Part 10

Nancy Jane brightened visibly. “I’m glad some one feels funny; I’ve been too homesick for anything all day. I haven’t had a letter this week.”

“You’ll get one on the evening mail,” Gincy assured her. “No news, good news. I belong to the Don’t Worry Club; you’d better join.”

“Guess I will. I’ve got to scratch around and find out about a lot of new birds before I see Professor Lewis again. I don’t know any, for sure, except robins and buzzards. This will be a good time to get information.”

There was a general laugh in which Nancy Jane joined, her sorrows for the moment occupying the background. They filed down the long, straight road and crossed Silver Creek. There was a substantial bridge—built for high water—but Lalla and Mallie preferred the rickety foot-bridge farther down which trembled at every slight bit of weight imposed upon it. Miss Howard watched rather anxiously, but was soon reassured. They reached the farther end safely and started off across the fields toward the railroad.

The foothills seemed a vast, undulating semicircle. One bold knob higher than the rest, with precipitous sides patched with pines, stood out with more importance; but it lacked their allurement of tender colouring.

Straight into the heart of the range, the railroad cut its way, and a long, creeping freight train trailed by just as they turned to follow the track. A shower of cinders deluged Mallie and Lalla; they wheeled and walked backward until Gincy and Kizzie caught up. Nancy Jane panted close behind.

“I’ve got a monster in my eye!” moaned Mallie, plucking at the offender. Her efforts were vain, and each girl, in turn, was rewarded in the same way. Urilla and Miss Howard, far in the rear, were talking too earnestly to make much progress, or notice the group ahead.

“I’m so glad your mother’s better,” the teacher was saying. “I know you want to stay, and we can’t spare such girls as you very well.”

Urilla’s face beamed. “Oh, Miss Howard, do you really mean it? I feel that I’m improving, I was so stupid at first—now I can see through things better. Gincy’s helped me, she’s always saying something nice and encouraging.”

“Gincy’s a treasure!” said Miss Howard warmly. “But where are the girls, they were on the track a minute ago?”

Another train thundered by. “I wish they wouldn’t keep so far ahead, that’s the 3:15, and it goes like lightning when it’s making up time,” Urilla remarked uneasily.

They hurried along, scanning each clump of bushes and stack of grain, but no one was visible. “They couldn’t have gone in here!” exclaimed Miss Howard, looking at a little weather beaten cabin very near the track. Then she listened. Yes, there were voices that sounded familiar. Through the half-open door, the two caught glimpses of Gincy’s bright skirt and gay hat.

“I wonder what they’re doing, and why we didn’t see them when they turned off the track,” said Urilla as they opened a rickety gate and went into the yard. “What a dreadful place to live!”

Miss Howard agreed as she looked at the forlorn and desolate little cabin with not one home-like feature; even the yard was bare and wind-swept.

“Why, there’s Talitha!”

“What?” The two pushed up eagerly.

“Mrs. Donnelly told me this morning she had gone to see some of her kinfolk, but I didn’t know they lived here,” said Urilla, looking curiously at the bare little cabin.

Standing just inside the door, the missing girls were talking to Talitha, who, with her dress pinned up around her and a towel over her head, was busy cleaning. Three small children played near the fireplace, and beyond, propped upon an old pillow, her bright eyes watching the newcomer, was the tiniest woman they had ever seen.

“Have you had measles?” asked Talitha, waving her broom at them. “If you haven’t, stay out.”

“Of course,” answered Urilla scornfully, “years ago; but I don’t see any.”

Another wave directed them to a small bed near a darkened window. Two flushed faces peered above a ragged quilt.

“Why!” gasped Urilla, taking in the situation. “But how did you know? I thought—”

Miss Howard suddenly interrupted with, “This must be Mrs. Gantley. I intended to find you yesterday, but I thought you lived on the Big Hill pike. Are you feeling better?”

The little woman shifted her position slightly, a shadow of a smile flitting across her face. “Yes, since Tally came I’m easier in my mind. The children ain’t bad sick—jest feverish and powerful troublesome; I couldn’t keep ’em from ketchin’ cold no way, out o’ bed.”

Gincy and Talitha were having a quiet conference in another part of the room. “I found out this morning that she’s kin on mother’s side—way back,” said the latter in a low voice. “They used to live in Cowbell Hollow, but he ran away and left them a month ago.”

Talitha looked unutterable things as she referred to the recreant Mr. Gantley. Accustomed as she was to the delinquencies of the mountain men, the desertion of a helpless family seemed the blackest of crimes. She glanced meaningly in the direction of a large basket in the corner, and whispered, “They were almost starving. Martin helped me or I couldn’t have got it here—Mrs. Donnelly gave me so many things, but—”

“See here,” said Gincy, slipping an arm around Talitha’s waist, “I’m going to stay and help; I can go for a walk any Saturday. We’ll scrub the children, gather wood, and cook. Won’t it be fun!”

“Are you sure you want to?” asked Talitha, her tired face brightening.

“Of course; the rest can trot along just the same.”

“Dear me,” grumbled Lalla as they proceeded without Gincy, “I’d like to get hold of that man. Do you know anything about the family, Miss Howard?”

“Not much, only he’s fond of moonshine. He sold the home about three weeks ago—told her he was getting ready to come to Bentville, where there was a good school for the children. When she found that he had really gone, she thought he might be here and followed him.” Miss Howard walked on with her head held high; she did not want the girls to read in her face the fulness of disgust which she felt for a man of that type. There were others like him whose sons and daughters were working their way through school, trying to redeem the family name and become worthy citizens.

“It’s a shame!” said Mallie. “They ought to catch him and make him work good and hard—beat him if he didn’t—and give all his wages to his folks. I’d teach him to run away from those pretty children, and—”

“There isn’t a chair in the house,” interrupted Nancy Jane, “and I didn’t see a dish. That poor woman might just as well chase a Bushy tail; she’ll never see him again—not until the children grow up, then he’ll come back and live on them.”

“I should be glad to get rid of him,” said Urilla conclusively. “I’ve seen men like that before.”

There was silence for a moment, and the group became more widely scattered. Lalla forged straight ahead until she was several rods in advance. She scanned the great slate boulders on either side and listened. There were voices, familiar ones, then all was quiet. Everywhere the foothills hemmed them in. Suddenly a rock crashed in front of her. Looking up she saw Abner’s shock of light hair as, flat on his stomach, he peered over the edge of the cliff. The head disappeared and an improvised mask took its place.

“Halt!” commanded a muffled voice which closely resembled Martin’s. Lalla threw up her hands in mock fright. “Come around behind that pine tree, we’re laying for some of our crowd. There’s something in the wind to-day, for Raphael Sloan and Joe Bradshaw sneaked off without letting us know—dropped out all of a sudden. Keep your eye peeled for them, won’t you? Likely they’re up at the springs.”

“Don’t let the rest know we’re here,” warned Abner, peering over Martin’s shoulder, “it might spoil the fun.”

“I guess not,” agreed Lalla with her old love for a joke. “Go ahead and have your fun; but what if they go back the other way?”

“You mustn’t let ’em. Think up some scheme; you can do it.” Both heads disappeared as Nancy Jane’s voice was borne to them from below.

Lalla picked a few violets and walked on carelessly, looking up at the mountains on the opposite side. “Hurry up or we’ll never get there!” she called back, waving her flowers; “there’ll be heaps of these at Slate Lick.”

The gorge widened. A trickling, shallow stream crept through the bed. The foothills seemed suddenly to have become mountains and surrounded them, making a basin-like valley. On the opposite side, sheltered by walnuts, stood a few deserted houses and a building which seemed halfway between a store and a peanut stand.

“There’s quite a colony here in summer,” said Miss Howard, when at last they stood in front of the spring house and fitted the long key into the padlock. “The sulphur water calls them, and the view. Isn’t it beautiful! I want to get the Knob painted in while the haze is over it. You young folks run along and do your climbing; I’ll whistle for you when it’s time to go back.”

“If Talitha and Gincy were only here!” sighed Kizzie after the first long climb. Together they stood panting for breath and watched the scene below.

“Where’s Lalla? She beats everything for disappearing right before one’s eyes,” Nancy Jane frowned.

“Couldn’t lose her though, that’s the beauty of it,” remarked Urilla as they looked around behind the trees and boulders. Below, Miss Howard sat intent upon her canvas. A tinkling cowbell was the only sound which greeted their ears. “I’m for going on. It’s one of Lalla’s tricks; she’s a good deal nearer than we think—probably laughing at us this minute.”

But Lalla, when she dropped behind the rest, had taken a trail leading off to the left. She was sure that it came back to the main trail again, and it would give her a splendid opportunity to pop out and surprise them. She soon found that it led around an immense boulder, that it was steep, and grew steeper. As she paused quite breathless, the sound of men’s voices came from behind the rock.

A clump of small evergreens made a convenient hiding-place; behind them Lalla listened. She was not in the least alarmed, only curious. The voices grew louder, one of them seemed to be chanting or reciting something; it was hard to tell which. Lalla stole out a little farther and crouched close to the rock, listening breathlessly.

“Louder, Raf, so I can hear you at this distance.” Lalla fancied she could have touched Joe Bradshaw had not the rock projected a thin edge between them. She sank noiselessly into a bed of tall ferns. So here were the truants! Martin and Abner should hear about them; she would jump out and give Joe the scare of his life.

On and on went the voices, the nearer one correcting and halting the speaker from time to time.

Lalla listened intently; her eyes grew larger. What was Raphael saying! She sat perfectly rigid as the truth flashed upon her. It was his speech for the Mountain Congress, and he was to speak against Abner. No wonder they stole away from the boys.

For some minutes Lalla sat undecided. Raphael Sloan was a formidable opponent, and Abner new at the business of debating. If she could only give the latter a hint—she wouldn’t tell right out. How proud Gincy would be to have her brother win the debate. Her heart beat fast and she listened as she had never listened before; not a word must be lost and she must not be discovered now for the world!

“You’ll have to be ready for the rebuttal; they’ll get you on that point—Abner’s working like a tiger.” And then there was an audible movement on the other side of the boulder which made Lalla’s heart beat like a trip-hammer. To her infinite relief, Raphael Sloan moved on up the trail and Joe after him. She could hear their voices growing fainter and fainter each moment.

Cautiously she slipped from her hiding-place and retraced her steps to a point lower down. There was a way to cut across the other trail, but it was through blackberry bushes, wild grapevines, and a tangle of underbrush. Lalla did not hesitate, however; slipping and sliding, she fairly rushed forward, not stopping for scratches nor even bruises. From the thicket she suddenly emerged into a small opening—hardly a clearing—in which was a tiny shack of logs. To all appearances it was deserted, but Lalla decided to avoid it and come out just beyond. A gun sounded very near; a hound bayed. She shrank back where the shadows were deep, and silently threaded her way in the direction of the old trail. It could not be many rods farther on.

For fully a half-hour she stumbled along, then she heard Nancy Jane’s voice, and the girls fell on her with loud reproaches.

“I was exploring,” Lalla said with shining eyes, and then she told them about the cabin. “It’s mighty secret; I’d never found it only for taking the short cut. Folks could do stillin’ and no one be the wiser.”

“I wonder if they do make moonshine there,” said Mallie after a pause. “We heard that shot and were worrying about you. Don’t you run away again.”

Lalla smiled, but did not answer.

A long whistle came from below. It was repeated. “That’s Miss Howard!” exclaimed Kizzie. “She wants us right away; see how late it’s getting.”

All the way down Lalla was very quiet. Her head was full of plans to help Abner and find out more about the mysterious cabin. Mystery appealed to her vivid imagination and stimulated her to immediate action.

A thin trail of smoke came up to them as they made the last steep descent into the basin. “Oh, Lalla, Miss Howard’s getting supper and I’m so hungry,” said Kizzie. But Lalla was thinking of the two boys—which way could they have gone home?

XVI THE MOUNTAIN CONGRESS

IT was several days before Lalla saw Abner alone. He was certainly working like a tiger. He rushed over to meals, and when the boys were dismissed, was gone like a shot, not waiting to join the groups who visited in the yard.

It wanted a week of the Mountain Congress when she followed him into the library one day and straight back to the stack room. There was a long table in one corner and piles of reference books on it. Abner had snatched his cap off and was digging for the bottom one of the nearest pile when Lalla touched his shoulder.

“Working on your debate?” she whispered. “I hope you’ll win.”

Abner looked up gratefully. “I don’t reckon on it much—Raphael’s an old hand, they tell me—but I’m learnin’ a lot, that’s one sure thing.”

“I’ve thought of some points which will be likely to help you.” Lalla pushed a sheet his way. “You can never tell what they’re going to spring on you just at the last.”

Abner took it with a look of surprise. “I didn’t know that you even knew the subject of the debate; we’ve tried to keep it a secret.” Lalla reddened—she had not thought of this emergency. “Of course I told Gincy,” Abner continued, “and I know she trusts you, so it’s all right.”

He had misconstrued her evident embarrassment, and was trying to reassure her. For one moment Lalla’s courage failed, but she was sure Abner stood little chance of winning without some help, and there was almost no risk of discovery, not even if Gincy told her brother that she had kept the secret.

Lalla’s impetuous nature was capable of a good deal of self-sacrifice—mistaken at times, but nevertheless genuine in motive. She had a warm feeling of gratitude toward the girl who had not, by even so much as a look, hinted at her adventures with the master key. Indeed, Lalla felt that Gincy had entire confidence in her assurance that she would be perfectly straightforward from that time on.

It was the mountain warfare over again, and Lalla did not feel any real compunction about the methods. She knew instinctively, however, that Gincy and Abner would look at it differently and was prepared for questions.

However, they did not come. “These seem like dandy points; they might do me a heap of good when it comes to the final touchdown.” Abner showed her the result of his digging for the last few weeks—a whole tablet full of notes, disorderly enough but right to the point.

Lalla glanced over them with a shrewd eye, and nodded. “Abner, they’re splendid! But won’t you be scared half to death in front of that crowd?”

He shook his head resolutely. “I’m going to bluff it if I am; it doesn’t do to show one’s feelings.”

“No, and Goose Creek folks aren’t the scary kind.”

“You bet they aren’t—not the girls, anyhow.” Abner spoke with conviction.

Devotional exercises the next morning were brief. Then the excitement began. Banners went up all over the chapel, and nominations were made for governor of Appalachian America. There were speeches and special music to arouse enthusiasm for the Mountain Congress.

The girls from Clay sat in the gallery—a row of bright faces keenly watching every movement below to see what counties were represented.

“There’s Pike, and Letcher, and Magoffin!” whispered Gincy excitedly.

“And Floyd, and Knott, and Breathitt!” added Talitha.

“Perry, Harlan, Leslie, and—Oh, look at Clay! Goody! Goody!” Mallie almost lost her balance and fell into the crowd below. Nancy Jane pulled her back and kept a firm grip on the excited girl for some time.

“It’s awfully interesting!” sighed Lalla, her eyes growing bigger as she watched the platform. “But I suppose the congress itself will be twice as exciting.”

There were funny speeches from the candidates, each vying with the other in promising favour to his particular section of the country. The applause was frequent, and the college band played “Dixie.” Every one filed out full of enthusiasm; they would know the result of the election by evening.

Lalla and Gincy walked over to Memorial Hall behind Abner and Martin. There was a grand rally out in front—practising yells and singing class songs. The noise was deafening.

“I’m saving my voice until Friday night,” Lalla told Abner in the first lull. “I know you’re going to beat and then you’ll hear me yell!”

Gincy smiled happily. “Abner’s going to do his best; that’s the main thing. I’m proud to think he’s even got a chance to do it, without his beating.”

“Of course it’s an honour to have the chance,” said Lalla, “but, Gincy, just think how proud Goose Creek will be to have Abner come home with the medal.”

In spite of himself Abner flushed with pleased anticipation. He was making the fight of his life for a public honour and did not intend to be beaten. Every word of his speech was photographed upon his brain, ready for instant use, if—and here was the hard part—if his opponent did not think of some entirely new line of argument.

Friday evening found the Hall alive with excitement. The girls were divided into factions. Raphael Sloan was the best debater Bentville had had for some time, and while Abner was popular, he was too new to inspire general confidence. Nearly everybody—except the Goose Creek folks—was sure of the boy who had never been defeated.

The chapel was in an uproar when the girls arrived. Occupying the centre and front were delegates from each county to the Mountain Congress. Class colours were everywhere in evidence. Pennants were fluttering, and yell after yell went up when the Governor of Appalachian America—one of the senior boys—took his seat on the platform.

Afterwards the whole thing seemed like a dream to Lalla. Raphael, tall, dark-eyed, with the flush of anticipated victory on his face. Abner, intense, pale at first and somewhat hesitating, but warming up with fiery eloquence toward the last and meeting every argument with growing confidence.

Not once did he fail in the rebuttal, nor even hesitate, and Lalla saw an amazed look creep over Joe Bradshaw’s face as Abner answered with a glibness born of knowledge, sweeping the very foundation from under his opponent’s feet.

There could be but one verdict, and the Goose Creek girls saw Abner hoisted upon strong, young shoulders and borne in triumph around the room. Once more the pennants waved and pandemonium broke loose. This time they joined in the yells. Lalla, in the centre of the circle of girls, never stopped until her voice gave out.

Joe Bradshaw took his roommate’s defeat quite philosophically. He was fond of Abner and Martin, but somewhat puzzled at the former’s quick replies to every argument. “You did splendidly!” he said, wringing Abner’s hand. “Clay County is right to the front to-night.”

Abner gave Lalla a quick glance of gratitude. She was watching him as he talked to Joe and the surrounding boys, not forgetting to wave at the home girls who found it impossible to reach him. Gincy’s eyes were full of tears—proud ones. If her father and mother could only have been here to see Abner beat the best debater in all the mountain counties. It would have rewarded them for every sacrifice.

There was to be a spread in the Industrial Building for the winner. Talitha and Martin held frequent conferences all the next day, and by four o’clock a constant procession of boys and girls were busy carrying parcels, bunting, and branches of pine for decoration, and making the rooms of the Agricultural Department attractive for the evening crowd. It was to be a great event for the Goose Creek folks, and they had prepared accordingly. Pete Shackley guarded the chickens. “I knew Abner’d beat, those roosters have been crowing under my bed for two nights. I toted the box into my room the minute I bought them; there’s no telling where they’d be to-day if I hadn’t.”

Gincy and Mallie kept the door of Number 4 securely locked, but that precaution did not prevent savoury odours from escaping which the boys sniffed eagerly.

“Cake!” exclaimed Martin delightedly. “Tally said Miss Browning was going to let them use the cooking room all day. I smell fruit cookies, too. My, but it’s going to be a spread! I wonder what Piny Twilliger’s doing ’round here; she likes good eating, I suppose.”

“Of course, but didn’t you know she’s Abner’s cousin from Redbird?” and Isaac Shackley grasped a big pot of ferns and moved on, leaving Martin staring in astonishment.

Piny was so tall and snappy and altogether loud—such a contrast to Gincy—Martin had taken a special dislike to her the very first time she came to Harmonia. That was at the opening of the spring term and now it was getting pretty well along toward Commencement. But the girl’s voice did not seem to improve—it was still coarse and penetrating—she wore the gayest colours, and Martin couldn’t enumerate all the reasons why he disliked her, but he did.

It was growing dusk when everything was ready for the spread. They were to serve it in the Domestic Science room at eight o’clock. Nancy Jane had the key and was instructed to remain in charge until the ice cream arrived, then hurry over to the Hall to dress. Nancy Jane turned on the lights and surveyed the room with satisfaction; there was a good deal to show for all their work. The cake was delicious, the chicken fried to a turn. There were great plates of rolls and plenty of pickles. The long table down the centre of the room was decorated with Abner’s class colours, while all around, in festoons, were the orange and black of the Mountain Society—the first typifying the brilliant autumn colouring of the hills; the second, the wealth of coal found in their mines.

The building was far from deserted. There was a clatter of feet up and down the bare stairs—fully a dozen boys roomed on the third floor—and Nancy Jane locked the door to secure herself from unceremonious callers. “They’d like to play some game on us—those seniors,” she thought. “They’re pretty sore because a new pupil carried off the honours.”

It was seven o’clock, but the cream had not come, and Nancy Jane was in a quandary. Some one rattled the door knob. “Who is it?” she asked.