Short Stories of Various Types

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"He iss a good boy," Mrs. Mowgelewsky admitted. "Don't you get lonesome
sometimes by yourself here, huh?"

"Well," said Miss Bailey, "he wasn't always alone."

"No?" queried the matron with a divided attention. She was looking for
her purse, in which she wished to stow Morris's surplus.

"No," said Teacher; "I was here once or twice. And then a little friend
of his----"

"Friend," the mother repeated with a glare; "was friends here in mine
house?"

Miss Bailey began a purposely vague reply, but Mrs. Mowgelewsky was not
listening to her. She had searched the pockets of the gown she wore,
then various other hiding-places in the region of its waist line, then
a large bag of mattress covering which she wore under her skirt. Ever
hurriedly and more hurriedly she repeated this performance two or three
times, and then proceeded to shake and wring the out-door clothing
which she had worn that morning.

"Gott!" she broke out at last, "mine Gott! mine Gott! it don't stands."
And she began to peer about the floor with eyes not yet quite adjusted.
Morris easily recognized the symptoms.

"She's lost her pocket-book," he told Miss Bailey.

"Yes, I lost it," wailed Mrs. Mowgelewsky, and then the whole party
participated in the search. Over and under the furniture, the carpets,
the bed, the stove, over and under everything in the apartment went
Mrs. Mowgelewsky and Morris. All the joy of home-coming and of
well-being was darkened and blotted out by this new calamity. And Mrs.
Mowgelewsky beat her breast and tore her hair, and Constance Bailey
almost wept in sympathy. But the pocket-book was gone, absolutely gone,
though Mrs. Mowgelewsky called Heaven and earth to witness that she had
had it in her hand when she came in.

Another month's rent was due; the money to pay it was in the
pocket-book. Mr. Mowgelewsky had visited his wife on Sunday, and had
given her all his earnings as some salve to the pain of her eyes.
Eviction, starvation, every kind of terror and disaster were thrown
into Mrs. Mowgelewsky's wailing, and Morris proved an able second to
his mother.

Miss Bailey was doing frantic bookkeeping in her charitable mind, and
was wondering how much of the loss she might replace. She was about to
suggest as a last resort that a search should be made of the dark and
crannied stairs, where a purse, if the Fates were very, very kind,
might lie undiscovered for hours, when a dull scratching made itself
heard through the general lamentation. It came from a point far down on
the panel of the door, and the same horrible conviction seized upon
Morris and upon Miss Bailey at the same moment.

Mrs. Mowgelewsky in her frantic round had approached the door for the
one-hundredth time, and with eyes and mind far removed from what she
was doing, she turned the handle. And entered Izzie, beautifully erect
upon his hind legs, with a yard or two of rope trailing behind him, and
a pocket-book fast in his teeth.

Blank, pure surprise took Mrs. Mowgelewsky for its own. She staggered
back into a chair, fortunately of heavy architecture, and stared at the
apparition before her. Izzie came daintily in, sniffed at Morris,
sniffed at Miss Bailey, sniffed at Mrs. Mowgelewsky's ample skirts,
identified her as the owner of the pocket-book, laid it at her feet,
and extended a paw to be shaken.

"Mine Gott!" said Mrs. Mowgelewsky, "what for a dog iss that?" She
counted her wealth, shook Izzie's paw, and then stooped forward,
gathered him into her large embrace, and cried like a baby. "Mine Gott!
Mine Gott!" she wailed again, and although she spent five minutes in
apparent effort to evolve another and more suitable remark, her
research met with no greater success than the addition:

"He ain't a dog at all; he iss friends."

Miss Bailey had been sent to an eminently good college, and had been
instructed long and hard in psychology, so that she knew the
psychologic moment when she met it. She now arose with congratulations
and farewells. Mrs. Mowgelewsky arose also with Izzie still in her
arms. She lavished endearments upon him and caresses upon his short
black nose, and Izzie received them all with enthusiastic gratitude.

"And I think," said Miss Bailey in parting, "that you had better let
that dog come with me. He seems a nice enough little thing, quiet,
gentle, and very intelligent. He can live in the yard with Rover."

Morris turned his large eyes from one to another of his rulers, and
Izzie, also good at psychologic moments, stretched out a pointed pink
tongue and licked Mrs. Mowgelewsky's cheek. "This dog," said that lady
majestically, "iss mine. Nobody couldn't never to have him. When I was
in mine trouble, was it mans or was it ladies what takes und gives me
mine money back? No! Was it neighbors? No! Was it you, Miss Teacher,
mine friend? No! It was that dog. Here he stays mit me. Morris, my
golden one, you wouldn't to have no feelin's 'bout mamma havin' dogs?
You wouldn't to have mads?"

"No, ma'am," responded her obedient son; "Missis Bailey she says it's
_fer_ boys they should make all things what is lovin' mit cats und
dogs und horses."

"Goot," said his mother; "I guess, maybe, that ain't such a
foolishness."

It was not until nearly bedtime that Mrs. Mowgelewsky reverted to that
part of Miss Bailey's conversation immediately preceding the discovery
of the loss of the purse.

"So-o-oh, my golden one," she began, lying back in her chair with Izzie
on her lap--"so-o-oh, you had friends by the house when mamma was by
hospital."

"On'y one," Morris answered faintly.

"Well, I ain't scoldin'," said his mother. "Where iss your friend? I
likes I shall look on him. Ain't he comin' round to-night?"

"No ma'am," answered Morris, settling himself at her side, and laying
his head close to his friend. "He couldn't to go out by nights the
while he gets adopted off of a lady."

HAMLIN GARLAND

A Camping Trip

It was the fifteenth of June, and the sun glazed down upon the dry
cornfield as if it had a spite against Lincoln Stewart, who was riding
a gayly painted new sulky corn-plow, guiding the shovels with his feet.
The corn was about knee-high and rustled softly, almost as if
whispering, not yet large enough to speak aloud.

Working all day in a level field like this, with the sun burning one's
neck brown as a leather glove, is apt to make one dream of cool river
pools, where the water snakes wiggle to and fro, and the kingfishers
fly above the bright ripples in which the rock bass love to play.

It was about four o'clock, and Lincoln was tired. His neck ached, his
toes were swollen, and his tongue called for a drink of water. He got
off the plow, after turning the horses' heads to the faint western
breeze, and took a seat on the fence in the shade of a small popple
tree on which a king-bird had a nest.

Somebody was galloping up the road with a regular rise and fall in the
saddle which showed the perfect horseman and easy rider. It was Milton
Jennings.

"Hello, Lincoln!" shouted Milton.

"Hello, Milt," Lincoln returned. "Why ain't you at home workin' like an
honest man?"

"Better business on hand. I've come clear over here to-day to see
you----"

"Well, here I am."

"Let's go to Clear Lake."

Lincoln stared hard at him.

"D'ye mean it?"

"You bet I do! I can put in a horse. Bert Jenks will lend us his
boat--put it right on in place of the wagon box--and we can borrow
Captain Knapp's tent. We'll get Rance to go, too."

"I'm with you," said Lincoln, leaping down, his face aglow with the
idea. "But won't you go up and break it gently to the boss? He's got
his mind kind o' set on my goin' through this corn again. When'll we
start?"

"Let's see--to-day is Wednesday--we ought to get off on Monday."

"Well, now, if you don't mind, Milt, I'd like to have you go up and see
what Father says."

"I'll fix him," said Milton. "Where is he?"

"Right up the road, mending fence."

Lincoln was so tickled he not only leaped the fence, but sprang into
the plow seat from behind and started on another round, singing,
showing how instantly hope of play can lighten a boy's task. But when
he came back to the fence, Milton was not in sight, and his heart
fell--the outlook was not so assuring.

It was nearly an hour later when Milton came riding back. Lincoln
looked up and saw him wave his hand and heard his shout. The victory
was won. Mr. Stewart had consented.

Lincoln whooped with such wild delight that the horses, swerving to the
right, plowed up two rows of corn for several rods before they could be
brought back into place.

"It's all O.K.," Milton called. "But I've got to come over with my
team and help you go through the corn the other way."

From that on, nothing else was thought of or talked of. Each night the
four boys got together at Mr. Jennings's house, each one bringing
things that he thought he needed. They had never looked upon a sheet of
water larger than the mill-pond on the Cedar River, and the cool face
of that beautiful lake, of which they had heard so much, allured them.

The boat was carefully mended, and Rance, who was a good deal of a
sailor, naturally talked about making a sail for it.

Lists of articles were carefully drawn up thus:

4 tin cups 4 knives and forks
1 spider 1 kettle, etc.

At Sunday School the campers became the center of attraction for the
other small boys, and quite a number of them went home with Lincoln to
look over the vehicle--a common lumber wagon with a boat for the box,
projecting dangerously near the horses' tails and trailing far astern.
From the edges of the boat arose a few hoops, making a kind of cover,
like a prairie schooner.[100-1] In the box were "traps" innumerable in
charge of Bert, who was "chief cook and bottlewasher."

Each man's duty had been assigned. Lincoln was to take care of the
horses, Milton was to look after the tent and places to sleep, Rance
was treasurer, and Bert was the cook, with the treasurer to assist. All
these preparations amused an old soldier like Captain Knapp.

"Are you going to get back this fall?" he asked slyly, as he stood
about, enjoying the talk.

"We'll try to," replied Milton.

Yes, there the craft stood, all ready to sail at day-break, with no
wind or tide to prevent, and every boy who saw it said, "I wish I could
go." And the campers, not selfish in their fun, felt a pang of pity, as
they answered, "We wish you could, boys."

It was arranged that they were all to sleep in the ship that night, and
so as night fell and the visitors drew off, the four navigators went
into the kitchen, where Mrs. Jennings set out some bread and milk for
them.

"Now, boys, d'ye suppose you got bread enough?"

"We've got twelve loaves."

"Well, of course you can buy bread and milk, so I guess you won't
starve."

"I guess not--not with fish plenty," they assured her.

"Well, now, don't set up too late, _talkin'_ about gettin' off."

"We're goin' to turn right in, ain't we, boys?"

"You bet. We're goin' to get out of here before sun-up to-morrow
mornin'," replied Bert.

"Well, see't you do," said Mr. Jennings, who liked boys to have a good
time. "I'll be up long before you are."

"Don't be too sure o' that."

It was delicious going to bed in that curious place, with the stars
shining in and the katydids singing. It gave them all a new view of
life.

"Now, the first feller that wakes up, yell," said Bert, as he crept
under the blanket.

"First feller asleep, whistle," said Lincoln.

"That won't be you, that's sure," grumbled Rance, already dozing.

As a matter of fact, no one slept much. About two o'clock they began,
first one, and then the other:

"Say, boys, don't you think it's about time?"

"Boys, it's gettin' daylight in the east!"

"No, it ain't. That's the moon."

At last the first faint light of the sun appeared, and Lincoln rose,
fed the horses, and harnessed them while the other boys got everything
else in readiness.

Mr. Jennings came out soon, and Mrs. Jennings got some hot coffee for
them, and before the sun was anywhere near the horizon, they said
good-by and were off. Mr. Jennings shouted many directions about the
road, while Mrs. Jennings told them again to be careful on the water.

To tell the truth, the boys were a little fagged at first, but at last
as the sun rose, the robins began to chatter, and the bobolinks began
to ring their fairy bells, and the boys broke into song. For the first
hour or two the road was familiar and excited no interest, but then
they came upon new roads, new fields, and new villages. Streams curved
down the slopes and ran musically across the road, as if on purpose to
water their horses. Wells beside the fences under silver-leaf maples
invited them to stop and drink and lunch. Boys they didn't know, on
their way to work, stopped and looked at them enviously. How glorious
it all was!

The sun grew hot, and at eleven o'clock they drew up in a beautiful
grove of oaks, beside a swift and sparkling little river, for dinner
and to rest their sweaty team. They concluded to eat doughnuts and
drink milk for that meal, and this gave them time to fish a little and
swim a good deal, while the horses munched hay under the trees.

After a good long rest, they hitched the team in again and started on
toward the west. They had still half-way (twenty-five miles) to go. The
way grew stranger. The land, more broken and treeless, seemed very
wonderful to them. They came into a region full of dry lake-beds, and
Bert, who had a taste for geology, explained the cause of the valleys
so level at the bottom, and pointed out the old-time limits of the
water. As night began to fall, it seemed they had been a week on the
way.

At last, just as the sun was setting, they saw a dark belt of woods
ahead of them and came to a narrow river, which the farmers said was
the outlet of the lake. They pushed on faster, for the roads were
better, and just at dusk they drove into the little village street
which led down to the lake, to which their hungry eyes went out first
of all.

How glorious it looked, with its waves lapping the gravelly beach, and
the dark groves of trees standing purple-black against the orange sky.
They sat and gazed at it for several minutes without saying a word.
Finally Rance said, with a sigh, "Oh, wouldn't I like to jump into that
water!"

"Well, this won't do. We must get a camp," said Milton; and they pulled
the team into a road leading along the east shore of the lake.

"Where can a fellow camp?" Bert called to a young man who met them,
with a pair of oars on his back.

"Anywhere down in the woods." He pointed to the south.

They soon reached a densely wooded shore where no one stood guard, and
drove along an old wood road to a superb camping-place near the lake
shore under a fine oak grove.

"Whoa!" yelled Milton.

All hands leaped out. Milton and Lincoln took care of the horses. Bert
seized an axe and chopped on one side of two saplings, bent them
together, tied them, cleared away the brush around them, and with
Rance's help drew the tent cloth over them--this was the camp! While
they dug up the bedding and put it in place, Rance built a fire and set
some coffee boiling.

By the time they sat down to eat their bread and coffee and cold
chicken, the grove was dark. The smoke rose in a billowy mass,
vanishing in the dark, cool shadows of the oaks above. A breeze was
rising. Below them they could hear the lap of the waves on the
bowlders. It was all so fine, so enjoyable, that it seemed a dream from
which they were in danger of waking.

After eating, they all took hold of the boat and eased it down the bank
into the water.

"Now, who's goin' to catch the fish for breakfast?" asked Bert.

"I will," replied Rance, who was a "lucky" fisherman. "I'll have some
fish by sun-up--see if I don't."

Their beds were hay, with abundant quilts and blankets spread above,
and as Lincoln lay looking out of the tent door at the smoke curling
up, hearing the horses chewing and an owl hooting, it seemed gloriously
like the stories he had read, and the dreams he had had of sometime
being free from care and free from toil, far in the wilderness.

"I wish I could do this all the time," he said to Milton, who was
looking at the fire, his chin resting in his palms.

"I can tell better after a week of it," retorted Milton.

To a boy like Lincoln or Rance, that evening was worth the whole
journey, that strange, delicious hour in the deepening darkness, when
everything seemed of some sweet, remembered far-off world--they were in
truth living as their savage ancestry lived, close to nature's mystery.

The pensiveness did not prevent Milton from hitting Bert a tremendous
slap with a boot-leg, saying, "Hello! that mosquito pretty near had you
that time."

And Bert, familiar with Milton's pranks, turned upon him, and a rough
and tumble tussle went on till Rance cried out: "Look out there! You'll
be tippin' over my butter!"

At last the rustle of the leaves over their heads died out in dreams
and the boys fell asleep, deliciously tired, full of plans for the next
day.

Morning dawned, cool and bright, and Bert was stirring before sunrise.
Rance was out in the boat before the pink had come upon the lake, while
Milton was "skirmishing" for some milk.

How delicious that breakfast! Newly fried perch, new milk with bread
and potatoes from home--but the freedom, the strange familiarity of it
all! There in the dim, sweet woods, with the smoke curling up into the
leafy masses above, the sunlight just dropping upon the lake, the
killdee, the robin, and the blue jay crying in the still, cool morning
air. This was indeed life. The hot cornfields were far away.

Breakfast having been eaten to the last scrap of fish, they made a rush
for the lake and the boat. There it lay, moving a little on the light
waves, a frail little yellow craft without keel or rudder, but
something to float in, anyhow. There rippled the lake six miles long,
cool and sparkling, and boats were getting out into the mid-water like
huge "skimmer-bugs,"[105-1] carrying fisherman to their tasks.

While the other boys fished for perch and bass for dinner, Lincoln
studied the shore. The beach which was their boat-landing was made up
of fine, varicolored bowlders, many of them round as cannon balls, and
Lincoln thought of the thousands of years they been rolling and
grinding there, rounding each other and polishing each other till they
glistened like garnets and rubies. And then the sand!

He waded out into the clear yellow waters and examined the bottom,
which was set in tiny waves beautifully regular, the miniature reflexes
of the water in motion. It made him think of the little wind waves in
the snow, which he had often wondered at in winter.

Growing tired of this, he returned to the bank, and lying down on the
grass gave himself up to the rest and freedom and beauty of the day. He
no longer felt like "making the most of it." It seemed as if he were
always to live like this.

The others came in after awhile with a few bass and many perch which
were beautifully marked in pearl and gray, to correspond with the sand
bottom, though the boys didn't know that. There were no large fish so
near shore, and they lacked the courage to go far out, for the
whitecaps glittered now and then in mid-water.

They ate every "smidgin'" of the fish at dinner, and their larder
looked desperately bare. They went out into the deeper water, all
feeling a little timorous, as the little boat began to rock on the
waves.

Lincoln was fascinated with the water, which was so clear that he could
see fish swimming far below. The boat seemed floating in the air. At
times they passed above strange and beautiful forests of weeds and
grasses, jungles which scared him, for he remembered the story of a man
who had been caught and drowned by just such clinging weeds, and
besides, what monsters these mysterious places might conceal!

Other boats came around them. Sailboats passed, and the little steamer,
the pride of the lake, passed over to "the island." Yachts that seemed
to the boys immense went by, loaded with merrymakers. Everything was as
strange, as exciting, as if they were in a new world.

Rance was much taken by the sailboats. "I'm going to rig a sail on our
boat, or die tryin'," he declared.

He spent the whole afternoon at this work while the other boys played
ball and shot at a target, and by night was ready for a sail, though
the others were skeptical of results.

That second night was less restful. The mosquitoes bit and a loud
thunderstorm passed over. As they heard the roar of the falling rain on
the tent and the wet spatter in their faces, and heard the water
drip-drop on their bread-box, Milton and Lincoln wished themselves at
home.

It grew cooler toward morning and the mosquitoes left, so that they all
slept like bear cubs, rising fresh and rested.

It was a little discouraging at first. Everything was wet and the bread
was inclined to be mouldy and tasted of the box; but the birds were
singing, the sky was bright and cool, and a fresh western wind was
blowing.

Rance was eager to sail, and as soon as he had put away the breakfast,
he shouldered his mast.

"Come on, boys, now for the boat."

"I guess not," said Milton.

The boat was soon rigged with a little triangular sail, with an oar to
steer by, lashed in with wires. Lincoln finally had courage to get in,
and with beating heart Rance pushed off.

The sail caught the breeze, and the boat began to move.

"Hurrah!" Rance threw water on the sail; where he learned _that_ was a
mystery. The effect was felt at once. The cloth swelled, became
impervious to the wind, and the boat swept steadily forward.

Lincoln was cautious. "That is all right--the question is, can we get
back?"

"You wait an' see me tack."

"All right. Tack or nail, only let's see you get back where we started
from." Lincoln was skeptical of sailboats. He had heard about sailing
"just where you wanted to go," but he had his doubts about it.

The boat obeyed the rudder nicely, came around slowly, and started in
on a new tack smoothly and steadily. After this successful trip, the
boys did little else but sail.

"I'm going up to town with it after dinner," Rance announced. But when
they came out after dinner, they found the sky overcast and a strong
breeze blowing from the southwest.

Milton refused to experiment. "I'd sooner walk than ride in your boat,"
he explained.

"All right; you pays your money--you takes your choice," replied Rance.

The boat drove out into the lake steadily and swiftly, making the water
ripple at the stern delightfully; but when they got past a low-lying
island where the waves ran free, the ship began to heave and slide
wildly, and Lincoln grew a little pale and set in the face, which made
Rance smile.

"This is something like it. I'm going to go out about half a mile, then
strike straight for the town."

It was not long before he found the boat quite unmanageable. The long
oar crowded him nearly off the seat, as he tried to hold her straight
out into mid-water. She was flat-bottomed, and as she got into the
region of whitecaps, she began to be blown bodily with the wind.

Lincoln was excited, but not scared; he realized now that they were in
great danger. Rance continued to smile, but it was evident that he too
was thinking new thoughts. He held the sail with his right hand, easing
it off and holding it tight by looping the rope on a peg set in the
gunwhale. But it was impossible for Lincoln to help him. All depended
on him alone.

"Turn!--turn it!" shouted Lincoln. "Don't you see we can't get back?"

"I'm afraid of breakin' my rudder."

There lay the danger. The oar was merely lashed into a notch in the
stern, with wire. The leverage was very great, but Rance brought the
boat about and headed her for the town nearly three miles away.

They both thrilled with a sort of pleasure to feel the boat leap under
them as she caught the full force of the wind in her sail. If they
could hold her in that line, they were all right. She careened once
till she dipped water.

"Get on the edge!" commanded Rance, easing the sail off. Lincoln
climbed upon the edge of the little pine shell, scarcely eighteen
inches high, and the boat steadied. Both looked relieved.

The water was getting a lead color, streaked with foam, and the hissing
of the whitecaps had a curiously snaky sound, as they spit water into
the boat. The rocking had opened a seam in the bottom, and Lincoln was
forced to bail furiously.

Rance, though a boy of unusual strength, clear-headed and resolute in
time of danger, began to feel that he was master only for a time.

"I don't suppose this is much of a blow," he grunted, "but I don't see
any of the other boats out."

Lincoln glanced around him; all the boats, even the two-masters, were
in or putting in. Lightning began to run down the clouds in the west in
zigzag streams. The boat, from time to time, was swept sidewise out of
its course, but Rance dared not ease the sail for fear he could not
steer her, and besides he was afraid of the rapidly approaching squall.
If she turned sideways toward the wind, she would instantly fill.

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