Part 4 (1/2)
”You're welcome to him!” called Mary. ”I'll take Mrs. B.” Then she came to the doorway, a pile of folded garments in her hands. ”I declare, she's just an old dear! She's thought of so many ways to save us expense since she found out that we have to economize. She even offered to have our two extra trunks checked on their tickets. They only brought suit-cases. So we'll have no extra baggage to pay for.”
The sun was s.h.i.+ning next morning, and although the chill of the Norther was still in the air, the rain-washed plazas were greener than ever, and new roses were opening to take the places of the old ones that the storm had beaten off the day before. Mary's spirits seemed to have pa.s.sed through the same freshening process, for there was no trace of tears or regrets on the bright face that greeted her travelling companions.
The only morning train was an accommodation, which carried much freight and took its own time for the journey. This happened to be a day when it was four hours on the road, but none of the little party felt that time dragged. Ordinarily, Mary would have enjoyed keeping close to the old ranchman, as Norman did, hopping off the car every time they stopped on a side-track, to investigate everything along the way,--the lime works, the rock quarry, the station where the mail was put off for the soldiers who were camped at the Government reservation for target practise. Even the little oil-burning engine would have been of as much interest to her as it was to Norman, had she not been so busily occupied otherwise.
As they wound higher and higher into the hills she looked out now and then with a quick exclamation of pleasure at the view, but for the most part she was ”visiting” with Mrs. Barnaby, as that good soul expressed it. Their acquaintance took long strides forward that morning. Part of the time Mary chattered along just as if her listener had been one of the Warwick Hall girls, and part of the time she listened to elderly views and confidences with the seeming sympathy of middle age. A bit of personal history from one called out a corresponding sc.r.a.p from the other, and they had exchanged views on many subjects, ranging from young turkeys to unhappy marriages, when the porter pa.s.sed through the train calling, ”Bauer! All out for Bauer!”
Mrs. Barnaby glanced out the window, saying in surprise, ”I had no idea we were so near home!” Then she gave Mary's sleeve an affectionate little pat with her plump hand, exclaiming cordially, ”I declare, it's been a real treat to have you along.” And Mary, as she helped Mrs.
Barnaby struggle into her coat, responded, ”Well, I've enjoyed every inch of the way. Somehow you make me feel that you're just my age or I'm just yours,--I don't know which. You can't imagine how 'little and lorn'
I feel at the thought of leaving you.”
”Oh, but I'm not going to leave you until you're safely settled,” was the comforting a.s.surance. ”James has some business at the court-house that will keep him in town for an hour or so. As soon as we drop him there I'll drive around with you to make arrangements about the cottage.
There's Pedro now.”
They were on the platform by this time, and she indicated by a nod the slim young Mexican who had driven the carriage from the ranch to meet them. It was a roomy, old-fas.h.i.+oned carriage drawn by two big gray mules, with much s.h.i.+ning nickel-plating on their stout black harness.
The station was half a mile away from the village, and as they swung down the sunny white road towards it, at a rapid gait, both Norman and Mary looked out eagerly at the place that was to be their home for a whole long winter, and maybe more.
From a distance it looked almost like a toy village, with its red roofs, blue barns and flas.h.i.+ng windmills nestled against the background of misty hills. Low mountain peaks rose here and there on the far horizon beyond.
”This is distinctly a German village, you know,” explained Mrs. Barnaby, as they pa.s.sed a group of little flaxen-haired Teutons on the roadside, who were calling to each other and their dog in a tongue which Mary could not understand.
”Bauer was settled by an old German count and a baron or two, who came over here with their families and followers. They made it as much like a corner of the Fatherland as they could, and their descendants still cling to their language and customs. They don't want any disturbing, aggressive Americans in their midst, so they never call on new-comers, and never return their visits if any of them try to make the advances.
They will welcome you to their shops, but not to their homes. Even the English and Scotch people who have owned the out-lying ranches as long as they have owned the town are looked upon as aliens and strangers, in a way.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”MARY WARE in TEXAS”
”A das.h.i.+ng girl in khaki and a cowboy hat astride of a fiery little mustang”]
Mary gave an exclamation of dismay. ”Texas certainly is full of surprises,” she said, in a disappointed tone. ”One thinks of it as being young and crude, and with the proverbial hospitality of a new country.
I've always thought of it as having the latch-string out for everybody.”
”Oh, _Texas_ has,” Mrs. Barnaby hastened to a.s.sure her. ”Its doors are wide open, and its welcome corresponds to its size, the biggest in the Union. But Bauer is different. It has a few families who will not look on you with suspicion. The old couple who own the cottage which I hope to get for you will be good neighbors, and if you were to live here a long time there are others who would be friendly. Then there are several American families who have found a foothold in the town, and as I said, English-speaking people on the ranches hereabout. They are cultured, refined people, interesting to know, but strangers coming here rarely make their acquaintance. You see we have so many transients coming for their health, staying just a few weeks or months and going on again--it's hardly to be expected we'd--”
Her sentence was interrupted by a das.h.i.+ng girl in khaki and a cowboy hat, astride a fiery little mustang. She rode past the carriage, calling out a greeting as she pa.s.sed. Norman turned around exclaiming, ”Did you see that? A cartridge belt around her waist and a six-shooter in her holster! That's the wild West for you.”
”That's the sheriff's daughter,” explained Mrs. Barnaby. ”She's his deputy, and meets the trains when it's necessary and he's out of town.”
”I'd like to know her,” said Mary. ”I'm glad that there's something to give one the kind of a thrill you naturally expect to have out here. I was beginning to have such a foreign, far-away feeling, seeing all these picturesque little German gardens with old women weeding in them. We can imagine we are abroad this winter in Cologne or Pottsdam or Bingen on the Rhine. Oh, _oh!_ How quaint and dear!”
The exclamation escaped her as the gray mules stopped at the gate of an old garden, over whose stone walls arched a row of great pecan trees. A straight path ran from the gate to the kitchen door, stiffly bordered by c.o.xcombs and princes' feather, while on each side chrysanthemums and roses and a host of old-fas.h.i.+oned autumn flowers made the little plot a tangle of colors and sweet smells. There were some bee-hives under the bare peach trees, and at one side beyond them, a small vineyard where the mockingbirds still sang noisily although the grapes had all been gathered and pressed into wine. An old man with a flowing white beard and a high black hat sat on a bench by the kitchen door placidly smoking a long pipe.
”That's Mr. Metz,” said Mrs. Barnaby, preparing to alight. ”Come in with me.”
”It's all just like one of the pictures in Joyce's studio,” commented Mary, as they followed the straight walk to the door, ”and this is just like one of those lovely old-master, Dutch interiors,” she added, in a whisper, as Mr. Metz ushered them into the big, clean kitchen, where his wife sat knitting.
On the deep window-sill a cat lay asleep in the sun beside a pot of glowing red geraniums, and there was such an air of cleanliness and thrift and repose about the room that Mary could not help exclaiming aloud over it. As she glanced around with admiring glances her bright face showed its appreciation also, and Mrs. Metz watched it shrewdly while she talked with Mrs. Barnaby, in English so broken as to be almost unintelligible.
What the old woman saw must have satisfied her, for she accepted Mrs.
Barnaby's offer after a very short parley with her husband in German, and when they rose to go she bade them wait while she made a stiff little nosegay for each of them, culled from her garden borders and edged with strong-smelling mint. In the center of Mary's was one of her handsomest c.o.xcombs. Mrs. Barnaby smiled meaningly when she saw it, and when they had climbed back into the carriage, said in a pleased tone, ”That shows that she has weighed you in the balance and is satisfied with the result. You'll get along famously with her, I'm sure, and we'll soon have you settled now, in fine shape.”