THE TALK STICK, BY MARY HARTWELL CATHERW00D, Author of 'The Story of Dollard' (in the 'Century'), 'The Bells of Ste. Anne' (in 'St. Nicholas'), ETC.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 420, 16 November 1889, Page 3

THE TALK STICK, BY MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD, Author of 'The Story of Dollard' (in the 'Century'), 'The Bells of Ste. Anne' (in ' St. Nicholas '), ETC.

A flare of yellow light from tin torches lighted the corn-sheds. There <vere two long sheds, each covering its mountain ridge of green corn ears, at the bases of which the busy huskers worked. A surf of shucks was thrown ud behind the huskers faster than constantly moving carts could' sweep it- away. The canning factory was racking a. night run. It glowed with lights like a huge steamer. The smokestack towered against a moon - whitened sky, machinery clanked and voices, shouted across its roar, and the bath-room vapour turned one entire side of the building to mist. ' All the huskers were unskilful poor people of the town — old men and women, ho\s and girls, and widows with dirty broods playing or drowsing among the sweet corn-husks and taking their chances among hoofs and cart-wheels. One widow in particular had more than her share, for, besides four skinny, darklirnbed children bearing her cast of features, she had nested down by her measuringbox a pink and vihite plump little girl, fouv years old ' and golden -haired, who held between the thumb and two fingers of her right hand a stunted red ear of corn. The torch flamo flared and smoked above her head, showing how wrapped she was in her own play, and how unconscious of the human and iron nouses smiting the night all around her. Her cheeks and chin were curved with dimpling smiles, and her curls and short nose were tipped and defined by glints of light, as she focused her attentions upon the ear of corn and talked to imaginary croatures. 4 Good evening, Mrs Seventeen; it is a very tine day. I brought my baby along because it isn't very well. The lightningrod struck my baby, and I was so scared I didn't know what to do. So I took her to the doctor, and he .said, " Give her some me's&on." ] gave her some me'sson, and she never made a face, because she was trained to a sy&timony.' ' What on earth is that youngster talking about ?' inquired a cart-driver as he forked up husks besido the widow. 1 She's talking bo her balk-stick,' replied that hurried automaton, never pausing an instant from stripping green ears. , ' She'll take somethin' in her hands that way and play and talk for hours* and never troublo nobody. It's a good thing she does, ior'if she was pesterin' at my heels I don't know how I could keep her.' ' Isn't she your'n, then ':' 'No, she's a child that was brought along here a spell back. Seems like she was with her grandmother, and her grandmother died sudden on the train. My son'a a brakeman and he fetched the little girl tor house till her folkVd ha\e time to send. But she ain't been .sent for, and- it discourages a body when they have such a hard time to get along.' 'Didn't anybody know her grandmother?' continued the cart-driver, forking steadily. "J^ears not,' said the widow, making the husks fly. They both had to pitch their, voices by the key ot the machinery. ' She was buried here ab the county's expense. Some say if they's me they's take the child to the Supervisor, bub I ain't done ib yet.' The widow giasped her full box and tugged it to a fide door of the factory where the marker stood on his platform. The box was emptied in a flash and tossed back to her, she held up her hand to the marker and he credited her with another bushel. The cart-drivor was gone with his load when she lesumed husking, and her peachfaced foster-child was smiling on in conversation with t\}e talk-stick. ' I 'joyed the noise and f 'joyed the shine It was the Fourth of July and" bhey sent up rockets in the night, and they were lovely fireworks when they bloomed. Next Fourth of July I'm going to April fool somebody, because ib is a happy thing.' As the little girl talked she chuckled aloud and perked her head with birdlike turn?, quivering as if with the joyfui quality of her own nature. 'All of 'em ought to be ab home and asleep, instead of tagging around me here,' grumbled her protector. % Ain't you sleepy yet ?' The little girl <-hook her head and replied, ' I'm comf't'le,' turning immediately back to her talk -stick. Presently the cart-driver was forking beside them again, and be resumed with, interest, nodding his head towards the talkstick's holder. ' What's her name ?' v ,< i 'Minty Coan',' said the* widow. . 'Couldn't she tell anything about her folks )' 1 Why, yes j she could tpll something, bub it's all a jumble. Sometimes I think t|)e woman that died wasn't her grandmother, and other times I don't know what to think. Maybe her folks'll turn up and maybe they won't. It'll be my luck for them not bo,' said the widow, despondenbly. ' See here, now,' said the cart driver, indicabing thab he wanted her abtenbipn an insbanb. 'You know my wife and me. S'pousen' you let me take the littlo girl home and keep her with us a spell. She's a pretty little thing.' 'Yes, she's pretty enough,' said the widow. ' And I hain't nothing ogainsb her in the world. Only it's hand to mouth for to eeb something for my own.' 'Yes, I know bhab. And ib' stands bo reason that them that are better fixed ought to help you do foi 1 her. This is my last load for to-night, and when I've dumped ib I'll come around and get her.' ' I kind o* habe bo leb her go when, it comes to the pinch. And that's another thing I've dreaded,' said the widow. ' You can see her often as you want to. Will you go with me, Minty ?* 'He'll give you lobs of good milk to drink at his house, I'll be bound,' suggested

the widow, shredding silks away from the glistening white grain, ' Yes, weVe got cows on our farm, and we've gob pretty u littlo calves,' said the 'driver^ • I'll go- along: with her,' volunteered the widow's Arab-like second son, advancing his lean libtle face Upon the man's knee. '.You're goiri' along home to bed,' de creed his 'mother. . " ' That's where you're goin'. (Jib the other children io a bunch together and then you put' out with them. 1 The cart-driver jogged along the prairie road with Minty sitting beside him. .le had folded his coat to cushion her backless seat and he protected her with his left arm. The moonlight ' glinted upon hedge-row leaves which had the rich dark green of holly, and showed great brick homesteads here and there on billows of the rolling land. Behind thorn steadily receded the canning factory's boomiog, and spurts of dampened dust flew from the horse's hoofs as he jerked the carb along. : Minty held the shrivelled ear of red corn in her hand, and, feeding exhilarated by the motion she poised it' betwixt her face and the prairie horizon. ' Mrs Seventeen went to ride in her cairiage with white shine to polish it.' 'Who's Mrs Seventeen?' inquired the driver. Minty looked down, disturbed as a humming-bird would be if someone inter fered with its boiing a rose. ( ' Oh, she's Mrs that 1 talk to with my talk-stick?.' ' Can't you talk without atalkstick ?' . 'I can't have* a 1 nice "play,' explained .Minty, 'or talk to Mrs Seventeen.' - ' Well," out to my house,' said the cart- • driver 1 , ' you can have posies for talk-sticks.: And I'll take you dqwn to the pippin tree fit's ft thing in the morning and give you more apples than you can eat.' But he never did. His horse's jog was broken bya sudden fright. Now they were plunging by the side of the road and now they wore being hurled along aiough track leading to the timber.- The carc-drivcr had thrown Minty between his knees and he leaned back dragging the lines with all his might. Out- of Che light prairie and under the dark branches they went, down through a creek with a mighty splash, then up over a stump, which sont the cart-driver out on his head. He struck a log and lay there until next day, when his anxious wife found him and took him home to be nursed until his broken bones woie knit. His Jamed horse and the principal pieces of his cart were duly returned to him. But he never caw Minty again-, and was distressed about her before- her .?tor,y sifted back through time and cpace to him, as stories still do in this world if you can but wait for them. Minty found' herself sitting in the bed of the cart in the dark sweet-smelling woods. The bouncing wheels and the horse were gone, like a buzzing out of her head. She did not feel hurt, but cried a few moments with terror. On second thought she felt like cuddling down and being still, for a twig cracked here and there, and the darkness seemed to breathe directly in her ears. The next thing she knew it was broad morning, moist andsunny, and the whole woods rang with bird song 3. Minty stood up in the cart an.d the talk-stick tumbled from her lap, shattering some of its grains upon the floor. nibbled at some tenderer kernels on the cob and held the talk-stick ori\ earnestly declaiming like some diminutive orator in a humble pulpic : 'Oh, Mrs Seventeen was so hungry she didn't know .what, to do«! 'What makes you cry fro ?' Paid the man. ' Because,' said Mrs Seventeen, ' 1 feel so sad whete my din tier ought to be." Now, it happened that a boy was coming along the load 'directly towards Minty's cart, and being,, a silent boy he rau almost again&b it without" noise of phouting or sieging, and 'recoiled-, bulging' his big shy eyes at hetv.j He was "bare-legged. Having his, trousers rolled up±o the very h&rn of'his calico apron. A dun-coloured wool hat covered the back of his head, and he swung a tin pail in his warty fist. Minty cea3ed her murmur to the talkstick and inquired with candid directness : * Have you got .something good to eat in there ?' The boy, instead of opening his pail for leply, opened his mouth and stared. ' Whole aie you going ?' pursued Minty. 'To school,' replied the boy. ' Where you. goin' ?' .»"'>' - • ' I'm going with yon,' decided Minty. ' Do you want.me.tp go ?' ' I don't care,' said the boy. ' You may go along in placed my, do"". He cripples' so I wouldn't bi"in£ him. He'll run along a little pace and i then he'll limp ju?t to aggravate me,' '/ don't limp, said Minty, scrambling out of the cart bod, and hastening to show her superiority to the dog. ' But you can't walk as fast as I can,' claimed the boy, , making rapid toe-marks in the dn.-t. 1 Then you ought to wait for me. Ef you'll give me something out of your pail I'll let you hn\e my talk-stick.' 4 Talk-stick !' sneered the boy. 'That's an old red nubbin. I got plenty of them to home.' ' I'm so hungry,' said Minty plaintively. And as they patted along in company she liited the talk-stick and comforted herself f once mote with it. * Apples and good toast and candy and bread ami butter and beans and strawbays. And the little girl's papa and mamma said, "Mrs Seventepn, have you beep to dinner?" "No, indeed," said Mrs Seventeen, "I have not any .such kind." ' The boy cautiously lifted his pail cover and reveclei his lunch — delicious white bread, cookies and pie and apples. Minty regarded it coaxingly. ' I wish 1 had a little piece,' said she. ' An apple and some cake and bread.' ' Bqt what'd I have for afternoon recess ?' demanded the boy. • You can get some more/ the stray child argued. ' But I^iyaver can.geb any more.' < ' I'd give yoix a cp^k^.y.\ relented the b,oy, growing molt^ "ashamed of^her company the longer he 'enjoyed it, »'i¥ you"wouldn'b tag nap. dlear. to school. ■ tdoit'e -\Vecrit the bdys laughin^^nie^jViYou to run home to' your mother. 'The teacher won^'t let you come to school, nohow, because you're too little.' * " "' '*"" " : Minty's face put on drooping purves and her short nose expressed muoh forlornness, 1 How old are you V ' I guess I'm forty years old,' she replied. ' I won't tag you if you can give me a cooky.' But the boy withdrew his hand suddenly from the pajl and said : • 'There comes Mary Jane.' ♦ What Mary Jane?' inquired Minty. Ib was indeed the original Mary J ane ; there can be bub few Mary Janes like her. Self-satisfied and high in manner she spurned the ground in shoes which wero laced up the front with leather thongs. Separated from the shoes by a mere strip of white cotton stockings were lengthy knickerbocker pantalettes deep with scarlet edging. Mary Jane's dress was a figured lawn as to waist and sleeves, and a scant white" muslin as to skirt. It was belted tightly around the top of her stomach, and below it appeared a span of straitened skirt,' also deep with scarlet edging.' * She was further addrned by a string of beads and a tiny tucked cap which scarcely cov1 ered her cropped hair. • -

Mary Jane turned her sunflushed pretty ,face upon Minty in disapproval. The boy, with whom she had long been ab silent feud, felt still more ashamed of Minty. Having the road between Mary Jane and himself he could, as often as they met, trudge schoolward with her exchanging occasional sniffs and curls of the lip, and suffer no loss in ,his own dignity. But to have the dirty stray tacked upon by Mary Jane's passing eye was more than he could endure. ' Say, you take this young ono along with you,' he commanded, making a threatening motion of the head ; and Minty was quite ready to bestow her melting smile on this acquaintance, though nothing edible was hung 1 above the person of Mary Jane. Whether she had bread and sugar sticking together in her pocket or was to return home for her dinner, Minty instinctively knew tho boy was still her best friend. 1 Mary Jane did nob deign to give the boy a reply, but spoke out vamgloriously straight bo Minty, 'I'm dressed up and you ain't.' ' I haven't had some nice clothes on for a long time,' admitted Minby, attar fcurveying the favoured being who condescended to pass wibhin three yards of her. She rai&ed the talk-stick and ,held it out to conjure comfort even from these circumstances. ' X'm dressed up," .said Mary Jane as sho stepped out to promenation. ' I like this cap. I like to wear it to school. It prouds me. I fee^ like a king's wiferd. You are not dressed up, Mrs Seventeen, and you look so ugly it tireds me.' . ' '"Bub," said Mx*s Seventeen, "my legs "are drenched with heavenly dew, and the song-birds uppen me up to look at the sky.'"' That was a siggard I couldn't tell about the man tho lightning-rod struck, and ib split him from top to bottom. " I'll escuseyou," said the man : and there was a pumple on his nose because he kneeled Tiis bead down so hard when lie had table prayers." The boy and Mary Jane, walking. r one on each side of Minby, eyed her in> silent amazement, while unbiased by any audience she lnunnuted her raptures and built up her •visions at the tip 6f the talk-stick. ' "You ate so much good food you ?nadefat to you," aixid' Mrs Seventeen, " but don't eit o,n my prayer. I said my prayer on that dhjtir and if you sib on ib you will break ib. 1 " • To-day's Ftiday,' pub forth Mary Jane, vaguely affronted, 'and we speak pieces.' 'And to morrow's Saddeiday,' ihe boy jerked from himself in bhe act of skipping a stone. ' They ought to call it Uladderday, though, cause there ain'o no school.' • I know my pieceall by heart,' said Mary Jane. • Bet you don't,' challenged her foe. She cast a look of superiority upon him and silenced him by letting it all out ab him without pause or intonation as she walked rapidly ahead, her voice growing dimmer until the words quite faded and failed. ' Jmetalittlocottagegirlshewaseight years old shesaid her hair was thick with many curl whichclusteredroundherheadbhehad — rustic woodair' ' Yonder's the railroad,' said the boy to Minty, feeling that his injuries had now culminated. * Are you goin' to tag me furder than that ?' 1 1 don'b know,' responded Minty, doubtfully. ' If you do I won't give ,you a bite.' ' Then I won'b,' promised Minty, eagerly. He waited until they reached the rails, and there portioned out his lunch, buying his freedom with u generous hand. Mary Jane was just entering bhe schoolhouse as he wagged his head towards it. ' Don't you come down there when you've cab bhis up and hang round after me, neither,' he stipulated. ' I won't, 1 pledged Minty, earnestly. ' I don't care anything more about you now I've gob your dinner.' So she began to eat and the, boy took to his heels. ' (Jood-bve,' called Minty, with her mouth full. • 'He won't aay good-bye.' It grievedher to be left alone again, even by i» chance playmate, without one parting word. She sab on bhe tie between the rails, because the boy had told her she must not cross the railroad and spread her feasb upon the lap of her dirty Hubbard gown. Btead and butter, cakes and apples each in turn passed the portal of Minby's mouth. She smiled up ab bhe sky. She fed some crumbs to ants building their sand palace by her foot. And finally she held the talksbick out, saying to ib : ' You muBb no follow me. It you come to my school-house I will drive you back over bhe railroad. , You are too little. Nobody wants you. But it is a very lovely day and comf't'ble in the sun, and the water is a laughing joy bo me. 'There was a boy found a bee and he picked ib up and was so glad. "Now I will have some sport,'' said bhe boy, because he learned bhat in his reading-book. "Oh, how I wish ib would sting '" said the boy ; '* for I never had a bee feting me, for sport is such a happy thing." So the bee stung him, and the boy let it loose and said: " Oh !" ' " If that is sport," said the boy, and he cried, " I do nob want, any more, for it is nob a happy thing." But Mrs Seventeen said ;" Do not ciy. Listen to bhe music go bingle, tingle, tingle '." Tingle, tingle in tho rails beside her' still went the thrilling music. 'It was a grand pi-organ, and it went roar, roar.' Roar, roar, indeed it went ; then it became a loud rushing, and the shriek, shriek of a steam whistle. Minby turned her head over her shoulder. The talk-stick was poised between her thumb and finger, and neither she nor it moved as the train swepb towards her. Her face was waxen with fright and her blue eyes stood forward in their rims. The train stopped with such a jar that pome of the passengers were thrown to the floor. Men dropped off the steps and ran forward. There the engineer and fireman were standing beside the track, one of them holding the child and the other,belling haw ho -"grabbed* her up on the pilot the, breadth of an instant before it reached her. Some tear,s were running down her cheeks, but she Was silent until a gentleman, standing among the arriving ga?ers, exclaimed : < • " ' Why, Minty •' ' Papa !' she cried In a shrill scream, right ' against the face of the gentleman, who cuddled her — dirty Hubbard gown and all— like a little baby, as close as he could hold her. Word went back through the train that a child had been picked oft the track ; a lost child ;' in fact, a child that had been kidnapped. And its father was on that very train going in search of it. The ladies in all the coaches were anxious to see and do something for this little girl. They crowded around her where she sab on her father's lap, and made her tidy, brought her dainty comforts and kissed her. So Minty sailed away in the train to continue happy communion with Mrs Seventeen by means of finer talk-sticks than the small red ear of corn. The small, red ear lay on the railroad after that' , train had passed over it — a worthless thing, to be pecked by birds and shied by one home-returning school-boy at another. It was no longer a little girl's talk-stick on which to hang her lonesome

fancies. But had her father known about it he would have picked it up and carried it away in his breast pocket. t * ■