Hazel

The sky was washed the clear blue of late November the next morning, and Hazel could count the few little white clouds floating on it as she walked to church. The cold, fresh air quickened her blood and made her want to skip and dance, but she stayed demurely at her mother’s side. They soon left their dingy street and turned into a well-to-do neighborhood where white people lived, and then went on with the white people into a large church. The usher nodded pleasantly to them, and they took a pew to the left, half way up the aisle. Here they sat in silence while the organ played its solemn, spiritual music.

As she listened to the music the anxious look, that was usually present, left Mrs. Tyler’s face. This was her dear and holy place where her mother and her mother’s mother had worshipped. As a little girl she had known its first minister—the noble, courageous citizen who had never failed to plead for the freedom of the slave. After her marriage with her southern husband she had gone a few times to listen to the big-hearted oratory at the colored church; but the service there did not touch her spirit, and she and her husband had agreed on Sunday mornings to worship in different places the same Heavenly Father. Hazel had always accompanied her mother, and she was quite at home among the white people. More than one greeted her with a smile.

sang the congregation.

Hazel loved this hymn. She joined in the singing with her clear child’s voice. She always loved the hymns, and she even loved the sermon, for was not the minister her dear friend? When the sermon was finished there was the five cents to be dropped into the contribution plate, and there was the beautiful benediction at the end of the service asking that the peace of God abide in her heart. “Amen,” sang the choir, and the organ pealed that the service was over.

“How do you do, Hazel?” the lady behind her asked. “She seems a little peaked, doesn’t she?” addressing the mother.

The anxious look returned to Mrs. Tyler’s face. “She hasn’t been very well,” she answered.

“Keep her in the fresh air as much as you can, though I know that that is difficult to do in cold weather.”

“How do you do, Hazel?” “How do you do, Mrs. Tyler?” came from many sides as the two walked from the church into the street.

Their Sunday dinner was to be eaten with their old friends, the Perkins, who lived in Jamaica Plains. As their car stopped, Hazel fairly raced down the street where she had spent her life until her father’s death, and turned up the steps of a pleasant cottage, and almost into the arms of a big, smiling black man. He carried her off at once, leaving Mrs. Tyler to be ministered to by his young, bright-faced wife. The two visitors were evidently at home.

The dinner was a lavish one, beginning with turkey and ending with ice-cream. Mr. Perkins heaped Hazel’s plate, urging her to eat. But though these were her favorite dishes her appetite was small. He encouraged her to tell him of her doings, of how well she ranked at school. “Right at the top, Hazel; you know you are going to college.” He asked how she liked the new story he had given her, “The Jungle Book.” After dinner was over he took her to his study across the hall from the parlor where the two women sat.

“How Henry loves children,” Mrs. Tyler said to her friend. Mrs. Perkins nodded. Behind where she sat, was the picture of the only child born to her and her husband, the child whom they had lost five years ago. She knew how his hungry heart went out to this little girl.

Mrs. Tyler faced the picture. She had loved the child and mothered her. A lump rose in her throat.

“Sarah,” she said, laying her hand on her friend’s arm, “I’ve got to talk with you about Hazel. I’m worried, I’m worried.”

“Hazel, why hasn’t she been well?”

“No, all this autumn she has seemed so delicate. She takes cold easily and she doesn’t throw it off. I fear the long winter for her.”

“I wish you hadn’t left Jamaica Plains.”

“I had to. I mustn’t spend the little money left me. I must work and save. Hazel will need more every year. But I don’t want to save just for doctor’s bills. Sometimes, Sarah, she frightens me. She looks as her father looked——”

Mrs. Tyler stopped. She could not yet speak of her husband’s long illness and of the blank left by his death.

“I’m not saying this just to complain,” she went on after a moment. “I’ve a wild idea that I can’t keep out of my head.”

“What is it, Lucy?”

“It’s to send Hazel for the winter to her grandmother Tyler’s.”

“To Alabama? Oh, Lucy, how could you! It’s so far away.”

“I know, but it’s a home in a beautiful place where she could be out-of-doors all day long. My husband used to tell me about the good times he had as a boy among the pines with plenty of space around him. He, like Hazel, would have hated to have been shut up in three rooms.”

“But it’s in the South,” Mrs. Perkins said earnestly. “We don’t know the South, Lucy, but I fear it with its jim-crow cars and its lynchings.”

“Don’t,” gasped Mrs. Tyler. Then, after a little, she laughed. “There are thousands and tens of thousands of colored children who grow up there in safety. Hazel will be under good care. Her grandmother will have more time to give to her than I.”

“Has she written for Hazel?”

“Not recently, but I know she would welcome her. She is alone just now, but she is always mothering some child. She will love Hazel, for Hazel is like her father in many ways. Perhaps living with her grandmother, she will learn to be still more like him. I cannot bear the thought of having her leave me, but I know that if she goes she will be in good hands.”

A tremendous noise issued from the room across the hall, and Hazel popped out her head to call, “He’s Shere Khan, a tiger of the jungle, and I’m Mowgli.”

“Come here and let me eat you, Little Frog,” called out the tiger, and made a hideous sound between a snarl and roar.

“It’s Sunday, Henry. Don’t make so much noise,” said his wife.

“Don’t make so much noise, Shere Khan,” said Mowgli, and fearlessly shut herself up with the tiger in the jungle.

Through the door the two women heard the little girl cough.

“How could you get the child South?” Mrs. Perkins asked.

Granny

“Why, oddly enough, one of my neighbors, Mrs. Graham, is going South in two or three weeks. She lives at Montgomery, only a couple of hours by train from Mother Tyler’s home. She is a kindly, sensible soul whom Hazel likes. I can trust the child with her. I dread it, Sarah,” and Mrs. Tyler clasped her hands tightly together, “I dread it inexpressibly, but I dread her staying here more.”

“Couldn’t you go with her?”

“That would be impossible. What could I do there to earn money? I must stay at home and work. I’ve plans for building up a good business. I feel sure that I can, but it will take time. Perhaps I shall succeed more quickly if I put all my energy into my work. And then Hazel will return in the spring, for it wouldn’t be good for her to stay through a southern summer. If I am busy every minute I’m hoping that the time won’t seem so long. It will pass quickly if I hear that Hazel gains in health.”

“Who’s talking about health?” asked Mr. Perkins, as he came out of his room with Hazel at his side.

“I am,” replied Mrs. Tyler.

“You remember Emerson: ‘Give me health and a day and I will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous.’ Lucy, may I take this young lady out for a walk?”

“Surely, Henry.”

Hazel put on her hat and coat and raced off with her boon companion.

“She will need a warmer coat,” Mrs. Tyler said, and her brow puckered. “If she stays here she must have warm clothes and even then I shall have sometimes to keep her indoors. She was restless yesterday and naughty, and that isn’t like Hazel. Health. That is more than anything else in the world, isn’t it? What shall I do, Sarah?”

Her friend had risen and was looking at the picture of her little child.

“I can only say this Lucy,” she at length answered. “You will never cease to reproach yourself if anything happens and you haven’t done everything possible for Hazel. If a winter in the South will mean health for her, then if she is ill you will always regret that you did not send her away.”

“People are ill in the South,” said Mrs. Tyler, wanting to contradict the advice she sought.

“Of course. But you will have done all you could.”

Mrs. Tyler looked hard at the floor, for a minute. When she raised her eyes to her friend’s they were full of tears.

“It won’t really be living while she’s away,” she said; “but I’ll write to mother Tyler to-night.”