CHAPTER XIX

MOLLIE AT BAY

"For the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand saying unto thee, 'Fear not; I will help thee.'"--Isaiah xl, 13

Baby Doris was blissfully unaware of danger. She awoke, not with the lark, but with the crowing of the old, dominique rooster under the barn window.

It was dawn. Time for the children to get up and begin their day's work. Mollie hated to rouse them. She knelt for a moment beside the wonder-child that had been so unexpectedly given into her keeping the night before.

"Oh, yo' darlin'--yo' wonderfulest baby!" she exclaimed, softly, pressing one of the dimpled hands against her lips. "I never seed ary thing so pretty in my life!"

It was then the rooster crowed and Doris opened her eyes. They were eyes that danced, twinkled and sparkled all at once. They were brimming over with fun. They beamed coquettishly upon Mollie for an instant, then the rosebud lips parted and there came a sound of laughter like the tinkle of silver bells.

"Muh--Mollie! Muh--Mollie!" the child chirruped, then laughed again in glee over her own cleverness, for Mollie had taught her the words before she went to sleep.

"Oh, yo' doll! Yo' angel!" cried Mollie, cuddling the little one close in an ecstasy of joy. "An' ter think I don't even know yore name!"

Another peal of silvery laughter greeted this statement. Just as if names counted for anything in the life of a baby! Little Doris didn't care that minute whether she had a name or not. She twisted her fingers in the meshes of Mollie's hair and as suddenly released them to throw her arms enthusiastically about her neck. She loved this muh-Mollie. She was glad that dumpy old nurse was gone. She had never liked her, anyway. So she cooed and kicked and wriggled and laughed in the exuberance of her joy.

Mollie was enraptured. "Oh, baby, baby," she cried, "I'd jes' lov ter play wif yo' all day, but ef yo' only knowed--" The girl paused to crush the little one to her as if to protect her from threatened evil.

Know! This beautiful child know the horrors and hardship of the ogre's farm! Never. She must never, never know. To be beaten and made to do hard, dirty work with those beautiful little hands! To be frightened and hungry and punished for nothing and perhaps flung into the bog? Oh, no, no! It must never be. Something must be done to save her. Mollie, herself, must do it. She was old enough, now, and strong enough to do something,--though she did not know what--to save both herself and the children.

With feverish energy she hurried to get the children up and about their tasks. They were all hungry. They had gone supperless to bed. There was nothing to eat that morning save what they could steal from the animals or eat raw in the garden. Mollie contrived, however, to get milk for the baby.

Then another problem presented. This new baby was not weak and passive like little Amy. This baby was robust and mischievous. She wanted to romp and play. She could not be left to her own devices. Someone must be with her every minute. They would have to take turns and they must not let old Grimes catch them idling. It was going to be difficult. Well, everything was difficult. They would just have to manage, that's all.

"Muh-Mollie! Muh-Mollie!"

Doris kept singing the beautiful new words she had learned and chuckling like a little witch each time after their utterance. She felt so clever--so accomplished. And all this wonderful excitement in this strange place! Why, it was entrancing. Children--lots of them--running hither and thither, each one stopping now and then to smother her with kisses or tickle her under the chin, or clap their hands to make her laugh and show her pretty teeth. It really was the best time she had ever had in her life. Once--twice she looked around and called for "Daddy"; but daddy didn't come right away and the next instant Mollie was there, so it was all right. Daddy was probably around somewhere. Anyway, it didn't matter because they were going to play games and Daddy didn't play games. This was a new one. Doris clapped her hands at the spectacle.

The children all ran to a hole in the floor and disappeared into some mysterious depth below. Doris toddled toward the place to see where they went. She wanted to go, too.

It was then Mollie caught her up with a splendid swoop and, taking her in her arms, went right down the hole after the children. Doris squealed with delight and pounded Mollie's head with her pink fists.

"Oh, honey darlin', yo' mustn't," whispered Mollie. "This hain't no place ter laugh. Ef he hyars yo' mebbe he'll make me leave yo' set hyar alone, tied with a string ter sumpin' like he's done afore. Honey, chile, be Mollie's good girl and shut yore eyes tight and keep thet sweet mouf shet til we-uns all git ter th' co'n-field." Mollie smothered the gurgles of laughter against her breast and ran, as fast as her sturdy legs would carry her, toward the field where the other children were already relaxing from the restraint of the loft, where every word might be overheard.

Grimes was not yet out of bed. Ambrose would not come prowling about until after breakfast. Before that repast could be served Mollie must go to the house to help prepare it. For the time being the children were free. The day was unusually warm. The day previous had been filled with especially hard and dirty work. The children had all slept with their clothes on. This morning they looked more than ordinarily wretched. Mollie, scanning them, had an idea.

"How many o' yo' young-uns 'ud like ter git washed?" she asked.

There was a clamor of childish voices and a general rush toward her. The clamor was not loud, like the merry voices heard in a children's play-ground but a subdued, apprehensive babble that could not have been heard beyond the confines of that corn-patch. But every child knew what Mollie's words implied. If they hurried and kept quiet so that no one heard them, there would be time for a quick dash into that beautiful pool where old Walter drank and where the cow-brute loved to stand, soaking her feet and swishing her tail during the heat of the day.

Now, after the heavy storm of the previous night, the pool would be fresh and clean. Mollie had stolen some soap from the house. They would be able to cleanse the scratches and bruises and insect bites that kept them all in misery. The children nearly overwhelmed Mollie in their eagerness to be off. She glanced quickly toward the house, then up at the sun. It was not yet high. There would be time.

"Run, then! Yo'-all go an' git in th' water. I'll be thar en time ter soap yo'," she told them.

The children trooped off. Mollie came more slowly with Doris in her arms and Leathy by the hand.

All too soon their frolic had to cease. But when they returned to the field to hoe those interminable rows of corn they looked very unlike the forlorn band of half-asleep, fretful and bedraggled youngsters that had first assembled.

[Illustration: _Scene from Mary Pickford's Photoplay_. _Sparrows_. "DO YOU MEAN SLEEP HERE AND EAT--AND--EV'RYTHING?"]

Baby Doris thought it a picnic--a glorious adventure that promised new entertainment every minute. Throughout the day Mollie had not the slightest trouble with her new and winsome charge. A bond of sympathy and understanding seemed to exist between them. Each was irresistibly drawn toward the other.

But all day Mollie was thinking of a way of escape. To dig under the fence or to attempt to scale it would be hopeless. The children, even if they once were outside in the road, could not walk or even run fast enough to elude Grimes. And if any were overtaken they would be killed or, at best, treated worse than ever.

No, whatever was undertaken must be accomplished. There must be no failure. No coming back. If they could only take the route followed by the sparrows, thought Mollie. Somewhere, beyond that bog, there was safety--if only they could reach it!

And while the children worked in the corn-field and the police scoured the countryside and Stephen was moaning with fever, Peter Grimes learned what the newspapers had printed regarding the kidnapping.

"Hell's banjers!" he thundered, bringing his great fist down heavily upon the table. "Th' police is a-goin' ter make arrests."

"An' hain't thar goin' ter be no more money?" Maria asked in amazement, not unmixed with consternation.

"Not ef Wayne doan pay thet ransom," growled Peter. "They're aimin' ter recover th' child."

Maria turned and faced him. There are times when even a worm will turn. Maria had been improving in proportion to their financial condition. She wore shoes now and sometimes combed her hair. And she didn't use her snuff dip as constantly as formerly. Maria was getting ambitious.

"I was afeared ter hev yo' hol' thet child," she said.

"Aw, shet up. Yo' didn't know a damned thing about hit."

"I s'picioned hit. En now, ef they come hyar an' git her, they'll git all th' young-uns--"

"Like hell they'll git her! I'll fling her so fur--" He paused and started for the door.

"Yo'-all take keer," warned Maria. "I ben a-tellin' yo' right along yo'll fling one too many in thet bog an--"

Peter paused and fixed his eyes upon her. "Air yo'-all a-goin' ter shet up?" he asked. "Ef yo' hain't, I'll fling yo' in with her, d' yo' hyar?"

Maria heard. Without another word she returned to her cooking. Grimes strode toward the gate. Before destroying the child it would be well to find out from Bailey and Swazey whether or not the report was true that the ransom was not going to be paid. He knew where the two were in hiding. It was he who had directed them to the old, ruined cobble-stone house in which they were now secreted. He would walk there in a few minutes after he reached the pike.

But Ambrose, who had heard the conversation between his parents, had scudded from the kitchen chortling with glee. He had a standing grudge against Mollie, drat her! She fought him off when he tried to kiss her, and his paw had cuffed him because he bellowed and had pushed him backwards and shoved his face right into the molasses on the bread he was eating! Now, he'd fix her--now, he'd fix her!

The fat, chuckle-headed moron kept singing the words over as he betook himself in the direction of the farm outbuildings in search of Mollie and the beautiful baby with which she was so enraptured.

"Haw, haw, haw!" he guffawed at the mere thought of what Mollie would say and do when she realized his purpose. He had already made her lose her supper, and the children, too. Served her right. They were his paw's potatoes, anyhow. Mollie had stuffed her clothes with them. If she hadn't slapped him he wouldn't have told. When she fought and kicked him the way she did, anybody would get mad. He laughed again at the memory of the picture Mollie had made when his maw shook her and the potatoes came rolling out from all parts of her clothing. And how mad his paw was when he came and saw the potatoes! Of course he wouldn't let her have any supper after that--not she nor any of the children.

Still chuckling over the inefficiency of poor Mollie's pleas that she alone be punished and not the children, Ambrose waddled about in search of his prey.

Ah, there they were! Mollie had stood little Doris on the ground for a minute. It was only a minute but that minute sufficed for Ambrose.

"Haw, haw, haw!" he guffawed again as he jerked the unsuspecting baby girl up in his murderous embrace and tore with her toward the bog.

"Oh, oh, Mollie--Oh, look!" shrieked the children who had seen the performance.

Mollie looked, then with a scream that resounded to every part of the farm confines, she flew to the rescue of her beloved. There was cause, indeed, for Harris Wayne to fear for his baby daughter's safety. Her life now hung not by a thread but by the speed of Mollie's small, naked feet and the strength of her brown young arms.

She reached the edge of the quagmire as quick as Ambrose. Had the boy been more of an athlete he could have hurled the baby from him without first pausing to get his breath but he was fat and clumsy. Mollie was fleet and agile as a wild-cat. And like a wild-cat she sprang upon him, at the risk of precipitating all three of them into the bog. She never spoke. She fought, just as she had in the long ago days when she had fought the ogre single handed in her attempt to save Stephen. She clung to Ambrose's arms as she had clung to the ogre's legs. She pulled that precious baby from him and, with the child in her arms, fought to save herself from the fate from which she had just rescued the baby. If she went, the baby would go with her. Ambrose's fat, bulky form effectually blocked her way. He stood between her and safety. One step backward and she would be in the clutches of that sinister mass from which there was no escape.

"Oh, dear God, help me," she moaned, half aloud, as she struggled on the very brink of death to retain her footing and fight off this young fiend.

Just beyond Ambrose stood the huddled, frightened children, round-eyed, trembling, not daring to utter a sound nor raise a hand to help Mollie.

With her right hand she struck Ambrose back. She had not known she possessed so much strength. How did it happen? Ambrose lurched slightly to the left. He lost his balance and clutched at Mollie to save himself. In that instant she whirled about. The movement was unexpected and brought Ambrose himself to the edge of the mire. Simultaneously they pulled, each seeking to break the other's hold. Mollie won. She had fought with one hand, she held the baby with the other, but she had won!

The suddenness with which she broke away from Ambrose sent him plunging backwards into the bog. His frantic cries and now howls rent the air.

Mollie, dazed and breathless, stood for a moment gasping and horrified. The children voiced their glee. They thought it was the result for which Mollie had been fighting. The sound of their voices awakened her to a sense of her surroundings and the result of all of them if anything happened to Ambrose. He must be pulled out. But how? She looked wildly about for a rope, a stick, anything long enough to reach him. There was nothing in sight.

Placing Doris with the other children, Mollie sped to the barn and procured a heavy rope. When she returned, Ambrose was engulfed to the waist. He was still howling. Maria, in the house, was too accustomed to the sound to be disturbed by it. Peter had gone out the big gate. For this Mollie was thankful.

"Hold yore hands up high," she called to Ambrose, "an' ketch this rope 'fore hit falls in th' mud." The boy was in mud almost to the arm-pits now. Every second was precious if he was to be saved.

Mollie flung the rope high. Her aim was true. Ambrose clutched it and with desperate haste knotted it about his neck, clinging to it with his hands that it might not choke him.

Then Mollie pulled, but it was of no use. The children ran to help her. It seemed almost as if the suction of the mud would drag them all down with the sinking boy. Their puny strength combined was as nothing against its relentless grip.

"Oh, what shall we do?" wailed Mollie. Then in an inspiration she cried: "Run, Jimmie, Bobbie--somebody--quick an' fetch Walter."

So promptly were the children accustomed to obeying the slightest command, that almost before the words were fairly uttered little feet were tearing toward the stable, little hands were untying the horse and leading him out of his stall and across the yard.

It seemed to Mollie as if she were ages getting the rope fastened securely to the animal. At last it was accomplished. Ambrose's chin was now touching the mud. The rope about his neck was submerged. Only his hands and his face remained visible.

"Go, Walter, go!" "Giddep!" cried the children together, striking the horse across the flanks with such force that he started with every ounce of his strength back toward the stable. So sudden and so forceful was the action that it brought Ambrose up like a cork out of a bottle and dragged him, fish-like and covered with mud, across the ground on his stomach.

At that moment Peter entered the gate. He had reconsidered his decision to go in search of his confederates in the kidnapping conspiracy and decided to return home. The newspaper statement was undoubtedly true, he reflected. That being the case he had better not endanger his own safety by wandering about but make such preparations at home that, if Bailey and Swazey did bring his name into the case, any police search of his farm would reveal nothing.

"That gal, Mollie knows too much, anyway," he decided for the dozenth time. He had been saying it for months but had kept her for two reasons--the income which Bailey sent him monthly for her maintenance, and the value of her service in caring for the other children. But if Bailey was going to be sent to prison the money would no longer come, so Mollie would best be silenced before any police got around; she and the brat for which he had expected to receive a thousand dollars! Peter was therefore returning home to act upon this decision. Ambrose's howls and the commotion in the stable-yard led him in that direction.

When he learned what had happened his rage, already at white heat, knew no bounds.

"Give me thet brat," he commanded Mollie, as she stood, holding Doris tight in her arms. "The boy's right, I was a-goin' ter fling her in th' bog, an' I be a-goin' ter do hit this minnit. Gi'n her hyar, I say; then I'm a-comin' back fer yo'."

He writhed toward her, hands extended for the baby. Mollie gave one wild cry:

"Run, chil'en, run!"

But the children, in a panic of terror, were already scuttling up the ladder into the loft. Never had they gone so rapidly. Mollie, tugging Leathy and carrying the precious Doris brought up the rear. It seemed to her that hours were consumed in getting up the ladder. Each second was an age. She could almost feel the ogre's breath at her back, the grip of his hands upon her shoulders.

"Oh, hurry, hurry, chil'en."

She thought she said it, but her lips uttered no sound. They were dry and parched. Her heart was pounding. With a supreme effort she pushed Leathy and Doris through the hole in the floor and dragged herself up behind them.

But he was coming--the ogre! He was close upon them. Snorting and growling forth threats, Grimes was mounting the ladder. He was infuriated now. He would kill them all. He was roaring like a lion--Ah! The thought was an inspiration again. Lions must be faced bravely--with a spear. And there was the spear!

The next instant Mollie had whirled like a trapped animal at bay. Pitchfork in hand, she was looking the ogre straight in the eye.

There was no nervousness in the manner those little brown, work-hardened hands gripped that heavy handle. They were as steady and taut as steel. And there was no flinching in those clear eyes. She meant what she said.

"Doan yo' come up hyar!"

There was no threat. The prongs of that pitchfork backed by the strength of purpose revealed in Mollie's eyes were more than sufficient for any coward, and Grimes was a coward.

Step by step he descended, and one step, two steps came Mollie with the pitchfork, until he was back on the stable floor. Then, still using the pitchfork as a defense, she quickly sprang back into the loft, seized the top of the ladder and, with the children's help, pulled it up into the loft, and closed the hole in the floor.

They were prisoners.