger people to the good Doctor it was weighty with reproach for the ignorance he had permitted in his own household. It also had its far-reaching results; for it led him to observe the Sun Maid critically, and, when he had heard her simple story, to ask out of the fulness of his own big heart:
“Will you come and share our home with us, my daughter? Surely, you have much good sense and many wonderful gifts. The Lord has thrown us into one another’s company, and I believe you can, in large measure, take their mother’s place to these sons of mine. Will you come and live in our home, dear Sun Maid?”
“Indeed, I will! And love you for letting me!” cried the grateful girl, catching the Doctor’s hand and kissing it reverently.
But it did not occur to either of these innocents that there was, at that time, no home existing for them.