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FRIENDSHIP Painted Windows | ![]() |
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III
FRIENDSHIP
WHEN I look back upon the village where I lived as a child, I cannot remember that there were any divisions in our society. This group went to the Congregational church, and that to the Presbyterian, but each family felt itself to be as good as any other, and even if, ordinarily, some of them withdrew themselves in mild exclusiveness, on all occasions of public celebration, or when in trouble, we stood together in the pleasantest and most unaffected democracy.
There were only the "Bad Madigans" outside the pale.
The facts about the Bad Madigans
When there occurred one of the rare
When, as sometimes happened, I had met one of the Bad Madigans on the road, or down on the village street, my heart had beaten as if I was face to face with a company of banditti; but I cannot say that this excitement was caused by aversion alone. The truth was, the Bad Madigans fascinated me. They stood out from all the others, proudly and disdainfully like Robin Hood and his band, and I could not get over the idea that they said: "Fetch me yonder bow!" to each other; or,
Only once however, did I have a chance to meet one of these modern
On a certain Sunday afternoon in May, my father and mother and I went to Emmons' Woods. To reach Emmons' Woods, you went out the back door, past the pump and the currant bushes, then down the path to the chicken-houses, and so on, by way of the woodpile, to the south gate. After that, you went west toward the clover meadows, past the house where the Crazy Lady lived — here, if you were alone, you ran — and then, reaching the verge of the woods, you took your choice of climbing a seven-rail fence or of walking a quarter of a mile till you came to the bars. The latter was much
Once in Emmons' Woods, there was enchantment. An eagle might come — or a blue heron. There had been bears in Emmons' Woods — bears with rolling eyes and red mouths from which their tongues lolled. There was one place for pinky trillium, and another for gentians; one for tawny adders' tongues, and another for yellow Dutchman's breeches. In the sap-starting season, the maples dripped their luscious sap into little wooden cups; later, partridges nested in the sun-burned grass. There was no lake or river, but there was a pond, swarming with a vivacious population, and on the hard-baked clay of the pond beach the green beetles aired their splendid changeable silks and sandpipers hopped ridiculously.
It was, curiously enough, easier to
On this particular Sunday one of us was requested not to squeal and run about, and to remember that we wore our best shoes and need not mess them unnecessarily. It was hard to be reminded
I came to a hollow where there was a wonderful greenness over everything, and I said to myself that I would be bewitched at last. I would dance and
I grew madder and madder. I seemed not to be myself at all, but some sort of a wood creature; and just when the trees were looking larger than ever they did before, and the sky higher up, a girl came running down from a sort of embankment where a tornado had made a path for itself and had hurled some great chestnuts and oaks in a tumbled mass. The girl came leaping down the steep sides of this place, her arms outspread, her feet bare, her dress no more
I shall never forget how beautiful she was, with her wild tangle of dark hair, and her deep blue eyes and ripe lips. Her cheeks were flaming red, and her limbs strong and brown. She did not merely shout and sing; she whistled, and made calls like the birds, and cawed like a crow, and chittered like a squirrel, and around and around the two of us danced, crazy as dervishes with the beauty of the spring and the joy of being free.
By and by we were so tired we had to stop, and then we sat down panting and looked at each other. At that we laughed, long and foolishly, but, after
"How did you get here?" I asked the girl.
"I was walking my lone," she said, speaking her words as if there was a rich thick quality to them, "and I heard you screeling."
"Won't you get lost, alone like that?"
"I can't get lost, "she sighed. "I 'd like to, but I can't."
"Where do you live?"
"Beyant the fair-grounds."
"You're not — not Norah Madigan?"
She leaned back and clasped her hands behind her head. Then she smiled at me teasingly.
"I am that," she said, showing her perfect teeth.
I caught my breath with a sharp gasp. Ought I to turn back to my parents? Had I been so naughty that I
But I could not bring myself to leave her. She was leaning forward and looking at me now with mocking eyes.
"Are you afraid?" she demanded.
"Afraid of what?" I asked, knowing quite well what she meant.
"Of me?" she retorted.
At that second an agreeable truth overtook me. I leaned forward, too, and put my hand on hers.
"Why, I like you!" I cried. She began laughing again, but this time there was no mockery in it. She ran her fingers over the embroidery on my linen frock, she examined the lace on my petticoat, looked at the bows on my shoes, and played delicately with the locket dangling from the slender chain around my neck.
"Do you know — other girls?" she almost whispered.
I nodded. "Lots and lots of 'em," I said. "Don't you?"
She shook her head in wistful denial.
"Us Madigans," she said, "keeps to ourselves." She said it so haughtily that for a moment I was almost persuaded into thinking that they lived their solitary lives from choice. But, glancing up at her, I saw a blush that covered her face, and there were tears in her eyes.
"Well, anyway," said I quickly, "we know each other."
"Yes," she cried, "we do that!"
She got up, then, and ran to a great tree from which a stout grape-vine was swinging, and pulling at it with her strong arms, she soon had it made into a practical swing.
"Come!" she called — "come, let's swing together!"
She helped me to balance myself on the rope-like vine, and, placing her feet
Well, there we were, rocking and screaming, and telling each other that
"Jump!" commanded Norah — "jump! the vine's breaking!" We leaped at the same moment, she safely. My foot caught in a stout tendril, and I fell headlong, scraping my forehead on the ground and tearing a triangular rent in the pretty, new frock. Mother came running forward, and the expression on her face was far from being the one I liked to see.
"What have you been doing?" she demanded. "I thought you were getting
I must have been a depressing sight, viewed with the eyes of a careful mother. Blood and mould mingled on my face, my dress needed a laundress as badly as a dress could, and my shoes were scratched and muddy.
"And who is this girl?" asked mother. I had become conscious that Norah was at my feet, wiping off my shoes with her queer little brown frock.
"It's a new friend of mine," gasped I, beginning to see that I must lose her, and hoping the lump in my throat wouldn't get any bigger than it was.
"What is her name?" asked mother. I had no time to answer. The girl did that.
"I'm Norah Madigan," she said. Her tone was respectful, and, maybe, sad. At any rate, it had a curious sound.
"Norah Mad-i-gan?" asked mother doubtfully, stringing out the word.
"Yessum," said a low voice. "Good-bye, mum."
"Oh, Norah!" cried I, a strange pain stabbing my heart. "Come to see me —"
But my mother's voice broke in, firm and kind.
"Good-bye, Norah," said she.
I saw Norah turn and run up among the trees, almost as swiftly and silently as a hare. Once, she turned to look back. I was watching, and caught the chance to wave my hand to her.
"Come!" commanded mother, and we went back to where father was sitting.
"What do you think!" said mother. "I found the child playing with one of the Bad Madigans. Isn't she a sight!"
The lump in my throat swelled to a terrible size; something buzzed in my
"Well, never mind, dear," said mother's voice soothingly. "The frock will wash, and the tear will mend, and the shoes will black. Yes, and the scratches will heal."
"It isn't that," I sobbed. "Oh, oh, it isn't that!"
"What is it, then, for goodness sake?" asked mother.
But I would not tell. I could not tell. How could I say that the daughter of the Bad Madigans was the first real and satisfying playmate I had ever had?
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III
FRIENDSHIP Painted Windows | ![]() |