'Smiles' - Eliot H. Robinson (uplifting books for women .txt) 📗
- Author: Eliot H. Robinson
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Lou advanced, one finger in her mouth, the corners of which were lifting in a shy smile. Sensing the approach of another old friend, Mike bounded out of the doorway where he had lain panting in the shadow, and so energetic was his greeting that the child was very nearly upset by it, although as soon as she could regain her equilibrium she flung her little arms around the roughly coated neck, without a trace of fear.
"Mike's got er broken leg," she announced. The words gave Donald a start until he saw that she was holding out to him her doll, one of whose limbs flapped about in piteous substantiation. "Kin yo' make hit well ergin?"
Examining the injured member, whence the sawdust blood had issued through a deep incision in the cloth, Donald replied seriously, "It will require a rather serious operation, but I guess that I can mend it with the assistance of Nurse Smiles. We will have to sew up the wound and put the leg in splints."
"Hit haint ergoin' ter hurt her much, air hit?" begged Lou, with all the solicitude of a young mother.
"No. We'll give her an anesthetic—something to put her sound asleep—and I guess that she won't know anything about it." Rose joined them laughingly, bringing a threaded needle and some bits of cloth for stuffing and in a few minutes the operation was complete, even to the application of splints, roughly shaped by Donald's jack-knife. Throughout the process the physician explained each step to Rose, who cried as they finished, "Oh, I love to do it. It's lots more fun than book studying or weaving baskets."
"Well, we might have a real lesson in 'first aid' this morning, if Lou can stay and be your little patient. Bring out that roll of bandages again."
What a merry hour they spent, helped by Mike, who insisted in doing his share by licking the patient at every opportunity. The air was so warm that Lou's little dress could be taken off, and as she giggled or screamed with merriment, Donald and Rose treated her for every conceivable fracture, sprain or injury, the former all the while explaining in the simplest language at his command the major facts of human anatomy.
Rose proved to be an astonishingly apt pupil, and after each demonstration insisted on going through both the procedure and explanation alone.
Finally, in the course of demonstrating an unusually intricate piece of bandaging, Donald put his arms about Smiles, the better to guide her hands, and impulsively drew her close against him. He could not see her face, but he perceived that a quick flush mantled her neck and delicately rounded cheek. She moved away hastily, saying in a low voice, "I reckon you oughtn't do like that, Doctor Mac."
"Why, Smiles!" came his response in a hurt tone.
"I don't mean for to hurt you, and of course I cares for you like I used to, but I guess it ain't ... isn't ... just right for you to put your arms around me ... that way now. I'm most grown up now, and ... and ... you're pledged to ... to some one else." During her speech the color had flamed brighter and brighter.
The man was both surprised and chagrined. He realized, of course, that in many respects Rose was indeed, 'most a woman now'—that she was far more mature in certain ways than city-bred girls of the same age; for, while they might be infinitely more sophisticated in worldly ways than she, they are still children, whereas she had already entered into the problems of life and for several years had not only been in full charge of a home, but in intimate touch with the issues of life and death in the little community. Understanding all this, he nevertheless looked upon her as a child because of the childlike simplicity which characterized her still.
"I see," he answered slowly and a little ashamed, then added lightly, "but you have apparently forgotten that you adopted me as a foster-brother this morning."
For a moment she said nothing; then the old misty smile touched her lips, and she replied, "I shor' most forgot that, and it makes it all right. Please, Doctor Mac, don't think that I didn't enjoy for you to do it."
There succeeded another brief, awkward silence. Then Smiles slipped her arm about Donald's neck with frank, childlike affection, and leaned close to him, her young, warm being thrilling his senses, as he full well realized Marion's infrequent embraces never had.
Shocked and distressed by his own emotions, Donald was the first to withdraw his encircling arm, with an intent to continue the lesson. But it was ended.
During the brief interlude Lou had stood regarding the man and girl uncomprehendingly. Now she piped up, "Smiles loves ye er heap, I reckon, doctor man, an' so does I. Ef she don't marry with ye, I'll do hit when I gits bigger."
"My, but I'm a fortunate man to have three fair ladies love me, and I won't forget your promise," Donald laughed merrily.
"But my brother Juddy don't love ye none," said the child, innocently bringing a cloud over the friendly sunshine in her hearers' hearts. Donald looked at Rose uneasily as he answered.
"Oh, I hope he will like me some day. We should be the best of friends, for we both care for the same two dear girls."
"Where is Juddy?" came Smiles' somewhat troubled query.
"Oh, he air away ergin; up in ther mountain."
The shadow deepened on Rose's face and Donald caught the sound of a distressed, "Oh."
"What's the matter?" he asked without special thought.
"It haint ... it isn't anything ... leastwise it isn't anything that I can tell you about, doctor Mac. I ... I just don't like for him to go up there."
A feeling closely akin to jealousy stirred Donald's heart. Did that uncouth young mountaineer really mean something to her after all?
Despite Smiles' ingenuous proffer of a sister's affection, Donald was troubled with an unreasonable dissatisfaction over the course which the events of the morning had taken, and he knew that it was unreasonable, which made it worse. Now he suddenly announced that he guessed he would not wait until the afternoon before going down to Fayville to get his small amount of baggage.
The girl was troubled, also, without knowing just why, and she watched his departure with an unhappy feeling that somehow the changes which the year had made in both their lives had raised a misty barrier between them—intangible, but not easily to be swept away. Furthermore, young as she was, she intuitively sensed that hers was the necessity of reconstructing their friendship on a new foundation, because she was a woman. The man could not do it.
Meanwhile Donald performed his downward journey with none of the lightness of heart which makes a long walk a pleasure, rather than a task. Going down the wooded descent, where the dew still lay wet beneath the heaviest thickets, was not so bad; but, when he had obtained his grip and gun, and started on the back trail, his discomforts commenced. As the main street of the little village changed its character, first to a road and then a cart path through the fields, it grew deep with dust, and, although no air stirred, it seemed to rise, as water does by capillary attraction, until his clothing was saturated and his mouth and nose overlaid with a film of it. Overhead the sky burned, and from the brown fields, which stretched to the wooded base of the mountain, heat waves rose as though the dry earth were panting with visible breath. An insect chirped half-heartedly in the grass, and then left off as though the effort were too great, and a small striped snake leisurely wove a sinuous path through the dust ahead of him, and vanished with a faint hiss.
It was better when he struck the woods, for there was shade; but the air was more sultry and the added exertion of climbing started the perspiration and turned the coating of dust to sticky grime. Still the breeze delayed, and the fragrant odors of the woods were cloying. His luggage grew heavier and yet more heavy; his arm and back began to ache painfully.
When physical discomfort is accompanied by morose introspection, the result is certain to be unpleasant, and Donald's thoughts were in dismal grays and browns, which ill-matched the radiant colors of external nature.
Certainly Smiles was not to blame, he thought, as he trudged up and up. The fact still remained that they lived on utterly different planes, and that he had not the slightest idea of falling in love with her, or, even mentally, violating his pledge to Marion. Pshaw, she was nothing but a child! It was foolish, absurdly so, yet somehow he felt that his world was out of joint, and, since he could not, or would not, determine just what the trouble was, he could not take active measures to bring about a readjustment.
With a conscious effort of his will he put the mountain child out of his thoughts, and attempted to analyze his real feelings for the city girl, to whom he was betrothed. He could assign no reason to the vague, but persistent, feeling which frequently possessed him, when he was apart from her, that she was not his natural mate. Her poise and reserve, which sometimes irritated him, he knew to be really virtues, in a way as desirable as they were rare in women, even of her class; her unusual beauty fully satisfied his eye; she was a reigning queen, the desired of many men and he had won her, although he hesitated a little over the word "won." Finally, he was certain that she loved him, after her fashion. Why should he, a man as reserved as he was, and one who had little time to spend on the romantic embellishments of life, ask for more? Yet there was mute rebellion in the depths of his heart, and even the memory of that milestone night, eight months before, when the spirit of Christmastide had added its spell to the influences of life-long propinquity, and they had, almost without spoken words, crossed the border and pledged themselves to one another, brought no thrill.
"I know that she is a wonderful woman, and a real beauty," mused Donald, half aloud. "The trouble must be ... yes, is, with me. She's too wonderful for my simple tastes; that's the truth, as I told Ethel. Oh, well, perhaps I can learn to live up to her ... but I hate this society stuff."
Donald's return to the cabin, weary and uncomfortable in body and mind, found Big Jerry sitting heavily in a chair, with Smiles hovering about, and, from the expression on the face of each, he sensed at once that something was wrong. The old man was saying, somewhat laboriously, "Hit don't pain me ... much, Rose, gal. Hit haint nothin' ... ter mention. I'll jest set still hyar erwhile, an' ..."
As the girl caught sight of Donald's big form in the doorway, her face brightened momentarily; but it clouded again with swift pain when he touched his heart with a significant gesture, accompanied by a questioning look. She nodded, then said aloud, "Here's our Doctor Mac back ergin, grandpappy. I reckon he kin do somethin' fer ter help ye."
The newcomer attempted a cheery laugh, and said, "Well, I'm not much good unless we can turn Time's flight backward, and make
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