Story of Waitstill Baxter | Page 9

succumbed after the manner of her predecessors, and slipped away
from a life that had grown intolerable. The trouble was diagnosed as
"liver complaint," but scarcity of proper food, no new frocks or kind
words, hard work, and continual bullying may possibly have been
contributory causes. Dr. Perry thought so, for he had witnessed three
most contented deaths in the Baxter house. The ladies were all
members of the church and had presumably made their peace with God,
but the good doctor fancied that their pleasure in joining the angels was
mild compared with their relief at parting with the Deacon.
"I know I hadn't ought to put the care on you, Waitstill, and you only
thirteen," poor Mrs. Baxter sighed, as the young girl was watching with
her one night when the end seemed drawing near. "I've made out to live
till now when Patience is old enough to dress herself and help round,
but I'm all beat out and can't try any more."
"Do you mean I'm to take your place, be a mother to Patience, and keep
house, and everything?" asked Waitstill quaveringly.
"I don't see but you'll have to, unless your father marries again. He'll

never hire help, you know that!"
"I won't have another mother in this house," flashed the girl. "There's
been three here and that's enough! If he brings anybody home, I'll take
Patience and run away, as Job did; or if he leaves me alone, I'll wash
and iron and scrub and cook till Patience grows up, and then we'll go
off together and hide somewhere. I'm fourteen; oh, mother, how soon
could I be married and take Patience to live with me? Do you think
anybody will ever want me?"
"Don't marry for a home, Waitstill! Your own mother did that, and so
did I, and we were both punished for it! You've been a great help and
I've had a sight of comfort out of the baby, but I wouldn't go through it
again, not even for her! You're real smart and capable for your age and
you've done your full share of the work every day, even when you were
at school. You can get along all right."
"I don't know how I'm going to do everything alone," said the girl,
forcing back her tears. "You've always made the brown bread, and
mine will never suit father. I suppose I can wash, but don't know how
to iron starched clothes, nor make pickles, and oh! I can never kill a
rooster, mother, it's no use to ask me to! I'm not big enough to be the
head of the family."
Mrs. Baxter turned her pale, tired face away from Waitstill's appealing
eyes.
"I know," she said faintly. "I hate to leave you to bear the brunt alone,
but I must! . . . Take good care of Patience and don't let her get into
trouble. . . . You won't, will you?"
"I'll be careful," promised Waitstill, sobbing quietly; "I'll do my best."
"You've got more courage than ever I had; don't you s'pose you can
stiffen up and defend yourself a little mite? . . . Your father'd ought to
be opposed, for his own good . . . but I've never seen anybody that
dared do it." Then, after a pause, she said with a flash of
spirit,--"Anyhow, Waitstill, he's your father after all. He's no blood

relation of mine, and I can't stand him another day; that's the reason I'm
willing to die."

IV
SOMETHING OF A HERO
IVORY BOYNTON lifted the bars that divided his land from the
highroad and walked slowly toward the house. It was April, but there
were still patches of snow here and there, fast melting under a drizzling
rain. It was a gray world, a bleak, black-and-brown world, above and
below. The sky was leaden; the road and the footpath were deep in a
muddy ooze flecked with white. The tree-trunks, black, with bare
branches, were lined against the gray sky; nevertheless, spring had been
on the way for a week, and a few sunny days would bring the yearly
miracle for which all hearts were longing.
Ivory was season-wise and his quick eye had caught many a sign as he
walked through the woods from his schoolhouse. A new and different
color haunted the tree-tops, and one had only to look closely at the elm
buds to see that they were beginning to swell. Some fat robins had been
sunning about in the school-yard at noon, and sparrows had been
chirping and twittering on the fence-rails. Yes, the winter was over, and
Ivory was glad, for it had meant no coasting and -skating and sleighing
for him, but long walks in deep snow or slush; long evenings, good for
study,