--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Unknown collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 33 number: 4 published: 1930-02 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Unknown, “Out of,” *Improvement Era* 33, no. 4 (February 1930): 255–257." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3304unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3304unse start_page: 255 end_page: 257 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1930-02) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3304unse publication_year: 1930 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1930, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Out of Out of Chapter Three THE sentence imposed upon Silas Hoggan was indeter- minate— one to twenty-five years. There could be no doubt he had had a hand in the kidnapping. Some confederate had taken the child back to the Hoggan cabin in Crow's Nest. Judge Harrison was positive, even the sheriff suspicious. So the third degree wore on, the judge's nerves taut, his patience gone. Echo Harrison fluctuated be- tween hysterical consciousness and drug-induced coma. An efficient, motherly nurse came and took complete charge of the young Portia. From the hour of Pamela's disappearance, the remaining child was never left alone. "If you don't return the child, unharmed, I'll give you the limit," thundered the judge. "You'll stay in prison twenty-five years. You'll die there." 'Pears like I nary had 'nough vittles fer weuns," mused old Silas. "The old woman ain't got no time fer babies. She'll be poor fed when I ain't thar. She can't tend no least one. Youns go see." "If you return the child I'll rescind your sentence," compro- mised the judge. "Perhaps I was too severe." Vision of a tortured haby, of a neglected child made him shudder. The baby must be found ! O UT even the promise of complete freedom brought no confession from old Silas. He re- iterated one thought, "Weuns ain't got that thar least one." And the old lady echoed after him, "Weuns ain't never seed that thar baby!" A posse of citizens combed the country side, swooped down on "Crow's Nest unexpectedly, search- ed the home of every dweller. But -each home already possessed abundant children. Least ones of varying ages crawled about on the bare floors, lay on blankets or sat in the dooryards and gaped at the visitors. At the home of Steve Turner the stern visaged old moth- er received her inquisitors with dig- nified reserve. Yes, they had a baby, born the night 'fore the trial. She had cared for the mother, who had almost died. They wanted no babies that (.he Lord didn't send proper. The farm was too poor, the soil too thin, it didn't give livin' 'nough for the children they already had. Cassie Turner lay in the corner bed, nursing her infant. Wrapped in the half of a drab, worn blanket, wearing a gown shaped from a sack, the baby whimpered mourn- fully and blended with its environ- ment. The posse, headed by the none too zealous sheriff, glanced at the infant on the arm of the semi-bewildered Cassie, and hastily withdrew. How could mere men distinguish tiny babies? How could they question a mother's evi- dence, or a grim old midwife? Be- sides, witnesses were plentiful that the baby had been expected. jT EVE Turner, strangely docile, volunteered to lead them about the mountains. He furnished copious family his- tories and gave no hint of a secret grudge against Judge Harrison. And while he led the searchers hither and yon, the old mother buried the beautiful clothes and the locket marked "Pamela" under the cellar floor. When she was positive no eye could watch, she made certain the soil lay flat un- der a large walnut tree, and that B u mine %\VY WILLIAMS STONE \^) dried bark and leaves concealed all evidence of freshly turned earth. And the unsuspecting Cassie held her new baby tenderly; rejoiced in her fine features and promise of beauty, and marveled at the skill of Granny Turner who had saved them both. No need to burden Steve with the price of them fancy doctors. Granny had done so well. The defeated searchers returned to their routine of life. Rumors of a strange peddler, of suspicious looking tourists, of passing gypsies spread about the town. Judge Harrison grew morose and stern, refused to discuss his loss, ordered Echo to refrain from mentioning the lost baby. But though he might instruct his sister Eunice, it was without avail. She was ever watching, hoping, confident that some day the child would return. Old Silas Hoggan lost his identity under a number; lost his beloved jug, his faithful dog. But in their stead came the comforting assurance of plentiful food, a bed better than any he had ever known, and weekly rations of tobacco. He puttered about the penitentiary, be- coming a small authority on the taming of wild birds. Being nat- urally indolent, he cheerfully gave the State the responsibility of his support. If he had any regrets about his incarceration, it was to mildly wonder "Ef the old woman war a makin' it." JYLlSS Eunice Harrison never had an opportunity to tell her brother of her fears for his per- sonal safety. James always abrupt- ly changed the subject whenever she attempted it. So, hoping to placate the anger of Steve Turner, she sent his family frequent gifts. Once a month the mailman left a package in their crossroads box. Warmer clothes for winter, gifts for the children. Soft slippers for the old grandmother, a sweater for the growing boy, a fancy dish for Cassie, fur-lined gloves for Steve. The box never failed to arrive, although Steve Turner never gave any comment, either of approval 256 The Improvement Era for February, 1930 or resentment. Cassie, however, cism, and her sister Millie evaded voiced loud praise for the "Town or dallied over allotted tasks, little Lady' and reared the children to Curly saw beauty all about her. love her memory. The sting of She saw cause for rapture in the poverty was allayed for the moun- sunset, saw beauty in the flash of a tain mother by the generous gifts blackbird's wing and fantastic fig- and the drab monotony of her nar- ures in the glowing embers of the row life was relieved by anticipa- outdoor fire. The autumnal leaves tion. Nearly every box contained were a source of joy, and the rare a book, and these were laid away glimpse of a cardinal repaid days with awe and reverence. of drudgery. In striking contrast to the other two children's heavy, black hair, the least one had bright soft curls. "Weuns oughter call her curly," ventured Cassie, running her hard- 1 OILSOME home work through the long hot sum- mer. Nut gathering after the first frost, then school! Blessed sesame ened hand through the golden to a starved soul! Through the mass. "I never seed sich hair afore. persistent efforts of Miss Eunice Taint like ourn. Harrison a real teacher had come "My pappy's ma had hair that to Crow's Nest. The school house away," prompted the old granny had been repaired and attendance quickly. "Nary a black hair. I was made compulsory. Thus on aims ter dye that thar least one's winter mornings, Bud broke a head. 'Taint purty that away, trail through the heavy snow and Buddy's hev ter get walnuts, and Millie, complaining against the I aims ter mix a good bit o' dye hard "larnins" plodded behind him. Little Curly, always hug- ging one of the precious books which she had discovered in the 1 HUS the infant Pa- corner cupboard, brought up the mela grew to childhood, her golden rear. She was unmindful that her curls losing their luster through feet were often wet. The meagre and fix it up black come summer.' contents of her lunch box gave her no concern. Wasn't the Little Lame Prince flying on his magic carpet, or Little Lord Fauntleroy about to find his mother? She learned quickly, displaying a keen brain, and leaving her mountain companions far behind. She performed her evening tasks frequent "dippings." She learned the mountain life, ate its coarse foods, faced its hardships. Bare- footed, she plodded along the corn rows, dropping the seed until her child shoulders ached. Under the direction of the gaunt, vigilant granny, she spread the precious wool on the shed roof to dry. She helped to husk corn and shelled w{th lightning rapidity, then set- the rough kernels until her little tied before the bright embers of hands bled. She early learned to the kitchen grate with a precious distinguish between the doty chips book, whose printed message had and the burnable wood. She toted been so long closed against the water from the well up the path family. As she read aloud, with to the house. She soon learned to her eager vibrant voice and bril- feed the fire under the huge pots Hant eyes, one by one the family when "bilin' down" sorghum. She joined the circle. The bony con- became skilled in drying squash for tour of the old grandmother seem- winter, in gathering the vines full of dried beans, which Bud hung from the ceiling rafters. Her bare legs became freckled and rough, her feet tough and grimy. She took her turn at the out-door wash tubs, and the delicately moulded body, thus taxed, created an eager appetite. Thus the heavy corn bread, the fat pork, the flour thickened hominy and the sunburned pota- toes were like ambrosia to the ever hungry child. But Utt!e Cudy saw beauty aU ahom hef * * * * while Bud hoed in the and the rare gumpse 0f a cardinat repaid days of garden with dogged stoi- drudgery. ed softened by the firelight. At the most thrilling chapters she dropped her knitting to listen bet- ter. Steve Turner often put up his gun and drew nearer. Bud forgot his whittling. Cassie stood on the edge of the circle, glorifying in the "larnin" of her last one. Only Millie remained aloof. No story ever held her flighty attention. Having attained her growth early, she boasted of physical prowess and exacted service from the deli- cate Curly from sheer dominance of bodily strength. Millie disliked the school. "I hate that thar school," she grumbled. "Them figgers is too hard. Seven times eight is fifty-four." "No, Millie," corrected Curly with infinite patience. "Seven times eight is fifty-six. I showed youns that yesterday." "Then six times nine is the same too. Fifty-six." "No, Millie! Six times nine is fifty-four. Remember the nines are easy the way Teacher showed you. One less than ten each time. Thirty-six, forty-five, fifty-four." "Hound an' dawg is the same," persisted Millie stubbornly. "But that thar reader book makes 'em look mighty different. An' why does they have ter say house an' cabin? Ain't they the same?" "I aims ter quit school," she complained another day. "I aims ter larn spinnin'. I aims ter marry. Abe Walters is a talkin' ter me now. He's a goin' ter quit too. He ain't afeared. I'm most fifteen now, an' Ma war married ter Pa fore she war sixteen!" "O Millie, youns wouldn't quit the teacher! The law makes youns go." "I ain't afeared," boasted Millie, with a toss of her black, thick hair. "I aims ter set up with Abe. Youns needn't ter tell Pa. I ain't a _^/ comin' ter school -^»- no more." "O Millie, you wouldn't!" Curly's quick brain and constant practice in reading was fast adjusting her speech to that of Teacher. "Youns better keep ter moun- tain talk," cautioned Millie. "Pa will take youns outer that thar school. Youns air gettin' too much larnin'." 1 ER morrow," con- tinued Millie, "I'm agoin'. I'm The Improvement Era for February, 1930 257 startin' ter school, same as you an' Bud. I aint' agoin'. I aims ter go nuttin' with Abe. Weuns fetch some more walnuts, so Granny kin dip youns' head agin." "I don't want it dipped!" pro- tested Curly. "I want it gold!" Ef you ain't ter school, Bud'll tell Pa." Millie, towering above her smaller sister, raised a threatening hand. "Bud he'd best ter hold his tongue. Ef youn's tell, I'll wal- lop yer!" Then seeing no sign of weakening in the smaller girl, she cast about for better means of en- forcing her threat. "Ef youn's tell Pa, I'll burn them thar books! An'," she continued, triumphant that her last threat had struck home, "I aims ter have that thar yellar dress what the Town Lady sent an' the red shawl too. Youns kin tell Granny youns give 'em ter me. Youns kin hev the book and both the tooth brushes. A snuff pick is fancy 'nough fur me!" Curly grabbed the bucket and hurried down the path. place. Then she gave chase to the elusive bird. Ai T HE next morning Granny Turner inspected the crown of Curly's head critically. A line of bright hair made sharp con- trast with the black ends. "I aims ter dip that agin," she commented. "O Granny, leave it be," pro- tested the meek Cassie. "Et's that purty!" "Youns ma's ma hed hair that away," the old mouth set in grim lines, "An' she died ycung. Folks need thick, black hak ter live long. That thar gold riair makes risins too." After Curly's hair had been dipped until the gold line had com- pletely disappeared, Granny set Curly to feed the fire under the huge pot of sorghum. "Youns aim ter keep et abilin'," she admonished. "When et biles right smart, ets sweeter, et is. Don't feed them thar doty chips. Watch et smart." Curly intentions were good. She really wanted to please old Gran- ny. But a cardinal, a beautiful fellow, colored like the shawl Mil- lie had appropriated, flew past. She had to find out where he nested. Quickly she cast about for means of preserving the fire for a few min- utes. Doty chips would kill it. She saw two fair sized, blackish rocks protruding from the ground. With a great effort she pried them loose and placed them on the fire to hold a stick of hickory wood in lN hour later she re- turned, breathless and fearful over the fate of the pot of sorghum. Had the kettle boiled over, spilling the precious sweet? Had it ceased to boil? Granny would be that angry! Certain of punishment she ran around the corner of the house and came upon a startling scene. Granny was down on her knees on one side of the fire. Steve Turner was similarly stooped at the other side. Cassie was stand- ing nearby, eyes bulging, mouth agape. Bud bad hurried in from the garden, hoe in hand. Even Millie seemed interested. The stick of hickory wood was entirely burned, but the kettle continued to boil — an even, clear bubble. The two rocks were afire — burnina, emitting a bright, warm glow! "Whar youns get that thar black rock?" demanded Steve. "Over yonder." Curly pointed a shaky finger at her find. 'Them thar rocks is a burnin' like good wood," added Granny. "Better'n wood; better'n hickory." "O Pa, et's coal! Teacher told us. She showed us in a book, how folks digs it outer the ground!" Bud dropped his hoe and ran to the spot Curly had indicated. 'There's more Pa — lots more!" 'This hyar farm is mighty poor fur crops. Et's got coal. I heerd tell of that thar stuff. Weuns has got rich!" Granny got stiffly to her feet. "No more hickory ter fetch!" Bud threw his dilapidated cap in- to the air. "No more doty chips," beamed Cassie, her broken, decayed teeth becoming super prominent. "That war lucky youns chased that thar purty bird, Curly." OTEVE Turner rose slowly to his full height and leaned upon his gun. "This hyar farm is wuth money," he mused. "I mind how that thar jedge wanted et. I seed coal a burnin' down ter that thar Court House. This hyar farm's his'n. Taint our'n." He glanced toward his mother and the same defiant, un- conquerable motive marked both their faces. " 'Fore that thar jedge gets this hyar farm, he's agoin' ter pay plenty," he threat- ened. "Hyar, Millie. Quit alookin' in that thar lookin' glass. Youns and Curly fetch this coal ter the stove!" Shouldering his gun he marched off; erect, defiant, revenge- ful. That night the circle gathered close about the glowing hearth, with Curly and the new book as the center. 'This hyar ramrod's a right smart cleaner." It was the first praise Steve Turner had ever made of any of Miss Eunice's gifts. "That fire's some purty," mut- tered the old grandmother. "Weuns alivin' right side them black rocks always, and awishin' they was gone!" "Youns kin tote et in when youns wants et," Bud was elated over his relief as a wood gatherer. "I aims ter quit cuttin' hickory now." "Whar's Millie?" Steve spoke up, quickly suspicious over her ab- sence. "She's poorly," Cassie's defense of her absent daughter was over eager. "She ain't lookin' pert nowadays. She's got risins on her neck, she has." "That thar Abe Walters needn't ter come hereabouts," muttered Steve ominously. "Curly, youns kin read some more. That Prince sure had his troubles." Ti HE story progressed until Steve Turner raised an authoritative hand. He strode to the water bucket and rattled the dipper against the empty pail sug- gestively. Bud paid no heed, Cas- sie continued to pound her dough, the old grandmother took up her (Continued on page 300)