In the Midst of Alarms Part 13

"Into the leach, I said. Where else?"

"Oh, I'm up a tree again. I see I don't even know the A B C of this business. In the old days the leech was a physician. You don't mean I'm to drown a doctor?"

"This is the leach," said Kitty, pointing to a large, yellowish, upright wooden cylinder, which rested on some slanting boards, down the surface of which ran a brownish liquid that dripped into a trough.

As Yates stood on a bench with the pail in his hand he saw that the cylinder was filled nearly to the top with sodden wood ashes. He poured in the water, and it sank quickly out of sight.

"So this is part of the soap-making equipment?" he said, stepping down; "I thought the iron kettle over the fire was the whole factory. Tell me about the leach."

"That is where the hard work of soap making comes in," said Kitty, stirring the contents of the iron kettle with a long stick. "Keeping the leach supplied with water at first is no fun, for then the ashes are dry. If you put in five more pails of water, I will tell you about it."

"Right!" cried Yates, pleased to see that the girl's evident objection to his presence at first was fast disappearing. "Now you'll understand how energetic I am. I'm a handy man about a place."

When he had completed his task, she was still stirring the thickening liquid in the caldron, guarding her face from the fire with her big straw hat. Her cl.u.s.tering, tangled fair hair was down about her shoulders; and Yates, as he put the pail in its place, when it had been emptied the fifth time, thought she formed a very pretty picture standing there by the fire, even if she were making soft soap.

"The wicked genii has finished the task set him by the fairy princess.

Now for the reward. I want all the particulars about the leach. In the first place, where do you get this huge wooden cylinder that I have, without apparent effect, been pouring water into? Is it manufactured or natural?"

"Both. It is a section of the b.u.t.tonwood tree."

"b.u.t.tonwood? I don't think I ever heard of that. I know the beech and the maple, and some kinds of oak, but there my wood lore ends. Why the b.u.t.tonwood?"

"The b.u.t.tonwood happens to be exactly suited to the purpose. It is a tree that is very fine to look at. It seems all right, but it generally isn't. It is hollow or rotten within, and, even when sound, the timber made from it is of little value, as it doesn't last. Yet you can't tell until you begin to chop whether it is of any use or not." Kitty shot a quick glance at the young man, who was sitting on a log watching her.

"Go on, Miss Bartlett; I see what you mean. There are men like the b.u.t.tonwood tree. The woods are full of them. I've met lots of that kind, fair to look upon, but hollow. Of course you don't mean anything personal; for you must have seen my worth by the way I stuck to the water hauling. But go on."

"Dear me, I never thought of such a thing; but a guilty conscience, they say----" said Kitty, with a giggle.

"Of course they say; but it's wrong, like most other things they say.

It's the man with the guilty conscience who looks you straight in the eye. Now that the b.u.t.tonwood is chopped down, what's the next thing to be done?"

"It is sawn off at the proper length, square at one end and slanting at the other."

"Why slanting?"

"Don't you see, the foundation of plank on which it rests is inclined, so the end of the leach that is down must be slantingly cut, otherwise it would not stand perpendicularly. It would topple over in the first windstorm."

"I see, I see. Then they haul it in and set it up?"

"Oh, dear no; not yet. They build a fire in it when it gets dry enough."

"Really? I think I understand the comprehensive scheme, but I slip up on the details, as when I tried to submerge that wooden pail. What's the fire for?"

"To burn out what remains of the soft inside wood, so as to leave only the hard outside sh.e.l.l. Then the charring of the inner surface is supposed to make the leach better--more water-tight, perhaps."

"Quite so. Then it is hauled in and set up?"

"Yes; and gradually filled with ashes. When it is full, we pour the water in it, and catch the lye as it drips out. This is put in the caldron with grease, pigskins, and that sort of thing, and when it boils long enough, the result is soft soap."

"And if you boil it too long, what is the result?"

"Hard soap, I suppose. I never boil it too long."

The conversation was here interrupted by a hissing in the fire, caused by the tumultuous boiling over of the soap. Kitty hurriedly threw in a basin of cold lye, and stirred the mixture vigorously.

"You see," she said reproachfully, "the result of keeping me talking nonsense to you. Now you will have to make up for it by bringing in some wood and putting more water into the leach."

"With the utmost pleasure," cried Yates, springing to his feet. "It is a delight to atone for a fault by obeying your commands."

The girl laughed. "b.u.t.tonwood," she said. Before Yates could think of anything to say in reply Mrs. Bartlett appeared at the back door.

"How is the soap getting on, Kitty?" she asked. "Why, Mr. Yates, are you here?"

"Am I here? I should say I was. Very much here. I'm the hired man. I'm the hewer of wood and the hauler of water, or, to speak more correctly, I'm the hauler of both. And, besides, I've been learning how to make soap, Mrs. Bartlett."

"Well, it won't hurt you to know how."

"You bet it won't. When I get back to New York, the first thing I shall do will be to chop down a b.u.t.tonwood tree in the park, if I can find one, and set up a leach for myself. Lye comes useful in running a paper."

Mrs. Bartlett's eyes twinkled, for, although she did not quite understand his nonsense, she knew it was nonsense, and she had a liking for frivolous persons, her own husband being so somber-minded.

"Tea is ready," she said. "Of course you will stay, Mr. Yates."

"Really, Mrs. Bartlett, I cannot conscientiously do so. I haven't earned a meal since the last one. No; my conscience won't let me accept, but thank you all the same."

"Nonsense; my conscience won't let you go away hungry. If n.o.body were to eat but those who earn their victuals, there would be more starving people in the world than there are. Of course you'll stay."

"Now, that's what I like, Mrs. Bartlett. I like to have a chance of refusing an invitation I yearn for, and then be forced to accept. That's true hospitality." Then in a whisper he added to Kitty; "If you dare to say 'b.u.t.tonwood,' Miss Bartlett, you and I will quarrel."

But Kitty said nothing, now that her mother had appeared on the scene, but industriously stirred the contents of the iron kettle.

"Kitty," said the mother, "you call the men to supper."

"I can't leave this," said Kitty, flus.h.i.+ng; "it will boil over. You call, mother."

So Mrs. Bartlett held her open palms on each side of her mouth, and gave the long wailing cry, which was faintly answered from the fields, and Yates, who knew a thing or two, noted with secret satisfaction that Kitty had refused doubtless because he was there.

CHAPTER VIII.

"I tell you what it is, Renny," said Yates, a few days after the soap episode, as he swung in his hammock at the camp, "I'm learning something new every day."

"Not really?" asked the professor in surprise.

"Yes, really. I knew it would astonish you. My chief pleasure in life, professor, is the surprising of you. I sometimes wonder why it delights me; it is so easily done."