At Boarding School with the Tucker Twins Page 17

  CHAPTER XVII.

  DEER HUNTING.

  It was a glorious morning. Of course we had to get up before the sunthought of such a thing. Indeed, there was a crazy, old, lop-sided,dissipated-looking, gibbous moon still hanging on to life when we camepiling out of the warm, lighted house and climbed into the two vehicleswaiting for us. Father and Mr. Tucker were to go in Father's buggy, andthe girls and I were very snug, three on the seat of the runabout, withthe lunch and coffee pot bouncing around in the back, and the Tuckers'guns carefully stowed under the seat.

  Jo Winn joined us at Milton, the New York cousin in the buggy with him.We were curious to see the cousin, whom Father had reported as being"quite likely." Jo was as good as gold and perfectly intelligent with akeen sense of humor, but he was as silent as the tomb. His sister Sallywas the greatest chatterbox in the world, I am sure. She simply neverstopped talking except on those occasions when she was doing her best to"shuffle off this mortal coil," and then she seemed to be not able tostop talking long enough to die thoroughly. Just when the grave wasyawning for her (or maybe because of her) she would think of somethingshe simply had to talk about and come back to life.

  The Winns were F. F. V.'s, in that they were among the first families inVirginia, if not of Virginia. They were not aristocrats, certainly. Theycame of good pioneer stock who were tillers of the soil in theseventeenth century and still were in the twentieth. They had lived onthe same tract of land for two centuries and a half, and in America thatshould stand for aristocracy, but somehow with the Winns it never had.They had no desire to be considered great folk and so they never were.The war between the states had left them as it had found them, in fairlyprosperous circumstances. Never having owned slaves, the emancipation ofthe negroes did not affect them one way or the other. Having alwaysdone their own sowing and reaping, they could still do it. The familyhad never been much on marrying, and now there were none left but thehypochondriacal old maid Sally and her younger brother Jo.

  I had given the twins a history of the Winns as we spun over to Milton.Pegasus was in fine feather, which seems a strange thing to say of ahorse, but of one whose name suggests wings, perhaps it is appropriate.

  "I fancy Jo is so silent because Sally talks so much," suggested Dum.

  "Maybe it is the other way and Sally talks so much to make up for Jo'ssilence," I said; "but I hope the cousin from New York will strike ahappy medium."

  "A 'cousin from New York' always sounds so exciting and just as like asnot he'll come from Hoboken. Dr. Allison says he is about twenty-five,so I reckon he'll not notice us kids, anyhow. It won't break our hearts,that's sure," and Dee tossed her blue-black head in disdain of allmales.

  Jo and the cousin were waiting for us at the crossroads. The cousin wasa good-looking young man with blue eyes and light hair, very picturesquein a brand new hunting suit, leggins and all.

  "They won't stay new long," I whispered to the girls, "with Jo's houndsflopping all over them."

  Jo was forced to open his mouth and speak, as it was up to him tointroduce the cousin, but he did it in as few words as possible.

  "Mr. Kent--Miss Allison." And then an appealing glance at me gave me tounderstand that the matter was in my hands, so I took up the socialburden and introduced Jo and Mr. Kent to the Tuckers. Mr. ReginaldKent,--that was the picturesque name that went with the picturesquecorduroy suit,--proved himself to be a young man of resources. He had noidea of taking the long drive to the spot of the possible deer alonewith the silent Jo, the hounds wallowing all over his new clothes.

  "See here," he exclaimed, "I think one of us fellows ought to get inwith the young ladies. They might need some protection on the trip." Jolooked very much amused at my needing protection and the twins certainlylooked buxom enough to take care of themselves without the help of Mr.Reginald Kent.

  "Well, sort yourselves in a hurry," called Father. "The colt won't standanother minute and I don't want to get too far ahead of the rest ofyou."

  "Let me get in with Mr. Winn," begged Dee. "I'm crazy to ride with thedogs." Jo's dogs were the only ones going, although the pack at Brackenplead piteously to be allowed to join the party. It seemed best not totake too many, and Jo's dogs were so well trained that the men haddecided on them.

  Mr. Reginald Kent squeezed his new corduroys between Dum and me, and Deejumped into the buggy with the grinning Jo. Dee declared later that Jotalked as much as most men and was a very agreeable person; but I fancythe real truth of the matter was that Dee chattered away at her usualrate, and that Jo was such an eloquent listener Dee never did discoverthat she was doing all the talking. Certainly they found a topic ofinterest to both of them in the dogs, and as talking about the dogsmeant patting the dogs, the dogs naturally were pleased.

  Our cavalier proved to be very cheerful and very complimentary. He wasevidently much pleased to escape the silent Jo. We liked him in spite ofhis fulsome compliments, and when we gave him to understand thatflattery was not the way to curry favor with us, he became more naturaland we had a very amusing time with him. It turned out that he did notlive in Hoboken as Dee had predicted, but in the heart of New York City.He was employed by an advertising firm, not only as a writer ofadvertisements, but also as illustrator.

  "Of course there is no pleasant way of making a living," he said, "but Ilong to get out of this commercial art and into regular illustrating."

  "But I adore ads," exclaimed Dum. "Dee and Zebedee and I always readevery word of them and Zebedee says you can find more pure fiction inthem than in the magazine proper--or improper."

  "Well, after this I shall do my work more enthusiastically and moreconscientiously, knowing there is a chance of its coming under sucheyes," and Mr. Kent's glance of admiration into Dum's hazel eyes gaveher to understand he was speaking of those particular eyes and not Dee'sand Zebedee's. I rather expected to see Dum give him a back-hander, butinstead she blushed in rather a pleased way, just as any young girlshould on receiving such a compliment from a handsome young man from NewYork.

  The roads in our county are much improved, thanks to the automobilistswho have worked such reforms throughout the whole country. On thatmorning they were hard and dry, even dusty, and we went spinning alongthrough the frosty air, Father ahead with the colt behaving as though itwere a hurry call and every moment counted. I was next in line and Pegwas giving me all I could do to hold her in. She seemed to want to letus all see that an upstartish colt could trot no faster than she could.I was rather glad that Mr. Reginald Kent had taken a fancy to hazel eyesinstead of gray, as I needed my gray eyes to pick a smooth road forPeg. Jo Winn and Dee were just far enough behind us to keep out of ourdust, and occasionally we could hear Dee's ringing laugh and an unusualguffaw from the silent Jo.

  "You see now why we couldn't come in your automobile, as Mr. Tuckerwanted," I said to Dum, as Father wheeled the colt sharply to the leftinto a forest of pines where scrub oaks and chinquepins almost concealeda very poor excuse for a road.

  "Come on, Daughter," Father called back to me; "we'll keep closetogether through the woods, as there is no dust."

  I really believe that the road through that pine forest is the veryworst road in Virginia, and that is saying a good deal, as my belovedstate has only recently awakened to the fact that it reflects on herstanding to be noted as having the worst roads in the Union. Thatparticular road had great granite bowlders; ruts that threatened toswallow us; gnarled tree roots that stretched across the path as thoughthey meant to trip us up; and sometimes even a fallen trunk over whichwe would have to bounce, testing the springs of our vehicles to theirutmost endurance.

  "Well, I reckon little Henry Ford" (that is what the Tuckers calledtheir car), "would have been ditched long before this," gasped Dum, asone wheel took a bowlder and the other a deep rut.

  "Miss Allison, I haven't asked you to let me assist you in driving, justbecause I know you can do it so much better than I can," said Mr. Kent."I'd have turned over there as sure as I'm born."

  "Well, I
came mighty near doing it," I laughed. "If Dum's hat had notbeen on the side and tilted toward the bowlder, we would have landed inthe ditch, I know. We had just about an ounce's weight in our favor."

  "I guess it's a good thing I part my hair in the middle in thesehairbreadth escapes. Just think, suppose it had been parted on the leftside and had counterbalanced Miss Dum's hat tipped toward the right!Over we would have gone."

  Just then a Molly Cotton-tail jumped up out of the bracken and the dogsset up a fearful howling. It was all Jo Winn and Dee could do to holdthem in their places. Mr. Tucker and Dum looked longingly at their gunsbut the colt would not stand for shooting going on so close to him, and,besides, when people go out for deer they do not want to begin onrabbits. So little Miss Molly got off for that time at least.

  I was glad. There is something in my make-up that recoils from killinganything. To be sure, I am fond of a rabbit's hind leg, about as goodeating as one can find, but when I am picking on one of those hind legsI have to close my mind carefully to the fact that that same hind leghas helped to carry some Bre'r Rabbit through many a briar patch. If theimage comes to me of a perky little white tail scurrying through thebushes with the eager dogs in pursuit, I simply have to give up eatingthe delectable morsel and Mammy Susan has to broil me some bacon.

  "Hi, there, Uncle Peter," called Father to an old negro man approachingon a mule, a great sack of corn balanced on his pommel, "don't tell meyou are not at home when we are coming to see you."

  "Well, Docallison, I done tech bottom in de meal bag dis very mawnin',an' I was jes' a takin' some cawn to de mill; but efn de quality folksis a comin' ter see me, I kin sho make out wif de scrapin's till anudderday."

  "We are going to try our luck with the deer, Uncle Peter, and I thoughtwe would leave our teams at your cabin and get you to bring ourprovisions over to Falling Water in your wheelbarrow."

  "'Visions, you say? Well, efn you's goin' ter have 'visions, dey ain'tno us'n my goin' ter de mill fer days ter come. 'Visions from Brackenmeans dat Mammy Susan done had her say-so, and dat ole nigger 'oman issho a amplified perfider. They'll be 'nuf leavins ter feed de multitudeon Mount Aryrat." And Uncle Peter turned his willing mule's head aroundand led the way to his cabin.

  Click! Click! went Mr. Kent's pocket camera. "Exactly the type I amlooking for! Now, Miss Dum, when you look through the advertisementsseveral months from now, be sure to notice a certain molasses that is tobe put on the market. Uncle Peter will be there taking his corn to themill so he can have a 'pone to sop in de 'lasses.' Oh, look at thecabin! Isn't it charming?"

  It was indeed a typical log cabin. It was old, very old, but Uncle Peterkept it in good repair, patching the mortar in the chinks from time totime and propping up the great stone chimney that stood at about theangle of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. On the door and walls were tackedmany coon skins. That is the method employed for curing the skins, andUncle Peter made quite a little money selling coon skins. He had only asmall clearing around his cabin but a good cornfield down in the creekbottom.

  "'Light, 'light," said Uncle Peter, "Rosana will be that proud ter'ceive you. She been throwing rocks all mornin' at that ole Shanghairooster who would crow fer comp'ny. Co'se Rosana didn't know de comp'nywas a goin' ter be white folks. She done' low it would be some er demlow-down niggers tother side er de swamp what is always a-comin' emptyand gwine away full."

  Aunt Rosana squeezed herself sideways through the cabin door. She was amountain of flesh, with about as much shape as a football. Indeed, shelooked very like the potato babies Mammy Susan used to make me: a bigpotato for the body; a little potato for a head, stuck on with a match;feet and arms of peanuts; and a face scratched on with a kitchen fork.Her voice sounded like hot mashed potato as she bade us welcome.

  "Well, efn I won't hab ter gib dat ole Shanghai rooster a extry handfuler wheat! Here I been a-was'in' time all mornin' tryin' ter make himshet up his 'nostigatin' fer comp'ny, not thinkin' he was a-crowin' ferquality. I mought a-knowed he wouldn't er crowed so loud an' clear fernuthin' but niggers, an' swamp niggers, at dat," and a laugh shook herhuge body, reminding me of the "bowl full of jelly."

  We were glad to stretch ourselves after the long drive, and Aunt Rosanatook us into her cabin while the men of the party attended tounhitching the horses. The cabin was spotless, although the one room itboasted was kitchen, parlor and bedroom in one. A great fireplace almostthe entire length of one side of the room was really the kitchen. AuntRosana scorned iron stoves and still did her cooking with pot-hooks andDutch ovens. Even now, hanging from one hook, was a singing black ironkettle and from another a covered pot from which issued an aroma thattold me that Uncle Peter was going to have cabbage for dinner. Homemaderag rugs covered the floor almost entirely, but wherever a spot of oakflooring showed, it was gleaming white with much scrubbing.

  A great four-poster had the place of honor opposite the fireplace. Itwas a bed fit for the slumbers of kings and princes. Many families inVirginia will exhibit just such beds and proudly tell you that in thosebeds Lafayette and Washington had slept. I don't know how Uncle Peterand Aunt Rosana happened to have it, but I know that the beautiful oldbed had never harbored a more worthy couple. The patchwork quilt, withits intricate rising-sun pattern, was Aunt Rosana's handiwork. Thewalls were decorated with brilliant chromos, calendars dating back intothe 'seventies and on up to date.

  The twins were charmed with the place and their interest was mostflattering to Aunt Rosana. She showed them all her treasures, even herphotograph album.

  "And who are all of these people?" asked Dum, who was politely lookingat every photograph.

  "Lor', chile, I dunno. Peter bought dat ere album at a sale ober in denex' county. Ev'ybody in de book is white, an' dey looks like qualityter me; but dese days yer can't tell. Some er de quality is lookin'moughty stringy an' de oberseer class is pickin' up so dey is kindermergin' inter great folks."

  "What's this up your chimney?" queried Dee, peering up the great flue.

  "Oh, dat's whar I smokes my meat. They's some shoulders up dar; an' somesides er baking wif a streak er fat an' a streak er lean as pretty asany you kin buy in de city. An' them's my little chany valuebowles whatI been collecking of sence I was a baby," said Aunt Rosana to Dum, whowas examining a great array of little china ornaments on top of a largeold highboy.

  There were little china girls kissing little china boys; little basketswith turtle doves on the handles; pink puppies and green cats, some ofthem meant for match safes and some of them purely ornamental; littlecups and saucers of every shape and hue; little pitchers with big earsand some with no ears at all. I have never been in a cabin ofself-respecting colored people where there was not a chest of drawers ora table filled with similar treasures. I know Aunt Rosana thought asmuch of her "chany valuebowles" as Father did of his books, and hersensations when Dum almost dropped a little shell-covered box was justwhat Father's would have been if he had seen a careless reader turn downa page in one of his beloved books, or bend back the covers of one ofhis first editions.

  "Do look at this," begged Dum of Mr. Kent, who had just entered thecabin. She held up in her hand a china cow of a decidedly lavender huewith horns and hoofs of gilt, and quoted:

  "'I never saw a purple cow; I never hope to see one; But I can tell you, anyhow, I'd rather see than be one.'"

  "'Ah, yes, I wrote the "Purple Cow"-- I'm sorry now I wrote it! But I can tell you, anyhow, I'll kill you if you quote it!'"

  laughed Mr. Kent, taking the fearful and wonderful animal in his handsand examining it with great interest. "Isn't this place delightful? If Ihad only brought my sketching things instead of my gun, I'd stay hereand paint. I'm going to ask Aunt Rosana to let me take some timeexposures of the interior of her cabin. Just look at that bed and thatfireplace! Thank goodness, I've got my camera with a perfectly new filmgood for twelve exposures."

  "Well, Gawd be praised dat ole Shanghai gib me war
nin' of comp'ny comin'an' I done stirred my stumps an' straightened up some, efn my room'sgoin' ter git its Dager'type took," and Aunt Rosana's flesh quiveredwith delight.