Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 228, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 September 1913 — THAT SCOTT TRIBE [ARTICLE]

THAT SCOTT TRIBE

By SUSANNE GLENN.

The girl stood motionless until the two young men disappeared round the bend in the road. “Oh, I hate him, I hate him,” she sobbed angrily, dropping the rusty tin pan she was holding. “But I suppose'you thought Mark Hermon was perfect. You’re so everlastingly standing up for him,” observed her mother, astonished out of her habitual lassitude.

"He had no right to eay that! I don’t care if we are poor and shiftless and if Ben has made a mistake —he had no business to call us that ‘Scott trfibe,’ and to a perfect stranger!” “I don’t know as you have any call to get so excited over it —what folks say doesn’t make much difference one way or the other.” And the woman bent to gather up the dandelions that had been spilled in the hasty descent of the rusty pan. Eliza Scott’s pretty, girlish face held a new question. Was her mother right —this doesn’t-make-any-difference sentiment she had instilled into her all her young life, was it right? “Oh, it does make a difference,” she whispered passionately. “I'll show him, somehow, that there is more to ‘that Scott tribe’ than he ever dreamed! ” But how? It is not a simple matter for a mere girl to counteract the results of. generations of shiftlessness. It’s easy enough to be prosperous when you have a fine farm to hand down from father to son and each generation leaves it increased in value,” thought Eliza, as she sat in her window that night looking across the S 4 cott’s scraggy fields and delapidated fences to the big white house and red barns that bespeak prosperity in every trim line. “What has he ever done more than I have? And it’s true, I have always taken his part when the boys called him snobbish and overbearing. I thought he wasn’t that way, or, I guess I wanted to think he—was hot,’* she admitted, flushing painfully in the darkness. “I’ve been a little fool. Now I’ll show him I amount to something even if my name is Scott.”, But young Mary Hermon evidently noticed nothing unusual with his easy-going neighbors. He was exceedingly busy, during every spare moment, over a patch of fine garden ground where he was patiently coaxing his choicest seedlings into the “blue-ribbon” vegetables which it was his pride to display each autumn at the great convention of all the coun-try-side, the county fair. He did pause in amazement one day when Eliza Scott passed him with a crisp little 1 nod. “Why, whatever,” he asked himself wonderingly, “has come over that little Scott girl? She has always looked like a neglected wax doll, but I’m blamed if she isn’t getting to be a mighty good looking girl! It takes something beside a pretty face to be good looking. I didn’t suppose one of that Scott tribe had it in her to look like that.”

Mark was complacently putting out his team after taking his finest load on record to the fair ground. “There was nothing there to compare with mine,” he thought with satisfaction. "I’d hate, to get beaten “now, aftergetting most of the blue ribbons in my department for five years. Well, by Jove,” he broke off, as a thin team drawing a ramshackle old wagon passed by in the dusty road, “it certainly looks as if the Scotts were going to make an exhibit! I’m blamed if I’m sorry, for It just means another disappointment for them. I’ll bet that is Eliza’s idea, and it, is just a shame. Wish she’d said nothing to me about it; there is something about that girl—” He left hie thought unspoken while he gazed after the retreating wagon. For the first time in his life, Mark dreaded approaching the fair grounds. "I did not suppose anything could make me dislike seeing blue ribbons in my stuff,” he admitted whimsically. “I don’t know what has got into me. I suppose it is because I hale, to see a girl disappointed.” Eliza Scott and her mother were just before him as he entered the hall. What was this? He paused bewildered before his early potatoes—they were “seconds;” beside them was a basket of beauties bearing the coveted blue ribbon. His professional heart warmed at sight of them tn spite of his chagrin. "Just look, mother, 1 have first on my potatoes,” he could scarcely credit his ears with hearing Eliza’saying in subdued excitement. “And my corn—and —everything. I’m simply too overjoyed for words.” In the crowd Mark found it easy to keep near Without being observed. It seemed perfectly marvelous that Eliza could have raised those vegetables “under his very nose” without his having suspected it. “Oh, and I’ve first on my jelly, and second on both cakes and—truly, truly, mummy—first on my bread; I didn’t dare hope for that!” “I should think you would want to go In and .look at your fancy work, Eliza,” observed Mrs. Scott. “Some of yotir embroidery was fine. You are a funny kind of girl to be more interested in all this garden truck and baking than you are in that.” “But I’m not trying to ‘beat’ anyone at the fancy work, mother, and I am here. I set out last spring to get the blue ribbons away from Mark Hermon, and I’ve done it. He will know this once, anyway, what it Is to stand back for one of thev’Scott tribe!’” “Why, Eliza Scott! I never dreamed you had such a disposition,” gasped her astonished mother. ‘Tm glad I have a little spunk,” retorted Eliza, walking away, Mark Hermon stood still in consternation. Yes, he had called them “the

Scott tribe,” a few times audibly, and many times in his own mind. “And I don’t suppose I should enjoy having the Hermons spoken of in that way,” he admitted uncomfortably. “I wonder if I’ll ever be able to make it up with Eliza.” But Eliza seemed capable of making herself very inaccessible, and it was almost evening when he found an opportunity to speak with her. “Eliza, will you let me drive you home?” he asked, with amazing humility. “There is plenty of room in our wagon for all of us, thank you,” answered the girl, with apparent innocence. “But—your people are gone,” admitted Mark, a little shamefacedly. “I —I told them I was going to bring you. I’ve wanted all day to* talk with you, Eliza, but you would not give me a chance. So I had to make an opportunity, didn't I?”“Then there is nothing else for me to do,” she agreed with a matter-of-factness that made, his heart sink in a most disconcerting manner. “But I am quite certain you ought to be punished,” she added with a smile. “I’m wondering what my punishment is to be,” he observed, breaking the rather uncomfortable silence after they had started. “I should say that driving before the assembled country-side with a Scott would be sufficient,” answered Eliza, cheerfully. . \ “Eliza, see here,” blurted the young man, “I don’t suppose you can forgive me for that. I never thought before today how it would seem to be born in a home like—yours. I never thought of the help I’ve had right along—l guess I thought I had done it all, myself!” And he laughed with self-scorn. “I suspect that I might have felt that way, too, if I had been in your place,” admitted Eliza, gently. ' “Oh, do not make excuses for me—but you are an angel to do it!” “I cannot imagine an angel working herself to death all summer to ‘get even’ with some one for an idle remark, ” severely. ’ “It wasn’t an idle remark —I meant it. I thought I was better than you were. I never even took the trouble to see what sort of girl you were until you began snubbing me this summer. But I’m getting my punishment, never fear; you are not like any other girl in the whole world to me, Eliza. And I do not dare tell you about it because of what has happened.” There was a long silence. The girl’s face beamed softly. In the tender autumn twilight his. arm stole along the back of the seat. “Dear,” he whispered, “don’t you believe we can fix it so that we can take our exhibits to the fair together next year? I’d so much rather take a back seat for my wife than for a mere—neighbor!” (Copyright, 1913, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)