Part 11 (2/2)

But Mrs. Yellett was not the sort of antagonist to be left gaping on the road, awed to silence by the action of a rocking-chair, no matter how brilliant.

”I reckon I can thrash my own children when it's needed, without gettin'

in help from the East, or hereabouts either, for that matter. If other folks would only take out their public-spirited reformin' tendencies on their own famblies, there'd be a heap less lynchin' likely to happen round the country in the course of the next ten years.”

Old Sally let the home-thrust pa.s.s. ”Who ever hearn tell of a good teacher that wasn't a fine thrasher in the bargain?” She swung the chair about with a pivotal motion, as if she were addressing an a.s.semblage instead of a single listener, and then, bethinking herself of a clinching ill.u.s.tration, she called aloud to her daughter to bear witness. ”Eudory!

Eu-do-ry! You-do-ry!”

”Ye-'s ma'am,” drawled the daughter, coming most unwillingly from the open-faced room opposite, where she had been inciting all four of the suitors to battle.

”What was it they called that teacher down to Caspar that larruped the hide off'n the boys?”

”A fine dis-a-_ply_-narian, maw.”

”Yes, that's it-a dis-a-_ply_-narian. What kin a lettle green gourd like her know 'bout dis-apply-in?”

”Your remarks sh.o.r.e remind me of a sayin' that 'the discomfort of havin'

to swallow other folks' dust causes a heap of anxiety over their reckless driving.'”

Mrs. Yellett flicked her riding-boot with her whip. Her voice dropped a couple of tones, her accent became one of honeyed sweetness.

”Your consumin' anxiety regardin' my gov'ment and my children sh.o.r.e reminds me of a narrative appertainin' to two dawgs. Them dawgs was neighbors, livin' in adj'inin' yards separated by a fence, and one day one of them got a good meaty bone and settled hisself down to the enj'yment thereof. And his intimate friend and neighbor on the other side of the fence, who had no bone to engage his faculties, he began to fret hisself 'bout the business of his friend. S'pose he was to choke hisself over that bone. S'pose the meat disagreed with him. And he begins to bark warnin's, but the dawg with the bone he keeps right on. But the other dawg he dashes hisself again the fence and he scratches with his claws. He whines pitiful, he's that anxious about his friend. But the dawg with the bone he went right on till he gnawed it down to the last morsel, and, goin' to the hole in the fence whar his friend had kep' that anxious vigil, he says: 'Friend, the only thing that consoled me while having to endure the anguish of eatin' that bone was the thought of your watchful sympathy!'

Which bein' the case, I'd thank you to tell me whar I can find my gov'ment.”

”Ai-yi!” said old Sally. ”I ain't seein' no bone this deal. Just a lettle green gourd 's all I see with my strongest specs.”

Mary Carmichael, in one of the inner rooms, was writing a home letter, which was chiefly remarkable for what it failed to relate. It gave long accounts of the scenery, it waxed didactic over the future of the country; but the adventures of the trip, with her incidental acquaintance with the Daxes and Chugg, were not recorded. Eudora announced the arrival of Mrs.

Yellett, and Mary, at the news, dropped the contents of her portfolio and started up with much the feeling a marooned sailor might have on hearing a sail has been sighted. At this particular stage of her career Miss Carmichael had not developed the philosophy that later in life was destined to become her most valuable a.s.set. Her sense of humor no longer responded to the vagaries of pioneer life. The comedy element was coming a little too thick and fast. She was getting a bit heart-sick for a glimpse of her own kind, a word with some one who spoke her language. And here, at last, was the woman who had written such a charming letter, who had so graciously intimated that there was room for her at the hearth-stone. Mary was, indeed, eager to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Yellett.

To the end of her life she never forgot that first meeting-the perfect confidence with which she followed Eudora to the open room, the ensuing blank amazement, the utter inability to reconcile the Mrs. Yellett of the letter with the Mrs. Yellett of fact. The lamp on the table, burning feebly, seemed to burst into a thousand shooting-stars as the girl struggled with her tears. Home was so far, and Mrs. Yellett was so different from what she had expected! And yet, as she felt her fingers crush in the grip of that hard but not unkindly hand, there was in the woman's rugged personality a sustaining quality; and, thinking again of Archie's prospects, Mary was not altogether sorry that she had come.

”You be a right smart young maverick not to get lost none on this long trail, and no one to p'int you right if you strayed,” commented Mary's patroness, affably. ”But we won't roominate here no longer than we can help. It's too hard on old Ma'am Rodney. She's just 'bout the color of withered cabbage now, 'long of me havin' you.”

While she talked, Mrs. Yellett picked up Mary's trunk and bags and stowed them in the back of the buckboard with the ease with which another woman might handle pasteboard boxes. One or two of the male Rodneys offered to help, but she waved them aside and lashed the luggage to the buckboard, handling the ropes with the skill of an old sailor. The entire Rodney family and the suitors of Eudora a.s.sembled to witness the departure. ”It's a heap friendly of you to fret so,” was the parting stab of Sarah Yellett to Sally Rodney; and she swung the backboard about, cleared the cactus stumps in the Rodney door-yard, and gained the mountain-road.

”Ai-yi!” said old Sally. ”What's this country comin' to?”

”A few more women, thank G.o.d!” remarked Ira. Eudora had just snubbed him, and he put a wealth of meaning into his look after the vanis.h.i.+ng buckboard.

The night was magnificent. From horizon to horizon the sky was sown with quivering points of light. Each straggling clump of sage-brush, rocky ledge, and bowlder borrowed a beauty not its own from the yellow radiance of the stars.

They had gone a good two miles before Mary's patroness broke the silence with, ”Nothing plumb stampedes my temper like that Rodney outfit-old Sally buckin' an' pitchin' in her rockin'-chair same as if she was breakin' a bronco, an' that Eudory always corallin', deceivin', and jiltin' one outfit of men after another. If she was a daughter of mine, I'd medjure her length across my knee, full growed and courted though she is. The only one of the outfit that's wuth while is Judith, an' she ain't old woman Rodney's girl, neither. You hyeard that already, did you? Well, this yere country may be lackin' in population, but it's handy as a sewin'-circle in distributin' news.”

Mary mentioned Leander. ”Yes,” answered Mrs. Yellett, reflectively, ”Leander's mouth do run about eight and a half octaves. Sometimes I don't blame his wife for bangin' down the lid.”

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