VINNIE IN THE LION'S DEN.
When Link the next morning went to the spring for water he found that the Peakslow boys (it could have been nobody else) had, by a dastardly trick, taken revenge for the defeat of the day before.
Link came limping back (his ankle was still sore) with an empty pail, and loud complaints of the enemy.
"They've been and gone and filled the spring with earth and leaves and sticks, and all sorts of rubbish! It will take an hour to dig it out, and then all day for the water to settle and be fit to drink."
"Those dreadful Peakslow boys! what shall we do?" Caroline said despairingly. "No water for breakfast, and no near neighbors but the Peakslows; but their well is the last place where we should think of going for water."
"I'll tell you what I'll do!" said Link. "I'll go to-night and give 'em such a dose in their well, that they won't want any water from it for the next two months! I know where there's a dead rabbit. The Peakslows don't get the start of us!"
"I don't see but that one of the boys will have to go to Mr. Wiggett's for water," said poor Caroline, bemoaning her troubles.
"Rufe and Wad are doing the chores," said Link, "and I'm lame. Besides, you don't catch one of us going to old Wiggett's for water, for we should have to pass Peakslow's house, and it would please 'em too well."
"Let me take the pail; I will get some water," said Vinnie.
"Why, Lavinia dear!" Caroline exclaimed, "what are you thinking of? Where are you going?"
"To Mr. Peakslow's," Vinnie answered with a smile.
"Going into the lion's den! Don't think of such a thing, Lavinia dear!"
"No, by sixty!" cried Link. "I don't want them boys to sass you! I'd rather go a mile in the other direction for water,—bother the lame foot!"
But Vinnie quietly persisted, saying it would do no harm for her to try; and putting on her bonnet, she started off with the empty pail.
I cannot say that she felt no misgivings; but the consciousness of doing a simple and blameless act helped to quiet the beating of her heart as she approached the Peakslow door.
It was open, and she could see the family at breakfast within, while the loud talking prevented her footsteps from being heard.
Besides Dud and Zeph, there were three or four younger children, girls and boys, the youngest of whom—a child with bandaged hands and arms—sat in its father's lap.
Vinnie remembered the swarthy face, bushy beard, and hooked nose; and yet she could hardly believe that this was the same man who once showed her such ruffianly manners on the wharf in Chicago. He was fondling and feeding the child, and talking to it, and drumming on the table with his knife to amuse it and still its complaining cries.
"Surely," thought Vinnie, "there must be some good in a man who shows so much affection even toward his own child." And with growing courage she advanced to the threshold.
Mrs. Peakslow—a much-bent, over-worked woman, with a pinched and peevish face—looked up quickly across the table and stared at the strange visitor. In a moment all eyes were turned upon Vinnie.
"I beg your pardon," she said, pausing at the door. "I wish to get a pail of water. Can I go to your well and help myself?"
The children—and especially Dud and Zeph—looked in astonishment at the bright face and girlish form in the doorway. As Mr. Peakslow turned his face toward her, all the tenderness went out of it.
"What do Betterson's folks send here for water for? And what makes 'em send a gal? Why don't they come themselves?"
"They did not send me," Vinnie answered as pleasantly as she could. "I came of my own accord."
Peakslow wheeled round on his chair.
"Queer sort of folks, they be! An' seems to me you must be queer, to be stoppin' with 'em."
"Mrs. Betterson is my sister," replied Vinnie in a trembling voice. "I came to her because she is sick, and Cecie—because I was needed," she said, avoiding the dangerous ground of Zeph's offence.
"I've nothin' pa'tic'lar ag'in Mis' Betterson as I know on," said Peakslow, "though of course she sides with him ag'in me, an' of course you side with her."
"I've nothing to do with Mr. Betterson's quarrels," Vinnie answered, drawing back from the door. "Will you kindly permit me to get a pail of water? I am sorry if I give you any trouble."
"No trouble; water's cheap," said Peakslow. "But why don't they have a well o' their own, 'ste'd o' dependin' on their neighbors? What makes 'em so plaguy shif'less?"
"They have a well, but it is dry this summer, and—"
"Dry every summer, ain't it? What a way to dig a well that was!"
"They have a very good spring," Vinnie said, "but something happened to it last night." At which Dud and Zeph giggled and looked sheepish.
"What happened to the spring?"
"Somebody put rubbish into it."
"Who done it, did you hear 'em say?"
"I don't know who did it; and I should be sorry to accuse any person of such an act," Vinnie answered with firm but serene dignity.
The boys looked more sheepish and giggled less.
"I know who put stuff in the spring," spoke up a little one, proud of being able to convey useful information; "Dud and Zeph—"
But at that moment Dud's hand stopped the prattler's mouth.
"I don't believe my boys have done anything of the kind," said Peakslow; "though 't wouldn't be strange if they did. See how that great lubberly Rufe treated our Zeph yist'day! rubbed the dirt into his skin so 't he hain't got it washed out yit."
"I am sorry for these misunderstandings," said Vinnie, turning to Mrs. Peakslow with an appealing look. "I wish you and my sister knew each other better. You have a sick child, too, I see."
"'T ain't sick, 'xac'ly," replied the mother in a peevish, snarling tone. "Pulled over the teapot, and got hands and arms scalt."
"O, poor little thing!" Vinnie exclaimed. "What have you done for it?"
"Hain't done nothin' much, only wrapped up the blistered places in Injin meal; that's coolin'."
"No doubt; but I've some salve, the best thing in the world for burns. I wish you would let me bring you some."
"I guess Bubby'll git along 'thout no help from outside," said Peakslow, his ill-natured growl softened by a feeling of tenderness for the child which just then came over him. "He's weathered the wust on 't."
But Bubby's fretful cries told that what was left was bad enough.
"I will bring you the salve," said Vinnie, "and I hope you will try it; it is so hard to see these little ones suffer."
She was retiring, when Peakslow called after her,—
"Goin' 'ithout the water?"
"I—thought—you had not told me I could have it."
"Have it! of course you can have it; I wouldn't refuse nobody a pail o' water. Ye see where the well is?"
"O yes; thank you." And Vinnie hastened to the curb.
"She can't draw it," snickered Zeph. "Handle's broke; and the crank'll slip out of her hands and knock her to Jericho, if she don't look out."
"Seems to be a perty spoken gal," said Peakslow, turning to finish his breakfast. "I've nothin' ag'in her. You've finished your breakfast; better go out, Dudley, and tell her to look out about the crank."
With mixed emotions in his soul, Dud went; his countenance enlivened at one and the same time with a blush of boyish bashfulness and a malicious grin. As he drew near, and saw Vinnie embarrassed with the windlass, which seemed determined to let the bucket down too fast (as if animated with a genuine Peakslow spite toward her), the grin predominated; but when she turned upon him a troubled, smiling face, the grin subsided, and the blush became a general conflagration, extending to the tips of his ears.
"How does 't go?"
"It's inclined to go altogether too fast," said Vinnie, stopping the windlass; "and it hurts my hands."
"Le' me show ye."
And Dud, taking her place by the curb, let the windlass revolve with moderated velocity under the pressure of his rough palms, until the bucket struck the water. Then, drawing it up, he filled her pail.
The grin had by this time faded quite out of his countenance; and when she thanked him sweetly and sincerely for helping her, the blush became a blush of pleasure.
"It is more than I can carry," she said. "I shall have to pour out some."
Thereupon Dud Peakslow astonished himself by an extraordinary act of gallantry.
"I'll carry it for ye as fur as the road; I'd carry it all the way, if 't was anywhere else." And he actually took up the pail.
"You seem to have a very bad opinion of my relations," Vinnie said.
"Good reason! They hate us, too!"
"And think they have good reason. But I'm sure you are not so bad as they believe; and you may possibly be mistaken about them. Let me take the pail now. You are very kind."
Dud gave up the pail with reluctance, and gazed after her up the road, his stupid mouth ajar with an expression of wistful wonder and pleasure.
"Hurry now and git up the team, Dud!" his father called from the door. "What ye stan'in' there for? Didn't ye never see a gal afore?"
When Vinnie reached home with her pail of water, all gathered around, eager to hear her adventure.
"The lions were not very savage, after all," she said, laughing.