Flamsted quarries Part 10

"h.e.l.lo, Roman, how are you?"

The boy's honest blue eyes, that seemed always to be looking forward in a chronic state of expectancy for the unexpected, beamed with goodness and goodwill. He wiped his hands on his overalls and clasped Champney's.

"Hullo, Champ, when'd you come?"

"Only yesterday. I didn't see you about when I was here in the afternoon. How do you like your job?"

The youth made an uncouth but expressive sign towards the milk shed.

"Sh--Tave'll hear you. He and I ain't been just on good terms lately; but 'tain't my fault," he added doggedly.

At that moment a clear childish voice called from somewhere below the lane:

"Romanzo--Romanzo!"

The boy started guiltily. "I've got to go, Champ; she wants me."

Champney seized him with a strong hand by the suspenders. "Here, hold on! Who, you gump?"

"The girl--le' me go." But Champney gripped him fast.

"No, you don't, Roman; let her yell."

"Ro--man--zo-o-o-o!" The range of this peremptory call was two octaves at least.

"By gum--she's up to something, and Tave won't stand any more fooling--le' me go!" He writhed in the strong grasp.

"I won't either. I haven't been half-back on our team for nothing; so stand still." And Romanzo stood still, perforce.

Another minute and Aileen came running up the lane. She was wearing the same heavy shoes, the same dark blue cotton dress, half covered now with a gingham ap.r.o.n--Mrs. Champney had not deemed it expedient to furnish a wardrobe until the probation period should have decided her for or against keeping the child. She was bareheaded, her face flushed with the heat and her violent exercise. She stopped short at a little distance from them so soon as she saw that Romanzo was not alone. She tossed back her braid and stamped her foot to emphasize her words:

"Why didn't yer come, Romanzo Caukins, when I cried ter yer!"

"'Coz I couldn't; he wouldn't let me." He spoke anxiously, making signs towards the shed. But Aileen ignored them; ignored, also, the fact that any one was present besides her slave.

Champney answered for himself. He promptly bared his head and advanced to shake hands; but Aileen jerked hers behind her.

"I'm Mr. Champney Googe, at your service. Who are you?"

The little girl was sizing him up before she accepted the advance; Champney could tell by the "East-side" look with which she favored him.

"I'm Miss Aileen Armagh, and don't yer forget it!--at your service." She mimicked him so perfectly that Champney chuckled and Romanzo doubled up in silent glee.

"I sha'n't be apt to, thank you. Come, let's shake hands, Miss Aileen Armagh-and-don't-yer-forget-it, for we've got to be friends if you're to stay here with my aunt." He held out both hands. But the little girl kept her own obstinately behind her and backed away from him.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"'Coz they're all stuck up with spruce gum and Octavius said nothing would take it off but grease, and--" she turned suddenly upon Romanzo, blazing out upon him in her wrath--"I hollered ter yer so's yer could get some for me from Hannah, and you was just dirt mean not to answer me."

"Champ wouldn't let me go," said Romanzo sulkily; "besides, I da.s.sn't ask Hannah, not since I used the harness cloth she gave to clean down Jim."

"Yer 'da.s.sn't!' Fore I'd be a boy and say 'I da.s.sn't!'" There was inexpressible scorn in her voice. She turned to Champney, her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with mischief and flas.h.i.+ng a challenge:

"And yer da.s.sn't shake hands with me 'coz mine are all stuck up, so now!"

Champney had not antic.i.p.ated this _p.r.o.nunciamento_, but he accepted the challenge on the instant. "Dare not! You can't say that to me! Here, give me your hands." Again he held out his shapely well-kept members, and Aileen with a merry laugh brought her grimy sticky little paws into view and, without a word, laid them in Champney's palms. He held them close, purposely, that they might adhere and provide him with some fun; then, breaking into his gay laugh he said:

"Clear out, Roman; Tave 'll be looking for the milk pails. As for you, Miss Aileen Armagh-and-don't-yer-forget-it, you can't pull away from me now. So, come on, and we'll get Hannah to give us some lard and then we'll go down to the boat house where it is cool and cleanup. Come on!"

Holding her by both hands he raced her down the long lane, through the vegetable garden, all cha.s.sez, down the middle, swing your partner--Aileen wild with the fun--up the slate-laid kitchen walk to the kitchen door. His own laughter and the child's, happy, merry, care-free, rang out peal on peal till Ann and Hannah and Octavius paused in their work to listen, and wished that such music might have been heard often during their long years of faithful service in childless Champ-au-Haut.

"I hear you are acquainted with some of the n.o.bility, marchionesses and so forth," said Champney; the two were sitting in the shadow of the boat house cleaning their fingers with the lard Hannah had provided. "Where did you make their acquaintance?"

Aileen paused in the act of sliding her greasy hands rapidly over and over in each other, an occupation which afforded her unmixed delight, to look up at him in amazement. "How did yer know anything 'bout her?"

"Oh, I heard."

"Did Romanzo Caukins tell yer?" she demanded, as usual on the defensive.

"No, oh no; it was only hearsay. Do tell me about her. We don't have any round here."

Aileen giggled and resumed the rapid rotary motion of her still unwashed hands. "If I tell yer 'bout her, yer'll tell her I told yer. P'raps sometime, if yer ever go to New York, yer might see her; and she wouldn't like it."

"How do you know but what I have seen her? I've just come from there."

Aileen looked her surprise again. "That's queer, for I've just landed from New York meself."

"So I understood; does the marchioness live there too?"

She shook her head. "I ain't going to tell yer; but I'll tell yer 'bout some others I know."

"That live in New York?"

"Wot yer giving me?" She laughed merrily; "they live where the Dagos live, in Italy, yer know, and--"

"Italy? What are they doing over there?"

"--And--just yer wait till I'll tell yer--they live on an island in a be-ee-u-tiful lake, like this;" she looked approvingly at the liquid mirror that reflected in its rippleless depths the mountain shadow and sunset gold; "and they live in great marble houses, palaces, yer know, and flower gardens, and wear nothing but silks and velvet and pearls, ropes,--yer mind?--ropes of 'em; and the lords and ladies have concerts, yer know, better 'n in the thayertre--"

"What do you know about the theatre?" Champney was genuinely surprised; "I thought you came from an orphan asylum."

"Yer did, did yer!" There was scorn in her voice. "Wot do I know 'bout the thayertre?--Oh, but yer green!" She broke into another merry laugh which, together with the patronage of her words and certain unsavory memories of his own, nettled Champney more than he would have cared to acknowledge.

"Better 'n the thayertre," she repeated emphatically; "and the lords serenade the ladies--Do yer know wot a serenade is?" She interrupted herself to ask the question with a strong doubt in the interrogation.

"I've heard of 'em," said Champney meekly; "but I don't think I've ever seen one."