The Keeper of the Bees, page 36
Then suddenly Jamie gathered the little figure tighter in his arms and thrust his lips down through the hair to a grimy cheek, and with all the intensity in his body he repeatedly kissed the little Scout.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “darling little sweetheart, tell Jamie, tell Jamie what’s the matter.”
And by and by, from the huddled bunch on his breast there came a panted whisper: “Who told you?”
“Nobody told me anything,” said Jamie. “You tell me. What is it? What has happened to you? Where have you been? If anybody has hurt you-” War rose in Jamie’s breast; red war flamed in his eyes. “Did any boy lay a finger on you?” he panted.
The little Scout moved in negation.
“Who then? What?” urged Jamie. “I’m ripe for murder! Tell me where I’m to go, what I’m to do!”
The bleached little head buried deeper in his breast, the grimy hands gripped him tighter. Something was being whispered. Jamie almost broke his neck to drop his ear to hearing distance.
There came in wheezing gusts: “My Scouts”—another world of tears and another panted gasp—“mutinied on me! They wanted—to go off down the beach, away alone, and strip bare naked and swim, and—and I—”
Jamie held tight and spread his big hands over as much of the little body as he could cover. He leaned low to catch the whisper.
“—I couldn’t. And they mutinied on me and they nearly tore me to pieces!”
“Do you mean,” asked Jamie, “that those little brutes pitched on to you and beat you?”
The little Scout wormed in his arms.
“I reckon I had it coming,” panted the child. “I reckon I’ve beat them up often enough. But I was tired this morning. I couldn’t get the old grip on ’em. I couldn’t handle ’em, and they got me.”
“What happened?” asked Jamie, breathlessly.
“A man came along, a man on horseback, and he reached down and picked me up on his horse and brought me along out of their reach until I said let me off here. Oh, Jamie! I’m killed! I’m going up the rock and I’m going in the undertow where I can’t get myself out if I want to.”
Jamie held on tight.
“Why, you little idiot, you can’t do that,” he said. “Think of your father, think of your mother, think of Nannette and little Jimmy! Think of me! You can’t do that!”
“I ain’t got anything left,” sobbed the little Scout. “There ain’t anything I want to do. If I can’t lead my Scouts, I don’t want to play anywhere!”
“Look here!” said Jamie, harshly, his voice roughened with emotion. “Look here, darling! You got a wrong start because you didn’t like what girls do, and you’ve been running with the boys until you have about unsexed yourself. And what have you got out of it? Embarrassment and disappointment and a beaten body. You needn’t think you are the only girl in the world of your kind. You needn’t think that there aren’t a lot of others Who don’t like to stay in the house and do the things that girls are supposed to do. You needn’t think that to be a Scout Master you have got to be the master of a pack of boys. Damn them!”
Jamie arose.
“You come on in the house with me,” he said. “Fm going to clean you up and take you to your mother and she is going to put some decent clothes on you and we are going off by ourselves for to-day. We are going off some place you will like. We are going to do something you will want worse than anything in the world. I’ll tell you right here and now what we are going to do. We are going to get you the finest little horse that ever stepped! I’ve been looking for him and advertising in the papers for him, and I’ve found him. I’ve got him all ready for you. I was just waiting a few days because I had lumber ordered. I was going to build a stable over on your side next to nobody. John Carey was coming tomorrow to help me, and when I got it done I was going to have the little horse there to surprise you, but he can wait for a stable. We will go and buy him to-day.”
The little Scout slid from Jamie’s arm and stepped in front of him. An outstretched hand was a mute invitation for the partnership handkerchief. Jamie supplied it and the little Scout used it.
“A real horse, a nice horse, my very own horse that nobody rides but me?”
“Yes,” said Jamie, ready to promise anything in the world. “Yes.”
“We can buy him, we can buy him today?”
“Yes,” said Jamie, still ready to go the limit.
“That’s the berries!” said the little Scout. “Then I won’t go in the undertow. Then I won’t care any more what Fat Old Bill and the Nice Child and Angel Face say. If any of them wants to have the sword and all the emblems of office, they can. They can have the robbers’ cave and the bandits’ den, they can have the Indian fighting. I’ll go with you, and I’ll have my horse.”
“Sure you’ll have your horse!” said Jamie. “I’ll hike with you, and we’ll see what’s in the canyons and what we can find that you will be interested in outdoors; and you know, if you would go and investigate, you would find that there are girls’ camps where they do all the things in scouting stunts that the boys are doing, and I haven’t a doubt, either, that they do some of them better!”
The Ex-Scout Master straightened up and drew a deep breath.
“Do you think, Jamie, do you think honestly that they do ’em better?”
“Bet you two bits they can!” said Jamie. “I’ll find out where headquarters are, and I’ll go with you and we’ll see. But I bet you two bits that those girls can lay a fire right and make the sparks fly quicker, I bet they can set a tent, do anything they want to do, and do it quicker than those Scouts you have been training with, anyway. I wouldn’t have anything to do with free-lance Scouts. They’re outlaws. I’d let those boys go hang!” Then the Keeper of the Bees ventured further: “I’d let them go hang, Jean. If I were in your place, I’d find out where there were some girls of my kind and I’d stick to my own kind, and with the training you’ve had and with the stunts you’ve been doing, there isn’t a doubt in my mind but that you can work up so that in maybe six months you can be the leader. You can do something that isn’t play but is real, constructive scouting work, something that gets you somewhere. You can train yourself so you might be able to help stop a mountain fire, or find a lost child, or do something wonderful and worth while, something that isn’t just play. And there is your own horse you can have and you can ride. I can ride a bit myself. There are none of the tricks of riding that I can’t teach you. “
The handkerchief was restored to its owner. Jean Meredith began to feel over her body to see if she had sufficient clothes remaining to cover her.
“Is it a bargain?” asked Jamie. “Are you going to take the car and go down the beach to the stables where this particular horse I am talking about is waiting for you? There are three bully ones. You can take your choice. Shall we go?”
“Oh, boy!” the cry came in almost breathless wonder. “Shall we go? Shall we paint the petunias, shall we put the scent in the roses? Shall we march past the Black Germans? Shall we flip the dirt off our shoulders into the eyes of the first Boy Scout we meet? I’ll tell the world we shall! And Eat Old Bill and the Nice Child and Angel Face can just plumb go right straight to perdition! I wouldn’t ever play with ’em again, not if they came and got on their knees, not if they begged me with tears in their eyes! I wouldn’t ever play with them again-”
“Yes,” interrupted Jamie, “and I’ll wager you another two bits. I’ll wager you two bits that inside of a week they’ll come and ask you to play with them again!”
Jean Meredith stuffed the tail of her shirt inside the band of her breeches. The simper that she marshalled on her smeary, teary face was something exquisite. Her body bent in a curve. The index finger of her left hand lightly touched her lower lip. With the right hand she flicked a chunk of adobe that was not in the least imaginary from the left shoulder.
“Aw, thanks!” she said with the most flapperish of flapper accents. “Aw, thanks, my deah boys! You are chawming, simply chawming, but I have outgrown you. I’ve graduated from small folks to a higher class. Kindly amuse yourselves by eating my dust when I ride by on my own horse!”
Suddenly the exquisite flapper became the little Scout again.
“Jamie, is my horse a he horse or a she horse?”
“There are two or three,” said Jamie. “I haven’t settled definitely. There are two or three I am going to lead you to. I’d like to see if you like the one best that I like best. In any event, you may have the one you want.” “All right,” said Jean. “All right. What I was thinking about was that if my horse is he, I am going to name him Chief, and if she’s she, I’m going to name her Swallow, and whichever one it is I am going to get there on it, no matter if it’s straight up a mountain-side or right into the ocean. My horse and me are going to swim same as we are going to ride!”
“All right,” said Jamie, reaching a hand that was instantly accepted, “let’s go!”
When Jean was properly dressed and they were settled on their car headed toward the corral where Jamie had learned there were riding horses being sold several miles farther down the beach, Jamie again broached the subject of horse.
“Jean,” he said, “have you any very definite idea in your head as to exactly what kind of a horse you want?” Obliquely Jamie was watching. He saw a slightly sullen look, a slight stiffening of the figure, and he knew, what it meant. There was a minute or two of silence and then, instead of an answer to his question, there came a question on a different subject.
“Ain’t you ever going to call me ‘Little Scout’ any more?”
Jamie thought hard and fast.
“No,” he said, “I’m not. Not ever again. I’m going to call you by your name after this. It’s a perfectly good name and one that I like very much. It’s Scot, and so am I, at heart. So far as I am concerned, you are done masquerading. The rest of the way, when you are with me, you are going to be what you are. You lay pretty stiff stress on people playing the game square in this world. You’ve gotten away with it in a good many instances all right so far, but from now on you’re getting big enough that you’ll strike some pretty unpleasant things if you undertake to keep on masquerading.”
“Do you mean that you don’t want me to wear breeches any more around you?”
“Why, no, foolish!” said Jamie. “I think breeches are the thing for you to wear when you work in the garden and ride, and during play hours, and when you are exercising. What I want you to do is to stop playing with the boys and learn how fine your own sex can be. You needn’t think you are the only girl in the world that likes to ride a horse or to climb or to be outdoors or to command a Scout company. I want you to get on your own side of the line, where you belong.”
Jean thought that over carefully as was her custom. Then she said slowly but in more cheerful tones: “Well, maybe you’re right about it, but you’ll have to show me!” “All right,” said Jamie, “I’ll show you! The first thing we’re going to do is to head right straight for a number I have here in this pocket. We are going to join you up to a Girl Scout camp and I am going to be your escort to a meeting once a week. If they won’t let me inside, I’ll hang around outside until you get through, but you needn’t tell me that any girl joins a Girl Scout camp without being the kind of a girl who likes to swim and paddle a canoe and ride a horse and be out-of-doors. And you needn’t tell me that among the number of girls it would take to form a camp there aren’t going to be at least two or three that are going to be nice-looking girls, and nicely behaved girls, girls of good families, girls with whom your mother would be glad to have you associate.”
“All right,” said Jean. “We’ll play ‘Follow My Leader.’ You set the pace and I’ll be right after you.” They had no difficulty whatever in finding the number of a secretary who gladly registered Jean Meredith, furnished the necessary cards and equipment, and Jamie paid the bills. When they were once more on the car and headed for the corral, Jean looked at him.
“Jamie,” she said, “that was a good deal of money you paid there. I didn’t see how much, but it was more than you must pay for me. You must take it out of my share of the next sale of honey. I’ll tell Dad that you did.”
“Never you mind about that,” said Jamie. “Your father and I will attend to the finances. You needn’t fret about my spending a little money on you, because I haven’t started to spend money yet. There are two more things I’m going to do before this day is over. Both of them are going to cost me some money, and it will be the easiest money that I ever spent, because, if you hadn’t gotten my inheritance back for me, I wouldn’t have had any money to spend on anything, with the exception of what I’ve saved out of my earnings this summer. If it hadn’t been for you, it wouldn’t have taken me very long to be down to bed rock financially, and with little Jamie on my hands in the bargain. So, if I can accept my east acre with all there is on it from you, you can take what I want to give you today without making any objections concerning it, can’t you?”
“I sure can,” said Jean, and the twinkle that Jamie knew crept into her eyes. “You said two things. What other thing besides a horse?”
“We’ll stop right here and you will see,” said Jamie. Again they left the street car and this time Jean was led into a tailor shop where she was measured for a proper pair of girl’s riding breeches and two coats, one having sleeves and one having none, both of them having fitted bodies and skirts with a bit of a flare and nifty pockets.
The garments were to be made from a lovely soft blue-gray cloth very nearly the color of the eyes of the youngster who was to wear them. Then from displayed accessories Jamie selected two silk shirts and a blue and gray tie, and handkerchiefs with borders to match the shirts. Little squeals of delight greeted the fitting of a pair of gray boots with soft folds around the ankles and stiff tops and gloves with cuffs to match them. Jean looked dubiously at the gloves. She wiggled her fingers and told the truth.
“It seems a pity for you to spend money on them. I bet a dollar I lose them the first time I start out with them.”
“I don’t think that would be showing me much consideration,” said Jamie, “to value the first gift I ever made you so lightly that you would lose it. I could do better than that with them, if you made me a present of a pair of gloves.”
“Well, you’ve got a lot of pockets,” said Jean.
“You’re going to have pockets, too,” answered Jamie, and turning to the smiling tailor, he ordered: “You’re to put inside pockets in those coats, and left breast pockets on the outside, and plenty of pockets in the breeches. We don’t want to give this young lady any chance to lose her handkerchiefs and gloves.”
As they left the store, Jamie said: “Now, we’ve done a fair job of getting the cart before the horse. We’ve bought the accessories. Now we’ll buy the horse, and after we select the horse, we’ll go to a leather shop and buy a saddle and a sporty riding crop.”
Jean shook her head.
“Don’t spend money on a whip,” she said. “I don’t use ’em! I guide my horse with my hands.”
“Nevertheless, young lady,” said Jamie, “there are times when the life of any rider is in danger who is not armed with a good, sharp whip. If a horse becomes terrified on the mountains and starts to back over a cliff that would land you in Kingdom Come, and you had in your hand a good, stout whip and could lay on a few cuts that would sting sharply, you might succeed in making that horse forget its fright and carry you forward.” “That’s so, too,” agreed Jean, instantly. “I didn’t think about that because I haven’t ever ridden much where there was real danger. Queen and I have climbed the mountains some, but Queen has too much sense to back on a body.”
“I never bank on how much sense a horse has,” said Jamie, “because if something comes rolling out unexpectedly and terrifies it so that it jumps for self-protection, the damage is done before a horse really knows what has happened. You are never safe on the back of a real horse without a good, stout whip. It is a part of the necessary equipment, and whatever your theory of loving kindness may be, there are some creatures in this world that you cannot manage except by force when they are frightened.” “Just like Miss Worthington,” commented Jean. “And I tell you it got my goat to call her ‘Worthington’ ’cause I happened to know that her name was Young, just plain, red-haired, snub-nosed, frecklefaced Young. I never did see anybody that I couldn’t bear quite so hard as that ’Kiddo’ person. It wasn’t so easy to do it, but I’ll tell the world, she got what was coming to her, and I might strike another case just like her. You get the whip!”
When they arrived at the corral, Jamie went around to the gate. He knew so well where the gate was that Jean realized that he had been there before and she realized, too, that the men who came to meet him were acquainted with him.
Jamie spoke to them and said: “I want you to become acquainted with Miss Jean Meredith, and I’d like to have you show her the three horses that I looked at the other day.”
Jean stood entranced as three horses were led before her. They were really ponies, animals the right proportion for her to ride and look well on, and that she would have strength to make obey her will.
“Now, one at a time we will saddle these,” said Jamie, “and you may put in two or three hours riding them. You can try them over and over until you discover which one has the gait that suits you. I’ve looked them over very carefully. They are all of reasonable age; they are all in good condition. There is very little difference in the price.”
Then Jamie realized that he was talking to the air. Jean was not hearing a word he was saying. She was standing before the three horses, staring at them. Slowly she went up to the first one and pulled down its head. She ran her hand over its forehead. She looked deep into its eyes. She drew its ear through her hands. Then she slipped her left hand under the chin and with the right parted the lips and looked at the teeth. Then she went around the side and down the neck and over the chest and down the fore legs. She got the spine line in perspective and looked at the sides and the flanks and the tail, around and over. As a surgeon searches for a hidden disease, the youngster examined those horses, and Jamie realized suddenly that she knew more about horses than he did. She was looking for points that he had not thought about. He stood back in amusement and watched her examine the three horses minutely. When she had finished, she stepped out in front of them.
