# The Shorn Lamb/Chapter 13
### Chapter 13 SPOTTSWOOD CAPITULATES

The first Taylors had always dined at noon—the logical time for man and beast to leave off work for rest and refreshment—but each high-born lady who had married into the family had succeeded in pushing the dinner hour back a little until at the time of Rebecca's advent the dinner hour was at half-after-two. Spottswood grumbled at the lateness of this meal, as it did not fit in at all with a farmer's day, but the ladies of the household contended that it was the height of vulgarity to dine earlier and even wanted Aunt Testy to change the hour to three o'clock, but half-after-two suited Aunt Testy and half-after-two it remained.
Miss Evelyn and Miss Myra could cite many instances to show that three was the hour of dining for all true aristocrats. At noon, when the farm bells throughout the countryside pealed forth the glad tidings that the hour of rest and food had come, they felt a certain satisfaction that they were not as others were. Their farm bell did not ring. To be sure, hands must be ​fed at noon and their brother always came in from the fields for a snack, but the cue was given by the Bollings' great bell across the river, or by the hub factory's shrill whistle.
Rebecca found it difficult to adjust herself to this dinner hour. In her Bohemian life what dining she had done had been somewhere between six and seven o'clock, with luncheon between twelve and one. When she first came to Mill House the time between breakfast and dinner had seemed interminable, but she had learned of the snack her uncle was accustomed to have at noon and had formed a habit of coming to Aunt Testy at the same time for a pone of hot corn bread and a mug of fresh buttermilk. She was careful not to be in Spot's way, however, realizing that her presence was distasteful to him. He usually had his snack at a table on the long back porch which separated the outside kitchen from the rest of the house. Rebecca, with her mug of buttermilk fresh from the churn, with delectable bits of butter floating around in it, and her great crisp corn pone, would seat herself on the lower porch step. The only thing to mar her happiness was the lack of companionship during this luncheon. She could hear the hands laughing and talking in the kitchen, where Aunt Testy ​was giving them their mid-day meal, and she could see the stalwart back of her silent uncle as he sat at the table at the end of the porch. She often wished she had been "born black" and could join the hands in the kitchen. They would have talked to her, and no doubt welcomed her with pleasure. Certainly they would not have ignored her as her uncle persisted in doing.
She wondered sometimes if he was really unaware of her presence. He never looked at her, but divided his attention between his food and his dog, Doctor, a Llewellyn setter, who was his constant companion. Doctor enjoyed this snack on the porch, as at no other meal could he come to table with his master, the ladies of the house being strict about dogs being allowed in the house. Doctor would sit by Spot's side, his plume-like tail spread out on the floor, and at every mark of attention from his master, either an affectionate pat or a bit of food, he would sweep the porch with a vigorous wagging. Sometimes the tidbits would come too slowly for his liking, and then he would place his paw imploringly on Spot's knee and the expression in his eyes would have melted the heart of a hanging judge.
Doctor was a man's dog and a one man's dog ​at that. He was devoted to his master and his master alone. He tolerated other males, but made no advances toward them, and he simply ignored females. Rebecca, when she first came to live with her grandfather, had felt a little afraid of the big dog. She shrank instinctively from him if he passed near her. She had never had a pet in the studio and her only acquaintance with animals had been through the bars of the zoo. Life on the farm had thrown her in contact with many kinds of live creatures and gradually all fear of them left her. She was learning to drive the horses and milk the cows. A setting goose had no terrors for her and she faced with equanimity the huge, strutting white turkey gobbler, even when he made the most pompous noises and advanced towards her scraping his wings on the ground.
Little by little Rebecca made friends with all the creatures, all but Doctor. He seemed to have taken his cue from his master and passed her by with scornful disdain. The proud spirit that kept the girl from forcing her presence on the man deterred her from even so much as putting her hand on the dog's silky head, although she longed to do it. He was a beautiful dog, with long silver-white fur, spotted in glossy black. What a delightful thing it would be to ​have a companion like Doctor when she roamed around the place! There would be no more lonesome times then. Now there were lonesome times, in spite of the many visits to Aunt Pearly Gates and the long, intimate talks she had with Major Taylor in the evening; in spite of the new friends she had made among the dumb creatures on the farm and the kindness shown her by all of the colored people employed by her grandfather.
Rebecca loved the country life, but there were times when she longed for the merry old days in the studio, with the talky parties. She longed for the excitement of the crowded New York streets, for the life, color, camaraderie of the artists' quarter where her years had been spent. She longed for Mrs. O'Shea, and the many tales of dire misfortune that had befallen her and her family. Above all, she longed for the dear man whom she had called Daddy, who had been to her such a charming companion, counselor and guide.
Rebecca was devoted to her grandfather, whose affection for her was evident to all, but she had seen little of him for the last six weeks. He was engrossed with business at the hub factory, sometimes not even coming home for the sacred rite of the half-after-two dinner. When ​he was at home he seemed worried and harassed, although his kindness and concern for Rebecca never flagged. The more his business harried him he more Major Taylor teased his son and daughters. They, in consequence, could barely conceal their satisfaction on the days in which the hub factory made it impossible for him to come home for dinner.
Those were sad days for Rebecca. Then the aunts corrected her to their hearts' content. It made no change in her uncle's manner, however. He still ignored her, as he did in his father's presence.
What Aunt Pearly Gates had said to Rebecca in regard to her relations with Mill House folks had made a deep impression on the little girl. She determined to try the old woman's kindly plan and endeavor to make herself more agreeable to them.
"First, I must decide what to talk about that will interest them, and I must be sure not to shock them. I must do all the things the aunts make a point of, and I mustn't do any of the things they don't like. As for Uncle Spot, I guess he'll be the hardest of all," she said to herself, as she walked slowly home from Aunt Pearly Gates' cabin, after her talk with her.
The farm bell at The Hedges tolled for the ​noon rest and the whistle at the hub factory blew a shrill blast. Rebecca hastened on her way. She fancied she could smell the good corn pone that Aunt Testy would have ready for her, split open and dripping with fresh, sweet butter. Dr. Price's prescription had brought health to the little waif, and with health had come the appetite of a field hand. Rebecca liked to arrive at the back porch a little before her Uncle Spot. She always hoped he would notice her as he passed her on the steps. He never did, but she took a certain satisfaction in his nearness as he went up, two at a time, and crossed the porch to the tin basin that was always on the bench by the wall, right under the shelf where stood the brass-rimmed cedar water bucket, with its gourd dipper. He always did exactly the same thing every day. He dipped out three dippers full of water, and then, stooping his great height to the low bench, he washed his hands and face, using the strong turpentine soap that was in a broken saucer by the basin.
Rebecca loved to look at his broad back as he leaned to the bench. She liked to see the way he spread his legs as he stooped—such strong, finely shaped legs! She wished she could draw, or model in clay, so she could in some way ​express what the lines of the young man meant to her artistic sense. She liked the smell of the turpentine soap. It brought back, in an indefinable way, scenes of her babyhood when her father was painting the portrait of her mother. Above all, she liked the strange gurgling noise Spot made when he washed his face with great hands-full of water. She liked the noise so much that she had tried to imitate it when washing her own face in the china basin in her room, but Aunt Myra had heard her and sternly rebuked such vulgarity, and she had not attempted it again in her basin—but had been quite successful in the spring down in the cow pasture!
On this day Rebecca got safely to her seat on the top step before Spot arrived and had the satisfaction of seeing him swing around the corner of the house, his blue shirt open at the throat, Doctor following close to heel. Spot's hat was in his hand and his yellow hair was gleaming in the sun like ripe wheat. How could anyone look so like her father and be so different?
Her uncle did look at her in passing, and there was an amused expression on his countenance. What made him smile? Suddenly she remembered that her hair was plaited through ​the buttonholes in the top of her bonnet! She put up her hand and felt the thick rope of hair. Anyhow, it had made her keep her bonnet on better than ever before. Surely the aunts would approve, even if the uncle found food for merriment in it.
As Doctor passed her she put out a tentative hand to stroke his silken back. He submitted to the caress with lordly indifference, but he did turn his head and look at her with something like toleration in his hazel eyes. She was almost happy. She watched Spot go through his ablutions. Maybe this would be a good time to try to talk to him! He stood with his feet far apart as he leaned over the basin and made a nice gurgly noise down in the water. Then he gave his face a vigorous rubbing on the roller towel.
"Uncle Spot, did you ever see a giraffe drink? He spraddles his legs out just the way you do, because you see his legs are longer than his neck."
Spottswood stopped drying his face for a moment and looked at Rebecca in amazement. What business had she talking to him? Impertinent little minx! Why should she hang around him when he was having his snack? Why should she put her hand on his dog? He resented the fact that Doctor had submitted to the caress ​with as much grace as he had shown. What was all this talk of giraffes and the way they drank?
"I have seen giraffes lots of times, but never noticed the way they drank until I saw a movie of some animals in the jungle," Rebecca continued. "It was a picture of a drinking hole during a great drouth when all the animals came to drink. Kipling tells about a drinking hole in one of his stories. When I saw the movie it made me understand Kipling better."
Spot scowled and turned his back. If this talk was to keep up he would have Aunt Testy take his food into the dining room and give up the back porch to the interloper. And Rebecca, serenely unconscious, chattered on.
"That movie of the jungle animals made me very sad. It seems terrible to snare them and place them in captivity. There was one great hyena that dragged the trap that had sprung on him for miles and miles until he was so exhausted it almost broke my heart and then he was put in a cage and brought to New York. You can see him now up at the Bronx Zoo."
Aunt Testy appeared with a tray of food, to break Spot's silence, handing Rebecca a plate of hot corn bread and a mug of cold buttermilk, and taking a similar repast to the table for her young master. She then waddled back to her ​kitchen to dish up the noon dinner for the field hands.
Rebecca took a delicate bite of the steaming pone, and a gulp of buttermilk to allay the heat. Spot sat at his table, his eyes fixed on his corn bread, which was too hot to tackle. Doctor put an imploring paw on his knee, but he did not get his usual pat or word of commendation. Doctor was out of favor with his master for having submitted to the caress of the interloper.
"Do you believe in prayer, Uncle Spot? I mean in the direct answer to prayer. Daddy used to say there was lots of difference in believing in prayer and believing in the direct answer to it."
Mr. Spottswood Taylor had taken a great mouthful of hot corn pone, and Rebecca hoped that was the reason he did not deign a reply to her searching question.
"I used to believe with all my heart," Rebecca rattled on. "After I saw the hyena in Bronx Zoo that I had seen in the movies I began to pray that God would let him loose. I began to pray that God would let all the animals out of Central Park Zoo and the Bronx Zoo, too! I prayed and prayed and I was sure God would answer my prayers. Then, all of a sudden, I began to scream in the night because ​I suddenly remembered that some of the animals wouldn't understand and they might eat up all the little children in New York—including me—but I felt I deserved to be eaten up for praying such a thoughtless prayer. I couldn't help thinking it was something of a joke on me, too, and then I got to laughing until I had regular hysterics and Daddy had to give me aromatic ammonia and explain that the efficacy of prayer didn't mean granting prayers like that."
Rebecca looked at Spottswood Taylor intently to see if he had been interested. Her chagrin was intense when she saw him get up from his seat and carry his plate of food into the dining room. He came back for the pitcher of buttermilk. A wicked desire to tease him then took possession of the little girl. Her Grandfather's spirit was asserting itself.
"The giraffe doesn't like to share his drinking hole with the other animals, either, Uncle Spot," she said. "In the movie I saw, when he got ready to drink he went around with his long legs busy kicking all of the smaller animals out of the way. He wanted plenty of room to drink in. I fancy if there had been another drinking hole he would have gone there, but as it was he just had to drink before all the other ​creatures, and perhaps they laughed at him for having to spraddle his legs out so far."
Rebecca raised her voice, to make sure Spot heard her last words. He was gone and the door to the dining room was closed with a bang. Then the little girl put her head in her lap and wept bitterly.
Doctor had followed his master to the door, somewhat dazed by his behavior. Why should he leave him without word or look and why should his share of the delectable corn pone be denied him. He stood by the door a moment, waving his tail to and fro. Once he raised his paw and scratched gently for admittance, or at least an explanation. He listened, head a bit on one side. Then he looked at Rebecca. She was sobbing, her face buried in her hands and her slender form a little huddled heap of misery. The dog walked slowly towards her and then, with the strange sympathy that dogs often feel and show to mankind in distress, he thrust his soft nose between her hands and tear-stained face and gently muzzled her under her sun-bonnet, licking her tears away as though he liked the salty taste.
Rebecca's sobs ceased.
"Oh, Doctor, Doctor! What a perfect gentleman you are!" she breathed. "Won't you ​love me just a little?" The dog raised his paw and put it against her breast.
"Here—you can have all my corn bread. I am too full of emotion for solid food. I'll drink the buttermilk."
The dog licked the platter clean and the child drained the glass. Then together they raced around the house and down to the river bank. They had much to tell each other.
Rebecca and Doctor had a never-to-be-forgotten, but often to be repeated, time together down by the riverside. Doctor was like some man who had passed the period of puppy love without being even exposed to the malady, but who, in sober middle-age, had caught the disease and was taking it harder than he would had he had it in his youth. His master's conversation was good enough in its way, but it was nothing to the endearing baby-talk Rebecca was pouring into his twitching, silken ears. A masculine pat was about all he ever got from Spottswood, but this adorable girl was fondling him, rubbing his nose, scratching his throat and picking burrs out of his fur. He was particularly grateful that she found a tick that was burying itself on top of his tail, right at the root, where no dog ever can quite reach with either paw or tooth.
They sat on the river bank a long time. ​Rebecca felt happier than she had since the death of her dear Daddy. She was sorry her attempt to make friends with her uncle had failed, but the love of a dog like Doctor was much more to be desired than mere toleration from a man like her Uncle Spot, even though he did look like a young, sun-burned Greek god.
"Doctor, you have more temperament than Uncle Spot, and I think you and I are soul mates," chuckled the little girl.
Doctor wagged his tail and gave Rebecca's neck an ecstatic lick, under the curtain of the sunbonnet which she was still wearing, thanks to Aunt Pearly Gates' device.
"Do you know, Doctor, I am afraid it is almost time for that old dinner to be served. Are you hungry? I'm not a bit, although I didn't eat my corn pone. We mustn't be late, because to-day is the day I am trying to make my relations love me. It is certainly up-hill work. Grandfather is not coming home to dinner to-day, because I heard him tell Aunt Testy to send him some lunch by Willie Bell, and I'll bet anything the aunts will pick on me for everything I've done wrong and all the things I might do wrong. I wish my stomach kept better time, Doctor. It never tells me when dinner is ready. Come, let's race!"
​Dinner was ready—more than ready. Aunt Testy had held it back a few minutes in the hope that Rebecca would come in time to miss the stern reprimands she was sure to get from the Misses Taylor.
"Miss Myra an' Miss Evelyn ain't got nothin' on Gawd's green yearth ter do but pick on that lamb," she muttered as she brought in the dinner. The clock hands pointed to ten minutes to three, and the ladies were evidently impatient. Spottswood still was irritated over the occurrence at noon. He wondered where his dog was, too; had missed him and whistled for him repeatedly.
"Dinner is late enough," he grumbled, as he took his seat at the foot of the table.
"Hush! Testy will hear you!" exclaimed his sisters.
"Well, why shouldn't she hear me?" he asked.
"Testy doesn't like criticism," answered Myra.
"Neither do any of us, but we have to put up with it occasionally."
"Where is Rebecca?" asked Evelyn. "She is such a trial! We ask only a few things of her, but she makes no attempt to comply with our wishes. I am sure she is no kin to us at all. As a family all of us are prompt."
"Lil' Marse Tom useter fergit sometime, ​special when he done fill up on cawn pone an' buttermilk not so long befo'," said Aunt Testy, coming into the dining room in time to hear Miss Evelyn's remark concerning the promptitude of the Taylors.
"Father used to be strict enough with us when we were children about being on time," said Myra. "I remember very well we were allowed no butter for breakfast unless we got in our seats before the last stroke of eight. But he seems to be simply possessed by this wretched child. What he sees in her I can't imagine—ugly, scrawny, little black thing!"
"He sees his own flesh an' blood in her—that's what Marse Bob sees! She ain't no po' kin, neither," exclaimed Aunt Testy, indignation in every curve of her comfortable person. She put the platter of fried chicken down in front of Spot and flounced out of the room. In a moment she was back bearing a tray of vegetables which she placed on the table without a word, but with ominous mutterings proceeding from her chest, like rumblings of thunder presaging a storm.
"Yonder she air now!" cried Aunt Testy, looking out of the window. "Jes' a-runnin' fer dear life—but Gawd he'p us if Doctor ain't a-runnin' arfter her. He's gone mad! I's sho' ​he's gone mad! Doctor am too proudified ter run 'less'n he done gone an' got bit by a mad dog. Look at him jes' a-jumpin' up an' actin' lak a pup! Lawd love us, Marse Spot, go 'ten' ter Doctor! Don't set thar an' let that po' lil' Beck baby git all bit ter pieces."
Spottswood jumped from his chair and rushed to the front porch in time to see his dignified old setter roll on the grass with Rebecca in a final romp. For a moment he was frozen to the spot with horror. His dog was mad and was going to tear the child to pieces! Poor little waif! She wasn't such a bad kid after all. Of course she was an impostor, but no doubt she was ignorant of it. She had been imposed upon by those people in New York who wanted to get rid of her. This flashed through Spottswood's mind in the instant that he stood inactive. Then he dashed down the steps and grabbed his dog by the collar, dragging him from Rebecca, who lay on the ground looking up at him with her great eyes full of laughter.
Doctor was the only one who was ashamed. He looked crestfallen enough at being caught by his master romping. With a loving glance at Rebecca he slunk around the house, his proud tail for once between his legs. Had he been discovered stealing chickens or devouring the birds ​after a day's shooting he could not have looked more guilty.
Without a word Spottswood went back to his dinner.
"Hurry up, honey, baby! Yo' dinner am ready an' waitin' an' Miss Myra an' Miss Evelyn air lookin' moughty stiff backed," Aunt Testy called from the porch in a sibilant whisper. "Run take off yo' bonnet, chil', an' smoove yo' har."
Rebecca raced to her room, intent on propitiating the aunts. It was too bad to be late to dinner on the very day that she had planned to be so virtuous. She untied the strings and tried to take off her bonnet, but Aunt Pearly Gates' device was working to perfection. There was no removing the bonnet without first unplaiting the rope of hair. She made a desperate attempt to untie the piece of yarn with which the end of her braid was fastened, but the curly tendrils of her hair had wrapped themselves around the yarn and remove it she could not. Her fingers seemed to be all thumbs and she fumbled desperately. Grabbing up the scissors, she cut off the end. Surely, the unplaiting would not be so difficult now! But it would not undo, no matter how hard she tried. Rolling on the ground with Doctor had put tangles in the ​unruly curls that would take untiring patience to unravel. Desperate at the delay, Rebecca grabbed the scissors again and cut the braid close up to the buttonholes in the bonnet.
"The Gordian knot!" she cried as she tossed the bonnet and braid onto the bed and without looking in the glass to view the havoc she had made, she flew down the steps and slid into her place at the table.
Spottswood, being the carver, usually helped Rebecca to whatever meat he was serving without addressing her and without even glancing at her, but on that day he could not resist a curiosity he felt to look at the young person who had succeeded in breaking through the dignity of his dog. It came to his mind, too, that perhaps, being a child, Rebecca might like a gizzard. He started to put one on her plate, but changed his mind. He helped her plentifully, however, and then raised his eyes and for the first time since the girl had come to Mill House he looked at her fairly and squarely. Then a strange thing came to pass: Spottswood Taylor burst out into uncontrollable laughter.
The Misses Taylor were astonished. They had never heard Spot laugh so heartily. An occasional grim smile was about all they had ever known him indulge in. They, too, had ​made it a rule not to look at their so-called niece unless it was positively necessary to correct her about something. Coldly to avert their eyes seemed to them to be the most aristocratic way to express their disapproval. This getting late to dinner was cause enough to have them withdraw the honor of their glances for a long period. When their brother burst into such merriment they involuntarily looked in the direction in which he was looking.
Then the ladies laughed, too, though not quite so uproariously as their brother. Rebecca's appearance was certainly funny. Her hair, where she had cut the braid, was standing up in a most ferocious-looking bush.
"Oh!" she cried, putting her hand up to her hair, and trying to smooth down the unruly bush, "I was in such a hurry I had to cut it off," she faltered. "It was plaited through button-holes in my bonnet. Aunt Pearly Gates fixed it for me, so I could keep on my bonnet and try to get to be more Taylorish in my complexion. I hated so to be late for dinner, but my stomach was slow to-day—owing to—owing to—"
She could say no more. This was a new thing, to be the only one who was not laughing. It was very uncomfortable, too, to be so funny looking that persons who went for months ​without cracking a smile should be sending forth peal after peal of laughter. It was all she could do to keep back the tears.
Aunt Testy came in and with one glance at Rebecca she gave a deep chuckle.
"Good Gawd, honey baby, what yo' done did ter yo'se'f? You looks lak that there eat-'em-alive wil' man in the circus."
Rebecca took a tight hold on her emotions and to her mind came the thought: "Now is the time for me to show I can take a joke on myself! I have been laughing at people all the time, now I know how it is to be laughed at. I won't cry! I won't"
A little teary smile came to her countenance at her stern bidding and then she grinned a wee bit, and then the ridiculousness of the whole thing got the better of her and she, too, burst out laughing.
"Anyhow, they are going to forget to jump me for being late," she decided.
She reckoned without knowledge of the sense of duty on which her aunts prided themselves, however. As soon as they could control their laughter they started in on Rebecca.
"You are very late for dinner," admonished Myra.
"We ask very little of you in the way of duty ​and obedience," continued Evelyn, "and getting to dinner in time is not much of a demand, surely, for us to make on one in—in your position."
"Certainly not!" chimed in Myra.
'You have succeeded in ruining what appearance you may have had," Evelyn kept on, in her sanctimonious drawl.
'Yes—I mean yes ma'm," Rebecca answered meekly. "It is too bad—I mean tow bad—I got so occupied—I did not know it was getting late—"
"You never see my sister or me late for a meal," Myra interrupted.
"Oh, hell! Why don't you women let the kid alone?" Spot broke out in a loud voice that made his sisters and Rebecca jump and Aunt Testy almost drop the apple dumpling she was bringing in from the kitchen. "Don't you want a gizzard, Rebecca?"
Rebecca could not speak for emotion, but she silently held out her plate for what seemed to her a sacred gizzard. This time her uncle looked at her squarely and searchingly. In the eyes of the child he saw an expression that reminded him vaguely of Doctor. It was one of trusting devotion.
As for Rebecca, she could gladly have stood ​on her head in the corner and swallowed the gizzard whole, had her uncle required it of her. It seemed a profanation to eat the gizzard. She had at last made some kind of a dent in Spot's armor! As for the aunts, they would perhaps come around in time. She had the love of Doctor and the championship of Spottswood—great victories to have won in one day!
Rebecca had cut off her scalp lock so close that there was nothing to do but shingle her head. Bobbing was out of the question, and so Aunt Evelyn shingled on one side and Aunt Myra on the other. Their methods varied somewhat and the result was rather lopsided. In trying to even things up they cut closer and closer until Rebecca began to feel uneasy about her very scalp.
The ladies were much pleased with their prowess as barbers and complimented themselves inwardly on their strict adherence to duty. Certainly it was no pleasure to them to have to handle such black hair.
Rebecca thanked them humbly for having shorn her so successfully and hoped God would really temper the winter to her shingled pate. She was quite aghast when she peeped in her mirror after the shearing and saw her funny cropped head.
​"Starting to school, too, next month! What will they think of me?" she asked herself. "Well, it doesn't really make much difference; because Doctor loves me and Uncle Spot gave me a gizzard."