Mary Louise in the Country | Page 7

preferred his society to that of any other person. As the erect form
of the old gentleman sauntered away through the trees she looked after
him affectionately and wagged her little head with hearty approval.
"This is just the place for Gran'pa Jim," she mused. "There's no one to
bother him with questions or sympathy and he can live as quietly as he
likes and read those stuffy old books--the very name 'classics' makes
me shudder--to his heart's content. He'll grow stronger and happier here,
I'm sure."
Then she turned anew to revel in the constantly shifting view of river
and woodland that extended panoramically from her seat in the pavilion.
As her eyes fell on the old cottage opposite she was surprised to see a
dishpan sail through the open window, to fall with a clatter of broken
dishes on the hard ground of the yard. A couple of dish-towels
followed, and then a broom and a scrubbing-brush--all tossed out in an
angry, energetic way that scattered them in every direction. Then on the
porch appeared the form of a small girl, poorly dressed in a shabby
gingham gown, who danced up and down for a moment as if mad with
rage and then, observing the washtub, gave it a kick which sent it
rolling off the porch to join the other utensils on the ground.
Next, the small girl looked around her as if seeking more inanimate
things upon which to vent her anger, but finding none she dashed into
the cottage and soon reappeared with a much-worn straw hat which she
jammed on her flaxen head and then, with a determined air, walked
down the plank and marched up the path toward the bridge--the same
direction that old Cragg had taken a short time before.

Mary Louise gave a gasp of amazement. The scene had been dramatic
and exciting while it lasted and it needed no explanation whatever. The
child had plainly rebelled at enforced drudgery and was going--where?
Mary Louise sprang lightly from her seat and ran through the grounds
to their entrance. When she got to the road she sped along until she
came to the bridge, reaching one end of it just as the other girl started to
cross from the opposite end. Then she stopped and in a moment the two
met.
"Where are you going?" asked Mary Louise, laying a hand on the
child's arm as she attempted to pass her.
"None o' yer business," was the curt reply.
"Oh, it is, indeed," said Mary Louise, panting a little from her run. "I
saw you throw things, a minute ago, so I guess you mean to run away."
The girl turned and stared at her.
"I don't know ye," said she. "Never saw ye before. Where'd ye come
from anyway?"
"Why, my grandfather and I have taken the Kenton house for the
summer, so we're to be your neighbors. Of course, you know, we must
get acquainted."
"Ye kin be neighbors to my Gran'dad, if ye like, but not to me. Not by a
ginger cookie! I've done wi' this place fer good an' all, I hev, and if ye
ever see me here ag'in my name ain't Ingua Scammel!"
"Here; let's sit down on the bridge and talk it over," proposed Mary
Louise. "There's plenty of time for you to run away, if you think you'd
better. Is Mr. Cragg your grandfather, then?"
"Yes, Ol' Swallertail is. 'Ol' Humbug' is what I calls him."
"Not to his face, do you?"

"I ain't so foolish. He's got a grip on him like a lobster, an' when he's
mad at me he grips my arm an' twists it till I holler. When Gran'dad's
aroun' you bet I hev to knuckle down, er I gits the worst of it."
"So he's cruel, is he?"
"Uh-huh. Thet is, he's cruel when I riles him, as I got a habit o' doin'.
When things runs smooth, Gran'dad ain't so bad; but I ain't goin' to
stand that slave life no longer, I ain't. I've quit fer good."
"Wherever you go," said Mary Louise gently, "you will have to work
for someone. Someone, perhaps, who treats you worse than your
grandfather does. No one else is obliged to care for you in any way, so
perhaps you're not making a wise change."
"I ain't, eh?"
"Perhaps not. Have you any other relatives to go to?"
"No."
"Or any money?"
"Not a red cent."
"Then you'll have to hire out as a servant. You're not big enough or
strong enough to do much, so you'll search a long time before you find
work, and that means being hungry and without shelter. I know more of
the world than you do, Ingua--what an odd name you have!--and I
honestly think you