Mary Louise by Lyman Frank Baum (top 100 books of all time checklist .txt) 📖

>The boy whittled, abstractedly.

“Answer me!”

“How kin I? D’ye know where Mark’s Peak is?”

“No.”

“It takes a week ter git thar; they’ll likely hunt two er three weeks; mebbe more; ye kin tell that as well as I kin. Mister Will’s gone ter You-RUPP with Miss’ Morrison, so Talbot he won’t be in no hurry ter come back.”

“Great Caesar! Here’s a pretty mess. Are you Talbot’s boy?”

“Nope. I’m a Grigger, an’ live over in the holler, yonder.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Earnin’ two bits a week.”

“How?”

“Lookin’ after the place.”

“Very well. Mr. Morrison has given us permission to use the Lodge while he is away, so unlock the doors and help get the baggage in.”

The boy notched the stick with his knife, using great care.

“Talbot didn’t say nuth’n’ ‘bout that,” he remarked composedly.

Mr. Conant uttered an impatient ejaculation. It was one of his peculiarities to give a bark similar to that of a dog when greatly annoyed. After staring at the boy a while he took out Will Morrison’s letter to Talbot, opened it and held it before Bub’s face.

“Read that!” he cried.

Bub grinned and shook his head.

“I kain’t read,” he said.

Mr. Conant, in a loud and severe voice, read Mr. Morrison’s instruction to his man Talbot to do everything in his power to make the Conants comfortable and to serve them as faithfully as he did his own master. The boy listened, whittling slowly. Then he said:

“Mebbe that’s all right; an’ ag’in, mebbe tain’t. Seein’ as I kain’t read I ain’t goin’ ter take no one’s word fer it.”

“You insolent brat!” exclaimed Peter Conant, highly incensed. Then he turned and called: “Come here, Mary Louise.”

Mary Louise promptly advanced and with every step she made the boy retreated a like distance, until the lawyer seized his arm and held it in a firm grip.

“What do you mean by running away?” he demanded.

“I hates gals,” retorted Bub sullenly.

“Don’t be a fool. Come here, Mary Louise, and read this letter to the boy, word for word.”

Mary Louise, marking the boy’s bashfulness and trying to restrain a smile, read Mr. Morrison’s letter.

“You see,” said the lawyer sharply, giving Bub a little shake, “those are the exact words of the letter. We’re going to enter the Lodge and take possession of it, as Mr. Morrison has told us to do, and if you don’t obey my orders I shall give you a good flogging. Do you understand that?”

Bub nodded, more cheerfully.

“If ye do it by force,” said he, “that lets me out. Nobody kin blame me if I’m forced.”

Mary Louise laughed so heartily that the boy cast an upward, half-approving glance at her face. Even Mr. Conant’s stern visage relaxed.

“See here, Bub,” he said, “obey my orders and no harm can come to you. This letter is genuine and if you serve us faithfully while we are here I’ll—I’ll give you four bits a week.”

“Heh? Four bits!”

“Exactly. Four bits every week.”

“Gee, that’ll make six bits a week, with the two Talbot’s goin’ ter give me. I’m hanged ef I don’t buy a sweater fer next winter, afore the cold weather comes!”

“Very good,” said Mr. Conant. “Now get busy and let us in.”

Bub deliberately closed the knife and put it in his pocket, tossing away the stick.

“Gals,” he remarked, with another half glance at Mary Louise, “ain’t ter my likin’; but FOUR BITS—”

He turned and walked away to where a wild rosebush clambered over one corner of the Lodge. Pushing away the thick, thorny branches with care, he thrust in his hand and drew out a bunch of keys.

“If it’s jus’ the same t’ you, sir, I’d ruther ye’d snatch ‘em from my hand,” he suggested. “Then, if I’m blamed, I kin prove a alibi.”

Mr. Conant was so irritated that he literally obeyed the boy’s request and snatched the keys. Then he led the way to the front door.

“It’s that thin, brass one,” Bub hinted.

Mr. Conant opened the front door. The place was apparently in perfect order.

“Go and get Hannah and Irene, please,” said Peter to Mary Louise, and soon they had all taken possession of the cosy Lodge, had opened the windows and aired it and selected their various bedrooms.

“It is simply delightful!” exclaimed Irene, who was again seated in her wheeled chair, “and, if Uncle Peter will build a little runway from the porch to the ground, as he did at home, I shall be able to go and come as I please.”

Meantime Aunt Hannah—as even Mary Louise now called Mrs. Conant— ransacked the kitchen and cupboards to discover what supplies were in the house. There was a huge stock of canned goods, which Will Morrison had begged them to use freely, and the Conants had brought a big box of other groceries with them, which was speedily unpacked.

While the others were thus engaged in settling and arranging the house, Irene wheeled her chair to the porch, on the steps of which sat Bub, again whittling. He had shown much interest in the crippled girl, whose misfortune seemed instantly to dispel his aversion for her sex, at least so far as she was concerned. He was not reluctant even to look at her face and he watched with astonishment the ease with which she managed her chair. Having overheard, although at a distance, most of the boy’s former conversation with Uncle Peter, Irene now began questioning him.

“Have you been eating and sleeping here?”

“Of course,” answered Bub.

“In the Lodge?”

“No; over in Talbot’s house. That’s over the ridge, yonder; it’s only a step, but ye kain’t see it f’m here. My home’s in the South Holler, four mile away.”

“Do you cook your own meals?”

“Nobudy else ter do it.”

“And don’t you get dreadfully lonesome at night?”

“Who? Me? Guess not. What the Sam Hill is they to be lonesome over?”

“There are no near neighbors, are there?”

“Plenty. The Barker house is two mile one way an’ the Bigbee house is jus’ half a mile down the slope; guess ye passed it, comin’ up; but they ain’t no one in the Bigbee house jus’ now, ‘cause Bigbee got shot on the mount’n las’ year, a deer hunt’n’, an’ Bigbee’s wife’s married another man what says he’s delicate like an’ can’t leave the city. But neighbors is plenty. Six mile along the canyon lives Doolittle.”

Irene was delighted with Bub’s quaint language and ways and before Mrs. Conant called her family to the simple improvised dinner the chair-girl had won the boy’s heart and already they were firm friends.