The Iron Woman | Page 2

of the tree, indifferent to the trousers, which had
been on his mind ever since he had put them on his legs.
Blair followed him, but Nannie squatted on the ground content to
merely look at the courageous three.
"Come on up," said Elizabeth. Nannie shook her little blond head. At
which the others burst into a shrill chorus: "'Fraid-cat! 'fraid-cat!
'fraid-cat!" Nannie smiled placidly; it never occurred to her to deny
such an obviously truthful title. "Blair," she said, continuing a
conversation interrupted by Elizabeth's determination to climb, "Blair,
why do you say things that make Mamma mad? What's the sense? If it
makes her mad for you to say things are ugly, why do you?"
"'Cause," Blair said briefly. Even at eight Blair disliked both
explanations and decisions, and his slave and half-sister rarely pressed
for either. With the exception of his mother, whose absorption in
business had never given her time to get acquainted with him, most of
the people about Blair were his slaves. Elizabeth's governess, Miss
White--called by Elizabeth, for reasons of her own, "Cherry-pie"--had
completely surrendered to his brown eyes; the men in the Maitland
Works toadied to him; David Richie blustered, perhaps, but always
gave in to him; in his own home, Harris, who was a cross between a
butler and a maid-of-all-work, adored him to the point of letting him
make candy on the kitchen stove--probably the greatest expression of
affection possible to the kitchen; in fact, little Elizabeth Ferguson was
the only person in his world who did not knuckle down to this pleasant
and lovable child. But then, Elizabeth never knuckled down to anybody!
Certainly not to kind old Cherry- pie, whose timid upper lip quivered
like a rabbit's when she was obliged to repeat to her darling some new

rule of Robert Ferguson's for his niece's upbringing; nor did she
knuckle down to her uncle;--she even declared she was not at all afraid
of him! This was almost unbelievable to the others, who scattered like
robins if they heard his step. And she had greater courage than this; she
had, in fact, audacity! for she said she was willing--this the others told
each other in awed tones--she said she had "just as lieves" walk right up
and speak to Mrs. Maitland herself, and ask her for twenty cents so she
could treat the whole crowd to ice-cream! That is, she would just as
lieves, if she should happen to want to. Now, as she sat in the
apple-tree swinging her legs and sharing her taffy, it occurred to her to
mention, apropos of nothing, her opinion of Mrs. Maitland's looks:
"I like Blair's mother best; but David's mother is prettier than Blair's
mother."
"It isn't polite to brag on mothers," said David, surveying his new
trousers complacently, "but I know what I think."
Blair, jouncing up and down on his branch, agreed with unoffended
candor. "'Course she's prettier. Anybody is. Mother's ugly."
"It isn't right to say things like that out of the family," Nannie observed.
"This is the family. You're going to marry David, and I'm going to
marry Elizabeth. And I'm going to be awfully rich; and I'll give all you
children a lot of money. Jimmy Sullivan--he's a friend of mine; I got
acquainted with him yesterday, and he's the biggest puddler in our
Works. Jimmie said, 'You're the only son,' he said, 'you'll get it all.'
'Course I told him I'd give him some," said Blair.
At this moment Elizabeth was moved to catch David round the neck,
and give him a loud kiss on his left ear. David sighed. "You may kiss
me," he said patiently; "but I'd rather you'd tell me when you want to.
You knocked off my cap."
"Say, David," Nannie said, flinging his cap up to him, "Blair can stand
on his head and count five. You can't."

At this David's usual admiration for Blair suffered an eclipse; he grew
very red, then exploded: "I--I--I've had mumps, and I have two warts,
and Blair hasn't. And I have a real dining-room at my house, and Blair
hasn't!"
Nannie flew to the rescue: "You haven't got a real mother. You are only
an adopted."
"Well, what are you?" David said, angrily; "you're nothing but a Step."
"I haven't got any kind of a mother," Elizabeth said, with complacent
melancholy.
"Stop fighting," Blair commanded amiably; "David is right; we have a
pigsty of a dining-room at our house." He paused to bend over and
touch with an ecstatic finger a flake of lichen covering with its serpent
green the damp, black bark in the crotch of the old tree. "Isn't that
pretty?" he said.
"You ought not to say things about our house," Nannie reproved him.
As Blair used to say when he grew