In spite of my distress of mind and my discomfort of body, one impression overwhelmed all others—the anguish and consternation of Elam Chadsey. He darted from side to side, exactly like a distracted hen; he literally groaned aloud.
“Darn that gump of an Abiel Hartshorn! He’s the biggest fool in Rhode Island—lockin’ up his house jest ’cause he’s goin’ away, an’ gettin’ us in this fix. Wait, miss, keep still, an’ I’ll see if I can find an axe to chop ye out.”
Wait! keep still!—indeed I would—I couldn’t do otherwise. Off he ran to the wood-shed, and soon came back madder than ever; he fairly sizzled.
“Oh, the ninny! the big donkey! his axe is in the house. What do you s’pose he locked it up fur? He’s a reg’lar wood-chuck! I’ll tell him what I think on him. Ye ain’t hurted much, be ye, miss?”
“Oh, no,” I answered, calmly, “I’m all right as long as I keep still. But if I try to move there are several big and very sharp splinters that stick into me, and nails, too, I think—rusty nails, without doubt, which will probably give me the lock-jaw. Oh, Mr. Chadsey, do you suppose there are many eggs in this house?”
“Not many hull ones, I’ll bet. Oh, no”—very scornfully—“I s’pose Abiel took ’em into the house to lock ’em up—the ninny. He’s the biggest ninny I ever see. Do ye think, miss, if we could manage to tip the hen-house over, that we could drag you out?”
“No,” I answered, vehemently, “the splinters are all pointing downward, and if you try to pull me out they will all stick into me worse than they do now. I have got to be chopped out of this trap, and you must go home, or somewhere, or anywhere, and get an axe to do it. Take our horse, and drive there, and do be careful when you go around the corners, or the cart will upset—and do, oh, do hurry. You must both go, our pony is so queer and tricky, and Mr. Chadsey might have trouble with him. Now, don’t object, nothing can happen to me in my fortress.”
So, rather unwillingly, they drove off, Elam Chadsey muttering to himself, “that Abiel Hartshorn’s the biggest ninny in Rhode Island.”
I was alone in my hen-house. I was not at all uncomfortable—while I kept still—though I was “cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d.” The true china-hunting madness filled my brain as I thought of the row of fine blue-and-white apothecary jars which would soon be mine, and other thoughts were crowded out. The calm and quiet of the beautiful day also soothed and cheered me in spite of myself. The wind sighed musically through the great ancient pine-tree that stood near the house. Flickering rays of glowing sunlight shone down on my head through the feathery foliage of the locust-trees that filled the door-yard. A great field of blossoming buckwheat wafted fresh balm in little puffs of pure perfume. Bees hummed and buzzed around me, and a meadow-lark sung somewhere near, sung and sung as if summer were eternal. A flood of light and perfume and melody and warmth filled me with sensuous delight in spite of my awkward imprisonment, and I fairly laughed aloud, and frightened the hens and chickens that had come clucking round me in inquisitive wonder at the removal and invasion of their home.
But my ill-timed and absurd sense of being in a summer paradise did not last long, for I heard in a few minutes the loud clatter of wheels coming down the lane from the opposite direction to that which had been taken by the hurrying pair. Of course, I could not see, for I had fallen with my face toward the house, and I did not like to try to turn around—it inconvenienced the splinters so. The sound came nearer and nearer, and at last I managed to move my head enough to see a country horse and wagon with two men. Then I leaned my face on my folded arms, and I hoped and prayed that they might drive past. But, to my horror, to my intense mortification, they turned and came up the driveway and underneath the shed of the Hartshorn house.