RANNIE KIRSTED
Observing the monotonously proper behavior of the sun, man had an absurd idea and invented Time. Becoming still more absurd, man said, "So much shall be a day; such and such shall be a week. All weeks shall be the same length." Yet every baby knows better! How long for Johnnie Watson, for Joe Bullitt, for Wallace Banks--how long for William Sylva.n.u.s Baxter was the last week of Miss Pratt? No one can answer. How long was that week for Mr. Parcher? Again the mind is staggered.
Many people, of course, considered it to be a week of average size.
Among these was Jane.
Throughout seven days which brought some tense moments to the Baxter household, Jane remained calm; and she was still calm upon the eighth morning as she stood in the front yard of her own place of residence, gazing steadily across the street. The object of her grave attention was an ample brick house, newly painted white after repairs and enlargements so inspiring to Jane"s faculty for suggesting better ways of doing things, that the workmen had learned to address her, with a slight bitterness, as "Madam President."
Throughout the process of repair, and until the very last of the painting, Jane had considered this house to be as much her property as anybody"s; for children regard as ownerless all vacant houses and all houses in course of construction or radical alteration. Nothing short of furniture--intimate furniture in considerable quant.i.ty--hints that the public is not expected. However, such a hint, or warning, was conveyed to Jane this morning, for two "express wagons" were standing at the curb with their backs impolitely toward the brick house; and powerful-voiced men went surging to and fro under fat arm-chairs, mahogany tables, disarticulated bedsteads, and baskets of china and gla.s.sware; while a hara.s.sed lady appeared in the outer doorway, from time to time, with gestures of lamentation and entreaty. Upon the sidewalk, between the wagons and the gate, was a broad wet spot, vaguely circular, with a partial circ.u.mference of broken gla.s.s and extinct goldfish.
Jane was forced to conclude that the brick house did belong to somebody, after all. Wherefore, she remained in her own yard, a steadfast spectator, taking nourishment into her system at regular intervals.
This was beautifully automatic: in each hand she held a slice of bread, freely plastered over with b.u.t.ter, apple sauce, and powdered sugar; and when she had taken somewhat from the right hand, that hand slowly descended with its burden, while, simultaneously, the left began to rise, reaching the level of her mouth precisely at the moment when a little wave pa.s.sed down her neck, indicating that the route was clear.
Then, having made delivery, the left hand sank, while the right began to rise again. And, so well had custom trained Jane"s members, never once did she glance toward either of these faithful hands or the food that it supported; her gaze was all the while free to remain upon the house across the way and the great doings before it.
After a while, something made her wide eyes grow wider almost to their utmost. Nay, the event was of that importance her mechanical hands ceased to move and stopped stock-still, the right half-way up, the left half-way down, as if because of sudden motor trouble within Jane. Her mouth was equally affected, remaining open at a visible crisis in the performance of its duty. These were the tokens of her agitation upon beholding the removal of a dolls" house from one of the wagons. This dolls" house was at least five feet high, of proportionate breadth and depths the customary absence of a facade disclosing an interior of four luxurious floors, with stairways, fireplaces, and wall-paper. Here was a mansion wherein doll-d.u.c.h.esses, no less, must dwell.
Straightway, a little girl ran out of the open doorway of the brick house and, with a self-importance concentrated to the point of shrewishness, began to give orders concerning the disposal of her personal property, which included (as she made clear) not only the dolls" mansion, but also three dolls" trunks and a packing-case of fair size. She was a thin little girl, perhaps half a year younger than Jane; and she was as soiled, particularly in respect to hands, brow, chin, and the knees of white stockings, as could be expected of any busybodyish person of nine or ten whose mother is house-moving. But she was gifted--if we choose to put the matter in the hopeful, sweeter way--she was gifted with an unusually loud and shrill voice, and she made herself heard over the strong-voiced men to such emphatic effect that one of the latter, with the dolls" mansion upon his back, paused in the gateway to acquaint her with his opinion that of all the bossy little girls he had ever seen, heard, or heard of, she was the bossiest.
"THE worst!" he added.
The little girl across the street was of course instantly aware of Jane, though she pretended not to be; and from the first her self-importance was in large part a.s.sumed for the benefit of the observer. After a momentary silence, due to her failure to think of any proper response to the workman who so pointedly criticized her, she resumed the peremptory direction of her affairs. She ran in and out of the house, her brow dark with frowns, her shoulders elevated; and by every means at her disposal she urged her audience to behold the frightful responsibilities of one who must keep a thousand things in her head at once, and yet be ready for decisive action at any instant.
There may have been one weakness in this strong performance: the artistic sincerity of it was a little discredited by the increasing frequency with which the artist took note of her effect. During each of her most impressive moments, she flashed, from the far corner of her eye, two questions at Jane: "How about THAT one? Are you still watching Me?"
Then, apparently in the very midst of her cares, she suddenly and without warning ceased to boss, walked out into the street, halted, and stared frankly at Jane.
Jane had begun her automatic feeding again. She continued it, meanwhile seriously returning the stare of the new neighbor. For several minutes this mutual calm and inoffensive gaze was protracted; then Jane, after swallowing the last morsel of her supplies, turned her head away and looked at a tree. The little girl, into whose eyes some wistfulness had crept, also turned her head and looked at a tree. After a while, she advanced to the curb on Jane"s side of the street, and, swinging her right foot, allowed it to kick the curbstone repeatedly.
Jane came out to the sidewalk and began to kick one of the fence-pickets.
"You see that ole fatty?" asked the little girl, pointing to one of the workmen, thus sufficiently identified.
"Yes."
"That"s the one broke the goldfish," said the little girl. There was a pause during which she continued to scuff the curbstone with her shoe, Jane likewise scuffing the fence-picket. "I"m goin" to have papa get him arrested," added the stranger.
"My papa got two men arrested once," Jane said, calmly. "Two or three."
The little girl"s eyes, wandering upward, took note of Jane"s papa"s house, and of a fierce young gentleman framed in an open window up-stairs. He was seated, wore ink upon his forehead, and tapped his teeth with a red penholder.
"Who is that?" she asked.
"It"s Willie."
"Is it your papa?"
"NO-O-O-O!" Jane exclaimed. "It"s WILLIE!"
"Oh," said the little girl, apparently satisfied.
Each now scuffed less energetically with her shoe; feet slowed down; so did conversation, and, for a time, Jane and the stranger wrapped themselves in stillness, though there may have been some silent communing between them. Then the new neighbor placed her feet far apart and leaned backward upon nothing, curving her front outward and her remarkably flexible spine inward until a profile view of her was grandly semicircular.
Jane watched her attentively, but without comment. However, no one could have doubted that the processes of acquaintance were progressing favorably.
"Let"s go in our yard," said Jane.
The little girl straightened herself with a slight gasp, and accepted the invitation. Side by side, the two pa.s.sed through the open gate, walked gravely forth upon the lawn, and halted, as by common consent.
Jane thereupon placed her feet wide apart and leaned backward upon nothing, attempting the feat in contortion just performed by the stranger.
"Look," she said. "Look at ME!"
But she lacked the other"s genius, lost her balance, and fell. Born persistent, she immediately got to her feet and made fresh efforts.
"No! Look at ME!" the little girl cried, becoming semicircular again.
"This is the way. I call it "puttin" your stummick out o" joint." You haven"t got yours out far enough."
"Yes, I have," said Jane, gasping.
"Well, to do it right, you must WALK that way. As soon as you get your stummick out o" joint, you must begin an" walk. Look! Like this." And the little girl, having achieved a state of such convexity that her braided hair almost touched the ground behind her, walked successfully in that singular att.i.tude.
"I"m walkin"," Jane protested, her face not quite upside down. "Look!
I"M walkin" that way, too. My stummick--"
There came an outraged shout from above, and a fierce countenance, stained with ink, protruded from the window.
"Jane!"
"What?"
"Stop that! Stop putting your stomach out in front of you like that!
It"s disgraceful!"
Both young ladies, looking rather oppressed, resumed the perpendicular.
"Why doesn"t he like it?" the stranger asked in a tone of pure wonder.
"I don"t know," said Jane. "He doesn"t like much of anything. He"s seventeen years old."
After that, the two stared moodily at the ground for a little while, chastened by the severe presence above; then Jane brightened.
"_I_ know!" she exclaimed, cozily. "Let"s play callers. Right here by this bush "ll be my house. You come to call on me, an" we"ll talk about our chuldren. You be Mrs. Smith an" I"m Mrs. Jones." And in the character of a hospitable matron she advanced graciously toward the new neighbor. "Why, my dear Mrs. SMITH, come right IN! I THOUGHT you"d call this morning. I want to tell you about my lovely little daughter. She"s only ten years old, an" says the brightest THINGS! You really must--"
But here Jane interrupted herself abruptly, and, hopping behind the residential bush, peeped over it, not at Mrs. Smith, but at a boy of ten or eleven who was pa.s.sing along the sidewalk. Her expression was gravely interested, somewhat complacent; and Mrs. Smith was not so lacking in perception that she failed to understand how completely--for the time being, at least--calling was suspended.
The boy whistled briskly, "My country, "tis of thee," and though his knowledge of the air failed him when he finished the second line, he was not disheartened, but began at the beginning again, continuing repeatedly after this fashion to offset monotony by patriotism. He whistled loudly; he walked with ostentatious intent to be at some heavy affair in the distance; his ears were red. He looked neither to the right nor to the left.
That is, he looked neither to the right nor to the left until he had pa.s.sed the Baxters" fence. But when he had gone as far as the upper corner of the fence beyond, he turned his head and looked back, without any expression--except that of a whistler--at Jane. And thus, still whistling "My country, "tis of thee," and with blank pink face over his shoulder, he proceeded until he was out of sight.
"Who was that boy?" the new neighbor then inquired.