“My! Thank you. You’re a lovely, nice girl. But I wouldn’t eat it. Why aren’t you hungry? There’s the bell!”
Away they ran dinner-wards, and found the Judge rehearsing to his wife the incidents of the morning, and evidently something of Steenie’s ambition; for the lady bestowed upon the child a caress more cordial even than usual, and called her a “dear, brave, helpful little thing.”
There proved to be not only enough of food but to spare; and when the meal was over Judge Courtenay retired to his office with his secretary, while the children went into the parlor, where Steenie was asked to tell her hostess all about her desired “riding-school,” and what had suggested it to her.
“It was the blacksmith made me think about it, when he shod Tito. He said I ‘ought to;’ an’ I s’pose maybe he knows ’bout my father being blind, an’ my grandmother an old lady that never did anything but read books, an’ they both being so ‘helpless,’ Mr. Tubbs says. But he, Mr. Resolved, thought I was ‘helpless,’ too; only I don’t want to be. ’Cause I’m not old nor blind, an’ I’m strong as anything. But I don’t know very much, ’cept ’bout horses; an’ I do know ’bout them, way through. So—well, you see—after the blacksmith talk—I thought an’ thought—an’ thought. First off, it made me dizzy—just the thinking. Then I wasn’t dizzy any more for being sorry—but just for glad! An’ I hurried home fast as fast; an’ there was my father taking a nap, ’cause he doesn’t sleep good nights; an’ after supper some comp’ny came, an’ they stayed till I went away to bed. Then this morning there they were again; an’ they were a man an’ his clerk, or something, an’ my grandmother an’ my father went into the library an’ shut the door, so I didn’t have any chance to ask him. Then when I was coming here, I thought maybe I was glad I hadn’t. ’Cause my grandmother says your Mr. Judge is a terr’ble wise gentleman; an’ I know so too. An’ I thought prob’ly he knew all the little girls an’ colts in Old Knollsboro; an’ maybe they’d like to learn to ride the right way. And the blacksmith said I’d ‘make a fortune’ showing ’em. I’d like to make it, or some money, I mean. Any way if I could do one thing to buy beefsteaks with, I ought to, hadn’t I? ’Cause Mr. Tubbs says, ‘The Lord only knows how long any on us’ll eat beefsteak,’—an’ we all like it. Even my grandmother does. It would be awful, wouldn’t it, for an old lady like her to not have any more?”
“Yes, my dear, it would be very bad indeed; but I hope matters are not quite so serious as that,” answered Mrs. Courtenay, smiling.
“Well, I don’t know, course. But Mary Jane says we’d all ‘better be lookin’ out to earn an honest penny, those on us ’at can.’ An’ Mr., her brother, said she ‘needn’t cast no ’flections on him, ’cause hadn’t he got the lumbago, he’d like to know?’ So, you see, it’s just this one straight way: Grandmother can’t, ’cause she can’t, an’ she oughtn’t to; Papa can’t, ’cause he can’t see to do anything; Sutro can’t, ’cause he’s just Sutro; Mr. Tubbs can’t, ’cause he’s a lumbagorer an’ a ‘reg’lar funeral-dark-sider,’ Mary Jane says; Mary Jane can’t, ’cause her ‘hands an’ heart is full every ’durin’ minute, an’ so she tells you;’ an’ so, after them, they isn’t anybody left but me. So I want to; ’cause I love ’em—love ’em—love ’em—every one! An’ I’m young, an’ I can see, an’ I haven’t any lumbago, an’ I’m not just Sutro, an’ my hands an’ heart isn’t full, and—do—you s’pose I can?”
“My dear little girl, I have perfect faith that you can!—providing that your people will consent,” answered Mrs. Courtenay, with the most confident of smiles, and very shining eyes.
“Why shouldn’t they consent? Wouldn’t they be the most gladdest they could be? ’Cause I’d give them the money, an’ they could buy the things.”
“Who told you about ‘money,’ and money-earning, Steenie?” asked the lady, somewhat curiously, wondering how a child brought up “in the wilderness” had learned its value.
“Why, Sutro. I asked him what it meant to be ‘ruined,’ an’ he told me. He’s ruined, himself, he says; anyhow he’s lost his home, same as Grandmother’ll have to lose hers; an’ he says that he had to go to work an’ earn money, an’ that was why he didn’t ‘starve to death, en verdad!’ I should think it would be dreadful to starve to death, shouldn’t you?”