Molly Brown's Post-Graduate Days

“Well, you see the orchard period is what might be known as my early manner; while the beech woods is my romantic era. I used to come here after I got old enough to roam around by myself, and a certain mystery and gloom I felt in the air would so fill my soul with rapture that (I know you think this is silly) I would sit right where we are sitting now and cry and cry just for the pure joy of having tears to shed, I suppose! I know of no other reason.”

Professor Green smiled, but his eyes had a mist in them as he looked at the young girl, little more than a child now, with her sweet, wistful expression, already looking back on her childhood as a thing of the past and her “romantic era” as though she had finished with it.

“Oh, Miss Molly, let’s stay in the ‘beech wood period’ forever! None of us can afford to give up romance or the dear delight of tears for tears’ sake. I love to think of you as a little child playing in the apple orchard, and as a beautiful girl wandering in the woods. But do you know, a still more beautiful picture comes to my inward eye, and that is an old Molly with white hair sitting where you are now, still in the ‘romantic era,’ still in the beech woods; and, God willing, I’ll be beside you, only,” he whimsically added, “I am afraid I’ll be bald-headed instead of white-haired!”

CHAPTER VIII. – ALL KINDS OF WEATHER

The days went dreamily on. Edwin Green lengthened his stay in Kentucky until he really became touchy on the subject, and one day when some one spoke of the old Virginia gentleman who came in out of the rain and stayed six years, he told Mrs. Brown that he felt very like that old man. She was hospitality itself, and made him understand that he was more than welcome, and, every time he set a date for his departure, some form of entertainment was immediately on foot where his presence seemed both desirable and necessary, and his going away was postponed again. Once it was a coon hunt with Ernest and John and Lewis, the colored gardener; once it was a moonlight picnic at a wonderful spot called Black Rock.

On that occasion they drove in a hay wagon over a road that was a disgrace to Kentucky, and then up a dry creek bed until they came to the great black boulder that stood at least twenty feet in the air; there they made their temporary camp. Kent confided to Professor Green that they never dared to come up that creek bed unless they were sure of clear weather, as it had been known to fill so quickly with a big rain that it drowned a man and horse. It was innocent enough then, with only a thin stream of water trickling along the rocks, sometimes forming a pool where the horses would go in almost to their knees; but, as a rule, they went dry shod along the bed. It was rough riding, but no one minded. There was plenty of hay in the wagon for young bones, and Mrs. Brown, who was chaperoning, had a pillow to sit on and one to lean against. When they got to the sylvan spot every one agreed it was worth the bumping they had undergone.

“Oh, it looks like the Doone Valley,” said Judy.

And so it did, except that the stream of water was not quite so big as the one John Ridd had to climb up.

There were sixteen in the party, which filled the big wagon comfortably so that no one had room to bounce out. Paul and Ernest had invited two girls from Louisville, who turned out to be very pleasant and attractive and in for a good time. The only person who was not very agreeable was John’s friend, the girl visiting Aunt Clay, a Miss Hunt from Tennessee. She was fussy and particular and afraid of spoiling her dress, a chiffon thing, entirely inappropriate for a hay ride. She complained of a headache, and, besides, as Molly said, “she didn’t sit fair.” That is a very important thing to do on a hay ride. One person doubling up or lolling can upset the comfort of a whole wagon load. You must sit with your feet stretched out, making what quilt makers call “the every other one pattern.”

“I am glad she acts this way,” whispered Mrs. Brown to Molly. “I know now why I can’t abide her. I couldn’t tell before.”

Miss Hunt’s selfishness did not seem to worry her admirers any. John was all devotion, as were the two other young men who came along in her train. They were sorry about her headache and wanted to make room in the wagon for her to lie down; but Mrs. Brown was firm there and said it was a pity for her to suffer, but she thought it might injure her back unless she sat up going over the rough road. That lady had no patience with the headache, and thought the girl would much better have stayed at home if she were too ill to sit up. She did not much believe in the headache, anyhow, and was irritated to see poor Molly with her long legs doubled up under her trying to make room for the lolling little beauty.

“She is pretty, no doubt of that,” said Edwin Green to Mrs. Brown, whom he had elected to sit by and look after for the ride, “as pretty as a brunette can be. I like a blonde as a rule. But it looks to me as though Miss Molly is getting the hot end of it, as far as comfort goes.”

He would have offered to change places with Molly, but had a big reason for refraining. That was that no other than Jimmy Lufton, Molly’s New York newspaper friend, was occupying the seat next to Molly, and Professor Green was determined to do nothing to show his misery at that young man’s proximity. Jimmy had arrived quite unexpectedly that afternoon and seemed to be as intimate with the whole Brown family in two hours as he, Edwin Green, was after weeks of close companionship. He tried not to feel bitter, and, next to sitting by Molly, he was sure he would rather sit by her mother than any one in the world, certainly than anyone in the wagon.

Jimmy was easily the life of the party. He had a good tenor voice and knew all the new songs “hot off of the bat” from New York. He told the funniest stories, and at the same time was so good-natured and kindly and modest withal that you had to like him. He was not the typical funny man. Edwin Green felt that he could not have stood Molly’s preferring a typical funny man to him. She did prefer Jimmy, he felt almost sure, and now he was trying to steel himself to take his medicine like a man. He was determined not to whine and not to make Molly unhappy. He had seen the meeting between Molly and Jimmy, and it was the flood of color that had suffused Molly’s face and her almost painful agitation that had convinced him of her regard for that brilliant young journalist. Had he heard the conversation as well as seen the meeting, he might have been spared some of his unhappiness. Jimmy had said, “Where’s my lemon?” and Molly had answered, “Done et up.”

They piled out of the wagon. John, the woodsman of the crowd, busied himself making a fire, demanding that the two “extra men” should come and chop wood, determined that they should not get in too many words with the beautiful Miss Hunt while he was working. Miss Hunt then exercised her fascinations on Jimmy Lufton, on whom she had had her eye ever since they left Chatsworth. Jimmy was polite, but had a “nothing-doing” expression which quite baffled the practiced flirt. Poor Molly’s foot had gone so fast asleep that she was forced to hop around for at least five minutes before she could get out of the wagon and begin to make herself useful. Kent, who had driven, with Judy on the front seat with him, was busy taking out the four horses to let them rest for the heavy pull home. The other young men were occupied in various ways, lifting the hampers out of the wagon and getting water from the beautiful spring at the foot of the huge black rock. Professor Green came to Molly’s assistance.

“I was afraid your foot would go to sleep. You are too good to let that girl crowd you so. She was the most deliberately selfish person I ever saw.”

“Oh, there is always somebody like that on a hay ride. I have never been on one yet that there wasn’t some girl along with a headache who took up more than her share of room. I am too long to double up; but it is all right now. The tingle has stopped, and I can bear my weight on it, I see.”

“Did you ever see anything more beautiful than this valley? How clever Miss Kean is in hitting off a description! I haven’t thought of the Doone Valley for years, and now I can’t get it out of my head; these overhanging cliffs and this green grass, green even by moonlight; and the sensation of being in an impenetrable fortress! And the great black rock might be Carver Doone petrified and very much magnified, left here forever for his sins. It must be a magnificent sight when the creek is full.”

“So it is; but I hope we shall not see that sight to-night. Lorna Doone in the big snow was in a safe place to what we would be in a big freshet up this valley with no way to get back but by the creek bed,” said Molly, jumping out of the hay wagon and beginning to make ready the supper.

Such a supper it was, with appetites to match after the long ride and good jolting! Mrs. Brown was an old hand at picnic suppers and knew exactly what to put in and how to pack the baskets in the most appetizing way. There were different kinds of sandwiches, thin bread and butter, all kinds of pickles, apple turnovers and cheese cakes; but the crowning success of one of these camp picnics was always the hot coffee and bacon cooked on John’s fire. The Browns kept a skillet and big coffee pot to use only on such occasions. The cloth was soon spread and the cold lunch arranged on it, and then in an incredibly short time the coffee was boiling and the bacon sizzling.

“Oh, what a smell is this?” said Jimmy Lufton, emerging from behind Black Rock, where Miss Hunt had been doing her best to captivate him. (Kent said he bet on Jimmy to give her as good as he got.) “Mark Twain says, ‘Bacon would improve the flavor of an angel,’ and so it would.”

“Well, I’m no angel, but I certainly do smell like bacon,” said Molly with flushed face and rumpled hair as she knelt over the fire with a long stick turning the luscious morsels. “Sue and Cyrus are responsible for the coffee and the bacon is my affair.”

“As Todger’s boy says, ‘Wittles is up,’” called Jimmy to the strolling couples, who lost no time in hurrying to the feast. Mrs. Brown was installed at the head of the cloth, but not allowed to wait on any one. “For once, you shall be a guest at your own table,” said Kent, taking the coffee pot out of her hands. “Miss Judy, don’t you think we can serve this?”

“Mostly cream for me and very little coffee,” drawled Miss Hunt.

“If you have such a bad headache you had better take it black,” said Judy, who was aware of that young lady’s selfish behavior on the trip. “The people who want a great deal of cream will have to wait until the rest are served, as some of the cream got spilled; and, while there is enough for reasonable helps, there is not enough for exorbitant demands.”

John and the two “extras” offered their shares to the spoiled beauty, but Judy was adamant.

“Those sandwiches with olives and mayonnaise are very rich for any one with a liver,” said Judy later on as Miss Hunt was preparing to help herself plentifully to the delectable food; “these plain bread-and-butter ones would be much more wholesome for you, my dear. What, cheese cakes for any one who is too ill to sit up straight! Goodness gracious, Miss Hunt, do be careful! Your demise would grieve so many it is really selfish of you not to take better care of yourself.”

“You seem to be very much concerned about my health, Miss Kean. I wonder that you knew I did not feel well; you seemed to be fully occupied on the journey with Mr. Kent Brown,” snapped Miss Hunt.

“So I was,” answered Judy, nothing daunted. “But whenever Kent had to turn his attentions to the four horses when we came to rough spots in the road and he was trying not to jolt the ambulance too much, then I could turn around and get a good bird’s-eye view of the passengers, and you always seemed to be on the point of fainting.”

“I know you are better now,” said Molly, who could not bear for even Miss Hunt, who was certainly not her style of girl, to be teased. “I know these apple turnovers won’t hurt you, and Aunt Mary makes such good ones. Do have one, and here is some more cream if you want it in your coffee.”

“What a sweet girl your sister is,” said Miss Hunt in an audible whisper. “I can’t see what she finds in that Miss Kean to want her to make her such an interminable visit.”

The ill-natured remark was heard by every one. For did you ever notice that the way to make yourself heard in a crowd of noisy talkers is to whisper? Molly looked ready for tears, and Kent bit his lips in rage, but Judy, as spunky as usual, and feeling that she deserved a rebuke from Miss Hunt, but rather shocked at the ill-bred way of delivering it, spoke out: “Mrs. Brown, when we were laughing the other day over your story of the old Virginia gentleman who came in out of the rain and stayed six years, I had another one to tell, but something happened to interrupt me. Might I tell it now?”

Mrs. Brown gave a smiling consent. She was not so tender-hearted as Molly and, while she felt it a mistake to wrangle, she was rather curious to see who would get ahead in this trial of wits.

“I bet my bottom dollar on Miss Judy, don’t you, mother?” said Kent in an undertone.

“I certainly do,” whispered his mother.

“A little Southern girl we knew at college, Madeline Pettit, told in all seriousness about a neighbor of hers who was invited to go on a visit. She accepted, but they had to sell the cow for her to go on, and then she had to prolong her visit for the calf to get big enough for her to come home on. I am afraid our calf is almost big enough and papa may come riding in on it any day and carry me off.” There was a general roar of laughter, and then the picnickers, having eaten all that they uncomfortably could, made a general movement toward adjournment.

“Where is the moon?” they all exclaimed at once. While they were eating and drinking and making themselves generally merry, the proverbial cloud, no bigger than a man’s hand, had grown and spread and now the moon was put out of business. The cliffs were so high that a storm had come up out of the west without any one dreaming of it.

“This creek can fill in such a hurry when a big rain comes we had better start,” said Kent.

“Oh, don’t be such a croaker, Kent. It can’t rain. The sky was as clear as a bell when we left home,” said Mrs. Brown, as eager as any of the young people to prolong the good times.

“All right, mother, just as you think best, but I am going to get the horses hitched up in case you change your mind.”

Change her mind she did in a very few minutes, as large drops of rain began to fall. The crowd came pell-mell and scrambled into the wagon. Mrs. Brown noticed in the confusion that she had lost her cavalier and that Professor Green had attached himself to Molly. She was pleased to see it, as she had felt sorry for the young man. He was evidently so miserable, and yet at the same time so determined to make himself agreeable to her that he had been really very charming. She loved to talk about books, and, as she said, seldom had the chance, for the people who knew about books and cared for them never seemed to realize that a busy mother and housekeeper could have similar tastes.

“I get so tired of swapping recipes for pickles and talking about how to raise children. Aunt Mary makes the pickle and my children are all raised,” she had confided to Edwin Green. “We had a very interesting guest on one occasion, a woman who had done a great many delightful things and knew many delightful literary people, and I hoped to have a real good talk with her about books; but she seemed to feel she must stick to the obvious when she conversed with me. I often laugh when I think of Aunt Mary’s retort courteous to this same lady. She was constantly asking me how we made this and what we did to have that so much better than other people, and I would always refer her to Aunt Mary.

“Once it was bread that was under discussion. You know how difficult it is to get a recipe from a darkey, as they never really know how they do the things they do best. Aunt Mary told her to the best of her ability what she did, but the woman was not satisfied. ‘Now, tell me exactly how many cups of flour you use.’ ‘Why, bless you, we done stop dolin’ out flour with a cup long ago an’ uses a ole broken pitcher.’ Another time it was coffee. ‘Now, you have told me about the freshly roasted and ground coffee, please tell me how much water.’ Aunt Mary gave a scornful sniff. ‘You mus’ think we are stingy folks ef you think we measure water!’ At another time she said, ‘Aunt Mary, you must have told me wrong, because I did exactly what you said and my popovers were complete failures.’ ‘Laws a mussy, I did fergit to tell you one thing, an’ that is that you mus’ stir in some gumption wif ev’y aig.’”

“De rain kep’ a-drappin’ in draps so mighty heavy;De ribber kep’ a-risin’ an’ bus’ed froo de levvy,Ring, ring de banjo, how I lub dat good ole song,Come, come, my true love, oh, whar you been so long?”

It was Jimmy who broke into this rollicking song, and when all of the Brown boys, who had had an experience with this old dry creek bed once on a ’possum hunt, heard him, they felt that the song was singularly appropriate. They also thanked their stars that they had with them some one who would “whoop things up” and keep the crowd cheerful, and perhaps the ladies would not realize the danger they were in. This wet-weather creek was fed by innumerable small branches, all of them dry now from something of a drought that had been prevalent, and John, the woodsman, noticed that before they had much rainfall in the valley those small branches had begun to flow, showing that there had already been a great storm to the west of them.

“If the rain were merely local, old Stony Creek could not do much damage in itself, but it is the help of all of these wet-weather springs and branches that makes it play such havoc,” whispered John to Jimmy Lufton. “I have known it in two hours’ time to rise four feet, which sounds incredible; and then in two hours more subside two feet, and in a day be almost dry again. I spent four hours up on top of Black Rock once in a sudden freshet. I would have scaled the hills, but I had some young dogs hunting, and they were so panic-stricken and I was so afraid they would fall down the cliffs in the creek, that I just took them up on top of the rock; and there we sat huddled up in the driving rain until the water subsided enough for us to wade home. Swimming is out of the question for more than a few strokes, the current is so swift; and as for keeping your feet and walking, you simply can’t do it.”

“We have a creek up near Lexington that goes on just such unexpected sprees,” said Jimmy. “It will be a perfectly respectable citizen and every one will forget its bad behavior, when suddenly it will break loose and get so full it disgraces itself and brings shame on its family of branches.”

By this time the whole crowd was fairly damp, but they made a joke of it, with the exception of Miss Hunt, who was much irritated at the damage done her pretty dress. Although she was covered up with three coats, she clamored for more, but no more were offered her. Professor Green took off his coat and, folding it carefully, put it under the seat in the lunch hamper.

“I fancy you think this is a funny thing to do, but I have seen a wet crowd almost freeze after a storm like this, and it is a great mistake to get all of the wraps wet. It is much better to take the rain and get wet yourself, and keep the coats dry; and then, when the rain is over, have something warm and comfortable to put on.”

“That is a fine scheme,” said Paul, and all of the men followed Edwin Green’s example, and Molly and Judy, who had prudently brought their college sweaters, did the same.

“I think it is rather fun to get wet when you have on clothes that won’t get ruined,” said Judy.

“I am glad you like it,” answered Miss Hunt, still sore over her bout with Judy, “but I must say it is hard on me with this chiffon dress. What will it look like after this?”

“Well, you know, chiffon is French for rag so I fancy it will look like a Paris creation,” called back Judy from the front seat, where she was still installed by Kent. “I’ll bet anything her hair will come out of curl,” she whispered to her companion, “and I should not be astonished to see some of her beauty wash off.”

“Eany, meany,” laughed Kent. “You are already way ahead of her, Miss Judy. Do leave her her hair and complexion.”

“Well, I’ll try to be good,” said penitent Judy. “You and Molly are so alike, it is right amusing. And the worst of it is your goodness rubs off on everybody you come in contact with. Do you realize I have been in Kentucky for weeks and that Miss Hunt is the first person I have had a scrap with, and so far I have not got myself in a single ‘Julia Kean’ scrape? I have been in so many, that the girls at college have named the particular kind of scrape I get in after me, just as though I were a famous physician who had discovered a disease.”

“Just what kind of scrape do you usually get in?”

“The kind of scrape I get in is always one I can get out of, and usually one that I fall in from not looking ahead enough at the consequences.”

“Well, I pray God that this will be a ‘Julia Kean’ scrape we are in to-night. Certainly, lack of foresight got us in. I’d like to get that weather man and throw him in this creek. ‘Generally fair and variable winds,’ much!” said Kent with such a serious expression that Judy began to realize that this was not simply a case of a good wetting, but might mean something more.

The horses were knee deep in water now, but splashing bravely on. Molly noticed that in hitching up for the homeward trip Kent had put President in the lead.

“That is because old President has so much sense and will know how to pick his way and keep his feet when the other horses would get scared and begin to struggle and pull down the whole team,” said Molly to Professor Green. Molly was fully aware of the danger they were in, but was keeping her knowledge to herself for fear of starting a panic among the girls. “There is no real danger of drowning,” she whispered to her companion, “so long as we stay in the wagon. But the banks are so steep that if we should get out we might slip into the creek and then it would be about impossible to keep our feet. Look at the water now, up to the hubs of the wheels! I am sorry for the horses, and what an awful responsibility for Kent! But he is equal to it. Do you know, I really believe Kent is equal to anything!”

It was, of course, pitch dark now, except for frequent flashes of lightning that illuminated the raging torrents, so all were forced to realize the grave situation.

“The horses are behaving wonderfully well, and so far all the passengers are. I hope it will keep up,” muttered Kent. “It is awfully hard to keep your head when you are driving if any one screams.”

“The water is in the wagon bed now. I can tell by my feet. Don’t you think your mother ought to come on the front seat, where she can be out of it somewhat?” suggested Judy.

“You are right. Mother, come on up here and help me drive. There is plenty of room for three of us, and I believe you would be more comfortable.”

Mrs. Brown got up, glad to change her position. She was more frightened than she cared to own, and was anxious to find out just how Kent felt about the matter.

“I am going on the front seat, too,” said the bedraggled Miss Hunt. “It seems to me Miss Julia Kean has had the best of everything long enough. I see no reason why she should sit high and dry during the whole drive, while here I am absolutely and actually sitting in the water.”

Kent bit his lips in fury, but held his horses and his tongue while the change was being made. Judy showed her breeding in a way that made Molly proud.

“High I may be, but not dry,” said Judy, playfully shaking herself on the already drenched Molly as she sank by her side on the soggy hay. “I am going to see how long our fair friend will stay up there. It is really the scariest place I ever got in. Down here you feel the water without seeing it, but up there every flash of lightning reveals terrors that down here are undreamed of.”

“Sit in the middle, mother, and Miss Hunt and I can take better care of you.”

“Oh, I am afraid to sit on the outside! Mrs. Brown is much larger than I am and could hold me in better than I could her,” said the selfish girl.