"Oh Mammy, Mammy, its Baltie, and she says I can't keep him, and they are going to _kill_ him, 'cause he's old and blind and hasn't anyone to take care of him. And Mammy, Mammy, _please_ don't let 'em 'cause I _love_ him. I do, I do, Mammy," cried Jean as she cast Baltie's leader from her and rushed to Mammy, to fling herself into those protecting arms and sob out her woes.

"Wha', wha', wha', yo' say, Baby?" stammered Mammy, whose tongue sometimes became unruly under great excitement. "Somebody gwine tek away dat old horse dat yo' love, an' breck yo' heart? Huh! Who gwine do dat when Mammy stan' by? I like 'er _see_ 'em do it! _Co'se_ I knows Baltie. Ain' I seen him dese many years? An' yo' gwine pertec'

him an' keer fer him in his discrepancy? Well, ef yo' wantter yo'

_shall_, an' dat's all 'bout it."

"But Mammy, Mammy, she can't; she mustn't; what will mother say?"

remonstrated Constance smiling in spite of herself at the ridiculous situation for Mammy had promptly put on her war-paint, and was a formidable champion to overcome.

"An' what yo' _ma_ gotter say 'bout it if _I_ sets out ter tak' care of an' old horse? 'Taint _her_ horse. _She_ aint got nothin' 'tall ter _do wid_ him. He's been a lookin', an' a waitin'; and de Lawd knows but he's been _a-prayin'_ fer a pertecter----how _we-all_ gwine know he aint _prayed_ ter de Lawd fer ter raise one up fer him in his mis'ry?

An' now he's _got_ one an' it's _me_ an' dis chile. Go 'long an' set yo' table an' let us 'lone. Come on honey; we'll take old Baltie out yonder ter de stable an' bed him _down_ an' feed him _up_ twell he so sot up he like 'nough bus' wid pride, an' I just like ter see who gwine _stop_ us. Hi yah-yah, yah," and Mammy's wrath ended in a melodious laugh as she caught hold of the leader and stalked off with this extraordinary addition to her already manifold duties, Jean holding her free hand and nodding exultingly over her shoulder at Constance who had collapsed upon the lower step.

CHAPTER VI

Blue Monday

October, with its wealth of color, its mellow days, and soft haze was pa.s.sing quickly and November was not far off: November with its "melancholy days" of "wailing winds and wintry woods."

Baltie had now been a member of the Carruth family for nearly a month and had improved wonderfully under Mammy Melviny's care. How the old woman found time to care for him and the means to provide for him was a source of wonder not only to Mrs. Carruth, but to the entire neighborhood who regarded the whole thing as a huge joke, and enjoyed many a hearty laugh over it, for Mammy was considered a character by the neighbors, and n.o.body felt much surprised at any new departure in which she might elect to indulge. Two or three friends had begged Mrs.

Carruth to let them relieve her of the care of the old horse, a.s.suring her that they would gladly keep him in their stables as long as he needed a home, and ended in a hearty laugh at the thought of Mammy turning groom. But when Mrs. Carruth broached the subject to Mammy she was met with flat opposition:

"Send dat ole horse off ter folks what was jist gwine tek keer of him fer cha'ity? _No_ I aint gwine do no sich t'ing. De Lawd sartin sent him ter me ter tek keer of an' I'se gwin ter _do_ it. Aint he mine?

Didn't Jabe Raulsbury say dat anybody what would tek keer of him could _have_ him? Well I'se tekin' keer of him so _co'se_ he's _mine_. I aint never is own no live stock befo' an now I _got_ some. Go 'long, Miss Jinny; you'se got plenty ter tend ter 'thout studyin' 'bout my _horse_. Bimeby like 'nough I have him so fed up and spry I can sell him fer heap er cash--dough I don' believe anybody's got nigh 'nough fer ter buy him whilst Baby loves him."

And so the discussion ended and Baltie lived upon the fat of the land and was sheltered in Mrs. Carruth's unused stable. Dry leaves which fell in red and yellow clouds from the maple, birch and oak trees made a far softer bed than the old horse had known in many a day. A bag of bran was delivered at Mrs. Carruth's house for "Mammy Melviny," with Hadyn Stuyvesant's compliments. Mammy herself, invested in a sack of oats and a bale of cut hay, to say nothing of saving all bits of bread and parings from her kitchen, and Baltic waxed sleek and fat thereon.

Jean was his devoted slave and daily led him about the grounds for a const.i.tutional. Up and down the driveway paced the little girl, the old horse plodding gently beside her, his ears p.r.i.c.ked toward her for her faintest word, his head held in the pathetic, listening att.i.tude of a blind horse. He knew her step afar off, and his soft nicker never failed to welcome her as she drew near. To no one else did he show such little affectionate ways, or manifest such gentleness. He seemed to understand that to this little child, which one stroke of his great hoofs could have crushed, he owed his rescue and present comforts.

And so the weeks had slipped away. The money which Jean had left for Mr. Pringle had been promptly refunded with a note to explain that the Society had borne all the expenses for Baltie's board.

Mrs. Carruth sat in her library wrinkling her usually serene brow over a business letter this chilly Monday morning, and hurrying to get it completed before the arrival of the letter carrier who always took any letters to be mailed. Her face wore a perplexed expression, and her eyes had tired lines about them, for the past year had been harder for her than anyone suspected. Her income, at best, was much too limited to conduct her home as it had always been conducted, and the general expenses of living in Riveredge were steadily increasing. True, Mammy was frugality itself in the matter of providing, and Mrs. Carruth often marveled at the small amounts of her weekly bills. But the demands in other directions were heavy, and the expenses of the place itself were large. More than once had she questioned the wisdom of striving to keep the home, believing that the tax upon her resources, and her anxiety, would be less if she gave it up and removed to town where she could live for far less than in Riveredge. Then arose the memory of the building of the home, the hopes, the plans, and the joys so inseparable from it, the children's well-being and their love for the house their father had built; their education, and the environment of a home in such a town as Riveredge.

Now, however, new difficulties were confronting her, for some of her investments were not making the returns she had expected and her income was seriously affected. In spite of the utmost frugality and care the outlook was not encouraging, and just now she had to meet the demand of the fire insurance upon the home and its contents, and just how to do so was the question which was causing her brows to wrinkle.

She had let the matter stand until the last moment, but dared to do so no longer for upon that point Mr. Carruth had always been most emphatic; the insurance upon his property must never lapse. He had always carried one, and since his death his wife had been careful to continue it. But _now_ how to meet the sum, and meet it at once, was the problem.

She had completed her letter when Mammy came to the door.

"Is yo' here, Miss Jinny? Is yo' busy? I wants to ax you sumpin'," she said as she gave a quick glance at Mrs. Carruth from her keen eyes.

"Come in, Mammy. What is it?"

The voice had a tired, anxious note in it which Mammy was quick to catch.

"Wha' de matter, honey? Wha's plaguin' you dis mawnin'?" she asked as she hurried across the room to rest her hand on her mistress'

shoulder.

Like a weary child Mrs. Carruth let her head fall upon Mammy's bosom--a resting place that as long as she could remember had never failed her--as she said:

"Mammy, your baby is very weary, and sorely disheartened this morning, and very, very lonely."

The words ended in a sob.

Instantly all Mammy's sympathies were aroused. Gathering the weary head in her arms she stroked back the hair with her work-hardened hand, as she said in the same tender tones she had used to soothe her baby more than forty years ago:

"Dere, dere, honey, don' yo' fret; don' yo' fret. Tell Mammy jist what's pesterin' yo' an' she'll mak' it all right fer her baby. Hush!

Hush. Mammy can tek keer of anythin'."

"Oh, Mammy dear, dear old Mammy, you take care of so much as it is.

What _would_ we do without you?"

"Hush yo' talk chile! What I gwine do widout yo' all? Dat talk all foolishness. Don't I b'long ter de fambly? Now yo' mind yo' Mammy an'

tell her right off what's a frettin' yo' dis day. Yo' heah _me_?"

Mammy's voice was full of forty-five years of authority, but her eyes were full of sympathetic tears, for her love for her "Miss Jinny" was beyond the expression of words.

"O Mammy, I am so foolish, and I fear so pitifully weak when it comes to conducting my business affairs wisely. You can't understand these vexatious business matters which I must attend to, but I sorely miss Mr. Carruth when they arise and _must_ be met."

"Hucc.u.m I cyan't understand 'em? What Ma.s.sa Bernard done tackle in his business dat I cyan't ef _yo'_ kin? Tell me dis minute just what you'

gotter do, an' I bate yo' ten dollars I c'n _do_ it."

"I know there isn't anything you would not try to do, Mammy, from taking care of an old horse, to moving the contents of the entire house if it became necessary," replied Mrs. Carruth, smiling in spite of herself, as she wiped her eyes, little realizing how near the truth was her concluding remark regarding Mammy's prowess.

"I reckon I c'd move de hull house if I had _time_ enough, an' as fer de horse--huh! ain't he stanin' dere a livin' tes'imony of what a bran-smash an' elbow-grease kin do? 'Pears lak his hairs rise right up an' call me bres-sed, dey's tekin' ter shinin' so sense I done rub my hans ober 'em," and Mammy, true to her racial characteristics, broke into a hearty laugh; so close together lies the capacity for joy or sorrow in this child race. The next instant, however, Mammy was all seriousness as she demanded:

"Now I want yo' ter tell me all 'bout dis bisness flummy-diddle what's frettin' yo'. Come now; out wid it, quick."

Was it the old habit of obedience to Mammy's dictates, or the woman's longing for someone to confide in during these trying days of loneliness, that impelled Mrs. Carruth to explain in as simple language as possible the difficulties encompa.s.sing her?

The burden of meeting even the ordinary every-day expenses upon the very limited income derived from Mr. Carruth's life insurance, which left no margin whatsoever for emergencies. Of the imperative necessity of continuing the fire insurance he had always carried upon the home and its contents, lest a few hours wipe out what it had required years to gather together, and his wife and children be left homeless. How, under their altered circ.u.mstances this seemed more than ever imperative, since in the event of losing the house and its contents there would be no possible way of replacing either unless they kept the insurance upon them paid up.

Mammy listened intently, now and again nodding her old head and uttering a Um-uh! Um-uh! of comprehension.

When Mrs. Carruth ceased speaking she asked:

"An' how much has yo' gotter plank right out dis minit fer ter keep dis hyer as'sur'nce f'om collaps'in', honey?"

"Nearly thirty dollars, Mammy, and that seems a very large sum to me now-a-days."

"Hum-uh! Yas'm. So it do. Um. An' yo' aint got it?"

"I have not got it to-day, Mammy. I shall have it next week, but the time expires day after to-morrow and I do not know whether the company will be willing to wait, or whether I should forfeit my claim by the delay. I have written to ask."

"Huh! Wha' sort o' compiny is it dat wouldn't trus' a _Blairsdale_, I like ter know?" demanded Mammy indignantly.

Mrs. Carruth smiled sadly as she answered:

"These are not the old days, Mammy, and you know 'corporations have no souls.'"