Big Brother Page 3

to take him. So they could betogether for a while, and virtually they would always remain in thesame family.

  Mr. Dearborn was known to be such an upright, reliable man, sogenerous and kind-hearted in all his dealings, that it was decided toaccept his offer.

  "Do they go much farther?" asked the interested listener, when he hadtold her all he knew of the desolate little pilgrims.

  "Only a few miles the other side of Kenton," he answered.

  "Why, Kenton is where I live," she exclaimed. "I am glad it will be sonear." Then as he passed on she thought to herself, "It would be cruelto separate them. I never saw such devotion as that of the older boy."His feet could not reach the floor, but he sat up uncomfortably on thehigh seat, holding Robin in his lap. The curly head rested heavily onhis shoulder, and his arms ached with their burden, but he never movedexcept to brush away the flies, or fan the flushed face of the littlesleeper with his hat.

  Something in the tired face, the large appealing eyes, and the droopof the sensitive mouth, touched her deeply. She crossed the aisle andsat down by him.

  "Here, lay him on the seat," she said, bending forward to arrange hershawl for a pillow.

  He shook his head. "Robin likes best for me to hold him."

  "But he will be cooler and so much more comfortable," she urged.Taking the child from his unwilling arms, she stretched him fulllength on the improvised bed.

  Involuntarily the boy drew a deep sigh of relief, and leaned back inthe corner.

  "Are you very tired?" she asked. "I have not seen you playing with theother children."

  "Yes'm," he answered. "We've come such a long way. I have to amuseRobin all the time he's awake, or he'll cry to go back home."

  "Where was your home?" she asked kindly. "Tell me about it."

  He glanced up at her, and with a child's quick instinct knew that hehad found a friend. The tears that he had been bravely holding backall the afternoon for Robin's sake could no longer be restrained. Hesat for a minute trying to wink them away. Then he laid his headwearily down on the window sill and gave way to his grief with greatchoking sobs.

  She put her arm around him and drew his head down on her shoulder. Atfirst the caressing touch of her fingers, as they gently stroked hishair, made the tears flow faster. Then he grew quieter after a while,and only sobbed at long intervals as he answered her questions.

  His name was Steven, he said. He knew nothing of the home to which hewas being taken, nor did he care, if he could only be allowed to staywith Robin. He told her of the little white cottage in New Jersey,where they had lived, of the peach-trees that bloomed around thehouse, of the beehive in the garden.

  He had brooded over the recollection of his lost home so long insilence that now it somehow comforted him to talk about it to thissympathetic listener.

  Soothed by her soft hand smoothing his hair, and exhausted by the heatand his violent grief, he fell asleep at last. It was almost dark whenhe awoke and sat up.

  "I must leave you at the next station," Mrs. Estel said, "but you aregoing only a few miles farther. Maybe I shall see you again some day."She left him to fasten her shawl-strap, but presently came back,bringing a beautifully illustrated story-book that she had bought forthe little daughter at home.

  "Here, Steven," she said, handing it to him. "I have written my nameand address on the fly-leaf. If you ever need a friend, dear, or arein trouble of any kind, let me know and I will help you."

  He had known her only a few hours, yet, when she kissed him good-byand the train went whirling on again, he felt that he had left hislast friend behind him.

  When one is a child a month is a long time. Grandfathers say, "Thathappened over seventy years ago, but it seems just like yesterday."Grandchildren say, "Why, it was only yesterday we did that, but somuch has happened since that it seems such a great while!"

  One summer day can stretch out like a lifetime at life's beginning. Itis only at threescore and ten that we liken it to a weaver's shuttle.

  It was in July when old John Dearborn drove to the station to meet thechildren. Now the white August lilies were standing up sweet and tallby the garden fence.

  "Seems like we've been here 'most always," said Steven as they rustledaround in the hay hunting eggs. His face had lost its expression ofsadness, so pathetic in a child, as day after day Robin's little feetpattered through the old homestead, and no one came to take him away.

  Active outdoor life had put color in his face and energy into hismovements. Mr. Dearborn and his wife were not exacting in theirdemands, although they found plenty for him to do. The work was allnew and pleasant, and Robin was with him everywhere. When he fed theturkeys, when he picked up chips, when he drove the cows to pasture,or gathered the vegetables for market, Robin followed him everywhere,like a happy, dancing shadow.

  Then when the work was done there were the kittens in the barn and theswing in the apple-tree. A pond in the pasture sailed their shingleboats. A pile of sand, left from building the new ice-house,furnished material for innumerable forts and castles. There was asunny field and a green, leafy orchard. How could they _help but behappy?_ It was summer time and they were together.

  Steven's was more than a brotherly devotion. It was with almost thetenderness of mother-love that he watched the shining curls dancingdown the walk as Robin chased the toads through the garden or playedhide-and-seek with the butterflies.

  "No, the little fellow's scarcely a mite of trouble," Mrs. Dearbornwould say to the neighbors sometimes when they inquired. "Steven isreal handy about dressing him and taking care of him, so I just leaveit mostly to him."

  Mrs. Dearborn was not a very observing woman or she would have seenwhy he "was scarcely a mite of trouble." If there was never a crumbleft on the doorstep where Robin sat to eat his lunch, it was becauseBig Brother's careful fingers had picked up every one. If she neverfound any tracks of little bare feet on the freshly scrubbed kitchenfloor, it was because his watchful eyes had spied them first, and hehad wiped away every trace.

  He had an instinctive feeling that if he would keep Robin with him hemust not let any one feel that he was a care or annoyance. So he neverrelaxed his watchfulness in the daytime, and slept with one arm thrownacross him at night.

  Sometimes, after supper, when it was too late to go outdoors again,the restless little feet kicked thoughtlessly against the furniture,or the meddlesome fingers made Mrs. Dearborn look at him warninglyover her spectacles and shake her head.

  Sometimes the shrill little voice, with its unceasing questions,seemed to annoy the old farmer as he dozed over his weekly newspaperbeside the lamp. Then, if it was too early to go to bed, Steven wouldcoax him over in a corner to look at the book that Mrs. Estel hadgiven him, explaining each picture in a low voice that could notdisturb the deaf old couple.

  It was at these times that the old feeling of loneliness came back sooverwhelmingly. Grandpa and Grandma, as they called them, were kind intheir way, but even to their own children they had beenundemonstrative and cold. Often in the evenings they seemed to draw soentirely within themselves, she with her knitting and he with hispaper or accounts, that Steven felt shut out, and apart. "Just thestrangers within thy gates," he sometimes thought to himself. He hadheard that expression a long time ago, and it often came back to him.Then he would put his arm around Robin and hug him up close, feelingthat the world was so big and lonesome, and that he had no one else tocare for but him.

  Sometimes he took him up early to the little room under the roof, and,lying on the side of the bed, made up more marvellous stories than anythe book contained.

  Often they drew the big wooden rocking-chair close to the window, and,sitting with their arms around each other, looked out on the moonlitstillness of the summer night. Then, with their eyes turned starward,they talked of the far country beyond; for Steven tried to keepundimmed in Robin's baby memory a living picture of the father andmother he was so soon forgetting.

  "Don't you remember," he would say, "how papa used to come home in theevenin
g and take us both on his knees, and sing 'Kingdom Coming' tous? And how mamma laughed and called him a big boy when he got down onthe floor and played circus with us?

  "And don't you remember how we helped mamma make cherry pie for dinnerone day? You were on the doorstep with some dough in your hands, and agreedy old hen came up and gobbled it right out of your fingers."

  Robin would laugh out gleefully at each fresh reminiscence, and thensay: "Tell some more r'members, Big Brother!" And so Big Brother wouldgo on until a curly head drooped over on his shoulder and a sleepyvoice yawned "Sand-man's a-comin'."

  The hands that undressed him were as patient and deft as a woman's. Hemissed no care or tenderness.

  When he knelt down in his white gown, just where the patch ofmoonlight lay on the floor, his chubby hands crossed on Big Brother'sknee, there was a gentle touch of caressing fingers on his curls ashis sleepy voice repeated the evening prayer the far away mother hadtaught them.

  There was always one ceremony that had to be faithfully performed, nomatter how sleepy he might be. The black dancing bear had always to beput to bed in a cracker box and covered with a piece of red flannel.

  One night he looked up gravely as he folded it around his treasure andsaid, "Robin tucks ze black dancin' bear in bed, an' Big Brother tucksin Robin. Who puts Big Brother to bed?"

  "Nobody, now," answered Steven with a quivering lip, for his child'sheart ached many a night for the lullaby and bedtime petting he sosorely missed.

  "Gramma Deebun do it?" suggested Robin quickly.

  "No: Grandma Dearborn has the rheumatism. She couldn't walkup-stairs."

  "She got ze wizzim-tizzim," echoed Robin solemnly. Then his facelighted up with a happy thought. "Nev' mind; Robin'll put Big Brotherto bed _all_ ze nights when he's a man." And Big Brother kissed thesweet mouth and was comforted.

  During the summer Mr. Dearborn drove to town with fresh marketingevery morning, starting early in order to get home by noon. Saturdayshe took Steven with him, for that was the day he supplied his buttercustomers.

  The first time the boy made the trip he carried Mrs. Estel's addressin his pocket, which he had carefully copied from the fly-leaf of thebook she had given him. Although he had not the remotest expectationof seeing her, there was a sense of companionship in the mere thoughtthat she was in the same town with him.

  He watched the lamp-posts carefully as they went along, spelling outthe names of the streets. All of a sudden his heart gave a bound. Theyhad turned a corner and were driving along Fourth Avenue. He took theslip of paper from his pocket. Yes, he was right. That was the name ofthe street. Then he began to watch for the numbers. 200, 300, 400;they passed on several more blocks. Mr. Dearborn drove up to thepavement and handed him the reins to hold, while he took the crock ofbutter into the house. Steven glanced up at the number. It was 812.Then the next one--no, the one after that--must be the place.

  It was a large, elegant house, handsomer than any they had passed onthe avenue. As long as it was in sight Steven strained his eyes for abackward look, but saw no one.

  Week after week he watched and waited, but the blinds were alwaysclosed, and he saw no signs of life about the place. Then one day hesaw a carriage stop at the gate. A lady all in black stepped out andwalked slowly towards the house. Her long, heavy veil hid her face,but he thought he recognized her. He was almost sure it was Mrs.Estel. He could hardly resist the inclination to run after her andspeak to her; but while he hesitated the great hall door swung backand shut her from sight. He wondered what great trouble had come toher that she should be dressed in deep black.

  The hope of seeing her was the only thing about his weekly trips totown that he anticipated with any pleasure. It nearly always happenedthat some time during the morning while he was gone Robin got intotrouble. Nobody seemed to think that the reason the child was usuallyso good was due largely to Steven's keeping him happily employed. Healways tried to contrive something to keep him busy part of themorning; but Robin found no pleasure very long in solitary pursuits,and soon abandoned them.

  Once he took a ball of yarn from the darning-basket to roll after thewhite kitten. He did not mean to be mischievous any more than thewhite kitten did, but the ball was part of Grandma Dearborn's knittingwork. When she found the needles pulled out and the stitches dropped,she scolded him sharply. All her children had been grown up so longshe had quite forgotten how to make allowances for things of thatsort.

  There was a basket of stiff, highly colored wax fruit on themarble-topped table in the parlor. Miss Barbara Dearborn had made itat boarding-school and presented it to her sister-in-law many yearsbefore. How Robin ever managed to lift off the glass case withoutbreaking it no one ever knew. That he had done so was evident, for inevery waxen red-cheeked pear and slab-sided apple were the prints ofhis sharp little teeth. It seemed little short of sacrilege to Mrs.Dearborn, whose own children had regarded it for years from anadmiring distance, fearing to lay unlawful fingers even on the glasscase that protected such a work of art.

  He dropped a big white china button into the cake dough when Molly,"the help," had her back turned. It was all ready to be baked, and sheunsuspectingly whisked the pan into the oven. Company came to tea,and Grandpa Dearborn happened to take the slice of cake that had thebutton in it. Manlike, he called everyone's attention to it, and hiswife was deeply mortified.

  He left the pasture gate open so that the calves got into the garden.He broke Grandpa Dearborn's shaving-mug, and spilled the lather allover himself and the lavender bows of the best pin-cushion. He untieda bag that had been left in the window to sun, to see what made itfeel so soft inside. It was a bag of feathers saved from the pickingsof many geese. He was considerably startled when the down flew in alldirections, sticking to carpet and curtains, and making Molly muchextra work on the busiest day in the week.

  But the worst time was when Steven came home to find him sitting in acorner, crying bitterly, one hand tied to his chair. He had been putthere for punishment. It seemed that busy morning that everything hetouched made trouble for somebody. At last his exploring littlefingers found the plug of the patent churn. The next minute he was awoebegone spectacle, with the fresh buttermilk pouring down on him,and spreading in creamy rivers all over the dairy floor.

  These weekly trips were times of great anxiety for Steven. He neverknew what fresh trouble might greet him on his return.

  One day they sold out much earlier than usual. It was only eleveno'clock when they reached home. Grandma Dearborn was busy preparingdinner. Robin was not in sight. As soon as Steven had helped tounhitch the horses he ran into the house to look for him. There was noanswer to his repeated calls. He searched all over the garden,thinking maybe the child was hiding from him and might jump out anymoment from behind a tree.

  He was beginning to feel alarmed when he saw two little bare feetslowly waving back and forth above the tall orchard grass. He slippedover the fence and noiselessly along under the apple-trees. Robin waslying on his stomach watching something on the ground so intently thatsometimes the bare feet forgot to wave over his back and were held upmotionless.

  With one hand he was pulling along at a snail's pace a green leaf, onwhich a dead bumble-bee lay in state. With the other he was keeping inorder a funeral procession of caterpillars. It was a motley crowd ofmourners that the energetic forefinger urged along the line of march.He had evidently collected them from many quarters,--little greenworms that spun down from the apple boughs overhead; big furry browncaterpillars that had hurried along the honeysuckle trellis to escapehis fat fingers; spotted ones and striped ones; horned and smooth.They all straggled along, each one travelling his own gait, each onebent on going a different direction, but all kept in line by thatshort determined forefinger.

  Steven laughed so suddenly that the little master of ceremonies jumpedup and turned a startled face towards him. Then he saw that there weretraces of tears on the dimpled face and one eye was swollen nearlyshut.

  "O Robin! what is it now?" he c
ried in distress. "How did you hurtyourself so dreadfully?"

  "Ole bumble!" answered Robin, pointing to the leaf. "He flied in zekitchen an' sat down in ze apple peelin's. I jus' poked him, nen heflied up and bit me. He's dead now," he added triumphantly. "Grammakilled him. See all ze cattow-pillows walkin' in ze p'cession?"

  So the days slipped by in the old farmhouse. Frost nipped the gardens,and summer vanished entirely from orchard and field. The happyoutdoor life was at an end, and Robin was like a caged squirrel.Steven had his hands full keeping him amused and out of the way.

  "Well, my lad, isn't it about time for you to be starting to school?"Mr. Dearborn would ask occasionally. "You know I agreed to send youevery winter, and I must live up to my promises."

  But Steven made first one pretext and then another for delay. He knewhe could not take Robin with him. He knew, too, how restless andtroublesome the child would become if left at home all day.

  So he could not help feeling glad when Molly went home on a visit,and Grandma Dearborn said her rheumatism was so bad that she neededhis help. True, he had all sorts of tasks that he heartilydespised,--washing dishes, kneading dough, sweeping and dusting,--allunder the critical old lady's exacting supervision. But he preferredeven that to being sent off to school alone every day.

  One evening, just about sundown, he was out in the corncrib, shellingcorn for the large flock of turkeys they were fattening for market. Heheard Grandma Dearborn go into the barn, where her husband wasmilking. They