Hesba Stretton - The Ultimate Christmas Library - 100+ Authors, 200 Novels, Novellas, Stories, Poems and Carols

“No, she ain’t, I tell you.”

“But she started over for here yesterday morning, figgerin’ to spend the day with your Sallie. When she didn’t come back at night my woman an’ me reckoned it snowed so hard you folks wouldn’t let her come.”

“Oh, lawk!” exclaimed Mr. Morton. “They was off yesterday mornin’ just as soon as your Celia got here. Planned it all a forehand— the deceivin’ imps! Said they was goin’ to the Corner. An’ they did! Sam Higgin picked ‘em up there an’ took ’em along to Littleton; an’ when he plowed past here jest at evenin’ through the snow he brought me a note. Hi, Maw, bring in that there letter,” shouted Peleg Morton.

That the two men were greatly disturbed by the running away of their daughters, there could be no doubt. Nan was sorry she and Bess had come over from the train. These people were in serious trouble and she and her chum could not help them.

She drew the wondering Bess toward the door, and whispered: “What do you think, Bess? Can’t we go back to the train alone?”

“What for, Nan?” cried Bess.

“Well, you see, they are in trouble.”

At that moment Mrs. Morton hurried in with a fluttering sheet of paper in her hand. She was a voluminous woman in a stiffly starched house dress, everything about her as clean as a new pin, and a pair of silver-bowed spectacles pushed up to her fast graying hair. She was a wholesome, hearty, motherly looking woman, and Nan Sherwood was attracted to her at first sight.

Even usually unobservant Bess was impressed. “Isn’t she a love ?” she whispered to Nan.

“Poor woman!” Nan responded in the same tone, for there were undried tears on the cheeks of the farmer’s wife.

“Here’s Si, Maw,” said Mr. Morton. “He ain’t been knowin’ about our girl and his Celia runnin’ off, before.”

“How do, Si?” responded Mrs. Morton. “Your wife’ll be scairt ter death, I have no doubt. What’ll become of them foolish girls— Why, Peke! who’s these two young ladies?”

Mr. Morton looked to Mr. Snubbins for an introduction, scratching his head. Mr. Snubbins said, succinctly: “These here gals are from a railroad train that’s snowed under down there in the cut. I expect they air hungry, Miz’ Morton.”

“Goodness me! Is that so?” cried the good woman, bustling forward and jerking her spectacles down astride her nose, the better to see the unexpected guests. “Snowed up— a whole train load, did you say? I declare! Sit down, do. I won’t haf to put any extry plates on the supper table, for I did have it set, hopin’ Sallie an’ Celia would come back,” and the poor mother began to sob openly.

“I vow, Maw! You do beat all. Them gals couldn’t git back home through this snow, if they wanted to. And they likely got to some big town or other,” said Mr. Morton, “before the worst of the blizzard. They’ve got money; the silly little tykes! When they have spent it all, they’ll be glad to come back.”

“Celia will, maybe,” sobbed Mrs. Morton, brokenly. “She ain’t got the determination of our Sallie. She’d starve rather than give in she was beat. We was too ha’sh with her, Paw. I feel we was too ha’sh! And maybe we won’t never see our little gal again,” and the poor lady sat down heavily in the nearest chair, threw her apron over her head, and cried in utter abandon.

Nan Sherwood could not bear to see anybody cry. Her heart had already gone out to the farmer’s wife whose foolish daughter had left home, and to see the good woman sobbing so behind her apron, won every grain of sympathy and pity in Nan’s nature.

“Oh, you poor soul!” cried the girl, hovering over Mrs. Morton, and putting an arm across her broad, plump shoulders. “Don’t cry— don’t, don’t cry! I’m sure the girls will come back. They are foolish to run away; but surely they will be glad to get back to their dear, dear homes.”

“You don’t know my Sallie,” sobbed the woman.

“Oh! but she can’t forget you— of course she can’t,” Nan said. “Why ever did they want to run away from home?”

“Them plagued movin’ picters,” Mr. Snubbins said gruffly, blowing his nose. “I don’t see how I kin tell my woman about Celia.”

“It was that there ‘Rural Beauty’ done it,” Mr. Morton broke in peevishly. “Wish’t I’d never let them film people camp up there on my paster lot and take them picters on my farm. Sallie was jest carried away with it. She acted in that five-reel film, ‘A Rural Beauty.’ And I must say she looked as purty as a peach in it.”

“That’s what they’ve run away for, I bet,” broke in Si Snubbins. “Celia was nigh about crazy to see that picter run off. She was in it, too. Of course, a big drama like that wouldn’t come to the Corner, and I shouldn’t wonder if that’s what took ’em both to the city, first of all. Still,” he added, “I reckon they wanter be actorines, too.”

Bess suppressed a giggle at that, for Si Snubbins was funny, whether intentionally so or not. Nan continued to try to soothe the almost hysterical Mrs. Morton. Mr. Morton said:

“Let’s have that letter, Maw, that Sallie writ and sent back by Sam Higgins from Littleton.”

Mrs. Morton reached out a hand blindly with the paper in it. Nan took it to give to Mr. Morton.

“You read it, Si,” said Mr. Morton. “I ain’t got my specs handy.”

“Neither have I— and I ain’t no hand to read writin’ nohow,” said his neighbor, honestly. “Here, young lady,” to Nan. “Your eyes is better than ourn; you read it out to us.”

Nan did as she was asked, standing beside Mrs. Morton’s chair the while with a hand upon her shoulder:

“’Dear Maw and Paw:—

“’Celia and me have gone to the city and we are going to get jobs with the movies. We know we can— and make good, too. You tell Celia’s Paw and Maw about her going with me. I’ll take care of her. We’ve got plenty money— what with what we earned posing in those pictures in the fall, the Rural Beauty, and all. We will write you from where we are going, and you won’t mind when you know how successful we are and how we are getting regular wages as movie actresses.

“’Good-bye, dear Paw and Maw, and a hundred kisses for Maw from

“’Your daughter,

“’Sallie Morton.

“’P.S.– I won’t be known by my own name in the movies. I’ve picked a real nice sounding one, and so has Celia.’”

“There! You see?” said Mrs. Morton, who had taken the apron down so she could hear Nan the better. “We can’t never trace ’em, because they’ll be going by some silly names. Dear, dear me, Peke! Somethin’ must be done.”

“I dunno what, Maw,” groaned the big man, hopelessly.

“What city have they gone to?” asked Bess, abruptly.

“Why, Miss,” explained Mr. Morton, “they could go to half a dozen cities from Littleton. Of course they didn’t stay there, although Littleton’s a big town.”

“Chicago?” queried Bess.

“Perhaps. But they could get to Detroit, or Indianapolis, or even to Cincinnati.”

“There are more picture making concerns in Chicago,” suggested Nan, quietly, “than in the other cities named, I am sure. And the fare to Chicago is less than to the others.”

“Right you air, Miss!” agreed Si Snubbins. “That’s where them pesky gals have set out for, I ain’t a doubt.”

“And how are we goin’ to get ’em back?” murmured Mr. Morton.

“The good Lord won’t let no harm come to the dears, I hope and pray,” said his wife, wiping her eyes. “Somebody’ll be good to ’em if they get sick or hungry. There! We ain’t showin’ very good manners to our guests, Peke. These girls are off that train where there ain’t a bite to eat, I do suppose; and they must be half starved. Let’s have supper. You pull up a chair, too, Si.”