Ben Pepper Part 25

XIII

THE BIG BOX

The little widow ran down the road, not much more than a good-sized trail cut between two hard, frozen banks of snow. Her shoes flapped miserably, and with one hand she held the remnant of a bonnet on her head, the other clutched the old plaid shawl together across her thin chest.

Toiling slowly round the curve came a white horse, very tired and old, dragging a wagon that alternately had the wheels on one side or the other tilted up on either bank, making very difficult progress.

"Hullo! Where be ye goin'?" the occupant of the wagon yelled out, as the little woman ran suddenly almost into the face of the old white horse, who, recognizing an obstacle, gladly stood still in his tracks without the sharp twitch on the reins to pull him up.

"Now how yer goin' ter git by, an' what be yer runnin' so fur anyway, Mis' Hansell?" exclaimed the old man, all in one impatient breath.

The little widow drew a long sigh and glanced about her on either side.

The hard, frozen wall seemed to oppress her, and she set her gaze on the old face under the fur cap, but pressed her thin lips together without a word.

"Well, ye're there an' ye can't git back," said the old man, twitching one rein violently in an effort to turn the wagon out an inch or two.

"s.h.i.+n up the bank, Mis' Hansell, s.h.i.+n up the bank, and then gimme yer hand, an' you can hop in here,"--he jerked his sharp chin over his shoulder,--"an' set on them bags, bein's th' seat's full." As indeed it was, a collection of various articles, going to the farmers' wives, occupying all the leather cus.h.i.+on not filled with the driver. "Ye've got to; I can't move a mite further," as the little woman hung back.

Her thin lips fell apart. "Are you going anywhere near Harrison road, Mr. Bramble?"

"Hey--Harrison road? Eh, yes, after a spell. I'm goin' first to the Potterses, an' th' Timmenses, an'--Land o' Goshen, I clean forgot,--I'm goin' to your house, Mis' Hansell, I clar to gracious, I am!" He clapped his knee with his big woollen mitten. "There, you hop in an' set on them bags, an' I'll take you home."

"But I'm not going home," said little Mrs. Hansell, creeping as closely to the wall of frozen snow as possible, in her endeavor to get by the team. "And if you've got to go to the Potterses and the Timmenses, I won't ride. Thank you kindly, Mr. Bramble."

She made another attempt to crowd by over the rough, jagged edges of the ice, lost her footing, and fell with her face against the wheel.

"Sho!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Bramble, in great distress, "now ye've hurt ye!

Couldn't ye have done as I said? But women have no sense no more'n hens; they must bunt up ag'in' sunthin', blind-headed. Get in, can't ye? Ye'll have to ride a piece anyway, till I get where I can turn round."

"It's no matter," said the little widow, wiping off a few drops of blood that trickled down her cheek, as she got in, being pulled up over the step by the firm grip of the knotted fingers in the woollen mitten, and sat down on the bags of grain, as bidden.

"That 'ere is your box," said Mr. Bramble, when he had seen her comfortably adjusted, and pointing with one mitten over his shoulder.

"Hey?" said little Mrs. Hansell, lost in thought that seemed to be very mournful, for she sighed deeply, and picked at the edge of her shawl where the fringe had been.

"Yes, 'tis yours, I say, your box." Mr. Bramble kept reiterating it, each time giving a fierce nod to the old fur cap that finally settled it well over his eyes. "It come yesterday over to the deepo at Purdy's, but I couldn't get here, th' goin's so bad."

The little widow said nothing. Having never received a box, conversation in regard to one couldn't possibly interest her, so she had failed to hear any reference to herself. And at last old Mr. Bramble, having got the white horse safely past the narrowest part of the road, whirled around on his seat and stared at her.

"Sakes alive, Mis' Hansell, are you deef?" he roared. "_You've got a box._"

"I?" said the little widow, turning a bewildered gaze up at him.

"I--what _do_ you mean, Mr. Bramble?"

"You've got a box; _box_, I said." The expressman roared it at her so that the old white horse jerked up his tired head and took two rapid steps forward, positively by his own accord.

This wholly unsettling the dilapidated bonnet on the little widow's head so that it slid down her neck, with difficulty being recovered from flying out of the wagon altogether, and the shock of the announcement of the box occurring at the same moment, she was speechless again.

"Well, if I ever!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Bramble, when he recovered from the astonishment into which his steed's burst of energy had plunged him. And giving his travelling companion up as a bad job so far as conversation was concerned, he relapsed into a sullen silence, neither of them speaking till a good half mile was slowly traversed.

And then he felt a timid twitch at the end of the old woollen scarf hanging over his back.

"Mr. Bramble, is that true?" and he glanced over his shoulder to see the thin face of the little widow working convulsively, while her faded eyes gleamed with excitement.

"Oh, ye've waked up, hev ye?" cried Mr. Bramble. "Yes, 'tis true, true as gospel writ, Mis' Hansell," he averred solemnly.

"True?" She had only breath to repeat the one word, and she hung on the answer.

"Sure as shootin'," declared the express driver. He clapped his knee smartly to enforce his words. "There 'tis now," he added suddenly, and pointing with his thumb over his shoulder; "you're a-settin' ag'inst it this blessed minute, Mis' Hansell."

Little Mrs. Hansell turned convulsively, gave one look at the big box looming up behind her, then covered her face with her thin hands, and rocked back and forth on the grain bags.

"Oh, I don't believe it; I can't. I hain't never had a box. 'Tain't mine."

"Well, I'm a-goin' to dump it at your house, anyway," declared Mr.

Bramble, "for it's got your name on it."

"'Tain't mine, an' I must git out an' go to Harrison road an' tell Mr.

Shuggs that he can come and take us all to the poorhouse, for--"

"Land!" exclaimed Mr. Bramble, in a mighty shout that puffed out his red cheeks like small bellows, "'tain't so bad as that, is it? Thunder an'

lightnin', an' that was where ye were goin'?" He was taken with a sudden fit of coughing and he blew his nose violently, wiped his eyes with the back of his mitten, and glanced off at the towering mountains as if he had never seen them before.

"O dear, dear, dear!" The little woman huddled on the grain bags was now in such a bad state at having told her secret that he whirled around to look after her.

"I must whip up Billy an' git there quick, or she'll be out over the wheel with her didoes, like enough," and he slapped the back of the old white horse with the doubled-up end of the reins so effectively that in due time the wagon jounced over the icy ruts of the winding road, and drew up in front of the little cabin nestling at the foot of the hill, the express driver mumbling within his straggly beard: "Well, I am busted, who'd 'a' thought she an' them children was struck so hard!"

Instantly the door burst open and a brood of children, six in number, the baby being left to sprawl on the kitchen floor, plunged out, trooping over the frozen ground, some of them running on the crust of the polished snow lying high in banks--any way to get there the quicker.

To see their mother riding in state in Mr. Bramble's express wagon was a supreme event, and they clambered over the wheels and fairly swarmed around her, as she tremblingly tried to get down.

"Easy, easy there; sho now, can't you let her get down?" Mr. Bramble roared at them, pretending to be very much put out. But they paid not the slightest attention to him.

"Oh, Mammy!" they cried, surrounding her tumultuously.

"You've got hurt," exclaimed one of the big boys, seeing her cheek, and, "Oh, I'm so hungry," said Jane, the youngest, who, since her mother had really returned, thought it just as well to mention a fact she had been steadily reiterating all the morning.

"Hush up!" shouted Mr. Bramble, "and look here, Mat, an' you too, Mark and Luke, tumble out that box. Step lively now." Again his thumb came into service over his shoulder.

"Oh, bless my b.u.t.tons, I never see such a dull lot," as the whole collection of children, big boys and all, stared open-mouthed at him, without offering to stir from their tracks. "I'll pitch it out myself."

And with many grunts, for his legs were rheumatic, he slowly hitched himself off his seat, and laid hold of the box.

"Give us a grip, Mat," he sang out to the oldest boy. "This box has got to go into your house, an' I know _I_ ain't a-goin' to carry it. Come on!"

And instantly the whole swarm of children, wild with excitement, deserted their mother to crowd around Mr. Bramble and the boys.

"The baby's comin' out," screamed Elvira, with one hasty glance back at the cabin door, as she ran to the centre of attraction with the others.

The little widow turned where she had been left alone and sped frantically up to the broken steps, where little Susan, spatting her fat hands on the floor as she crawled along to see what the noise was all about, had just decided to tumble down. But instead of landing on the hard, frozen ruts, she was gathered up to her mother's thin breast and hugged and coddled.