Chapter 3
CHAPTER III. The young man said nothing more at the time. But ten minutes later, when he was thoughtfully smoking a long brown pipe, and Tilda Jane sat in a chair beside him rocking her dog, he called out to Mrs. Medley, who was hovering around the room.
Sit down, Mrs. Medley. Perhaps you can get this little girl to talk. I can't. Tilda Jane turned sharply to him. Oh, mister, I'll do anything for you.
I'll talk. Well, reel it off then. I got to start soon. What do you want to know? She said doggedly.
Everything. Tell me where you started from. Was you born in the asylum? Nobody don't know where I was born. Nobody don't know who I am, except that a woman come to the poorhouse with me to Middle
Marsden when I was a baby. She died and I was left. They give me the name of Tilda Jane Harper and put me in the asylum. Children come and went. Just as soon as I get to like them, they'd be adopted.
I never was adopted, because I'm so ugly. My eyes ought to have been blue and my hair curly. I might have been a servant, but my habits was in the way. Habits? What habits?
Habits of impotence and pigheadedness. When the men came to kill the pigs, I'd shut myself in my room, put my fingers in my ears, and I couldn't hear, but I'd always squeal when the pigs squealed. Is that why you wouldn't eat ham just now? Oh, that ain't ham to me, she said eloquently.
That bit of red meat was a cunning, teeny, white pig running around a pen crying, cause the butchers after him. I couldn't eat it anymore and I'd eat my brother. You're a queer little kite, interjected the young man. He exchanged an amused glance with Mrs. Minley, who was swaying gently back and forth in a
rocking chair. So you wasn't very much set up at the asylum, he went on. I guess I'm too bad for asylum. Once our washerwoman took me home to supper. I guess heaven must be like that.
They had a cat, too. I used to get in most trouble at the asylum about cats. When starving ones come rubbing up again me in the garden, I couldn't help sneaking them a bit of bread from the pantry. It beats all how cats find out people is like some.
Then I'd get jerked up. Jerked up, repeated her interloker, locked in my room or have my hand slapped. Once I took a snake in the house. He was cold, but he got away from me and the matron found him in her bed. She whipped me at that time.
Is that what made you run away? No, I run away on account of this dog. You call up the cold spell we had a week ago? You bet. I was out in it.
Well, there come the coldest night. The matron gives us extra blankets, but I couldn't sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night and thought of that dog out in the stable. He'll freeze. I said, and when I said it, it seemed as if icicles were sticking into me.
I was most crazy. I got up and looked out the window. There was a moon, an awful biting, ugly kind of moon, grinning at me. I put on some clothes. I slipped downstairs and it seemed as if everything was yelling in the cold.
Every board and every wall I touched went off like a gun, but no one woke and I got out in the stable. The horse was warm and so was the cow, but this little dog was most froze. I tried to warm him, but my fingers got like sticks. Then I did a scandalous thing.
I says, I'll take him in bed with me and warm him for a spell and no one will know. So I lugged him in the house and he cuddled down on my arm just so cunning. Then I tried to stay awake so I could carry him out early in the morning, but didn't I fall to sleep and the first thing I knowed there was the matron a-spearing me with her eyes and she put out her hand to catch the dog and he up and bit her and then there was
trouble. What kind of trouble? As the young man. I had bread and water for two days and the dog was shot up in the stable and then I was brought up before the lady board.
The lady board murmured Mrs. Medley. What does the child mean? The board of lady managers explained Dillson. Tell us about it, he said to Tilda Jane. The latter was keeping an eye on the clock.
She knew that the time must come soon for her to part from her new found friend. It was not in her nature to be very demonstrative, yet she could not altogether hide a certain feverishness and anxiety. One thing, however, she could do and she subdued her emotion in order to do it. It amused the young man to hear her talk.
She would suppress her natural inclination to silence and gravity and try to entertain him, and the more she talked possibly the longer he would stay. Therefore she went on. There they sat round the table as big and handsome as so many pies. One lady was at the top and she wrapped on the table with a little hammer and said, Tension
ladies. And she says, Here is the fortunate object of dissection. What part shall we tackle first? Name your wishes, ladies. Then she stopped and other lady begun, Ma'am, presiding, stake the case.
The young man took his pipe from his mouth and Mrs. Minley ejaculated, Mercy me. Madam President, I guess he said gravely, Go on, sissy. Tilda Jane went on, still with her eye on the clock and still speaking favorishly. The ma'am, presiding, staked me out, says she. Here's a little girl.
She come to us like a lily of the field, no dress on, no bonnet, no nothing. We fed and clothe the lily and cover good advice. And she's lifted up her heel again us. She deifies us. She introduces toads and snakes into the sacred pressings of our Sin and Cherry for orphans.
She packs a dirty dog in bed. We'll never level later. She's lower in the key of our stution. She knows not the place of reptiles and quadruples. Ladies, shall we keep this little disturbing l'element in our stution?
If they hand-fend against thee, cut it off. If thy foot straggle, treat it likewise. Then she sat down, and another lady got up, says she. I'm always for mercy, strained mercy dropping like juice from heaven. If this little girl is turned inside out, she'll be a bright and shining star.
I propose that we make the spearmint. The tastes is in her, but we can nip off the gratifications. I remove that instead of disturbing her, we disturb the animals. Ladies, we has hard work to run this stution. This stution, said the young man.
Yes, stution, repeated Tilda Jane. That's what they call the asylum. Well, this lady went on and says she, let's send away the cats and dogs and all the children's pets, squirrels and pigeons and rabbits, cause this little girl is disrupting every child on the place.
Once when cats came and other animals, they was stoned away. Now they're took in. I come across one little feller just now, and instead of learning his lesson, he was playing with a beetle, tickling it with a straw, ladies. Now ain't that awful.
We've got responsibilities toward these fowlens. I feels like a mother. If we send some foolish out in the world, we'll be blamed. Our faithful matron says it's impossible to catch rats and mice. This little girl gets at the traps and lets them go.
She's a born rule smasher. Then she closed her mouth and sat down. And the big lady sitting at the head of the table pounded her hammer cause they all fell to jabbering. Says she, will some lady make a commotion?
Then one lady got up and she says, I remove that all animals be discharged from this tution. What about the chickens? Called out another lady. You must declude them. This will go on record.
The other lady said, excuse me, I forgot the chickens. I'll mend my disillusion. I remove that all quadruples be discharged from this tution. That suited some and didn't suit others. And there was a kind of chatter valley.
One lady said she's mend the amendment. And then the man presiding got kind of mixy maxy and said they better start all over again cause she'd lose her way among so many amendments. And for a long time they got their ideas sought and they said that I was to stay. But the animals was to go.
I didn't snuffle nor nothing. But I just said, are you planning to kill that their dog? The man presiding gave a squeal and said, no, that would be cruel. They would give the dog to some little feller who would be good to him. I said little fellers tie tin cans to dogs tails.
And they got mad with me and said I was trespicious. And I said, all right, cause what could I do again? A whole lot of lady boards. But I made up my mind. I'd have to work my way out of it cause it would kill that little dog to be took from
me. So I run away. Her story was done and her lips in dogged resolution. She stared inquiringly at the young man. He was not going to withdraw his protection from her.
She saw that. What would he direct her to do next? He was thoughtfully tapping his pipe against the fireplace. Now he was putting it in his pocket. And now he was going to speak.
Little girl, you've started for Australia. And as I don't believe in checking a raring, tearing ambition. I won't try to block you exactly, but only the sidetrack. You can't go to Australia bang off. It's too far.
And you haven't got the funds. Now I'll make a proposition. I've got an old father, most as cranky as that their dog. I guess if you're so long suffering with the animal, you'll be long suffering with the human.
He needs some tidy body to keep his house strigged up and to wait on him because he's lame. He has an everlasting rassle to keep a housekeeper on account of this same flashlight temper. But I guess from what I've seen of you, that you could fix him and you'd have a home which you seem to hanker for.
And you could have some money and start for Australia when you put enough flesh on those bones to keep you from blowing away into the sea and getting lost. Starting out would be convenient for my father lives near the big Canadian railway that is around the world route. You can step aboard the cars, go to the Pacific, board a steamer and go on your way to Australia.
What do you say? Is it a bargain? Tilda Jane sat like a statue. The firelight danced behind her little grave profile that remained unchanged. for the big tears rolling slowly and deliberately down each thin cheek and dropping on the
faded dress. Only the tears and the frantically clasped hands betrayed emotion. I guess it's a go, said the young man kindly. Here's my father's address. And getting up he handed a card to her.
Hobart Dillson. Sisgasset, Maine. I've got to make tracks now. But Mrs. Minley here will put you on the train that comes by here in the morning. And all you have to do is sit still in it till you hear the conductor holler, Sisgasset.
Then you hustle out and ask someone where Hobart Dillson lives. When you get there, don't shake if he throws a crutch at you. Just tell him you've come to stay and I'm going to pay extra for it. That'll cool him. Cause he had to pay a housekeeper out of his own allowance up to this.
The old boy and I don't rub along together. Very sweet. But he knows the size of a dollar every time. Tilda Jane choked back the suffocating lump in her throat and gravely rose to her feet. Sir, I'm as much a bleach to you as he or she broke down.
As you ought to be. Don't mention it. I'm happy to make your acquaintance. So long. And he politely held out two fingers.
A vague terror seized the little girl. He had arranged everything for her. And yet she had never since her escape felt so paralyzed with fear. Her beseeching eyes sought Mrs. Minley's face. The landlady was smiling graciously at her.
But the little girl's heart sunk. Quite unknown to herself, she was a sharp reader of character. She was losing her best friend in the fat young man. Take me with you, she gasped, suddenly clinging to his hand. Can't do that, Sissy.
I'm going back into the settlements. Bad roads, scattered houses. You'd freeze stiff. Better stay here with Mrs. Minley. I'll run up to Ciscasset by and by to see you.
Tilda Jane drew back in sudden steely composure. She was ashamed of herself. I'm crazy, she said shortly. You've done enough for me now. I'll take care of your father if he gets mad fifty times a day.
Already she felt a sense of responsibility. She drew herself up with dignity and in sad composed silence watched the young man leave the room and the house. When the last faint sound of his sleigh bells had died away, she gave up her listening attitude and turned patiently to Mrs. Minley who was saying with a yawn,
I guess you better go to bed. Tilda Jane walked obediently toward her room and Mrs. Minley, seating herself on a chair, in cold curiosity, watched her undress. When the little girl knelt down to say her prayers, a feeble smile illuminated the woman's face.
However, she was still listless and uninterested until the latter portion of the petition. Oh, Lord, Tilda Jane was praying earnestly, almost passionately, Forgive me for all this sin and equity. I just had to run away. I couldn't give up that little dog that thou didst send me.
I'll live square as soon as I get taken care of that old man. Bless the matron and make her forgive me and bless all the lady boards, Miss Granis especially, cause she'll be maddest with me. I don't think me from telling any more lies. Amen.
Until Tilda Jane rose from her knees, Mrs. Minley's breath was coming and going quickly and there was a curious light in her eyes. Mrs. Granis, did you say, she asked shortly? Mrs. Granis over Beaver Dam way? Yes, ma'am.
What has she got to do with the asylum? She's the first lady board. She sits behind the table and pounds the hammer. And she'll be maddest with you? Yes, ma'am.
She says children has too much liberties. Hurry into bed, said Mrs. Minley briefly, and taking up the lamp and without a word of farewell, she disappeared from the room. Tilda Jane cowered down between the cold sheets. Then she stretched out a hand to touch the precious bundle on the chair by her bed.
And then she tried to go to sleep, but sleep would not come. End of chapter 3 of Tilda Jane. Recording by John Brandon.
