Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1. A CREAMERY SHARK THE CROWS HAD COME BACK With the fashionables of Maine they had gone south for the winter, but now on the third day of March the advance guard of the solemn black army soared in sight. They were crawling over the green pine woods of North Morriston, they were crawling over the black spruces of South Morriston, and in Middle Morriston, where the sun had melted the snow on a few exposed knolls, they were having a serious and chattering jubilation over their return to their summer haunts.
Land ain't they sweet! muttered a little girl, who was herself almost as elfish and impish as a crow. She stood with clasped hands in the midst of a spruce thicket. Her face was upturned to the hot sun set in the hard blue of the sky. The sun burned her, the wind chilled her, but she remained motionless except when the sound of sleigh bells was heard. Then she peered eagerly out into the road. Time after time she returned to her hiding place with the muttered, No good! She allowed a priest to go by, two gossiping women on their way from the village to spend a day in the country, a minister hurrying to the sick bed of a parishioner and several loaded wood-sleds, but finally a hilarious jingle drew her hopefully from her retreat.
Her small black eyes screwed themselves into two glittering points as she examined the newcomer. He'll do! she ejaculated. Then, with a half caressing, half threatening, you'll get murdered if there's a word out of you, addressed to an apparent roll of cloth tucked among spruce branches a few feet from the ground, she stepped out by the snake-fence. Hello, mister! The fat young man bobbing over the thank-you-mams of the snowy road pulled himself up with a jerk in his small sleigh drawn by a long-legged mare. Coronation! Where did that noise come from?
Hello, woodlock! As he observed the little girl peeping at him through the fence. Is there a hark in your nest? Who be you? she asked. I've got an awful pretty name, he replied, flicking his whip over the snow-bank beside him. Too pretty to tell.
Who be you? she asked pertinaciously. Ever hear of a creamery shark? I didn't know a shark's favorite cream, she said soberly. They doat on it. Be you a creamery shark?
No, course not. I'm chasing one. I'm a farmer. The small keen-eyed girl looked him all over. He was the creamery shark himself, and he certainly had an oily, greasy appearance befitting his fondness for cream. However, she did not care what he was if he served her purpose. Will you give me a lift? she asked.
A lift where? Anywhere out of this. She pointed back to the smart white village up the river. Now, what be you? he said cunningly. I be a runaway.
What you running from? I'm a running from an orphan's asylum. Good for you. Where you going? I'm going to Australia. Better for you. What are you going there for?
Cause, she said firmly, they know how to treat orphans there. They don't shut them up together like a lot of sick pigs. They scatter them in families. The government pays their keep till they get old enough to fend for themselves. Then they gets a sum of money and they works.
I heard a lady-board reading it in a newspaper. A lady-board? Yes, lady-boards has to run asylums. Course they do. Well, skip in, little one.
There's another passenger, she said firmly, and them as takes me takes him. Have you got your granddaddy along? No, siree, but I've got something most as good as a granddaddy, and I'll thank you to keep a straight tongue when you speak of him. The young man put the offending tongue in his cheek, and chuckled
enjoyably as the small, elfish figure disappeared in the wood. Presently she returned with a good-sized bundle in her arms that she thrust through the fence. Give it a name, said the young man. Why, see how it's wiggling.
Must be some kind of an animal. Cat, weasel, rabbit, hen, dog. Stop there, she ejaculated. Let it be dog. His name's Gipy. Well, I've vum, the young man said good-naturedly, as she approached
the sleigh and deposited her beshawed dog on his knees. I guess this sleigh warn't built for two, she said as she crawled in beside him. Right you are, but you don't want to be carted for. Give me that dog, she said, taking the bundle, and start off.
Probably they're just hitchin' up to be after me. He clicked his tongue to the long-legged mare, and speedily fences and trees began to fly by them. What did you twig me for? asked the fat young man. Ain't you had no other chance?
Lots, she said briefly. There was an old boy ahead of me with a two-seated rig and a youngster on the back seat. Why didn't you freeze on to him? She turned her little dark face toward him, a little face overspread by
sudden passion. Do you know what that old shell-back would have done? He'd a took you in. He'd a drove me back to that silum. He looked too good, that one.
You look like a baddie. Much obliged, he said dryly. I guess you've done bad things, she said inexorably. You stole pies and told lies and fed dogs and cats on the sly. I guess you've been found out.
The fat young man fell into a sudden reverie, and they passed several white fields in silence. They'll never catch me, she said at last gleefully. We're going like the wind. The young man looked down at her.
She had the appearance of a diminutive witch as she sat with one hand clasping her faded hat, the other holding firmly to the bundle on her lap. Her countenance was so much older and shrewder in some phases than in others that the young man was puzzled to guess her age.
Why, you ain't got any cloak, he said. That's nothing but a dress you got on, ain't it? Take the shawl off that dog. No, sir, she said decidedly, I don't do that. Hold on, I've got a horse blanket here, and he dived under the seat.
There, and he wrapped it around her shoulders. Thanks, she said briefly, and again her birdlike eyes scanned the road ahead. Hot cakes and syrup, she exclaimed in a voice of resigned distress. There's the North Morse-Den lady-board coming.
They must have phoned her. Say, mister, let me sneak under here. If she holds you up you'll have to tell a lie. The young man grinned delightedly as the little girl slipped through the blanket and disappeared under the lap-robe.
Then he again went skimming over the snow. There was a very grand sleigh approaching him with a preferred coachman on the seat driving a pair of roan horses, and behind him a gray-haired lady smothered in handsome robes. Please stop, she called pathetically to the approaching young man.
The creamery shark pulled up his mare and blinked thoughtfully at her. Oh, have you seen a little girl? she said excitedly. A poor little girl, very thin and miserable, and with a lame brown dog limping after her.
She's wandering somewhere, the unfortunate misguided child. We have had such trouble with her at the Middle Morse-Den asylum, the orphan asylum, you know. We have fed her and clothed her, and now she's run away. The fat young man became preternaturally solemn.
The more so is he heard a low growl somewhere in the region of his feet. Did she have black hair as lanky as an engine's? he asked. Yes, yes. And a kind of sickly green dress?
Oh, yes, and a dark complexion. And a sort of steely air as if she dared the world? That's it, oh, yes, she wasn't afraid of anyone. Then I've sighted your game, he said, gravely, very gravely, considering that the game was pinching one of his legs.
I'll give you the scent, he went on. Just follow this road till you come to the three pine trees at the cross, then turn towards Spruceville. Oh, thank you, thank you. I'm ever so much obliged.
But was she on foot or driving? Driving like sixty. Sitting up on the seat beside a smooth old farmer with a red wig on and her face as long as a church. A red wig? exclaimed the lady.
Why, that's Mr. Dabley. He's one of our advisory committee. Dabley or gravely, he's driving with one of your orphans. I see her as plain as day sitting beside him, brown face, faded black hat, sickly green frock, bundle on her lap.
Farmer Dabley, incredible! How one can be deceived! Drive on, Matthew, we must try to overtake them. Had he one horse or two? A pair, ma'am, a light-legged team, a bay and a cream.
He's a regular old sport. He's a Mephistopheles if he's helping that child to escape, said the lady warmly. I'll give him a piece of my mind. Her coachman started his horses, and the little girl under the robe
was beginning to breathe freely when a shout from the young man brought her heart to her mouth. Say, ma'am, was that a striped or a plain shawl she had her dog wrapped in? Striped!
She had the impudence to steal it from the matron, and leave a note saying she did it because her jacket was locked up and she was afraid her dog would freeze. I'm under a great obligation to you, sir. No obligation, he said, lifting his hat.
I'm proud to set you on the chase after such a bad young one. That's your girl, ma'am. Her shawl was striped. I didn't tell you she had the nerve to ask me to take her in. Not really, did she?
the lady called back. Then she added wonderingly. But I thought you met her driving with Farmer Dabbling. They had both turned around and were talking over their shoulders. There was a terrible commotion under the lap robe, and the young man
felt that he must be brief. If you bork, I'll break your neck, he heard the refugee say in a menacing whisper. And to cover a series of protesting growls he shouted lustily. Yes, ma'am, but first I passed her on foot.
Then I turned back and she was with the farmer. That young one has got the face of a government mule, but I'm used to mules, and when she asked me I said, And I said, Here's to me, little girl, you favor a runaway, and I ain't got no
room for runaways in this narrow jig, specially as I'm taking a bundle of clothing to my dear old father. Likewise a young pig, he added, as there was a decided squeal from between his feet. Thank you, thank you, came faintly after him as he started off at a
spanking gait, and you're better than I thought you was, came reproachfully from the tumbled head, peeping above the lap robe. You're grateful, he said ironically. I'm bad, but I only ask the Lord to forgive the lies I've got to tell, said the little girl as she once more established herself on the seat.
You should have said, No, ma'am, I didn't see the little girl and drove on. I guess you're kind of mixed in your opinions, he remarked. I ain't mixed in my mind. I see things as straight as that air-road, she replied.
I said, This is a bad business, for I've got to run away, but I'll be as square as I can. She paused suddenly, and her companion asked, What's up with you? Nothing, she said faintly, only I feel as if there was a rat inside of
me. You ain't got any crackers round, have you? No, but I've got something better. And he drew a flask from the pocket of his big ulster and put it to her mouth.
Her nostrils dilated. I'm a loyal legion girl. Loyal legion? What's that? Beware of bottles, beware of cups, evil to him who evil subs.
Oh, a temperance crank! And he laughed. Well, here's a hunk of cake I put in my pocket last night. The little girl ate with avidity the section of a rich fruit loaf he handed her.
How about your dog? asked the young man. Oh, I guess he ain't hungry, she said, putting a morsel against the brown muzzle thrust from the shawl. Everything was locked up last night, and there weren't enough lunch for
him and me. See, he ain't for it. He knows when hunger stops and greed begins. That's poetry they taught us. Tell us about the place you've been raised.
No, stop. You're kind of peaked-looking. Settle down and rest yourself till we pull up for dinner. I'll gabble on a bit if you'll give me a starter. I guess you favor birds and things, don't you?
she observed shrewdly. Yeah, do you? Sometimes I think I'm a bird, she said vehemently. Or a worm or something. If I could have caught one of them crows this morning I'd have hugged
it and kissed it. Ain't they lovely? Well, I don't know about lovely. Said the young man in a judicial manner. But the crow was ought take him as a kind of long-suffering orphan among
birds. From the minute the farmer turns up these furrows under the snow the crow works like fury. Grubs just fly down his red throat, and grasshoppers ain't nowhere. But because he now and then lifts a hill of peteeters and pulls them out
of corn when he gets toothed them, and makes way once and so often with a fat chicken that's a heap better out of the world than in it, the farmer is down on him. The legislature won't protect him, and the crow, man's good friend, gets shot by everybody and everything.
I wish I was a queen, said the little girl passionately. Well, sissy, if you ever get to be one, just unmake a few laws that are passed to please the men who have a pull. Here in Maine you might take the bounty off bobcats, and let them have their few sheep, and you might stand between the mink and the spawning
trout. And if you put a check on the robins who make war on the cherries and strawberries, I guess it would be more sensible than chasing up the crows. I'm remarking that you don't beat your horse, said his companion
abruptly. That mare, said the young man reflectively, is as smart as I be, and sometimes I think a thought smarter. You wouldn't beat that little dog, she said, holding up her bundle. Bet your striped shawl I wouldn't.
I like you, she said emphatically. I guess you ain't as bad as you look. The young man frowned slightly and fell into another reverie. End of chapter one
