Patricia (4 page)

“I do hate to have you little girls going down to that horrible creek alone. Seems to me there might be some nice boys to go down with you,” said Patricia's mother as they started cheerfully off.

The other girls laughed.

“Oh, we don't want any boys!” they said with a knowing wink and a grin at each other. “Anyway, there'll be plenty of people around the creek. The skating is swell!”

“Well, I wish you girls would stay on this upper end of the creek. Don't go down where the whole village is. I hate to have you knocking around with all the loafers of the village!”

Gloria Van Emmons giggled and called rudely from the gate: “Okay, Mrs. Prentiss,” and darted on ahead.

Patricia wondered what her mother would think of such informal address. Most of the girls at the public school would have been more courteous, she thought. But she went on her way, happy to be off skating, though she wasn't especially fond of these girls.

They were halfway down the hill to the landing, where they intended to sit down and put on their skates, when a large snowball struck Patricia's shoulder and another knocked her hat off, while a third smashed into the back of her head and made her so dizzy she lost her balance and toppled over in the snow.

“There they are!” cried Gloria with a giggle. “That's Thorny Bellingham and Terence Gilder with his gang. I knew all the time they were coming, but I didn't want to tell your mother, because I didn't know who Thorny would bring with him. And it's lucky I didn't. Your mother wouldn't have stood for Terence. His father keeps the tavern down at the crossroads, but he's a swell guy; he always brings candy, and he can skate all around anybody else I know. Come on, Pat, be a sport and get up. You don't want them to think you're a softy!”

Patricia sat up and looked back angrily. She hated Thorny! She was almost sure he had been the one who had thrown the last snowball. She felt dazed with the sting of it, and large icy fragments of it were sliding down inside her collar and clipping down her back.

The boys came on with a rush. They were approaching from the direction of the Prentiss house. Patricia suspected that her mother must have had something to do with their coming, or at least with their knowing just where to find the girls.

She struggled to her feet and gave her head a little shake, but she did not smile, nor respond to the noisy greeting of the new arrivals. Instead, she stood at one side to let them pass, indignant scorn upon her, her young eyes flashing.

“Hello, Pitty-Patty, what's eating you?” asked Thorny, leering up into her face. “Want yer face washed, Pitty-Patty?” He stopped and gathered a big handful of snow and rushed down the hill at her as if to carry out his threat.

Patricia in a flash saw what he was about to do and dodged his onslaught so skillfully that Thorny was thrown off his balance and went down the hill, rolling over and over from the unexpected counter and cutting a long jagged gash on the back of his knuckles on a stone as he fell. It was little more than a deep scratch, but it brought the blood and it was painful. Thorny, with a howl, clasped his injured hand and knew not that he was weeping large splashing, furious tears. When the sting of the pain was more bearable, he lifted his voice in words—choice epithets, the worst he had been able to learn so far in his young life—and applied his maimed hand to his mouth. Sucking furiously, he unfolded himself from the earth and made as if he would come toward her again.

Patricia meanwhile stood her ground, her frightened young chin held steadily, haughtily, though it was all she could do to keep her lips from trembling. She had seen enough of Thorny to know that he would stop at nothing to wreak his vengeance upon her.

After a surprised, swift, admiring glance at her, the little audience took up the fight, this time aimed at Thorny.

“Cry-baby, cry! Cry-baby,
cry
!” they hailed him, pointing the finger of scorn, albeit ready to run themselves should Thorny recover his poise too soon.

Thorny turned his bleared anger toward them at once.

“Aw, shut up, you fool kids!” he roared. “I'm not crying. That's just—just—perspiration, that's all!” he said, mopping off his cheeks with his dirty hands. Then, discovering the red streak, “It's just sweat and
blood
!” he shouted. “See
there
!” He hunted out a grubby handkerchief and mopped it over his hands and face and held it forth all bloody. “See what that little old cat did ta me? She's a little devil, she is!”

Patricia was surveying him with contempt, and suddenly Thorny caught her glance and writhed in his naughty young heart. He'd get even with her!

He struggled to his feet and dashed down the hill a few steps to Gloria.

“Come on, Glory. I'll go with
you
! I ain't going ta have anything more to do with that little cat. She's a regular panther-cat, she is. She's a—a—a—a!” He searched his mind for the right adjective to couple with cat.

“
Hellcat!
” he shouted, as Patricia turned and walked with stately tread back up the hill.

The girls were greatly impressed. They giggled.

“Oh, Thorny!” Gloria applauded. It sounded very grown-up and sophisticated to her. “Say it again, Thorny! That'll make her awful mad!” Gloria was ordinarily proud to call herself a friend of Patricia's, but she couldn't resist the temptation to get in with handsome twelve-year-old Thorny who had never looked at her before.

“Say it again, Thorny!” she urged eagerly, grasping his none-too-clean hand fervently.

And Thorny said it again, screamed it, several times, standing halfway down the hill looking back at his former dancing partner as she walked across to the path that led up to her father's house, paying no attention whatever to the epithets that were being flung freely up the hill after her now, amid an admiring audience of her own companions.

Suddenly it grew very still, ominously still down the hill there, but Patricia did not pause, nor waver, nor turn to look. She walked steadily on, swinging her skates by their strap as nonchalantly as if nothing had happened.

Thorny could not have done what happened next if there had not been a worn, beaten path from the top of the hill to the bottom, made by many young feet who had gone that way for the last few days. Quite silently and cautiously, he stole back up that hill after Patricia. Before she was at all aware he was upon her. The little company of admirers who had heard him announce his intention stood below in breathless silence, waiting to see if he could accomplish it.

Deftly, as he reached her side, Thorny leaned forward and snatched the strap of Patricia's skates from her, almost whirling her from her footing. Then he turned and dashed down the hill.

Patricia did not cry out. Instead, she stood there for an instant and gazed after Thorny, appalled. Those were her new skates, a recent gift from her father, the skates she had so longed for, and this was to have been the first time she had worn them since trying them out in company with her father. And now they were in Thorny's power, and there was no telling whether she would ever see them again! Or if she did, whether they would not be broken, dulled, spoiled in some way. He was perfectly capable of it, she was sure, and he would stop at nothing to have vengeance on her.

For just that second's time she surveyed the young hoodlum, and then her firm childish lips set themselves and her eyes flashed fire! That should not happen! Thorny should
not
spoil her lovely skates!

A quick glance around her showed her a handy weapon. A long branch of an oak tree, broken down and flung by the side of the path. There were dried brown leaves still clinging to its twigs, and particles of ice.

With a quick flashing movement like a bird, she swooped and caught it up, then plunged down the hill after Thorny. Her motion as she went was still like a bird in its flight. Her feet scarcely seemed to touch the ground, so swiftly they went. She seemed to have no fear of losing her footing; it was as if she could not fall because she was skimming over the path so fast. It was just like flying.

Suddenly the little audience below looked up and saw her coming. They all stopped and cried out.

“Look out, Thorny! She's coming!” breathed the girls in exquisite fright, backing away from her path.

“Beat it, Thorny! Pat's
coming
! She's got a big stick! Beat it!
Beat
it!”

Thorny dropped the strap he was holding and obeyed. He ran so fast down the hill that, when he reached the bank, he rolled right out on the ice in his haste and had much ado to pick himself up. His adherents scattered widely away from oncoming vengeance, for they all felt they would be more or less involved this time. And it frightened them a little. All of them. For Patricia was a girl whom they respected and admired, even if she did go to the public school. Perhaps that made it still more fearsome to alienate her, because it was rumored that people who went to the public school had all kinds of courage. Besides, Patricia's father had a strong arm when he was angered. Some of them had experienced it.

By the time Patricia had reached her skates, stopped to recover them, and lifted her head again to look across and up and down the creek, there wasn't a hide nor hair of one of them. They had utterly vanished.

She looked steadily for two or three minutes to make sure they were not hiding in the bushes nearby, and then she found a comfortable seat on the bank and sat down to change her shoes. After all, she was out with her skates, why not enjoy them? It was not often she got permission.

It gave her satisfaction to reflect that her mother had schemed to get Thorny along with them, and then it had all been his fault that she had been ill-treated. If her mother could just have seen what happened, maybe,
maybe
she would get over the idea that Thorny was an ideal companion. Perhaps she would tell her mother all about it when she got home. Or would she? Wouldn't her mother just think her child was prejudiced because Thorny didn't go to the public school? Well, perhaps she
wouldn't
tell her mother, but she would surely tell her father. He would understand why she didn't like Thorny.

When Patricia had her skates fastened, she stepped cautiously out upon the ice, keeping her eyes out for a possible ambush of enemies. She skated in a wide circle, nonchalantly, trying the ice, her circle widening until she started up the creek. Should she follow them, or take an opposite direction?

Well, she wasn't sure which way they had gone, they had scattered so quickly. They might have hid in the thick undergrowth and slipped along the bank. They might be anywhere, of course. But she didn't want them to think she was afraid of them. She was, terribly afraid of Thorny. He was ruthless. But he mustn't know it or she would be in his power. If he knew she dreaded him, he would torment her all the more.

She circled around to the place from which she had started and picked up her oak branch. She would take that with her, just in case.

So with the branch held in front of her like a hockey stick, she started skating, her body bending gracefully, making strong quick strokes with her skates, and exulting in the ring of steel on ice.

There were many marks on the ice of skaters who had been here in the middle of the creek, yet Patricia came upon nobody, and she could not be sure whether her companions of a few minutes before were ahead of her or not, or whether they had climbed the hill out of sight and gone down another way. But she held her head high and skated on.

Off in the distance she could hear far voices, laughter, calling, but as she went on up the stream, they grew more and more dim, until at last she could hear nothing.

She knew that today the village people were having some sort of informal contest on the ice, old and young together, and that all her own school companions would be down the other way. But that was the way her mother had forbidden, and Patricia usually tried to mind her mother.

Then suddenly she heard a voice.

“I wouldn't go up that way any farther,” it called. “The ice is weak up there! It isn't safe.”

“Oh!” said Patricia, curving around to look at the speaker. That was John Worth! She smiled shyly.

And then suddenly she heard an ominous crack.

“Come away from there!” cried the boy sharply. “No, not over there. Here, this way! Hand me the other end of that branch,” he commanded.

Patricia could sense the thinness of the ice beneath her skates, and fear possessed her. But she was a courageous little soul and she trusted John Worth. With one hand outstretched, she held out the branch until the boy could grasp it and pull her to safety. Then she lifted a suddenly white face and frightened eyes.

He grasped her mittened hand in his strong one.

“Let's go.”

Patricia glided along by his side, her skates ringing with his, in perfect time.

Patricia had never skated this way before, in step with one her own size. Her father was so much taller that he had had to suit his strokes to hers when he was teaching her. And the girls who had been out with her had been so jerky and uncertain in their movements that she had preferred to go alone. But this was like poetry of motion. The boy was just a little taller than herself, and his strength seemed to guide her and bear her along. This was real teamwork. She was breathless with the delight of it, and her face was wreathed in smiles.

“Where were you going?” the boy asked at last when they were moving along steadily down the middle of the stream. He was looking down at her as if she was something rare and precious, something that it was a privilege to restore to its native environment.

“Why, I started out to skate. I was with some girls, and then some boys came along and were disagreeable. I don't know which way they went. I don't want to find them anyway. I didn't like the way they acted.”

He smiled down upon her as if he might have been somebody very much older than herself.

“Well, if I were you, I wouldn't go any farther up the creek today. Besides the ice being treacherous in some places, there are a lot of bums up that way. I don't think you ought to go up there alone, anyway. I'd go with you if I could, but it's time I went home. My time's up and there's some work I'm supposed to do now.”

Patricia smiled up at him again.

“Oh, that's all right,” she said cheerfully. “I wouldn't want to bother you. I think I'll just go home now. I've had a lovely skate, and there's some homework I must do for school tomorrow.”

“I think perhaps your friends went around the island and down by the village. I thought I saw a bunch of kids going along that way, but I wasn't near enough to identify them. I'd like to help you find them if I could before I leave,” said the boy, with a troubled look.

“But I don't want to find them,” said Patricia earnestly. “I only wanted to know where they were so I could keep away from them. That Thorny Bellingham took my skates and threw them down the hill. I don't want to get anywhere near him again. And besides, I think I ought to go home now.”

John's face looked indignant, and he murmured stormily. “Say, someday I'll get that guy. I'd like to give him what he deserves!”

They glided over the bank near the path that led up to her home. And John Worth knelt down on the ice in front of her and unlaced her skates for her, then helped her on with her shoes and, smiling politely, was about to skate off. But Patricia looked up at him shyly.

“Thank you for being so nice,” she said childishly. “It's been a lot of fun.”

“Oh, that's all right,” said John Worth, embarrassed, “I liked it a lot, too.”

Their eyes met warmly for an instant, and then the boy put on his woolen cap and swung away up the creek.

Patricia stood there for a minute or two watching him. Watching his straight young shoulders, his head held high, his graceful glide on the skates that seemed so much a part of him. What a nice boy he was! How kind he had been! Why couldn't Thorny Bellingham have been like that? She sighed and, picking up her skates, trudged on up the hill.

That was all. She didn't see John Worth again except passing in the hall at school for many months, but the memory of that time she skated with him for ten or fifteen minutes, shyly, almost silently, stayed with her always and became one of the pleasant memories of her childhood.

When her lagging feet had reached her own home, her mother met her at the door with a relieved look.

“Oh, you've got home at last! Well, I'm glad! I've been so worried! Did dear little Thorny find you? He said he would look after you, but I was afraid he would miss you.”

A look of swift anger passed over the little girl's face.

“He found us all right!” she said indignantly. “He threw hard snowballs down the hill and hit the back of my head so it
hurt
!”

“Oh, now, Patricia, don't be a baby!” said her mother impatiently. “You know perfectly well he didn't mean to hit you. He was only trying to have a little fun and surprise you.”

Big tears suddenly welled into Patricia's eyes.

“He was
not
joking!” she cried out indignantly. He
meant
to be horrid! He called me Pitty-Patty, and he knows I hate that. And then he tried to wash my face in the snow. I don't mind when some of them do it, but he's just mean. He never cares how it hurts.”

“What had you been doing to him, Patricia? Answer me that! I'm quite sure you had done something first or Thorny Bellingham would never have been rude to you. Remember, his mother is my best friend and she is bringing him up to be a real little gentleman. Tell me what you had done to him! I'm sure you did something to him first. I can't understand why you have taken a prejudice against a respectable boy!”

“He is not respectable!” said Patricia, stamping her foot, the angry tears coursing hotly down her cheeks. “He is just as mean and sneaking as he can be, and if I hadn't dodged him as he rolled down hill”—Patricia could giggle in triumph now at the memory—“he would have had me down and there's no telling what he would have done.”

“You made Thorny Bellingham roll down the hill? Patricia, you are a naughty girl! To be rude to the boy I sent after you to take care of you! That is terrible!”

“I'm glad I did!” said Patricia. “He was awful! If you'd seen him, you would have known what he is! And then afterward when I started away, he ran behind me and snatched my skates away from me and threw them down the hill into the snow!” Patricia's eyes were snapping angrily now.

“It all sounds to me very babyish for a big girl of ten years old,” said her mother coldly. “And where are they all now, those children you went to the ice with? Where is Thorny?”

“They ran away and left me!” said Patricia with a voice almost as cold as her mother's. And she turned haughtily and stumped sorrowfully up the stairs.

“Stop! Patricia! Stop right where you are!” commanded her mother harshly.

Patricia stopped and looked sadly around.

“You come right downstairs and go out and find those children and bring them back into the house with you. I've got some nice hot cocoa and little cakes and sandwiches ready for you all, and I certainly am going to find out all about this performance. I'm sick of having you act this way about those nice well-brought-up children! Go out there and find them. Go down the street after them if necessary! Only bring them back here! Tell them I have a nice little tea party all ready for them. And if I find that you are at fault, young lady, you certainly are going to apologize to Thorny Bellingham!”

But Patricia stood firmly on the bottom step of the stairs.

“I can't go, Mother. They are gone! They ran off and left me. I followed up the creek after I got my skates on, but they weren't anywhere. And anyway, I can't ever apologize to that bad Thorny! He was awful, and I hate him! I never want to see him again!”

The storm finally ended in Patricia being sent to bed weeping, and later Patricia's mother called up Thorny's mother to say that she was so sorry that the children had had some kind of a misunderstanding and she did hope that dear little Thorny hadn't been hurt. Mrs. Bellingham took it all very sweetly, saying that it was quite all right. Poor Thorny had a few scratches, of course, but they would soon heal up, and she did hope her friend soon would be able to influence her husband to allow their dear little Patricia to go to a respectable school where she wouldn't get such bad examples of sportsmanship and behavior as she was getting in that terrible public school!

Patricia heard a little of the telephone talk, and her sad little heart grew more and more belligerent toward Thorny Bellingham. Why was it that her mother couldn't understand what a bad boy Thorny was? Softly she cried herself to sleep.

Late that evening after his wife had retired, Patricia's father came in and sat by her bed and held her hand. She woke to find him sitting there and to feel the comforting warmth of his hand on hers.

They didn't talk much, for fear of waking Patricia's mother, but Patricia's father asked her all about what had happened and why she hadn't been allowed down at dinner, and she told him brokenly in whispers the whole story, ending with a terse sentence or two of John Worth's part in the tragedy. A well-worded question brought out the whole thing.

Patricia's father patted her and comforted her, and whispered, “Never mind, Father's little Pat! It will all come out right in the end!”

Then he wet a towel and washed her face, dabbed it dry, kissed her, and went downstairs to bring back a lot of nice little sandwiches and a glass of milk. Patricia went to sleep again all comforted and happy.

After that Patricia didn't attempt anymore to tell her mother anything that Thorny had done. It wasn't any use. Her mother would only blame it all on the public school. But Patricia often thought about the wonderful time she had had skating with John Worth and wished that it could happen again sometime.